by Alten-Steve
The offer brings tears of relief. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I feel bad. I should have never assigned Mick to you in the first place. You’ll make a fine psychiatrist one day, but you weren’t ready for a patient as manipulative as Michael Gabriel. Your father’s death, the turmoil your family’s gone through—all of this is my fault. I knew better, but I took a chance. I saw in you a strong woman who would be the perfect addition to my staff, but I rushed your development. I’m sorry, Dominique. Give me the chance to make it up to you.”
He extends a thick palm.
Dominique stares at it for a long moment, then shakes the offered hand.
DECEMBER 6, 2012: WASHINGTON, DC
Vice President Ennis Chaney looks up from the report, acknowledging the president’s National Security staff as they file into the White House war room and take their places around the oval conference table. A half dozen military and science advisors follow, filling the extra folding chairs lining the perimeter of the room.
Ennis closes the document as the president enters, the secretary of state in his wake. Borgia bypasses his own chair to address Chaney. “You and I need to talk.”
“Mr Secretary, if we can begin?”
“Yes, Mr President.” Borgia finds his place, giving Chaney a perturbed look.
President Maller rubs his bloodshot eyes, then reads from a fax. “This afternoon, the United Nations Security Council will issue a statement, deploring the testing of pure-fusion weapons as being contrary to the de facto moratorium on the testing of nuclear weapons and to global nuclear nonproliferation and nuclear-disarmament efforts. Further, the Council is seeking immediate ratification of a new resolution designed to close the loophole on pure-fusion technology.”
Maller holds up a report labeled UMBRA, a code word used to classify files beyond TOP SECRET. “I’ll assume everyone has reviewed this document. I’ve asked its author, Dr Brae Roodhof, Director of the National Ignition Facility in Livermore, California, to join us this morning as I’m sure all of us have questions we want answered. Doctor?”
Dr Roodhof is in his early fifties, a tall gray-haired man with a tan, weathered face and calming demeanor. “Mr President, ladies and gentlemen, I want to start by stating emphatically that it was not the United States who detonated this pure-fusion weapon.”
Ennis Chaney’s insides have been churning since he finished reading the UMBRA file. His eyes blaze as he stares down the nuclear physicist. “Doctor, I’m going to ask you something, but I want you to know that I’m directing my question to every person in this room.” The tone of the vice president’s voice stifles all peripheral movements. “What I want to know is why, Doctor. Why is the United States of America even engaged in this type of goddam suicidal research?”
Dr Roodhof’s eyes dart around the table. “Sir, I … I’m only the project director. It’s not my place to determine US policy. It was the federal government who funded nuclear-weapons laboratories to research pure fusion back in the 1990s, and it was the military that applied the pressure for the bombs to be designed and built—”
“Let’s not reduce this issue to finger-pointing, Mr Vice President,” interrupts General Fecondo. “The reality of the situation is that other foreign powers were pursuing the technology, which obligated us to follow suit. The LMJ, the Laser Megajoule complex in Bordeaux, France, has been conducting pure-fusion experiments since early 1998. The British and Japanese have been working on non-explosive magnetic-fusion research for years. Any or all of these countries could have bridged the feasibility gap in order to create thermonuclear nonfission ignitions.”
Chaney turns to face the general. “Then why does the rest of the world, including scientists from our own country, seem to think that we’re responsible for the detonation in Australia?”
“Because everyone in the scientific community believed our research was farthest along,” Dr Roodhof answers. “The IEER recently published a report stating that the United States was two years away from field-testing a pure-fusion device.”
“Were they right?”
“Ennis—”
“No, I’m sorry, Mr President, but I want to know.”
“Mr Vice President, this is not the time—
Chaney ignores Maller, his eyes boring into Roodhof’s. “How close are we, Doctor?”
Roodhof looks away. “Fourteen months.”
The room erupts into a dozen side conversations. Borgia smiles to himself as the president’s expression turns to anger. That’s it, Chaney, keep rocking the boat.
Ennis Chaney sits back wearily in his chair. He is no longer fighting the windmills, he is fighting global madness.
