Epilogue
Those who knew well the man sitting at the head of the table called him Butch. He let his subordinates call him by his last name, Monaco. Even at age sixty-three he was tall and straight and lean and lanky. A smooth scar a centimeter in width ran the length of his cheek from the corner of his mouth to the spot where his earlobe met his head. The reminder stood out most when his skin was tanned, like now. When asked, he’d always told different versions of over a dozen stories. A single version of one of those stories contained the truth. Only Butch knew which. Despite the danger that plagued his life for so long, he had aged well. Aside from a few wrinkles around his eyes and his mouth, he looked much the same as he did the last time he held a secret meeting in Aspen, Colorado.
He couldn’t say the same for the five men he knew in the room. They’d gone bald, or had bellies that hung over their guts, or sprouted double chins, or had faces that looked like scuffed leather. Taken as a whole, the description described one of the men to a tee. The rest were some variation. He let three of those men call him Butch. Two addressed him as Monaco.
The other five men at the table were unknown. And chances were that the last time he held a meeting around that same table in that same room, those five guys were in high school or college. Perhaps they’d had some experience since then. Maybe not. At least not the kind Butch accepted. It didn’t matter, because he needed ten men in the room for the meeting and the other five original members of the group were dead. Some from natural causes. The others, not so much.
Butch Monaco looked at every man in turn. The blank stares returned to him said more than words ever could. None of them wanted to be there that day. Hell, even Butch had a knot in his stomach. Up till this point, the purpose of the meeting had been left unstated. Too many words led to too many trails which led to people in Butch’s position being sentenced to life in prison or death by firing squad, if you lived in the right state. The rest got the chair or an lethal dose injected into them. They go to sleep, never to wake. And if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that every man in the room deserved it.
So the meeting had been arranged in a private manner. The only guy Butch trusted, Waldron, went man to man, speaking in a code that only twelve people knew. He found all of them, minus one, Goetz, who had disappeared four years ago and hadn’t been heard from since.
Like the previous meeting in Aspen, there would be no documentation. Nothing would be recorded. And every man in the room would deny ever having been in Colorado that day. What need was there? They all knew that it had to be done, and they were the only ones who could sanction it.
And what was the purpose of the meeting Butch Monaco held that day? The organization they had formed over twenty years ago had to be shut down.
And to do so, secrets had to be eliminated. The men who held those secrets, at least the ones outside of the room, had to die.
Butch drummed the fingers of his right hand on the table, tips to pads to knuckle, growing in intensity. Chatter died down like the tail end of rolling thunder. When all eyes were on him, Butch took a sip from his glass of water, then set it down near the edge of the table. Condensation ringed the bottom. Enough vibration, and it might carry the glass over the side.
Rising, Butch addressed the group. “In 1991, eleven of us met in this same exact room. That meeting, like today’s, was unprecedented, unsanctioned, unrecorded, and never happened.”
The five men who had been there twenty-two years ago smiled.
The others glanced around the room. Two shrugged. One lifted an eyebrow. The other two remained stoic. They all knew the outcome. None of them knew the story of how it started.
Butch continued. “We all know what we did that day. We might describe it in different ways, depending on who we’re speaking with. I’m sure there are those who consider us prognosticators, considering that we were ahead of the rest of Washington and every intelligence agency in so many ways. I know I consider us the original Homeland Security. A decade ahead of our time.”
A man named Davinski chuckled. Butch cut right through him with a cross look. Davinski brought a fist up and coughed into it. His cheeks puffed out and his face turned red.
“What we created, our own police force that could operate anywhere, anytime, and without scrutiny, was a beautiful thing twenty some years ago. Hell, most people, even high ranking, never even heard of our baby. We dodged some bullets, of course, but for the most part, over two long decades, it operated flawlessly. Then, a few months ago some intelligence fell into the wrong hands. Possibly through the aide of someone in this organization. We know of at least one agent who was working for the other side. She’s dead now. But there could be more. On its own, this is not the issue, for we’ve dealt with such things in the past. This group has been great at policing itself, and we’ve used them for it. But this time, it goes too high. It is above all of you. Above me. Someone, and I can’t name who, has ordered this thing shut down, or it will be us who’ll pay the price.”
The man seated at the opposite end of the table lifted his hand in the air. Butch stared him down for a few seconds. Said, “Name?”
The guy rose. “Ballard, sir. Joe Ballard.”
“You’ve got a comment, or a question?”
Ballard ran his right hand through his short black hair. Flecks of silver caught the sunlight coming in through the panoramic window behind him. “What if one of us were to object to what you’re proposing?”
“Then you won’t leave Aspen alive.”
The guy straightened, held his left hand out in front, fingers splayed. “So you’re saying that—”
“Shut up, Ballard, and listen to me. There is no choice here. We are not taking a vote. And what’s more, you don’t have a say in this thing. The SIS is being shut down, and all members, current and former are to be eliminated. That clear?”
Ballard said, “Crystal, sir.”
