‘Yes, I do.’
‘There was another he told me. From Australia. The aborigines there revere the Great Green Ant God. They believe it is a spiritual being that laid down the pattern for the development of human beings – and that can still influence their lives. There’s an area of hallowed ground they call the Dreaming Place of the Green Ants and they believe that if it is desecrated, man-eating monsters will emerge to ravage the world. Don’t you think there’re some interesting similarities?’
‘Well, I suppose you could confuse Friday with an ant. But even though he gave me the creeps, he was hardly out to ravage the world.’
‘Maybe it’s us who will emerge as the man-eating monsters.’
‘Well, I’m not going to dispute our proven and infinite capacity for destruction. We also have an equally great potential for good. But that’s beside the point. Commissar didn’t have a hatch – or a Friday.’
‘And there was no Russian sighting report of a descending blue-white disc of light, even though it was night time in Russia when whatever it was entered the atmosphere and landed on Crow Ridge,’ said Wedderkind.
‘So you see Crusoe as the central character?’
‘Yes. And if you want to continue the analogy, the others are playing bit parts.’
‘Others?’ From the beginning Connors had steadfastly tried to ignore the possibility.
‘Bob, I know it’s been on your mind ever since the President coined the code word.’
‘But surely – not six?’
‘Now that we know there’s one in Russia, it means that the computer picture York and Al Wetherby produced is right. And since Fraser’s going to haul him in you might as well know. Yes – it now looks as if there are six sites, four of them underwater, and arranged in a neat pattern, on the equator, forty-five to forty-seven degrees above and below it, and all ninety degrees of arc from one another.’
‘And are they all magnetic sub-poles like Crow Ridge?’
‘Well, York’s magnetic data coverage was incomplete so he had to interpolate a lot of the figures. But, yes – they’re all polarizing the existing field, and drawing it into a new pattern around the existing north and south magnetic poles.’
‘Wow… If you’re right about Crusoe lying dormant, it gives this situation a kind of – permanent quality. How long have you been sitting on this?’
‘Not long. We’ve suspected the possibility for some weeks, but I was trying to get some harder evidence. I didn’t want to come to you with yet another theory.’
‘And it was the Air Force that came up with the proof.’
‘And even they didn’t tell you about it officially.’
‘No, everyone had their own angle… Boy, when Mel Fraser hears about this he’s going to go bananas.’
Wedderkind smiled. ‘That’s exactly how I said you’d react when you got the news. But you’ve taken it rather well.’
‘I ran out of my supply of the cold sweat of fear on the way down to that forced landing by the Little Dry. But I can see Fraser coming after you with a knife.’ It was Connors’ turn to smile. ‘After the way I blew out in Russia, maybe it would be a good idea if we both stayed out of Washington for a while.’
Connors looked at his watch. 5 P.M.… In forty-eight hours one of Allbright’s B-52s would hit Crusoe with the ultimate weapon, and then the whole wearisome discussion of what he was and whether he’d sprung out of the ground or from under God’s armpit would become totally academic.
‘Come on, Arnold, let’s clear out of here.’ Connors started down from the crest of the Ridge. ‘And if you’re hiding anything else, save it till after the bomb goes off. I’ll be able to take it then.’
Monday/September 24
BASE CAMP/HIGHWAY 22/MONTANA
In the small hours of Monday morning, nearly everyone at the base camp was woken up by what sounded like a fast freight passing at right angles underneath the highway. The ground shook so violently that some people, sleeping on the edge of their bunks, woke up on their way to the floor. People spilled out of their trailers and clustered together in an effort to find out what was happening. When a search confirmed that the ground was still in one piece under their feet and that there was no visible damage, most of them drifted back to their trailers and tried to grab another couple of hours’ sleep. Wedderkind put on his dressing gown and slippers and prowled about in the darkness puffing endless cigarettes.
At about five o’clock, Connors stumbled out of bed, decided he didn’t need to shave, and yawned his way across to the canteen and the delicious smell of coffee, frying bacon, and hot fried eggs. At least Crusoe hadn’t been able to stop them cooking with gas. Wedderkind joined him, drinking his coffee with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.