President Maller bangs his palm against the tabletop, restoring order. “That’s enough! Mr Chaney, this is neither the time nor place to engage in a free-for-all debate over the policies of this presidency or those of my predecessors. The reality of the situation is that another government has detonated one of these weapons. I want to know who it was and whether the timing of the explosion has anything to do with Iran’s military buildup along the Strait of Hormuz.”
CIA Director Patrick Hurley is the first to respond. “Sir, it could be the Russians. The magnetized target fusion studies conducted at Los Alamos were joint US–Russian experiments.”
Dr Roodhof shakes his head. “No, I disagree. The Russians backed off when their economy collapsed. It had to be the French.”
General Mike Costolo, Commandant of the Marine Corps, raises a thick palm. “Dr Roodhof, from what I’ve read, these pure-fusion weapons contain very little radiation, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your point, General?” Dick Przystas asks.
Costolo turns to face the secretary of defense. “One of the reasons the DoD pushed for the development of these weapons in the first place was that we knew Russia and China were supplying Iran with nuclear weapons. If a nuclear war were to break out in the Persian Gulf, pure fusion would not only give its owner a tactical advantage, but the lack of radiation would allow the flow of oil to go on, unimpeded. In my opinion, it doesn’t matter whether it was the French or Russians who achieved the technology first; the only thing that matters is whether the Iranians possess the weapon. If so, then the threat alone changes the balance of power in the Middle East. Should Iran detonate one of these weapons in the Persian Gulf, then Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Bahrain, Egypt, and other moderate Arab regimes would be forced to turn away from Western support.”
Borgia nods in agreement. “The Saudis are still hedging about allowing us access to our prepositioned supplies. They’ve lost confidence in our ability to keep the Strait of Hormuz open.”
“Where are the carriers?” the president asks Jeffrey Gordon.
“In preparation for Asia’s upcoming nuclear detention exercise, we’ve ordered the Harry S. Truman and her fleet to the Red Sea. The Ronald Reagan battle group should arrive in the Gulf of Oman in three days. The William J. Clinton will remain on patrol in the Indian Ocean. We’re sending a message to Iran, plain and simple, that we have no intention of allowing the Strait of Hormuz to be closed.”
“For the record, Mr President,” Chaney states, “the French ambassador is vehemently denying any responsibility for this explosion.”
“What did you expect?” Borgia responds. “Look beyond the denials. Iran still owes France billions of dollars, yet the French continue to support the Iranians, as do Russia and China. Let me also point out that Australia is one of the nations that has continued to give Iran subsidized interest rates, which they’ve used to build up their nuclear, chemical, and biological arsenal. Do you really think it’s just a coincidence that the weapon happened to be tested in the Nullarbor region.”
“Don’t be so quick to point the finger at the Aussies,” Sam Blumner interjects. “If you remember, it was the United States’s massive credits to Iraq in the late 1980s that led to Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait.”
“I agree w
ith Sam,” the president says. “I’ve spoken at length with Australia’s PM. The Liberal and Labor Parties are showing a united front, declaring the incident to be an act of war. I doubt very much they would have condoned such a test.”
General Fecondo rubs both palms across his tan, receding hairline. “Mr President, the fact that these pure-fusion weapons exist changes nothing. Testing a weapon and using it in battle are two different things. No nation is going to challenge the United States to a nuclear showdown.”
Costolo looks at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Tell me, General, if we had a cruise missile that could wipe out every SAM site along the Iranian coast, would you use it?”
Dick Przystas raises his eyebrows.
“A tempting thought, isn’t it? I wonder if the Iranians will be any less tempted to wipe out the Ronald Reagan and her fleet?”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” the lanky Chief of Naval Operations says. “I interpret this action as a sort of warning shot across our bow. The Russians are letting us know they possess pure-fusion weapons, hoping their little demonstration will persuade us to cancel the Missile Defense Shield.”
