“Where did this thing come from then?” the chairman of the National Security Council demanded. “Outer space?” He glanced at the Secretary of State. “Why do they think we had anything to do with it?”
“Those questions are closely related,” Drefke said. “I want you to follow the logic so that you can see that the Russians, Korolev, have probably done the same thing. I would like Bob Isaacs to lay that out for you and report what he found today.”
“Very well,” said the President, “Mr. Isaacs, why don’t you proceed?”
Isaacs stood, fighting the fatigue of his hectic day, images flashing: the discovery of Krone’s lab, the race to New Mexico, the machine, the encounter with Krone and the woman, Latvin, the flight back. He had to admire Drefke’s presentation, a politician who’d scarcely heard of the phrase black hole a day earlier. He moved behind Drefke to the projector, switched it on, and picked up a laser pointer, as the officials swiveled in their chairs toward the screen.
“I’m going to leave out some of the background details for now,” he said, pushing a button to advance through a number of the slides Gantt and Phillips had prepared, until he came to the one he wanted.
“This,” he said, “is an illustration of the path the black hole takes when it comes out of the Earth, rises to a peak, and falls back in. It will then go through the Earth and come out the other side. For now, I want you to concentrate on the fact that it rises to a fixed height each time. We can determine the amount of time it is above the Earth’s surface, and that tells us how far up it goes. The answer is fifty-seven hundred feet. The simplest hypothesis is that it was formed somewhere at that altitude and always returns to that height as it swings in orbit through the Earth.”
He pushed the button and advanced the projector to a map of the Earth centered on the western hemisphere. He used the laser pointer to mark twin red horizontal lines.
“Here you see the path where the orbit intersects the Earth’s surface, one line in the north through Dallas and Nagasaki, another in the south. As you have heard, we obtained hard evidence that we were dealing with a black hole only yesterday. We immediately did an orbital survey of every point on those two red lines that was at an altitude of fifty-seven hundred feet. You can see there are not many, because of the broad expanses of ocean and low terrain, but it still took some time. You can appreciate that with the orbital path and timing data, the Russians can follow the same procedure. All the locations of interest were empty save one.”
Isaacs paused and looked at the floor as he gently cleared his throat. He looked up and found, not to his surprise, that he was the center of undivided attention. He pointed to the map.
“That exception is here in New Mexico, east of the White Sands proving grounds and just south of the Mescalero Apache reservation in the Sacramento Mountain Range.”
“Wait a minute now,” the President said excitedly. “New Mexico? You’re claiming this thing was made in New Mexico?”
Isaacs flipped through several more slides to reveal a blown-up photograph.
“This is a satellite photograph of the point of interest taken late yesterday afternoon,” he explained.
All around the table the members of the council peered intently at the complex of buildings perched on top of a mountain range.
“We found out this morning that it’s a private research laboratory, subcontracted to the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory, two hundred miles to the north. The man who runs it is Paul Krone.”
“Krone? Of Krone Industries?” the President inquired.
“Yes, sir,” answered Isaacs.
The President exchanged a glance with Drefke. They both knew that Krone had heavily financed his opponent in the last election.
“And now you’re going to tell me he made a black hole? There?” The President extended a pin-striped arm and pointed a finger at the slide without removing his eyes from Isaacs. “At a government sponsored laboratory? Right in our own backyard? Without our knowledge? Without my knowledge?”
“Yes, sir, that seems to be the case. When we discovered the site this morning, I took a team for an emergency visit to confirm our suspicions.
“There is a machine in this building,” Isaacs said, using the pointer on the screen, “the details of which we do not understand. But it is of gigantic proportions and appears to have consumed the rock missing from this ridge.” He pointed to the bare patch of mountain top bordering the lab. “That’s about a hundred million tons of rock, and the strong circumstantial evidence is that it was compressed by this machine to produce the black hole.
“We then proceeded to a home that Krone maintains near the lab. We found him in a semi-catatonic state. He attempted to commit suicide about four months ago and has some brain damage. We recovered from his study a set of laboratory notebooks, of which this is one.”
Isaacs stepped around behind Drefke, picked up the lab book from his place and walked half the length of the table to set it by the President’s elbow.
“We haven’t had time to study them, but they seem to contain a complete record of Krone’s experiments that led to the creation of the black hole. There may also be important computer files.”
“It’s burned!” exclaimed the President.
“Yes, unfortunately. A woman who lived with Krone attempted to burn them. It was a ruse on her part to distract us while she smuggled Krone out the back door. Some were badly damaged before we could stop her.”
“She smuggled him out? While you were there?” The President was incredulous. “Where are they now?”
“The woman got away with him, at least temporarily. They’re somewhere in the mountains. We have air and ground search parties after them.”
“Who is this woman?” the Chairman of the NSC inquired.
“Her name is Maria Latvin. She’s apparently a refugee,” Isaacs explained. “From Lithuania. Krone met her in Vienna after she escaped, and she’s been living with him ever since.”
“A plant?” the Chairman asked.