‘I thought you had your own pot.’
‘I left it in my trailer up on the Ridge,’ said Wedderkind. ‘Do you want to go up and have a look?’
‘For your coffee pot?’
‘No. To see what all that noise was about.’
‘Okay, Arnold. But the idea is for everybody to be moving away from the Ridge, not back on to it.’
When Neame heard of the projected trip, he asked if he could come along to check if Crusoe had grown anymore. Vincent and Hadden offered to hold the other end of the tape, and in the end it was decided to take along ten of the cadets just in case they needed some help. Before they left, Connors got together with Harris and Cameron, the two senior cadets in charge of the Crow Ridge evacuation, and Bill Rizzik, the CIA front-office manager of the base camp.
‘Have we got all our vehicles back now?’
‘Eight,’ said Rizzik. ‘There are still two with Reese at Miles City and two up at the airstrip at Jordan – the new pickup point for Glasgow.’
‘All with cadet crews?’
‘Yes,’ said Harris. ‘And they all have Presidential passes.’
‘Okay, load up as many of your people as you can. Leave me about twenty-five, and ship the rest up to the airbase at Glasgow for transfer to Colorado.’ Connors turned to Rizzik. ‘How about your people?’
‘We’ll go the same way. There’re only a dozen of us, plus the NASA medical team. What about their equipment? Some of it’s pretty fancy.’
‘Better leave them till last just in case someone breaks a fingernail. If there’s any transport to spare, we can think about moving hardware then.’
‘Right…’
Connors shook Rizzik’s hand. ‘Bill, if I don’t see you again, good luck. And thanks for covering us.’
‘It’s what I’m paid for. First thing I’m going to do when I get back home is go around the house and switch everything on.’
Kinner drove Connors’ party up to the Ridge. He was a little slower with the truck than he was with the jeep. When they got up to the gate, they found their way was barred by an enormous block of black crystal that had grown out of the hillside. The block, which had thrust its way straight out of the side of the slope, had uprooted several pines, demolished the flimsy wooden gatehouse that had been directly in its path, shattered a concrete post and driven straight through the heavy tube-metal and wire-mesh gate.
Connors stepped back and took a good look at the block. He estimated it was about ten feet high and twelve feet wide. The front edge was cut back in a series of nine steps at an angle of 45 degrees. There wasn’t a mark on it. He put a hand on the crystal. It was warm, and he could hear a humming sound that seemed to be coming from inside.
Connors exchanged a look with Wedderkind. ‘He really is full of last-minute surprises.’
They clambered over the smashed gate.
‘Hey, look, steps,’ said Kinner. He climbed up them, and walked along the top of the block to the point where it entered the slope. ‘Trouble is they don’t go anywhere.’
Wedderkind dispatched the cadets to check all sides of the Ridge. They found that Crusoe had pushed twelve stepped blocks sideways out of the Ridge. Four, one of which had demolished the gatehouse, faced North, South, East
and West, and were on a higher level than the other eight which radiated out at 45-degree intervals. Connors walked down and looked at two or three of them with Wedderkind, then returned to Crusoe.
Neame, Vincent, and Hadden completed their measurements. Crusoe was now fifty-six and a half feet tall, with a base measurement just a few inches short of one hundred feet. The last trace of his curving lines had disappeared and he was a pure pyramid of solid black crystal. The light flickering over the buried cortex was like an angry swarm of blue fireflies.
THE WHITE HOUSE/WASHINGTON DC
The news Greg brought back from Montana sparked off a series of meetings which went on almost until dawn. The President slept for a couple of hours, showered, shaved and then went back to his office to meet Fraser, General Wills, and General Clayson.
Faced with the horrendous possibility that Crusoe’s cutoff zone could expand to engulf the whole of the United States, the President had asked the state governors to call out all National Guard units, and had secretly put the three Armed Forces on full alert. Throughout the night, by road, rail and air, troops had been moved into position around the major urban areas of the nation. If the worst happened, their task would be to seal off the cities, preventing an uncontrolled mass exodus into the open country beyond.
