by Glenn Cooper
Then Greg made the shocking admission. On the day in 2009 that Will e-mailed him the Area 51 database, Greg had stopped into a Georgetown Apple store and logged onto his Washington Post e-mail account. When no one was looking, he transferred the file onto a thumb drive. Simple as that. Later, when the Justice Department clamped down on the Post’s copy and confiscated all electronic files on the newspaper’s servers, they found no evidence of a download from inside the company.
Why had he done it? He swore he never looked up dates of death, but Will didn’t believe him. The God-like temptation would have been too great. Greg’s explanation was vague. It was like stealing the Mona Lisa. You could never tell anyone you had it. It would be yours alone to admire. But the feeling of power—
Greg insisted he didn’t give his Chinese friend the database. That, he asserted, would have been treasonous. The man cajoled him, lavished him with a Rolex, the one still on his wrist (which he’d told Laura was a knockoff), danced around the subject until they hit on a compromise. Greg would do their bidding for them. He’d look up names—for a price, a good price, but toward what end, he wanted to know? After all, the database was almost spent. The Horizon was approaching.
The Chinese request was unusual. They wanted him to find Chinese-Americans or Chinese nationals—it didn’t matter—people with upcoming dates of death.
They wanted him to send postcards, mimicking the style of the Doomsday killer, calculated to garner the maximum media attention. They never told him why, but he thought it was obvious. The Chinese government wanted to create the artifice that the US government was behind a provocation. They wanted the political leverage to flex their muscles around the world as the aggrieved party.
The price was agreed upon and he began to mail the cards. It wasn’t a great crime, was it? After all, these were people who were going to die anyway. He wasn’t killing them.
His last act was to mail a set of fake cards to the Chinese embassy staff in Washington. None of the targets were in the US database anyway. He did as he was instructed. It was to be his final act for them. Again, as far as he was concerned, no harm, no foul. The Ambassador and his people were never in any danger.
His final payment was received. Thankfully, he was done. He wasn’t cut out for a clandestine life, for all the stress. He’d made some good money, enough to make the final push to the Horizon pleasant as hell. He and Laura would travel, buy nice things, have a blast. It was over.
But Will’s e-mail opened up a new world of possibilities and he couldn’t ignore them.
The Horizon was just a date! The world carried on. More money—a lot more money—would be handy. This was information that might command millions.
He immediately contacted his embassy handler on the secure NetPen they’d given him. He was correct about their interest.
Before he went to the airport, his contact had met him at a Brooklyn coffee shop and exchanged a case containing $2 million for a copy of Will’s e-mail message. The money was now sitting in the back of his office closet under a few boxes of sneakers. What the Chinese did with Will’s e-mail, he didn’t know.
“It’s pretty obvious what they did with it, Greg,” Will said. “They sent in troops to take the farm. First, they’ll plant their flag. Second, they’ll start talking about getting control of the material.”
Greg fell silent again, talked out. He mumbled something about being very tired and faced the wall, curling himself into a fetal position.
“Everyone’s going to want it,” Nancy said.
Annie chimed in defensively, “The UK government will never relinquish its rightful claim. It’s simply unthinkable.”
Nancy replied tartly, “We’ll see about that.”
Will looked at both women and shook his head. “This is going to get ugly,” he said. “Extremely ugly.”
Prime Minister Hastings received the Chinese Ambassador in the Terracotta Room at 10 Downing Street. Given the circumstances, the two men did not exchange handshakes. Ambassador Chou spoke impeccable English so translators were not required. He had come with a single aide.
“Her Majesty’s Government requires an urgent and thorough explanation for your government’s illegal and outrageous military intrusion onto our sovereign territory,” Hastings demanded before Chou had time to fully plant himself into his seat.
Chou cleared his throat, and, by his pinched expression, it was apparent he was not relishing the meeting. “I am sincerely sorry that such an action was considered necessary by my government. The leadership felt there was no alternative.”
“No alternative to the hostile invasion of the United Kingdom?” Hastings bellowed.
“You see,” Chou continued, his voice tension-pitched, “as the most populous country in the world, with 1.5 billion people, we cannot be at a disadvantage with respect to all available planning resources. You must be aware what is present in Yorkshire.”
“I am. Of course,” the Prime Minister said.
“For eighty years, the United States has had the rather distinct advantage of possessing the Library of Vectis,” the ambassador said. “They leveraged this resource to their exclusive advantage. They did not share any of the data with you prior to 2010, am I correct?”
The Prime Minister exchanged an uncomfortable glance with his Foreign Secretary. “Since then, we’ve had selective access,” Hastings said.
“Well, Prime Minister, how is it that the United States, which had no sovereign right to the Library, was allowed to control this critical asset?”
“It was a decision made by Winston Churchill a very long time ago. He undoubtedly thought it was the right thing to do at the moment. That doesn’t mean it would be the right thing to do today. And listen here, Ambassador Chou, how can any of this come close to justifying your country’s de facto act of war?”