Butch waited for the guy to sit back down. Then he picked up a folder on the table to his right. Inside were a dozen copies of the same information. He handed five to his right, six to his left. The men each kept one and passed the rest down.
“First, these are to be handed back to me in a minute.”
“What’s the point then?” Davinski said.
“The point is that I want you all to look over this list and tell me if you object to any of the names on it.”
“There’s gotta be fifty names here.”
Butch hiked his shoulders an inch, and said, “And?”
Davinski had no response. His gaze, like the gazes of all the men in the room, shifted to the paper. Their eyes moved right to left repeatedly as they read the names to themselves. Butch felt his stomach tighten even more. He knew the five men who had been in the original meeting would not speak up. This was part of the weeding out process. Any man who objected could be a man who might leak what they planned to do. And a guy who would do that needed to be dealt with immediately.
At the other end of the table, one man lifted his hand.
“Yeah, Ballard?” Butch said.
“I know a name on here.”
“Who?”
“Jack Noble.”
“And do you object to Mr. Noble being on that list?”
Ballard looked down at the paper. The guy fidgeted, tapping his thumb against the table. He glanced up at Butch.
“Well?” Butch said.
“No. I knew him from the Marines is all. I have no objection to him being on this list.”
Other Books by L.T. Ryan
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Jack Noble Series
Noble Beginnings
A Deadly Distance
Thin Line
Noble Intentions Season One
Noble Intentions Season Two
Noble Intentions Season Three
Beyond Betrayal (Clarissa Abbot)
Noble Intentions Season Four - Coming May, 2014
Mitch Tanner Series
Untitled (Mitch Tanner 2) – Coming July, 2014
Untitled (Mitch Tanner 3) – Coming September, 2014
Affliction Z Series
Affliction Z: Patient Zero
Affliction Z: Abandoned Hope
Affliction Z: Book Three – Coming May/June, 2014
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The Critical Element
John L. Betcher
BOOKS IN THE “BECK” SUSPENSE/THRILLER SERIES
The 19th Element
The Missing Element
The Covert Element
The Exiled Element
The Critical Element
Copyright 2013 by John L. Betcher
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from John L. Betcher.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons or situations are coincidental.
www.johnbetcher.com
PROLOGUE
December 11th, 2012.
ALERT! MISSILE LAUNCH DETECTED.
Air Force Lieutenant Michael Avery had just poured himself a third lukewarm cup of coffee when the words flashed in urgent red across his communication console.
Until now, it had been an uneventful shift for Avery. The telescopes, radar installations, and other monitoring assets coordinated through his station deep inside the Cheyenne Mountain Air Force facility were functioning nominally. There hadn’t been so much as a single unidentified aircraft over the entire North American continent the whole day.
Avery straightened up in his chair and pulled his stomach close to the desk, shaking fatigue from his eyes. The chronometer on his console registered 0048 GMT – 1748 local time. Adrenaline began coursing through his system.
The lieutenant’s first job was to determine whether this alert reflected an actual missile launch, or a mere system anomaly. System glitches of this sort were rare, but they had to be ruled out.
Soon ancillary data began flowing from remote detection sites to the secondary monitors on Avery’s console. The earliest data – heat signatures and radar reflections from Defense Department satellites – arrived within seconds. Radar confirmation from the Aegis Ballistic Missile Detection System aboard the USS Bunker Hill guided missile cruiser in the Sea of Japan soon followed.
These reports confirmed the alert was no technical malfunction. A ballistic missile launch had, in fact, occurred. And North Korea was at the controls.
Avery redirected all data from his console to the white reflective panels blanketing the curved wall of the communications center. Nearly deserted sixty seconds ago, the center was now awash with personnel, both military and civilian. More streamed in through the passageway between the center’s double blast doors. Many took seats among the rows of concave computer stations that faced the wall displays. Others, off-shift backups and technical support, lined the center’s side walls, ready to lend aid should it be required.
Lieutenant Avery had confirmed the threat and spread the word. His job was done. From this point forward, higher level decision-makers – generals, admirals, the Secretary of Defense, and even the President of the United States – would make the calls concerning the U.S. response to this emerging threat.
Though information now flowed automatically in real time to all necessary personnel, Avery remained alert for any communications glitches that might require his attention. With the initial adrenaline rush dwindling, he decided he could spare a few seconds for a swallow of the now cold coffee – and to catch his breath – as he observed the ballistic missile threat unfolding before him.
In the fifty seconds it had taken for Avery to process the launch data and complete his duties, the blinking object on the projected world map had arced upward from North Korea’s Pyeongan Province and traced a green line several hundred kilometers due south across open water.
At least the missile hadn’t been aimed at South Korea, he thought, or Japan. His fingers tapped nervously beside the keyboard. The Philippines might still get hit, though.