“Which is something we cannot do,” Przystas states. “The number of rogue states with access to nuclear and biological weapons has doubled in the last five years—”
“While we continue to spend more money on nuclear-weapons technology,” Chaney interrupts, “sending a clear message to the rest of the world that the United States is more interested in maintaining a first-strike nuclear posture than continuing arms reductions. The world’s heading straight down the path of nuclear confrontation. They know it, and we know it, but we’re all too damn busy pointing fingers at one another to change course. We’re all acting like a bunch of shitheads, and before we know what’s happened, we’re all gonna be stepping right in it.”
Borgia is waiting for Ennis Chaney in the corridor when the meeting adjourns. “I need a minute.”
“Speak.”
“I spoke with the captain of the Boone.”
“So?”
“Tell me, Chaney, why would the vice president of the United States aid and abet an escaped felon?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“This sort of thing could ruin a politician’s career.”
The raccoon eyes bore into Borgia. “You want to accuse me of something—do it. In fact, how about you and I put everything in the wash and we’ll see who comes out clean.”
Borgia flashes a nervous grin. “Take it easy, Ennis. No one’s calling for a grand jury. All I want is Gabriel back where he belongs, under the care of a psychiatric ward.”
Chaney pushes past the secretary of state, choking back a laugh. “Tell you what, Pierre, I’ll keep an eye out for him.”
DECEMBER 7, 2012: GULF OF MEXICO 4:27 a.m.
The incessant ringing rouses Edmund Loos from his sleep. He fumbles for the receiver, then clears his throat. “Captain here. Speak.”
“Sorry to wake you, sir. We’ve detected activity along the seafloor.”
“On my way.”
The sea has begun churning by the time the captain enters the Combat Information Center. “Report, Commander.”
The executive officer points to a light table where a real-time, cube-shaped holographic three-dimensional image of the sea and seafloor is being projected in midair. Positioned along the bottom of the ghostlike image, buried within the slate-shaded limestone topography is the ovoid alien object, color-coded luminescent orange. An emerald green circle of energy blazes atop the ovoid’s dorsal surface, causing a shaft of light to rise up through a vertical burrow leading to the seafloor. The image of the Boone can be seen floating along the surface.
As the captain and his executive officer watch in amazement, the green beacon appears to widen as an eddy forms. Within seconds, the swirling torrent of water tightens into a powerful underwater funnel, stretching from the hole along the seafloor clear up to the surface. “Christ, it’s like watching a tornado form,” Loos whispers. “It’s just as Gabriel said.”
“Pardon me, sir?”
“Nothing. Commander, keep us clear of the maelstrom. Have communications patch me through to NORAD, then launch our LAMPS. If anything emerges from that whirlpool, I want to know about it.”
“Aye, sir.”
Lieutenant First-Class Johnathan Evans dashes across the aft deck, helmet in hand, his co-pilot and crew already on board the LAMPS antisub helicopter. Huffing and puffing, he climbs into the Seasprite’s cockpit, then fastens himself in.
Evans glances over at his co-pilot as he struggles to catch his breath. “Damn cigarettes are killing me.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Bless you, my son.” Evans takes the Styrofoam cup. “Three minutes ago I’m lying in my bunk, dreaming of Michelle, the next thing I know, the XO’s yelling at me, asking me why I’m not airborne yet.”
“Welcome to the navy adventure.”
Evans pulls back on the joystick. The chopper lifts away from the helo-pad, turning south as it climbs to three hundred feet. The pilot hovers the LAMPS directly over the swirling emerald sea.
“Hol-lee shit—” Evans and his crew stare at the growing maelstrom, mesmerized by its beauty, frightened by its intensity. The vortex is a monster, a spiraling eddy straight out of Homer’s Odyssey, its walls oscillating with the force of Niagara Falls. Looking down upon the otherwise dark waters, the whirlpool’s glowing emerald eye resembles a luminescent green galaxy, its cluster of stars brightening as the mouth of the funnel opens wider.
“Good God. Wish I had my camera.”
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant, we’re snapping plenty of pictures back here.”
“Who cares about infrared. I want a real photo, something I can e-mail back home.”