Chou winced at the word. “ ‘War’ is an unfortunate and premature terminology, Prime Minister. Our intrusion onto British territory was our way of asserting our undeniable claim which we doubted would be taken seriously without such an act. These books contain the names and dates of births and deaths. Not only for British citizens. Not only for American citizens. But for all the peoples in the world. China has the most people and must therefore control the resource. We will be happy to discuss ways in which the United Kingdom can have, as you put it, selective access, for your own social and political needs.”
Hastings was volcanic. “You invade my country, then tell us we can have sloppy seconds? Are you out of your minds? Do you . . .”
An aide entered the formal room with a note, which when passed to the Prime Minister interrupted him in midsentence.
Hastings read the note quickly and struggled to maintain his composure. “Mr. Ambassador, I’ve just been informed that your North Sea Fleet led by the carrier Wen Jiabao and a number of Type 094 nuclear submarines is off the Faroe Islands proceeding at speed toward the North Sea and presumably the eastern coast of Britain. This meeting is over. You will remove yourself along with your entire ambassadorial staff and return to your country. A formal letter will be forthcoming, but you may assume that as of now our two countries no longer enjoy diplomatic contact.”
The Prime Minister made a flurry of calls. A meeting of his national security group was scheduled for the COBR in an hour’s time. The Defense Minister was ordered to increase Britain’s threat level to Critical and inform all Heads of Service to configure their forces accordingly. An emergency Parliament debate was called for the next morning. The king was summoned out of a charity event and briefed. The Press Association was contacted and urged to hold off on reporting on news emanating from Yorkshire until the morning. The P.M.’s spokesman began drafting standby statements and an address to the nation.
Then Hastings rang Washington.
“Mr. President, I’ve had the most extraordinary meeting with Ambassador Chou. The Chinese are making no bones about it. They want this new Library and they seem prepared to seize it by force if necessary. Their
North Sea Fleet is off the Faroes proceeding at full speed toward our coast.”
President Dumont was in the Situation Room. Surrounded by his staff, he quickly replied, “Yeah, we’re tracking them. The Chinese position is certainly not acceptable, is it, Martin?”
“It is not. For your information, we have gone to Threat Level Critical and I will have Parliament debate a declaration of war unless the Chinese stand down and offer an apology and some form of compensation. If we do find it necessary to make a war declaration, we will be assuming the full cooperation and support of the United States and NATO.”
The line went completely silent. Hastings pointed to his mute button, alerting his own staff of his assumption that the President had put them on mute.
When the line came to life again a few seconds later, Dumont said, “Let’s not be hasty with any declarations, Martin. Once the toothpaste’s out of the tube, it’s going to be a bitch putting it back inside. Our belief in Washington is that the Chinese feel reasonably comfortable pushing Britain around. They might not feel nearly as bullish going at it with the United States.”
Hastings furrowed his brow, and said, “That’s precisely why it’s imperative for you and our NATO allies to make the strongest possible statements of support directly to the Chinese government and to do so tonight.”
The President replied fluidly, “Here’s the thing, Martin. Our view is that you’re vulnerable as hell up there in Yorkshire. The Chinese are going to figure you’re going to have trouble defending a remote site against the kind of attack their North Sea Fleet can muster. They’re also going to figure that NATO might not be up to the fight. I mean, are we really going to escalate this thing to World War III over a bunch of books?”
“NATO has a moral and a legal duty to support us!” Hastings exploded. “Are you honestly telling me that your intentions are otherwise?”
“No, no, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just passing on our concerns, which, I might add, are shared by the Germans and the French. We just think that the most prudent way to deal with this crisis is to get these damn books out of there as quickly as possible. If we do that, what are the Chinese going to attack? An empty room?”
The Prime Minister calmed down a notch. “We have had a preliminary discussion on our end of moving the Library to a more secure location. There are a number of deep bunkers associated with military installations that may be suitable.”
The line went mute again and stayed that way for an awkward interval. “Sorry about that,” the President said, “To be frank, it’s our view that the best place for the Library is in Groom Lake, Nevada. I mean, think about it. We’ve already got a state-of-the-art, bomb-proof, earthquake-proof underground facility and all the supercomputers and analysts to properly handle the material. We were going to mothball it, but we can easily modify it to take the new merchandise. It would cost you tens of billions of dollars to build something that already exists at Area 51, and if you went down that road, it would take you years to be in a position to exploit the intel. We’d be more than happy for you to station a team of analysts at Groom Lake so you can query the database from time to time and reap the benefits along with the United States. What do you say, Martin? We’ve got our troops at Mildenhall on alert. Just give the word and we’ll have all necessary transport and manpower up there in Yorkshire in no time. We’ll knock down any local resistance at the farm for you, deal with the hostage situation up there, clean out the books by daybreak, and have them on the way to Nevada. The Chinese will be rip-shit but we don’t think they’re going to do anything about it. They’ll storm and thunder but they won’t be taking on the United States on our home court.”
Hastings’s aides were making furious hand gestures to go onto mute so they could advise him how to respond. He ignored them, and said icily, “Mr. President, your offer is very kind, but the answer is no. The Library was created on British soil and will stay on British soil. Winston Churchill made a dreadful mistake in 1947 by giving away a national treasure. I shall not make the same one.”
