by David Capps
Jake ran his hand over the smooth white surface. The bomb rested on a wheeled carriage so it could be easily moved from one place to another. He looked at the direction the wheels were pointed and shoved the bomb in the direction of the wheels. He glanced at Honi. She had a severe grimace on her face. Stafford was smiling. The bomb moved about an inch.
“Twenty four hundred pounds?” Jake asked.
“Twenty four hundred and eight,” Stafford replied.
Jake shoved the remaining three bombs. Each one moved about an inch.
“And the bunker farm?”
“Past the building,” the Captain replied. “That way.” He pointed toward the back of the building.
“Let’s go. I want to check every one of them.”
Stafford raised his eyebrows. “There’re 147 bunkers back there.”
“Then we should get started.”
The army Captain handed the large ring of keys to Stafford. “Have fun, sir. You should finish sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thanks,” Stafford replied dryly.
They climbed back into the HUMVEE and headed out back. The bunker farm was surrounded by twin twelve-foot-high fences topped with double rows of razor wire. After having their IDs checked one more time, they passed through the only set of gates. Roving teams of K-9 units patrolled between the two fences. The bunkers were set down into the ground and covered with concrete and dirt. The front of each bunker consisted of a concrete wall with twin heavy steel doors in the center. Each bunker was 500 yards from its neighbor.
“If someone has been secretly working inside one or more of these bunkers, it would probably be as far out of sight as they could get,” Jake said. “So that’s where we start.”
The driver took them to the far edge of the bunkers. The heavens above were black with clear skies and twinkling stars. Just like sailing at night on the ocean, Jake thought. Quiet and peaceful. Three bunkers sat in a short row. The rest were in a twelve-by-twelve grid pattern. Stafford sorted through the keys and unlocked the doors. Jake and Honi looked through each bunker with their flashlights. Jake shoved each bomb, which moved an inch. Honi grimaced each time. Then Stafford closed and locked each door, and they drove on to the next one.
“You said there was a roving security team inside the bunker farm?” Jake asked.
“Yes. Team three.”
“Why haven’t we seen them?”
Stafford grabbed his radio. “Team three, this is Major Stafford. Report your position.”
“Copy, Major. We’re in the southwest corner, passing bunker 22, over.”
“Status?”
“All quiet, everything locked up tight as a drum.”
“Copy,” Stafford replied. He looked at the bunker number: 127. Team three would be at the opposite corner of the bunker farm. He unlocked the steel doors and pulled them open. Jake and Honi aimed their flashlights into the bunker. The light reflected off the bright white paint on the bomb. The back of the bunker looked bumpy. Jake and Honi approached. The bumps were under a camo tarp. Jake grabbed the corner of the tarp and yanked.
Five bodies in army uniforms were laid out on the bunker floor, blood smeared on their clothes and on the ground.
“Major Stafford,” Jake called out. “How many members on team three?”
“Six,” Stafford replied walking into the bunker.
“And only one with a radio, right?”
“Dammit!”
Jake walked to the front of the bomb and shoved. It rolled back two feet. Jake set his flashlight down and wrapped his hands around the nose cone of the bomb. He lifted the bomb up an inch and set it back down.
“It’s empty.”
Stafford knelt down and examined the hand and fingers of one of the dead soldiers. “Cool, but not cold,” Stafford observed. “No rigor. This was recent, an hour, maybe less. Suppressed weapon or we would have heard it.” Stafford examined the wounds. “Shot in the neck, close range, stippling on the skin. These two were shot from the back, this one from the side, and these two in the face.”
“Where’s the nearest gate?” Jake asked.
“Northwest, about four miles.”
“Call them.”
Stafford grabbed his radio. “Northwest gate, this is Major Stafford. Status check.”
“No activity, sir. All’s quiet.”
“Copy.”
“You wanna bet?” Jake asked.
“One guy left with the radio, I know,” Stafford replied as they ran for the HUMVEE. Stafford pulled his cell phone and checked for bars. “Weak, but it should work.”
