Despite its size and complexity, it was a perfect example of simplicity and functionality. It weighed less than thirty thousand pounds, less than half the weight of the chemical laser it was replacing. The inertial confinement chamber was a simple reengineering of the plasma-yield warhead Jon Masters had invented years earlier—instead of simply releasing the plasma energy created inside, the chamber was designed to channel it to the laser generator. It used virtually no power—just enough to light up the diode lasers inside the confinement chamber and to keep the magnetrons firing.
Unfortunately, that was the problem—and Kelsey’s current headache. “How’s it looking, Kelsey?” Jon asked, ignoring Cheryl’s concerned expression—better get a status update fast before Cheryl decided to escort her daughter out of here.
“Horrible,” Kelsey said. “I still haven’t been able to control the heat buildup and keep it away from the magnetrons.”
“That’s a problem I never had to contend with,” Jon admitted. “With the plasma-yield warhead, I wanted to let the heat build up—we got a bigger plasma field and we could do more damage. Here, we want to control it.”
It took an incredible amount of heat to create a plasma field—a hundred million degrees Fahrenheit, ten times hotter than the sun. The heat only lasted for a tiny fraction of a second, but it was still devastating to ordinary manmade materials. Further, cooling the sphere or magnetrons was not an option—the only way to do away with the heat was to build the heat up enough to create a plasma field, at which instant it would cool to safe limits and the plasma field would disappear. Even if the creation of the plasma fields were pulsed, excess heat eventually built up to the point where even the strongest materials would begin to corrode and weaken.
“What’s the pulse interval looking like?”
“The optimum safe range is between ten and twenty-five milliseconds,” Kelsey replied, “but I only get a yield of point four one megawatts—almost half the level of the chemical laser we’re replacing. Not good.” Kelsey had been experimenting with trying to vary the spacing between plasma pulses. Spacing the pulses out farther resulted in manageable levels of heat but decreased the power available to the laser generators. “If I can go to five to ten milliseconds I can get to one megawatt of power. I’m shooting for one millisecond—then I can beat TRW’s chemical laser output by twenty-five percent. But at that power level, I can get maybe ten ten-second shots off before the magnetrons let go.”
“Letting go” was a nice way of saying “exploding.” The magnetrons in the confinement chamber served two purposes: they squeezed the plasma energy down to a smaller size to increase the power of the plasma field, and it then channeled the plasma stream into the laser generator. The magnetrons signaled imminent failure by vibrating rapidly as the magnetic material began to disintegrate molecularly and the magnetic fields began alternately attracting, then repelling one another at incredible speed. If the magnetrons failed and the plasma reaction wasn’t stopped in time, the plasma field would grow uncontrollably, unleashing one hundred million degrees of destruction on anything within one or two miles.
Building two smaller confinement chambers instead of one large one was an option, but there wasn’t enough room for two of the right size in the B-52’s fuselage; besides, Jon’s and Kelsey’s initial computations suggested that one large confinement chamber would do the trick, so they went for it, and now it would take weeks, maybe months, to redesign everything for two chambers.
“I don’t think we have any choice—we drop back ten, punt, and go for two confinement chambers,” Jon said. “We need to build a little more safety into the system too, or else we can’t market to the Pentagon. We need to get more than thirty shots and we need at least one point five megawatts, preferably two megawatts.”
“I know I can do it,” Kelsey said. “By varying the time between plasma pulses, making bigger magnetrons, increasing the power to the magnetrons, adding more laser generators, and perhaps redesigning the oscillator, I think we can get one point five megawatts out of this system with a good margin of safety. Those changes would be simpler than tearing everything apart and redoing it with two smaller confinement chambers.”
“Frankly, Kels, we make more of a splash with a two- megawatt system even if we only get ten to twelve safe shots out of it,” Jon said. “It’s not important now—tuning up an unworkable system is a mental exercise, not a business one. We’ll redesign the system for two confinement chambers.” He squeezed her shoulders appreciatively. “You’ve done an extraordinary job, young lady. You’ve designed and built a powerful, sophisticated laser pumping system that’s never been tried before, and in record time. It’s got some bugs, but we’ve actually fielded a working system. You should be proud of that. Let’s let the concept engineers work on the new drawings and take a break from this one for now.”
“Okay, Jon,” Kelsey said.
Jon Masters nodded, winked at Cheryl, then headed for the door, fully expecting Kelsey to follow him, even holding his hand as she sometimes did. But Jon was out the door before he realized that Kelsey had not followed him—had, in fact, not even gotten up out of her chair.
He was about to go back inside and ask her—no, order her—to get up and go home. But then Cheryl reached over and, instead of taking her daughter out of there or trying to convince her that she needed her sleep, started to massage her daughter’s little shoulders.
Who was abusing whom here? Jon asked himself. Did Cheryl want the best for her daughter, or was she mostly interested in making sure she was happy—and what in heck was the difference? Jon wasn’t a parent—he could never know the answer to that question. The closest he came to family had been Paul and Patrick McLanahan— one was dead, the other an emotional wreck.