At one minute fifty-nine seconds launch time, data from STRATCOM computers indicated that the rocket’s first stage had separated from the missile and fallen into the waters off the western coastline of South Korea. Ninety seconds later, the second stage separated somewhere over the South China Sea. The missile’s path continued southerly – directly toward the heart of the Philippine Island cluster.
One of nine unified commands in the U.S. Defense Department, United States Strategic Command (STRATCOM) shared the hardened bunker beneath Cheyenne Mountain with detachments of the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) and the United States Space Surveillance Network (SSN). Together these organizations bore primary responsibility for deterring strategic attacks on the United States and its allies by monitoring and tracking air and space-based threats.
Avery checked the missile’s altitude – 150 kilometers and still climbing. That was good news for Manila. A ballistic path to strike the Philippines would have peaked by now. Avery allowed his muscles to relax just a little. All the logical short range targets for North Korea’s aggression were now safe. But ballistic missiles can change direction in flight. Distant targets would not be so easy for NORAD and STRATCOM to identify.
It took a little more than an hour for the Command Director to issue an “all clear.” The rocket stages had fallen away – causing no apparent damage upon impact – and the missile, or what was left of it, was no longer on a ballistic course to strike Earth.
After fourteen years of trying, it appeared that North Korea had finally delivered a satellite into space.
* * *
On December 13th, the day after the missile firing, newscasters on North Korea’s state-run television station proudly proclaimed the successful launch of their country’s first satellite into space. The satellite was collecting data as designed, they said, and communications between the satellite and mission specialists in the launch control center were proceeding with regularity.
Outside Pyongyang, assessments of the mission’s success were not as generous. Several international sources reported that, upon achieving a less-than-ideal elliptical orbit, the satellite had begun an uncontrolled “tumbling” through space. Others alleged, the satellite had issued no communications whatsoever since achieving its orbital position on launch day. A New York Times headline read: “North Korean Satellite Is Most Likely Dead.”
Neither STRATCOM nor NORAD had issued public statements concerning the status of the earth’s newest piece of space hardware. Privately, however, Lieutenant Avery and his colleagues couldn’t suppress their pleasure at yet another North Korean failure.
* * *
For weeks after the launch, scientists and technicians stationed at Cheyenne Mountain, Diego Garcia Island, White Sands New Mexico and other monitoring stations around the globe kept their electronic “eyes” on the North Korean satellite. Their observations confirmed that the North Korean space craft had, indeed, failed to attain a stable attitude upon achieving orbit. In civilian terms, it was still tumbling.
In the political arena, North Korea persisted in its claim that the sole purpose of the missile launch had been to place its country’s very first “weather satellite” into orbit. The United States government, on the other hand, took the position that the launch amounted to a “thinly-veiled” test of North Korea’s ballistic missile technology, and a clear violation of UN Security Council resolutions aimed at restricting the rogue state’s nuclear and ballistic missile ambitions.
The U.S. wasn’t alone in its assessment. Other than the usual exceptions of Iran and Venezuela, international condemnation of the North Korean missile launch was unanimous. Even the People’s Republic of China, Pyongyang’s longti
me backer at the UN, had eventually joined in supporting strengthened Security Council sanctions against North Korea’s Supreme Leader, Kim Jong Un, and his repressive military regime.
* * *
By May, 2013, the political uproar over the provocative missile launch had died down, and U.S. space defenders had pretty much lost interest in the nonfunctioning North Korean satellite.
By July, they ignored it entirely.
On August 5th, 2013, at 0815 GMT, something remarkable happened. Five hundred kilometers above the Pacific Ocean, on its 3,716th trip around the earth, the electronics onboard the tumbling North Korean satellite flickered to life. Computers powered up. The radio began receiving transmissions. And the satellite’s internal gyroscopes began to spin.
North Korean patience had begun to pay off.
With the gyros on line, the satellite’s “attitude” – its positioning as it travelled through space – slowly began to stabilize, erasing a few degrees of misalignment with each pass around the planet. Slowly but surely, the satellite’s tumble became less and less pronounced until, in less than a day’s time, the device was flying straight and steady along its orbital path.
Because the international experts had deemed the satellite “dead on arrival” in space, even private sector interest in observing the tumbling Korean experiment had waned. For the past several months, no one had tracked the satellite in real time. In fact, other than the occasional amateur astronomer peering through a university telescope, no one had actually laid eyes on the satellite at all.
The most up-to-date information the U.S Defense Department possessed was from the computers at SSN. Their digital brains logged electronic check marks as the satellite passed through the North American detection “fence” several times a day.
The fence was a comprehensive system of electro-optical and radio detectors that captured daily data on every orbiting object to pass through its beam. That included more than 19,000 pieces of man-made debris the size of a baseball or larger, and another 300,000 pieces of orbiting space rubble as small as one centimeter in diameter, though no one bothered to track such tiny objects. Every man-made item – including the dead North Korean satellite – bore a unique identifier in SSN’s orbital database. If the North Korean satellite had been out of place or absent when its arrival was expected at the fence, the computers would have registered an anomaly.
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