“Using the radio will alert the guy at the gate, right?” Honi asked.
“Exactly,” Stafford replied as he dialed. “This is Major Stafford. We have a security breach at the northwest gate. I want two UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters in the air searching that road, probable heavy truck. Half hour head start.”
Stafford disconnected and stared at his phone. “This is the call I never wanted to make.” He dialed the National Military Command Center.
“NMCC,” a woman’s voice said.
“Listen carefully,” Stafford said. He gave his name, rank and service number.
“Verifying...Voice print verified, Major Stafford. Patching you through to General Ward.”
“General Ward, this is Major Stafford, US Army Intelligence and Security Command. We have an incident, sir. Code word PINNACLE, BENT SPEAR. I say again, PINNACLE, BENT SPEAR. Fort Hood, northwest gate, we are in pursuit of a truck, estimate a half hour ahead of us.”
“Confirm. PINNACLE, BENT SPEAR,” General Ward said.
“I confirm. PINNACLE, BENT SPEAR.”
“What assets do you need?”
“I need IR satellite coverage of the area, two loaded F-16’s in the air. I need every connecting road blocked off by any means necessary. I have two Black Hawks inbound from Fort Hood, heading northwest. I do not want those shot down by accident, sir.”
“Affirmative, Major. Two friendlies inbound heading northwest from Fort Hood. Two F-16s, everything else is no-fly.”
“Thank you, General.” Stafford disconnected. He took a deep breath as the HUMVEE bounced along the gravel road.
“Okay,” Honi said. “NMCC is the National Military Command Center. What is PINNACLE and BENT SPEAR?”
Stafford had a grave look on his face. “PINNACLE is the code word for our nation’s highest adverse incident, one that threatens our national security. BENT SPEAR is the code word for a lost or missing nuclear weapon with the potential of starting a nuclear war.”
The HUMVEE slowed as they approached the gate in the line of two fences with razor wire on top. Stafford drew his .45 automatic. The gates were standing open, no one in sight. Even the K-9 units were gone.
“Go on through,” Stafford ordered. The driver accelerated through and took the gravel road to the right. Eight minutes later they arrived at the northwest gate to Fort Hood. It, too, stood open and unguarded.
Jake looked around. “Five more bodies back in the shrubs?”
“Probably. Let’s go!” Stafford shouted. “We’ve got to catch that truck!”
Just then two Black Hawk helicopters swooped overhead, searchlights illuminating the road. The downwash from the blades filled the air with dust. The HUMVEE driver slowed until the air cleared sufficiently to see the road again, and then he hit the gas.
Stafford’s secure phone rang. “Major Stafford,” he answered. “Thank you, sir.”
“All available avenues of escape have been blocked. We have them boxed in.”
Five minutes later Stafford’s radio crackled to life. “Major Stafford, this is Black Hawk Alpha. We located the target. We laid down a stream of live fire in front of the truck. It has stopped. We can see two men in the front of the vehicle. No one else visible at this time, sir. Holding here until you arrive.”
“Affirmative, Black Hawk Alpha. Hold there. How far are you from the gate?”
“Twenty-five clicks, Major.”
“Clicks and mikes?” Honi asked.
Stafford grinned. “A click is a kilometer, about six tenths of a mile. A mike is a minute.”
Fifteen minutes later they approached the back of the large truck. Camo colored canvas covered the cargo area. The truck was bracketed front and back by the two Black Hawk helicopters. The choppers held a sideward position to the truck, each one with an M-60 machine gun aimed at the vehicle on the road. Stafford, Jake and Honi exited the HUMVEE, weapons drawn. They ran in a crouch and spread out amid the swirling dust and downwash, encircling the truck. The two soldiers in the front of the truck rolled the windows down, and extended their arms out of the openings.
The sound from the helicopters was deafening. Jake motioned for the soldiers inside the truck to exit. The doors opened and the two men slid out of the truck, arms raised in the air. Jake pointed to the ground. The two men dropped to their knees and placed their hands on the top of their heads. Jake and Stafford came up from behind, placed the two men in handcuffs, and patted then down for weapons, while Honi kept them covered.