Best to just get out of there and let them have their time together, Jon thought. Cheryl obviously treasured even these little moments, as long as they could be together— even if it was at the control terminal of a fifty-million-dollar laser.
PRESIDENT ANWAR SADAT UNITY
STADIUM, CAIRO EGYPT
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
“My brothers and sisters, may God bless and protect you, and may He grant all of us everlasting peace and happiness,” Egyptian president Susan Bailey Salaam began. The military memorial service for the slain, injured, and missing of Mersa Matruh had concluded, and then came the political rally and the speeches. Last to step up to the dais was the president herself, making her first political speech since taking office. The cheering was deafening: It rattled seats, made the flags high atop the rim of the stadium flutter, and even caused car alarms in the parking lot outside to go off.
“We are here to pray for the victims of the terrible tragedy that claimed so many lives,” Susan went on. “I pledge to you, on the memory of my beloved husband, to work tirelessly to bring to justice those that perpetrated that horrible deed. They will be brought before the people of Egypt, and they will feel our wrath—this I guarantee you.
“But we are here not just for vengeance or retribution, but to profess our strength and unity in the eyes of God and to everyone in the world,” Salaam went on. “None may challenge us. None may stay our hands or our voices, because God is on the side of the believers, and he will defend and protect those who stand for justice and peace.”
Seated beside her, General Ahmad Baris, Egypt’s new foreign minister, looked on, applauding enthusiastically and rising from his seat each time she was given a standing ovation. Outwardly, he was proud and overwhelmed by the effusive show of support for his friend ...
... but inwardly, he was confused and, yes, a little frightened.
“My friends, we are here in the presence of God for one reason: to show Him that the faith, the solidarity, and the unity of His people is stronger than ever. We have an opportunity to do exactly that.
“We have seen the birth of an exciting and promising new venture: the opening of the Salimah oil project to all Arab workers. My goal is simple but powerful: share the w
ealth of our land with all of our Arab brothers and sisters. We have opened our borders to friends. We pledge Egypt’s protection and support to all who enter peacefully. Salimah promises full employment, wealth, and happiness to anyone who is willing to take a chance and brave the Sahara. Egypt recognizes the bravery and sacrifice of everyone who ventures to Salimah, and we will defend and protect you in your travels and your labors—this I promise.”
After waiting nearly a full minute for the applause to die down, Susan continued: “My friends, the spirit and promise of Salimah shows us one important ideal: that if we work together, we truly can be happy, wealthy, and fulfilled children of God. That important ideal is unity. We must become as one. Salimah is only the beginning. You can look out across that wasteland and see nothing but sand and rock, but I see much more: I see one people, one message, one common goal: peace, prosperity, and happiness. I see the future, secure and full of hope and promise for our children. I see ah Arabs and all Africans working together to secure our borders, sharing in the wealth of our land and our seas, and contributing to a brave new society where we show the world what it’s like to be free. I see our future, my brothers and sisters: I see the new United Arab Republic. God wills it, my brothers and sisters, and so let it be done.”
The cheers and joyful screaming reached an almost feverish pitch. This is what the crowd had been waiting for, and now they had heard it from the “queen’s” own lips: She was calling for the formation of the United Arab Republic.
It was not a new idea. In 1958, Egypt formed a United Arab Republic, mostly to fight against lingering European domination in Middle East affairs. With Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser as its leader, the United Arab Republic flourished for three years and grew strong; the Republic was largely responsible for reuniting the Arab world following its defeat in the first Arab-Israeli War, and for strengthening the individual power of its member nations by removing foreign domination of Arab interests and instituting self-rule and determination.
The United Arab Republic foundered for a variety of reasons: The nations involved were too diverse, too wrapped up in their own domestic difficulties, and too dependent on non-Arab nations, mostly the Soviet Union, for their military strength. But assembling a new United Arab Republic was a dream of almost every Arab leader since the fall of the first—if Europe could establish a European Union, as different as they all were in language, geography, wealth, and history, why couldn’t the Arab world do so as well?
Susan Bailey Salaam’s speech did not last longer than a few minutes—but the crowd cheered and applauded her for almost fifteen. It was truly an awe-inspiring demonstration of trust, loyalty, love, and respect for the American-born non-Muslim wife of a slain politician . ..
... for everyone except Jadallah Zuwayy. “There she goes again—calling for a United Arab Republic!” he shouted at the television set in his office at the Royal Palace in Tripoli, United Kingdom of Libya. “How dare she? Who does she think she is—Nasser? Kennedy? Cleopatra?” Zuwayy got up out of his seat and started stalking the room. “I thought we had a deal to get a piece of Salimah, Juma,” he said to his Minister of Arab Unity, Juma Mahmud Hijazi. “What happened?”
“The deal was that we got twenty percent from Salaam once we paid for ten percent to the cartel,” Hijazi replied. “About nine hundred million American dollars.”
“Nine hundred million dollars? That’s insane! I’m not going to pay any bunch of European bastards or anyone else almost a billion dollars!”
“They insisted on their money up front—we couldn’t get them to agree to take the fee out of our royalties,” Hijazi went on.