‘Everything now hangs on the outcome of this air attack,’ said Fraser. ‘If the cutoff zone is expanding at ninety-hour intervals, then we’re in the clear. Any other kind of situation is unthinkable. I’ve been going over the various contingency plans with my people most of the night and there’s no way we can cover it. We have plans for survival after a nuclear war, civil defence organizations in each state, fallout shelters to house one hundred and ninety-five million people, emergency rations to last sixty-five million people fourteen days – but every plan is predicated on having emergency power available. Apart from those twelve converted trucks out in Montana and the freaks with their hang-gliders, there won’t be one fucking thing able to move! There aren’t any plans to cover a breakdown on this scale.’
‘And the fade-out could get worse too,’ said the President.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Fraser. ‘The fade-out only affects the transmission and reception of radio waves. If we get hit by the cutoff zone, we won’t even be able to switch on the sets.’
‘Then how can we keep this whole thing together?’ asked the President.
‘Well, the Romans managed,’ said Fraser. ‘We’ll find a way if we have to.’
‘Do you think I ought to say something? You know – address the nation?’
‘No, not yet. It’s still small potatoes. If Allbright does his stuff, then we can relax. You can go on radio and television and tell everyone we and the Russians have saved the world.’
‘Not quite. There are still the other four,’ said the President.
‘Yeah… did you know that the Defense Department helped pay for that computer up in Baltimore? I’d like to throw that bastard York in jail – and Wedderkind along with him.’
‘What happens if the zone expands – before the attack?’
‘According to the figures Greg Mitchell brought back, it will still only black out a circle seven hundred miles across,’ said Clayson.
‘Do you know how many big towns that covers?’ asked Fraser. He looked back at the President. ‘The short answer to that question is, call in your speechwriter.’
‘Yes… I really don’t understand why Bob went out there.’
‘All the commanders down to regimental level are being issued with sealed orders,’ said General Wills. ‘If the cutoff zone goes to the seven hundred mark, then on your decision they’ll get a radio signal to open ’em up. If there is a total radio blackout, that is also a signal to open the orders.’
‘Do you think I ought to stay here or go to Camp David?’
‘Camp David,’ said Fraser.
USAF SPECIAL WEAPONS CENTER/KIRTLAND AFB/NEW MEXICO
At 5:30 A.M. Firebreak One and Two climbed to forty thousand feet over the New Mexico desert, lined up on the flares, and made several bombing runs over the dummy target. Before each run-in, a black card panel was clipped over the normal flight instruments and all electrical systems were shut down to simulate, as far as possible, the conditions they would encounter when they flew into the cutoff zone that blanketed Crow Ridge.
The first bombs fell some two hundred yards off target, and, as anticipated, the error was mainly due to the inaccuracy of the old type of altimeter and air speed indicator. The practice bombs were retrieved by helicopter and flown to the nearby Holloman AFB to be reloaded into the B-52s. While the planes were being refuelled, the pilots and bombardiers studied the results with General Allbright and his SAC controllers.
Like cars, nuclear bombs can be ‘customized’ to fulfil a specific tactical requirement. For a successful attack against a ‘hard’ target – such as an underground missile silo, or Crusoe – the weapon has to explode at ground level. The critical factors are the CEP – Circular Error Probability – linked to the accuracy of the weapon delivery system and the energy yield. A high energy yield ground-burst produces a nice, big, satisfying hole and an explosive, pulverizing blast that reduces reinforced concrete to confetti. With Plutonium 239, the lethal radiation yield is low, reducing to a residual one per cent seven days after the blast.
Using the eloquent equations of the nuclear wargamers, it had been calculated that a weapon with a fifty-kiloton yield, delivered with a CEP of five hundred feet against a Minuteman silo hardened to withstand a pressure of three hundred psi, produced a Single Shot Kill Probability of 82 per cent. The CAMPFIRE bomb was designed to produce a shock wave ten times more powerful, a colossal three thousand explosive pounds of pressure per square inch. But Crusoe had proved to be harder than any construction the Air Force had been able to devise. For the operation to have any chance of success, everyone knew the destructive effect of the bomb had to be maximized – and that meant going for a direct hit, or the nearest of near-misses.