“Not that we can tell,” Isaacs answered. “We’re still looking into her background, but the escape from Czechoslovakia seems genuine enough. It’s in Krone’s character to take up with such a person, to flaunt the possible security risks.”
“Why would she run off with Krone?” the Chairman pressed.
“We haven’t come up with any motive yet.”
The President slumped back in his chair.
“All right, let me summarize this.” He shook his head in dismay. “Krone somehow eats a mountain at government expense and makes a black hole. That black hole punches a hole in this damn Russian carrier?” He looked at Drefke, who nodded his assent. “The Russians from some perverse instinct, which turns out to be right, assume we are at fault, and start our first space war.
“I thought we had everything fought to a standstill up there,” he jerked a thumb at the ceiling, “eyeball to eyeball, and all that, and all of a sudden they don’t just blink, they haul out a baseball bat and crack me upside the head. And turn all our low orbit stuff into a damn shooting gallery with their laser. God knows what else they’ve got in mind.
“Now, Howard,” he turned to look at his Director of Central Intelligence, “you seem to be saying that what’s happened is that the Russians have followed the clues and deduced that we made a black hole there and are more convinced than ever that we’re out to get them.”
Drefke straightened in his chair, his thoughts equally divided between the crisis before them and the years of friendship with the man at the center of the table. Those years would be swept away if he didn’t handle this properly.
“We have no final proof, although we are working through our contacts in the Soviet Union to find out just what they know. The circumstances strongly suggest that they reached the conclusion at virtually the same time we did, that we manufactured a black hole there. Blowing up our nuclear satellite was apparently their way of letting us know that they’re on to us.”
“Mr.
President.”
All eyes turned to General Whitehead, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He was a large man with bristly close-cropped hair and, at this hour, stubble on his stern jaw to match.
“I’ve been out of my element with this black hole stuff, but now we are beginning to get into my territory. As I see it, we need to get the Russians back into their corner while we sort all this out. First of all, we need to make crystal clear to them that they’ve absolutely got to put a cap on any escalation of the current situation. All this skeet shooting they’ve been doing is one thing, but if they so much as scorch a surveillance satellite, they had better put their population on alert. I also recommend we go after that laser again, to give ourselves some breathing room.”
Drefke ignored the General and spoke to the President again.
“The immediate task before us is to defuse the anxiety of the Russians, not to scare them further. I think that candor is the best policy here. I recommend you tell them everything we know, give them all our data and let them reach their own conclusions. Yes, there is a black hole. Yes, it was made at that site,” he gestured at the slide. “That should add to our credibility. We must convince them that it was an accident, not an offensive act.”
“I agree with that sentiment,” the Secretary of the State firmly announced. “Mr. President, the problem we face here is a unique one. We must bear in mind that, although a U.S. Government lab is involved, the threat is a universal one. I believe it is incumbent upon us to share the information we now have not just with the Soviet Union, but with all our major allies, the People’s Republic, and the Third World.”
There were outbursts of protest. The National Security Advisor finally gained the floor.
“Mr. President, I sympathize with the desire of the Secretary for openness and candor, but it seems to me premature to broadcast this problem until we fully understand all the ramifications. At all costs, we must avoid the widespread dissemination of this information and the panic that would ensue.”
“We already know the basic nature of the problem,” protested the Secretary, “and we may very well need to call on the resources of other countries to devise a solution.”
“This country has plenty of resources on its own,” rumbled General Whitehead, “and in any case I don’t like telling the Communists any more than we have to.” He shot a glance at Drefke. “There’s no way they won’t twist this around and throw it in our face, or somehow use it as a lever against us. We should keep the Russians on a short leash and the Chinese should certainly be kept out of it.”
“I don’t disagree that the Chinese have very little to offer us in the current context,” the Secretary appealed to the President, “but for the sake of our future relations with them we must keep them apprised of a problem of this magnitude and of such universal concern. The same argument applies even more strongly to our allies.”
“If these fellows are right,” replied the General, gesturing with a thumb toward Isaacs and Drefke, “we may not need to worry about future relations.”
“And if that is the case,” rebutted the Secretary, “there is certainly no point in maintaining your cold war mentality toward the rest of the world. On the contrary, we can throw out the historical constraints and solicit the aid of the world community to tackle this common menace.”
“Rot!” said the General, heatedly. “If knowledge of this situation becomes widespread, it will just put more pressure on everyone. There will be an every-man-for-himself scramble, and the world political situation will go to hell in a handbasket.”
“If we sit on this until it is too late,” the Secretary insisted, “and then spring the problem on the world, something like you describe may well occur. That is why it is of the utmost importance to proceed immediately and discretely to inform others of the situation so that a cooperative and measured response can be orchestrated.”
“Mr. President,” the Security Advisor cut in, “I think we must make a guarded release of information to the Soviets. We must make them understand we are aware of the problem and taking active steps to explore the facts. I believe we must also inform our closest allies of the basic situation. They deserve to know what has caused the Soviets to react so dangerously. I confess I would proceed gingerly in spreading this information any further than absolutely necessary. I would suggest holding off with the Chinese and the Third World countries.”