“Jadallah, let’s just pitch in and buy the damned shares so Salaam will release her shares and we can start taking in some cash,” Tahir Fazani, the Minister of Defense, said. “In exchange for this investment to the cartel, we’ll be receiving one point eight billion dollars U.S. worth of value in the organization.”
“What good is that to me?” Zuwayy thundered. “I don’t have a billion dollars to spend!”
“We’ll earn that investment back in less than three years if the cartel increases production as planned,” Fazani added. “With an additional investment, we can enlarge the size of the new pipeline and—”
“Now you want me to pay more!” Zuwayy thundered. “Did you hear what I said? I don’t have a billion dollars to invest now—how do you expect me to invest more? And just breaking even in three years doesn’t exactly appeal to me either—while I’m waiting for my money, Salaam and the fat cats in Europe and America are raking in money hand over fist. It’s not right, and I won’t stand for it!”
“Jadallah, if the project is expanded, we can all stand to make an enormous profit in coming years,” Hijazi said. “And in the meantime, the cartel is providing employment for thousands of Libyans.”
“That’s another question we’re going to tackle—taxing Libyans working in Egypt!” Zuwayy said. “Why should our people pay Egyptian taxes?” He slapped his desktop. “I want Salimah destroyed, Fazani. I want it nuked, then I want to send in a ground force and take the entire complex. We’ve got the troops in place, lined up in Libya and Sudan—let’s do it.”
“Don’t be crazy, Jadallah. We’ll think of something else.”
“I want all Libyan workers to return to this country or they’ll be considered traitors and enemies of the state,” Zuwayy said hotly.
“We’ve got over twenty thousand workers in Egypt right now,” Hijazi said. “It’ll take weeks to get them back.”
“And I want Salimah shut down,” Zuwayy went on. “Use those neutron weapons again—that’ll work. We kill all the foreigners and Egyptians, and then we can just march right in and take over.”
“But what if Salaam calls up those American bombers again?” Fazani asked. “We’ll get clobbered. We haven’t found a way to stop them—we don’t even know where they came from or what they are!”
Zuwayy turned angrily on Tahir Fazani. “You will do as I tell you, Fazani, or you can turn in your uniform and get out.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Jadallah—we’re all working together on this, remember?” Fazani said. The two men stared at each other for several long moments—Zuwayy looked almost psychotic, Fazani’s expression turning from angry to scared and back to angry again.
“Do it, Fazani,” Zuwayy told him. “I want the bombers airborne or the missiles on their way by tomorrow night. I’ll give Salaam one more chance to conclude our deal— and if she doesn’t agree, I’ll turn her precious oil fields into a graveyard.”
THE WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE
DAYS LATER
“President Salaam, this is Thomas Thom. It is a pleasure to speak with you,” President Thomas Thom said. He was on a secure videophone link from his study next to the Oval Office. “I’m here in my study with Secretary of State Kercheval and Secretary of Defense Goff.”
“It’s a pleasure to speak with you, Mr. President,” Susan Bailey Salaam replied. “With me is my senior adviser and defense minister, General Ahmad Baris. Thank you for speaking with me.”
“First, Madame Salaam, I’d like to extend my sympathy and condolences for the terrible tragedy that has occurred in Egypt,” Thom went on. “All of the relief, rescue and recovery, and scientific resources of the United States are yours for the asking.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. The United States has long been a strong ally of Egypt, and I hope this will continue.”
“You’re welcome, Madame President. Let’s get down to business, shall we? Secretary Kercheval?”
“Thank you, Mr. President. Madame President, I understand you have received a message direct from the king of Libya,” Secretary Kercheval said without further preamble, “stating that a situation has developed involving the safety of Libyan workers in Egypt, and that the Libyan government sees this as a direct threat to its national security and peace in Africa. King Idris has said that it is unsafe for Libyan workers in Salimah and he has ordered all Lib
yan workers to leave Egypt immediately. He also warns Egypt to use every resource to protect Libyan lives.”
“You are very well informed, Mr. Kercheval,” Susan said.
“Our intelligence agencies have examined the situation, and we’ve analyzed all of the press reports coming in from Egypt from news agencies all over the world covering the explosive growth of the Salimah complex, and we don’t see any evidence of mistreatment,” Kercheval went on. “If anything, we see a very high incidence of anti-Egyptian government sentiment rising in the settlements and housing areas, but mostly from non-Arab countries that resent the sudden and very large influx of Arab workers. That represents a slight danger for Arabs, but not targeted specifically against Libyans, in our view.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Kercheval.”
“But despite this, you believe this threat to be credible? You actually believe that Idris will attack Salimah, even if there are Libyans still working there?”
“I do, sir.”
“Are you considering military action of your own?” Secretary Goff asked. “Some kind of preemptive strike?”
“Fully one-fifth of our military forces were decimated at Mersa Matruh, including almost a third of our naval forces,” Salaam said. “We redeployed troops to protect the capital; we have only a token ground force in Salimah. General Baris informs me that it would take several weeks at a minimum to recall the reserves and generate enough forces to stage an effective attack. Besides, we don’t want to make war on Libya.”
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