The crews looked glumly at the diagram that plotted the fall of their bombs around the target and waited for Allbright to deliver his verdict. It wasn’t long in coming.
‘A CEP of six hundred feet is unacceptable, gentlemen. Go back up there and try again. I want that error cut in half by midday.’
BASE CAMP/HIGHWAY 22/MONTANA
Connors and his Crow Ridge reconnaissance party returned to the base camp to find Harris, Cameron, and the rest of the cadets still there. Larsen had brought the two diesels back from Jordan, with their twenty-foot trailers piled high with flare canisters.
‘Where the hell did they come from?’ asked Connors.
‘General Allbright, sir,’ said Larsen. ‘He had them flown into Glasgow Air Force Base, and they ferried them down to us in Jordan.’ Larsen produced an envelope from the cab of the diesel. ‘This came in with the flares. It’s addressed to you. I’ve given the instructions and layouts to Cameron and Harris.’
Connors read the letter. It was telegraphic and to the point. ‘Dear Bob – Have learned of local problem and manner in which you have coped. Regret I must delay final evacuation still further. Air Force urgently needs flare pattern around Crow Ridge to provide aiming mark. Cameron and Harris have full instructions and will organize cadet element to place flares. On completion, I would appreciate you ensure evacuation of main party and provide ignition teams with adequate means of transport to clear fire zone, Tuesday 25th, 14:00 hours latest. Best wishes, Mitch.’
‘Major Jessup sent you a message as well,’ said Larsen. ‘He’s received an urgent signal requesting you and Mr Wedderkind to contact the White House.’
‘Thanks…’
Connors explained the situation to Wedderkind and Rizzik. ‘I think the best thing to do is to move out the rest of the research group and your base camp team, Rizz.’
‘Don’t you think it would be better if we stayed and helped?’ asked Rizzik. ‘The job would get finished a little quicker.’
‘Yes,’ said Wedderkind. ‘I’m sure Davis and the others will want to help too.’
‘Arnold, this is ridiculous. There’s no need to start a mass epidemic of heroics.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone knows they have a clear choice.’
‘All right…’ Connors looked at his watch. 7:45 A.M. ‘I’m going down to Miles City to see Colonel Reese, then I’ll come back and pick you up. Be ready to leave for Jordan at ten.’
Connors walked over to the base camp office. As he passed the canteen, he saw Volkert outside with his face buried in a hamburger.
‘What’s the situation in Cohagen?’
The small township lay just beyond the evacuation area. Connors had planned to observe the explosion from the top of a tall grain silo west of the town. But now, Cohagen was marooned fifteen miles inside the expanded cutoff zone.
Volkert transferred the hamburger to his other hand and licked the ketchup off his fingers. ‘It’s okay. Everythin’s under control. The state agency people an’ the Army went in an’ smoothed everythin’ over. Just hope this all works out okay. Some of them ain’t too pleased with the Rooshians.’
‘How is everybody making out?’
‘They’re gettin’ by. Thing you city boys have to remember is that this is high plains country. Folks out here are used to roughin’ it. Shit, this was one of the last parts of the West to be settled. Lot of folks don’t realize that. Most people are ridin’ around in pickups now but they’re still cowboys at heart. Country folk draw together when there’s trouble.’
‘That’s good to know,’ said Connors. He pointed to the leaking hamburger.‘Better eat the rest of that before it gets cold.’
Connors went into the base camp office. Cameron, Harris, and Rizzik had the plans for the flare layouts spread out on the table. Connors glanced over the details. Four fifteen-hundred-yard strips bracketing the Ridge with linked clusters of flares every twenty-five yards. The run-in and run-out lines each called for an additional ten clusters set five hundred yards apart, forming a broken line, running east to west through the long axis of the Ridge. It looked like a lot of work.
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