“That was easy enough,” Stafford said.
“Yeah,” Jake replied. “Too easy.” He went to the back of the covered truck and threw open the canvas. The truck was empty.
CHAPTER 10
Jake, Honi and Major Stafford flew back to Fort Hood on Black Hawk Alpha, while the two prisoners were transported on the second helicopter. Black Hawk Alpha landed in the parking lot in front of the Tactical Command Center. Once inside, they connected to the Infra-Red satellite image General Ward had initiated.
“Okay, here we are,” Stafford said pointing to the heat signature of the HUMVEE at the northwest gate. “Out here is the truck, and here,” Stafford pointed to the two fast-moving heat sources crossing over the gate, “are the two Black Hawk helicopters in pursuit of the truck.”
“But the truck was empty,” Honi said. “Can you back the image out so we can see a wider area?”
“Sure.” Stafford made the adjustments. They stood, examining the complex image that covered 400 square miles.
“Can you keep this view and start the file from the beginning?”
Stafford restarted the image. Five seconds later Honi said, “Run it again.”
He typed in the commands and the image started again.
“Freeze it right there.”
He froze the motion on the image.
“There, on the far right of the screen. What is that?”
“It could be a third helicopter. It’s moving too fast to be on the ground. It’s on the screen for only a few seconds and then it’s out of range.”
Honi pulled her phone and dialed. “Deputy Director Ellington? It’s Honi. Can you contact the NRO and see if they have IR satellite coverage they can send us?” She gave him the GPS coordinates and the time frame. “Thanks.”
Stafford was disconnecting his own phone call. “Radar at the Fort Hood Airfield didn’t record anything. If it’s a helicopter, it was tree-hopping.”
Honi’s phone rang. “Badger.” She listened. “Thank you, sir.” She disconnected. “National Reconnaissance Office file on its way to your secure link.”
Stafford accessed the file and the image appeared on the screen. “Here we are at bunker 127. And here we are, on the way to the northwest gate.” Stafford watched the time stamp. “I made the call about here.” Thirty seconds later the first faint heat signature appeared. “There’s the first Black Hawk, engine spinning up.” A second faint image appeared close to the first. “There’s the second Black Hawk.” The images grew brighter as the engine heat increased.
“Over here,” Honi said. A third image, away from the airfield, appeared and brightened.
Stafford looked at the image closely. “It’s a third Black Hawk.”
“Could it lift the guts to a B83?” Jake asked.
“Yep, no problem.”
“So if they had the bomb for a half hour or more, why did they wait so long to take off?”
“Helicopters are loud. They make a very recognizable sound when they warm up and take off. Teague must have known we would find the bodies and the empty bomb casing. It was just a matter of time. So he planned this little diversion on the same escape route he used with the first warhead, and I fell for it.”
“We all did,” Honi said.
“He knew we would use a team of Black Hawks to track down the truck, so he waited. No one would notice the noise from a third helicopter taking off at the same time. He had to figure it would be night when we found a bomb missing.”
“So where did it go?” Jake asked.
They turned back to the IR satellite display and followed the heat signature due east, off the base and over to a bright string of lights, running north and south, where it merged with the other heat signatures.
“They turned north over the I-35 corridor and slowed down. The helicopter just blends into the heat sources on the highway,” Stafford said. He picked up the phone and dialed. “I want those two F-16s to swing east to the I-35 corridor and then north toward Fort Worth, radar sweep on everything in the air.”
They watched until the IR satellite moved out of range and they lost the helicopter somewhere south of Fort Worth. Stafford checked his watch. “They could be 120 miles away by now, and still moving.”