As Evans watches, the center of the maelstrom suddenly bottoms out, exposing a blinding sphere of light that blazes upward like an emerald sun from within the fractured seafloor.
“Protect your eyes—”
“Lieutenant, two objects rising out of the funnel!”
“What?” Evans turns to face his radar operator. “How large?”
“Big. Twice the size of the LAMPS.”
The pilot pulls back on the joystick—as two dark, winged objects soar out of the funnel. The faceless mechanisms rise up along either side of the Seasprite—the lieutenant catching a quick glimpse of a glowing amber disk—as the joystick goes limp in his hand.
“Oh, shit, we’ve stalled—”
“Engines off-line, Lieutenant. Everything’s dead!”
Evans registers a sickening feeling as the airship drops from the sky. A bone-jarring jolt—as the chopper strikes the maelstrom’s wall. The rotors shear off, the cockpit’s windshield shatters as the copter is slung around the vertical column of water as if caught in a blender. Centrifugal force pins Evans sideways in his seat, his screams drowned out by the tumultuous roar that fills his ears.
The world spins out of control as the funnel engulfs the LAMPS.
The last thing Lieutenant Johnathan Evans feels is the strange sensation of his vertebrae popping beneath a suffocating embrace, as if his body is being crushed within a giant trash compactor.
DECEMBER 8, 2012: GUNUNG MULU NATIONAL PARK, SARAWAK, FEDERATION OF MALAYSIA
5:32 a.m. (Malaysian time) – thirteen hours later
Sarawak, situated on the northwest coast of Borneo, is the largest state in the Federation of Malaysia. Gunung Mulu, the largest national park in the state, covers 340 square miles, its landscape dominated by three mountains—the Gunung Mulu, the Gunung Benarat, and the Gunung Api.
The Gunung Api is a mountain formed out of limestone, a geology that not only dominates the entire state of Sarawak, but also its neighboring island of Irian Jaya/Papua New Guinea, and nearly all of southern Malaysia. The weathering of this limestone landscape by the slightly acid rainwater has led to remarkable surface sculptures and underground formations.
Mi
dway up the side of Mount Api, pointing skyward like a field of jagged stalagmites, is a petrified forest of razor-sharp, silver-gray limestone pinnacles, some of which tower more than 150 feet above the rain forest. Below ground, hollowed out from the limestone geology by subterranean rivers, lies a labyrinth containing more than four hundred miles of underworld caverns, representing the largest limestone cave system in the world.
*
Honolulu graduate student Wade Tokumine has been studying the Sarawak caves for three months, collecting data as part of his master’s thesis concerning the stability of the world’s underground karst volumes. Karst is a topography created through the chemical weathering of limestone geology containing at least 80 percent calcium carbonate. Sarawak’s network of subterranean passages are composed entirely of this vast network of karst.
Today’s journey marks Wade’s ninth visit to Clearwater Cave, the longest underground passage in all of Southeast Asia and one of only four Mula caves open to the public. The geologist leans back from his seat in the longboat, shining his carbide light at the alabaster ceiling of the cavern. The beacon cuts through the darkness to reveal a myriad of stalactites dripping with moisture. Wade stares at the ancient formations of rock, marveling at Nature’s design.
Four billion years ago, the Earth was a very young, hostile, and lifeless world. As the planet cooled, water vapor and other gases were sent skyward in violent volcanic eruptions, creating an atmosphere high in carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and hydrogen compounds, conditions similar to those found on Venus.
Life on our planet began in the sea as a soup of chemicals, organized into complex structures—four basic amino acid chain molecules—animated by an outside catalyst, perhaps a bolt of lightning. The animated amino acid double helixes began to replicate themselves, leading to a single-celled life. These organisms quickly rose in abundance and began depleting the oceans of its fast-food carbon compounds. Then—a unique family of bacteria evolved to produce a new organic molecule called chlorophyll. This green-tinted substance was able to store the energy in sunlight, allowing the single-celled organisms to create high-quality carbohydrates from carbon dioxide and hydrogen, releasing oxygen as its by-product.