While the Security Advisor was speaking, an aide came in and handed the President a message.
“Hold it!” he said, cutting off the Secretary of State, whose mouth was open to reply. The President read the message through again, then looked around the table.
“We may not have the luxury of designing our response to the Soviets. I have here a message from Colonel Grigor Zamyatin, head of Washington KGB.” He turned to fix first Drefke and then Isaacs with a steely glare. “It says that fifteen minutes ago Paul Krone and Maria Latvin were put on an Aeroflot flight from Mexico City to Moscow.”
Isaacs felt the room spin and his hurriedly consumed meal congeal into a knot.
“Colonel Zamyatin would like an audience,” the President continued. “He’s waiting at the front gate.”
“You can’t have him in here,” General Whitehead protested.
“Show him in,” the President addressed his aide.
The room was deathly quiet as they awaited the arrival of the Russian. Isaacs strained to understand what had happened. Had Latvin been a spy? How could she have known what Krone was up to when his own government didn’t? Or was she put onto Krone on general principles and just happened to hit the jackpot?
The door opened and the aide ushered Zamyatin in. He walked to his left along the wall until he was directly across the table from the President. The President nodded and there was some shuffling to vacate that chair. Zamyatin sat in it with deliberate calm.
“Colonel.” The President greeted him. “I’m rather surprised Ambassador Ogarkov is not bringing whatever message you bear.”
“When the river reaches floodtide, new channels are carved,” Zamyatin replied. “I assure you my authority comes from the highest levels.”
“That will, of course, be checked,” the President responded. “Am I to understand, Colonel, that you have openly confessed to the abduction of an American citizen?”
“Ah, you attempt to seize the initiative,” Zamyatin replied, unruffled. “But you have a weak hand. Of course we have taken him, and the event pales next to the heinous act the individual committed, the one for which you are ultimately responsible.”
“What act are you talking about?”
The Russian left the question hanging for a long moment. “If you are going to be stubborn,” he finally said, “this discussion can be carried on in a more public forum.”
The President met his hard gaze, and again there was silence.
“Why did you take him?” the President asked.
“We intend to know everything there is to know about this crime against humanity. Paul Krone is the ultimate source of that information.”
“He must be returned to us.”
“Ah,” said Zamyatin, “precisely what we had in mind.” He enjoyed the look of surprise that flashed on the President’s face. “We would like to return Dr. Krone to you along with his charming companion.”
“You just kidnapped him; now you want to return him,” the President said, with mild scorn. “What’s the rest of the deal?”
“The deal,” Zamyatin said carefully, “the deal is an exchange. The two people for the complete set of those.” His eyes went to the charred lab book that still sat, momentarily overlooked, beside the President. “Krone is of no use to us in his present state. We want those lab books and any other written or computerized records.”
“Mr. President,” General Whitehead said in a low warning voice, “we don’t know what sort of valuable information may be in those.”
“Of course you don’t,” Zamyatin snapped, his gaze fixed on the
President, “not the way you have bungled this affair. Mr. President, there is undoubtedly information in those books that would be considered priceless for defense matters under ordinary circumstances. We are not concerned with that now, nor can you afford to be.
“Mr. President,” the Russian’s voice turned cold and hard, “you have delivered a mortal blow to my country, your country, the very planet itself. There is the merest wisp of hope that the peril can be removed. The Soviet Union is prepared to take any steps that may rescue us from the monumental insanity that you have visited upon us.
“First,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone, “we must understand the problem in minute detail. That means knowing what is in those books and other records, and in the mind of Paul Krone. We have Krone, you have the records and the sophisticated medical techniques that may restore Krone’s health. We will swap.”
“You must return Krone,” the President said firmly, “but we do not need your spy; you can keep the woman.”
“Spy?” Zamyatin cracked a small smile. “Yes, she is one of us, an illegal escapee, but no spy. Let us say she was merely susceptible to persuasion, a family in the old country, you understand? And you do need her. She is the only contact with the man. Yes, we could keep her, exact the usual punishment, but we believe her presence will hasten the day that Krone becomes rational and useful. You see we are trying to be reasonable.
“Of course,” the Russian shrugged, “we will also send a more reliable representative to monitor your progress with Krone. We expect you to relay to us every scrap you learn from him.”
“That’s outrageous,” the President said, “you can’t expect us to put one of our citizens under a microscope for your pleasure.”
“The outrage has already been committed,” Zamyatin replied, coolly. “You will put Krone under that microscope to serve your own ends. We are merely asking you to share the proceeds.
“Mr. President,” Zamyatin continued, his voice suddenly friendly, “I think you do not adequately appreciate the spirit of the offer we are making. There is no shrinking from your ultimate responsibility here, but the problem is immense and complex. We do not demand Krone and his records. You will have Krone and his machine, and, of course, you will keep a copy of the records. We must share this information and seek a common solution to our common peril.
The Krone Experiment Page 37