“Or they could have landed and moved the bomb to another vehicle,” Jake said. He pulled his phone and called his boss. “I need every agent in the Dallas/Fort Worth area woke up, called in, and searching every small airport, hanger or industrial building large enough to land and hide a Black Hawk helicopter.” He listened. “Yes, it’s that important. Are you familiar with the code words PINNACLE and BENT SPEAR?” He paused. “I thought you might be. It’s that important.” He disconnected.
“Now what,” Honi asked.
“Now we get every team of nuclear weapon technicians on the base out there and make sure we aren’t missing any more bombs,” Jake replied.
* * *
The darkness slowly yielded to the light blue of early dawn at Fort Hood as Major Bob Stafford stood, fists on his hips, watching the first of three C-130 cargo planes land and taxi over near the hangers. The back ramp lowered and an aircraft tow vehicle drove up the incline and into the cargo bay. Two minutes later it slowly backed out, its long forward boom attached to a small helicopter. The long blades were folded back over the fuselage and strapped in place.
Jake approached and stood next to Stafford.
“First two of six,” Stafford said. “Your boss knows how to get things done.”
“He does. Nuclear Emergency Support Team, or NEST units.” The helicopters carried a sophisticated sensor package attached to their undercarriage. From a height of 100 to 150 feet, they would sweep back and forth over the search area to locate any radioactive sources or materials. Those identified radioactive locations would then be searched by ground teams.
The flight crew unfolded the blades on the first helicopter as the tow vehicle pulled the second unit from the back of the C-130. The blades were opened and locked into position. The fuel truck approached, stopped and its crew filled the tank on the chopper. The flight crew climbed aboard and started the engine. Sixty seconds later it took to the air and headed north.
* * *
For the last four hours, soldiers from Fort Hood had been mobilized, loaded into troop trucks, and deployed to the Dallas/Fort Worth area, in cooperation with the FBI, to locate the missing nuclear bomb.
The FBI had run several nuclear based exercises over the years partnering with the Air Force, Marines and the Army. Most of the training in the past had been focused on dirty bombs; traditional explosives with a radioactive component. Critics of the training complained that the exercises had been stacked in favor of a positive outcome, for political or public relations reasons. This one, however, was no exercise. This was real. A fully functional thermonuclear bomb, with a 15-mile blast radius,
had been stolen. This single device contained enough explosive force to incinerate over 700 square miles in a matter of a few seconds. Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas were the closest targets.
FEMA and Homeland Security were now involved, as well. Evacuating the two cities would only add to the chaos and bring the search to a standstill. Local radio and television stations had been provided with the cover story that a massive exercise was underway, and that this was only a drill; no one was in danger. People were told to remain calm and continue with their daily routine.
“You said we had two potential target cities,” Stafford said. “Now we have two missing nuclear weapons.”
“New York and Washington,” Jake replied.
“So how does Dallas or Fort Worth fit into that scenario?”
“I don’t know. There are just too many things that aren’t adding up.”
“Well, something better start adding up, and pretty damn quick,” Stafford said, staring at Jake. “Because a missing hydrogen bomb is scaring the crap out of me. Not to mention that they stole it right from under my nose. This is as personal as it gets!”
Jake’s phone buzzed: text from Briggs. “All of the airports have been searched. No sign of the Black Hawk.”
Stafford lowered his head and walked slowly back to the HUMVEE. Jake joined him as they returned to the Tactical Command Center. Fort Hood looked almost deserted. Every available soldier was deployed in the search.
“Anything?” Jake asked as he entered the room.
Honi shook her head. “I’ve been going over IR satellite scans from the NRO, and nothing so far. Ellington said the Director of National Intelligence has everybody called in, going over every square inch of our satellite coverage. I hope they find something, because right now, we’re stuck.”
Jake turned to Stafford. “Major, I’m just curious about something. Is there any way we can go back and find out if Secretary Cooper had any input or control over General Teague being assigned to command Fort Hood?”
“I can check. I just don’t see how it’s relevant to what’s happening now.”
“It may not be. But operations of this size don’t get planned overnight. If Teague and the Secretary are connected, it might give us some feel for how far back this whole thing goes.”