Day of the Delphi

by Jon Land

  But their day could still be stopped, starting here.

  Tonight.

  CHAPTER 31

  Night deepened over Whiteland. McCracken’s long day of indoctrination to his new home was complete for now, his reward a stiff cot in a thirty-six-bed dormitory. He lay beneath a window open to the harsh spill of the evening security lights. Blaine had recorded their presence earlier, along with a number of other measures he would have to overcome.

  Though the AWB was always pictured on horseback at their rallies, they used jeeps to patrol the grounds at night, two men in each. There were also a number of security cameras that the residents had undoubtedly been told were for their own protection.

  Slipping out of the dormitory would not be a problem. Thereafter, however, he would have well over a mile to cover to reach the command center. The security cameras were fixed on the doors, so Blaine climbed quietly out a window, taking care not to disturb his sleeping dorm-mates. The thick haze that hung before the security lights would help obscure him from the passing jeeps. His progress came in quick dashes intermixed with slithering headlong crawls through well-lit areas When a security patrol loomed near, he was able to take cover behind the freshly planted shrubbery.

  He reached the outskirts of the command center without incident and lay prone on the grass in the darkness. No fence enclosed the command center other than at its rear, but the floods mounted on the building spilled light out at a radius wide enough to force him to take a roundabout route. Blaine clung to the shadows and used a prone approach over ground to avoid detection by the dozen or so guards who were trained to counter a commando-style assault, not a one-man reconnaissance.

  McCracken reached the rear of the command center without incident. He passed several horses tied to a post near the building’s back right-hand side and had reached up to still one’s sudden stirring when he noticed the long rope clipped to its saddle. He removed the rope and carried it with him as he continued on.

  Twelve feet separated him from the security fence that rimmed the compound’s rear. There were no windows in the back of the command center building, and only a single door, which was sealed from the inside. He had grabbed the rope with these very limitations in mind. Careful scrutiny of the plans that morning had furnished him with accurate detail of the roof’s layout. The chimney was just where he had expected it to be, its shape indistinct in the darkness. Blaine tied the front section of the rope into a lasso and backed up as far as the fence would let him. Then he hurled the rope outward with looped end leading.

  It smacked against the top of the command center and bounced back down.

  He cleared the roof on the second try and grazed the chimney on the third. The fourth saw the lasso drop over the shape of the chimney and settle. Blaine took up the slack and felt the rope lock on. As soon as he felt the rope was secure, he grabbed hold tightly and began to scale the command center.

  Samuel Jackson Dodd stood uneasily before the single small viewing portal located directly behind the slate black desk in his private quarters upon the space station Olympus. A slightly larger portal was contained in the station’s severely limited observation deck, and a third, the smallest of all, could be found in main control. Originally he had envisioned an entire viewing wall to be constructed in these quarters reserved solely for him or his personal guests. But the engineers had found his request technologically laughable and stricken it from the plans. What did they know? Did they somehow think that by restricting his view from this vantage point they could also restrict his grand vision?

  Dodd turned from it back toward his desk, atop which rested the computerized signal switcher and voice regulator that made secure communications between the Delphi’s international representatives possible. The LED readouts for all were flashing, except that of Johannesburg’s. Dodd felt himself growing increasingly impatient. He had thought long and hard over how best to explain the need for a drastic change in strategy. Though crucial to the ultimate plans of the Delphi, these men were difficult, often impossible, to deal with.

  Atop his desk in the space station’s observation room, Johannesburg still had not come on-line.

  Committing himself to construction of the space station Olympus had seemed the most risky venture of Dodd’s entire career. Even with underwriting by NASA, the total costs promised to stretch beyond the $40 billion mark. Add to this an estimated $100 billion cost to maintain the station over its thirty-year lifetime, and the downside if things went wrong, as everyone was predicting they would, was unlimited.

  Sam Jack Dodd had learned long ago not to listen to others.

  Olympus exemplified his commitment to the marriage of business and government, and even more his ability to get things done. With budgetary constraints as they were, NASA never could have undertaken the project alone. By the same token, no one in the private sector possessed the financial or technological resources to get it off the ground. The answer to this, as with everything, was a joint effort. In return for underwriting the project, NASA scientists and astronauts would have exclusive use of Olympus for its first three years. After that time a new subdivision of Dodd Industries would begin selling trips into space for civilians at, of course, exorbitantly expensive prices. Sam Jack Dodd wasn’t worried; his market research had assured him that there would be a five-year waiting list and this project would be well in the black within a decade of operation.

  A pair of new shuttles NASA was building would serve as space taxis. His marketing people projected that hitherto earthbound scientists alone could fill every seat for seven years. Insurance costs, the original deal breaker, were negligible because NASA had absorbed them into its budget.