A cold front blew across the Dales and cleared the sky of mist. The crescent moon became visible, sharply defined against the blackness of the night. The air was fresh and crystalline.
The scene playing out below Kenney’s position was controlled and orderly. Army units were deploying themselves around Lightburn Farm, vastly supplementing and reinforcing the police presence. Ambulances had come and gone. From the incessant foot traffic going in and out of the incident van, Kenney assumed a fierce discussion had taken place over jurisdiction but when the police fell behind army units in a second-line stance, it was pretty clear the army had dominated.
Kenney grabbed his vibrating communicator. Admiral Sage had been calling regularly for updates but this time the conversation began differently.
“The situation’s gone critical here,” Sage said. “I’ve got a mission for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Kenney said, sensing that saying anything else would not be well received.
“The Pentagon and the White House want you and your men to be the thin end of the wedge. I know there are only three of you but your unit’s the best in our arsenal. That’s what I told them.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kenney replied warily.
“The United States has made a determination that the new Library belongs here in Groom Lake and obviously, I’m highly supportive of this. I’m sure you are too.”
Kenney lobbed in his agreement.
“The Brits don’t seem really keen on this idea, so here’s the plan. If, over the next few hours, diplomatic efforts to resolve the matter break down, you will covertly insert your team inside the farm at 0200 and take control of the assets. Once you have achieved your objective, US Army and Air Force elements based at RAF Mildenhall will arrive to suppress any local opposition by force if necessary and transport the Library to Groom Lake.”
“What about the hostages, sir?”
“We have carte blanche, Captain. I’ve had personal assurances there will be no questions asked. You won’t have to write any after-action reports. Once the mission is initiated, the hostages and any nationals inside the farm need to be neutralized. This operation needs to be leak-proof. Understood?”
“Completely understood, sir. My men and I will prepare a plan and await a go order.”
When he signed off, one thought beat all others to the top of his list.
Will Piper’s going down, and I’m the one who’s going to do it.
The landline at Lightburn Farm rang incessantly but Daniel refused to answer it. The family was keeping low, away from the drawn curtains. The authorities hadn’t cut the electricity but Daniel and Kheelan warned the women and children to expect it. Upstairs, Cacia and her sister, Gail, tried to get the two young girls to bed with a pretended show of normality. Haven participated in the ruse by reading them their favorite bedtime story.
Douglas prowled the underground rooms in case anyone came at them from the storeroom side and while he was down there, he looked in on the hostages and the writers who were engaged in their labors oblivious to the drama.
Kheelan had snuck back to the barn to keep watch on the rear of the property and Daniel manned the house with Andrew, who was biting at his lip and obsessively rubbing the metal parts of his shotgun with an oiled rag.
When the phone began ringing again after the briefest interval of quiet, Cacia called down the stairs for Daniel to pick up and talk to them so the girls could fall asleep.
Daniel swore at her, then crept on his belly, muttering that it wouldn’t surprise him if a sniper was going to open fire in the vicinity of the phone. “What d’ you want now?” Daniel asked into the handset.
“With whom am I speaking?” The voice was starchy and cool.
“This is Daniel Lightburn. Who the hell is this?”
“My name is Colonel Barry Woolford, British Army. I’m in charge of this operation, Mr. Lightburn. I wonder if I might have a chat with you in person.”
“Nae chance, marra.”
“I see. In that case, let’s have the chat now, over the phone. How would that be?”
“Suit yourself,” Daniel said. “But I’ve got nowt t’ say t’ you ’cepting that you should leave me and my family be and get off me land. Understand?”
“Yes, I hear you loud and clear, but I’m afraid it isn’t so simple. You see, we know exactly what you have, Lightburn, and more to the point, the Chinese know what you have, and they appear to want it very badly. We dealt with their small attempt to get to you but unfortunately, they are massing quite a substantial invasion force and I rather doubt their next attempt will be as easily repelled. I’m concerned for the safety of you and your loved ones, not to mention the hostages you have.”
“They’re my concerns, not yours,” Daniel snapped.
“Yes, once again, I’ve got to disagree. Let me get to the point. Our proposal is to come in peacefully, take control of the hostages, and assess the logistics. You and your loved ones will be taken to safety and given full immunity even with respect to the shooting that occurred earlier. Isn’t that splendid news? But we need for this to occur soon or I’m afraid the generous offer will be withdrawn.”
“And what will ya do if I tell you t’ stuff your generous offer?” Daniel asked mockingly.
“Then we’ll come in quite heavily, and, if you resist, I can assume there will be catastrophic casualties on your side. But we don’t want that to happen, do we?”
“Fuck off.”
“I see,” the colonel said, evenly. “Tell you what, you discuss it among your people and I’ll ring you back in a short while. I do hope we can come to a satisfactory agreement, Mr. Lightburn. This is a critical time for you, your country, and the entire world. There will be a resolution one way or another. The stakes couldn’t be higher.”
Chapter 28
Will’s mind was racing, working on scenarios and contingencies but he kept getting interrupted by all the little dramas playing out within their cramped confines.