  Dodd turned back to the small portal and gazed out over what little of space he could see. From this angle only a small portion of the station itself was visible. Even when seen in total, though, Olympus was hardly a breath-stealing sight. When it came to construction pertaining to space, form ran a poor second to function. As a result, the station had a squat, tubular look to it, almost like an overweight spider. The bulk of Olympus was little more than a massive truss made of steel supports sandwiching the five spherical nodules that formed the station’s heart. The central and largest nodule housed the main labs, combination cafeteria/ meeting hall, and Dodd’s private quarters. Three of the smaller nodules contained living quarters for crew and guests, while the fourth housed the command center.

  The symmetrical girders and neatly arrayed scaffolding-like supports were marred by what looked like stubborn space debris in the form of the primary heat exchangers, solar panels, and main engine components. Indeed, Olympus was little more than an elaborate and cumbersome spaceship that doubled as a massive orbiting laboratory. Thicker, tubular assemblies ran toward the central nodule from three separate docking bays, only one of which was currently functional. Eventually all three would allow shuttles to conveniently off-load their passengers, whose first exposure to Olympus would be a zero gravity dash through the tubes leading into the central nodule where gravity was equalized.

  The station itself maintained a constant rotation through its geosynchronistic orbit 22,400 miles above the center of the United States. The air was filtered by solar-powered engines, pumped out at a comfortable seventy-six degrees. Dodd kept having to remind himself in this his first visit that he was actually in space and not walking the hall of a high-tech office or luxury hotel. It had taken a full week of intensive training to prepare him for this. Future visitors would be required to spend two weeks in training, further justifying their fee and raising the station’s profit margin. The first paying space travelers could purchase the entire package at a start-up price of $25,000, growing to near $50,000 within the first year. It had not yet been determined if the space-walk portion of the five-day sojourn would be extra or not.

  Dodd squeezed his eyes closer to the small acrylic portal. Twenty-two thousand four hundred miles below him the small speck of the United States had slipped from his gaze.

&
nbsp; How could things have gone so wrong? How could a single man have placed all his work in jeopardy?

  Thanks to Blaine McCracken, the original members of the Delphi were on the run. Because sufficient warning had been provided, all had managed to get out safely, but their usefulness had been placed in severe doubt. Some members had panicked. They had lived their true lives in the shadows, and having the light suddenly thrust upon them was more than most could bear. A few were advocating that the operation be canceled, at the very least postponed. Dodd knew that agreeing to either would only provide the fearful with more time to betray the Delphi’s cause. They might decide to turn themselves in and trade their stories for freedom. Loyalty was fleeting.

  Sam Jack Dodd realized he needed a way to make that work for him, to placate the Delphi while at the same time appeasing the group’s foreign representatives. It was a matter of utilizing what the circumstances had provided, which in this case happened to be considerable. The remolding of the strategy actually had a number of distinct advantages. The problems it posed were ones of logistics and timing. But the Delphi member inside the President’s inner circle had assured him all could be pulled off with nary a hitch. Dodd had no choice other than to listen and hope the rest of the international representatives so crucial to his plan would listen as well.

  On the communications system resting atop his desk, Johannesburg at last came on-line.

  McCracken had spent considerable time that morning in his room at the Carlton studying the air-conditioning system of Whiteland’s command center for a reason. Since it would be required to furnish air to the four underground bunker levels as well as the three above ground, huge condensers and fans would be required, along with wide enough duct work to push sufficient quantities through. The plans had indicated the massive condenser units were located on the roof, meaning the start of the labyrinthine network of ducts would be found there as well. Blaine knew also from the plans where Trevor Dreyer’s office was located. The contents of that top-floor office were what had drawn him here. His plan now was to gain access to that office by following the duct work to the crawl space directly above it.

  Time was on his side except for the fact that those within the command center would soon notice that the air conditioning had malfunctioned. Even after they did, his hope was that it would take some time before a work crew could be dispatched and his handiwork on the roof uncovered.

  Atop the roof now, McCracken quickly located the massive condenser unit. Finding no simple on-and-off switch, he began yanking out every exposed cord and wire until the thing shook and shut down. He followed the line that led from the condenser across to what he had first thought was a huge skylight but quickly realized was the intake duct for the chilled air. The plans had actually underestimated its size. Its rectangular cover was three by four feet, even easier for a man to negotiate than he had imagined. He had the top pried off within thirty seconds and breathed easier when he saw that the start of the duct work was elbow-shaped, eliminating the anxiety-generating necessity of negotiating a straight drop.

  He slid immediately feet first into the galvanized steel and started to make his way toward the office of Travis Dreyer.

  “Gentlemen,” Samuel Jackson Dodd opened after the communications check had been satisfactorily completed, “this meeting has been called to inform you that circumstances have forced a rather drastic change in our final plans. The timetable is being moved up from next Tuesday to forty-eight hours from now. Seven P.M. Saturday, Washington time.”

  “What?” a number of the voices seemed to blare at once.

  “That’s absurd!” roared Germany.

  “Our people are already in place,” Japan returned. “Recalling them with such short notice would be impossible.”

  “And we,” started Johannesburg, “cannot be ready to go until we have received our warheads.”

  “Calm yourselves, gentlemen. You will not be asked to do so until it is safe for us to make the shipment. It is only the American end of things I have elected to move up.”

  FRANCE. “But a simultaneous move by all parties was agreed upon for a reason. Without that simultaneity, the success of our own strikes is instantly placed in jeopardy.”

  “Gentlemen,” began the Washington representative calmly, “we are all in jeopardy already. Our only chance for success is to advance the timetable here in the United States as has been laid out with my approval.”

  “You will lag behind us by only a week, ten days at the most,” Dodd picked up immediately. “And when your day comes, the results may well exceed your original expectations, thanks to the new contingency we have adopted for the United States.”

  The observation deck of Olympus fell into silence. None of the LED lights flashed across their respective slots.

  “Then when can I expect my warheads?” raised Johannesburg finally.

  “They remain secure and will be transferred to you as soon as we have been able to stabilize the situation in the United States.”

  “And to what do we owe this change in plans?” demanded Germany.

  “During the course of our last meeting, I briefed you on the involvement of Blaine McCracken. That involvement has now revealed to the U.S. government that they are backed into a corner.” Dodd paused. “There is also the possibility that McCracken has uncovered the international nature of the Delphi.”

  “And our identities?” raised England.

  “He could conceivably be aware of them. Accordingly, at the close of this meeting I will fax you the most recent picture we have on file of him. Just be on your guard.”

  “On our guard? The entire operation is in jeopardy and that is all you can say?”

  “Our operation, Japan, is not in jeopardy at all. It has only required the adopting of a contingent strategy we’ve had ready for some time. In short, McCracken’s involvement has given Washington only one way to turn, and when they do so, we will be waiting.”

  “What do you mean?” asked France.

  In response Samuel Jackson Dodd laid out the revised plan for them step by step.

  “It has only required the adopting of a contingent strategy we’ve had ready for some time. In short, McCracken’s involvement has given Washington only one way to turn, and when they do so, we will be waiting … .”

  Blaine McCracken listened to what must have been a mechanically synthesized voice, Sam Jack Dodd’s probably, begin to detail the revised operation that would overthrow the U.S. government. He had managed to pick up bits and pieces of earlier parts of the discussion while crawling forward through the duct that ran along the complex’s third-floor ceiling. But it wasn’t until he reached the spot over Dreyer’s office that he could hear all the words clearly.

  He lay prone inside the steel duct to enable himself to press his ear against it more easily. A cold sweat rose to the surface of his flesh as he listened, terror increasing with each successive sentence.

  The President was playing right into the Delphi’s hands. The government of the United States was going to fall.

  Saturday at seven P.M … .

  Not even two days from now.

  And unless Blaine could get word back to Washington in a matter of hours, no one would be able to do a thing to prevent it.

  Dreyer rose from his chair, exhilarated. His greatest dreams were on the verge of coming true. In forty-eight hours the United States would be thrown into total chaos. Thereafter, the rest of the process that would bring the AWB to power in South Africa would be carried out without impediment.

  The leader of the AWB heard the whirr of the elaborate communication system’s internal fax machine and placed his hand in front of the slot. The single page emerged only slightly rolled and possessing virtually all of the original’s clarity. Dreyer gazed at the picture of Blaine McCracken.

  His eyes bulged.

  He knew this man, had seen him recently, had seen him …

  Today!

  McCracken was among the new recruits who had arr
ived that afternoon! McCracken was on the premises now!

  Nervous sweat dripping off him, Dreyer started from his desk toward the door to his office. He needed to find Colonel Smeed. They had to be both cautious and thorough in dealing with a man of McCracken’s prowess. Handle it right and Dreyer could become a hero among the Delphi, the man who rid the group of Blaine McCracken. His heart began to beat faster.

  Near the door, Dreyer realized the air in the room was heavy and moist, far warmer than it should be. Dismayed, he reached up and placed his palm against one of the air-conditioning registers; it wasn’t working.

  “Jesus,” Dreyer gasped, realizing. “Jesus … .”

  McCracken retraced his path through the duct, no longer bothering to mask the sounds. He reached the roof and replaced the cover over the central duct. There was no time to reconnect the hoses he had yanked free or repair the damage he had done to the condenser. He simply retrieved the rope he had piled near the chimney and twisted the other end into a loop as well. His plan was to secure this end round a tree branch on the other side of the electrified fence and then pull himself over it to freedom.

  Blaine heard the sounds of footsteps charging up the stairs that led onto the roof just as he was ready to toss the rope. Capture clearly was unavoidable. If Dreyer believed he had overheard the meeting of the Delphi that had just concluded, he would be killed almost instantly. His best chance to survive and maintain some hope, then, was to create the illusion that he had yet to gain entry to the command center.