The Gemini Effect

by Chuck Grossart

  “Strike now.”

  “Now? When we’ll lose so many more people?”

  “Sir, we don’t know when these things are going to emerge. They’ve done it at night, but what if they mutate into something that’s not as sensitive to the light anymore? What if they can move freely during the daylight? We already know they’ve adapted to soman gas—something that initially looked as if it would kill them. What’s to say with all certainty that they aren’t adapting to sunlight right now while they’re safely tucked away in their cocoons?”

  A slight grin spread across Jessie’s face. The general had made a convincing argument for the immediate use of nuclear weapons, and it had obviously had an impact on the president’s foggy thought process.

  “You have a point, General. I hadn’t thought of that possibility.”

  “It’s something we have to take into account, sir. We don’t know what’s going to happen next, but we know what we can do now to stop this thing once and for all.”

  “He’s right, Andrew. If they adapt to sunlight and emerge in the next few hours, they’ll spread incredibly fast—especially the birds. If they double in number—as they’ve done already—we won’t be able to stop them.”

  The president didn’t seem to mind that his chairman of the Joint Chiefs had just heard Jessie call him by his first name.

  “General, I want the three cities infested by the bird casings hit before sundown. I’ll authorize the use of nuclear weapons to do this. Single weapon, each city. The evacuations will continue throughout the day to allow as many people as possible to get out of the immediate area. You will use the smallest weapon possible to mitigate collateral effects.”

  “Yes, sir. And the ground waves?”

  “You will use conventional weapons to strike them—use everything we’ve got. If they’re just below the surface, we should be able to destroy them. Bomb the living hell out of them, Thad.”

  “Sir, I respectfully suggest you consider the use of nuc—”

  “No! Not yet. If the birds survive, there’s no way to stop them. I don’t think there’s any other option other than to use nuclear weapons against those cities. The ground waves are different. We may have to use nuclear weapons against them in the end, but not right now. And we won’t need to as long as you throw everything we have against them.” The president paused. “Do you understand my orders, General?”

  “Yes, sir. I understand you want to use conventional weapons against the fixed locations of the ground waves. I also understand you are authorizing the use of nuclear weapons to destroy the fixed locations of the bird casings in Minneapolis-St. Paul, Oklahoma City, and Little Rock.”

  “That’s correct, General.”

  “Sir, I need to confirm that you are authorizing the use of nuclear weapons. Please authenticate.”

  The old days of the “nuclear football” were long gone. A new system was now in place. Quicker. More reliable.

  The president pushed a button on the side of his desk, revealing a sliding panel. It made a slight whirring noise as it slid out from under the thick, polished mahogany of his historic desk. The president placed his hand on a black panel. A small needle pierced the president’s palm, drawing a tiny amount of blood for an almost instantaneous DNA analysis. “This is the president of the United States. I am authorizing the use of nuclear weapons.” He pulled a small laminated card from his wallet. “Authenticate Romeo, Bravo, six, six, three, five, Delta, Sierra, two. Day code one, one, Kilo, Echo. Code word eagle. Final release is on my authority as president of the United States of America.”

  In the bowels of the NMCC, General Metzger had also placed his hand on a matching panel, which analyzed his DNA as he repeated the president’s instructions. “This is the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I have received orders from the president of the United States authorizing the use of nuclear weapons. Authenticate Romeo, Bravo, six, six, three, five, Delta, Sierra, two. Day code one, one, Kilo, Echo. Code word eagle. Final release is on his authority as president of the United States of America.”

  A few seconds passed as a supersecret computer located hundreds of miles away, deep underground, in a hardened complex below the shifting silt of the Mississippi River analyzed the data it had just received. A green light shone steady on each of the panels—one in the NMCC, the other in the Oval Office.

  It was done.

  The first step had been taken.

  With the final release order, three American cities would soon be basking under the warm glow of nuclear annihilation.

  The president removed his hand. “Thank you, General.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll inform you when the assets are ready.”

  The call was terminated.

  In a matter of a few short seconds, the world had crossed a threshold it had avoided crossing since the end of World War II.

  “Andrew, you need to sleep now. You’ve done the right thing. You need some rest.”

  “I’m so tired.”

  “I know you are.”

  “So tired.”

  “Rest now, Andrew. Rest.” She watched as the president’s face returned to its former puppet visage.

  It was time for the puppet master to leave.

  She had calls to make.

  As Jessie left the Oval Office, Andrew sat alone at his desk, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He knew he’d done something he’d always dreaded, but it had come so simply to him . . . It had been so easy. He had used the panel numerous times during exercises and simulations, but it had never been for real.

  But he’d done the right thing. She’d said so. She’s right. It’s the only course of action to take. Had to do it. Had to. It was so easy. So easy.

  Down deep, a part of Andrew Smith was screaming a warning, but it was far too quiet for his heart to hear.

  Her phone—this phone—was not monitored. It had taken a considerable amount of effort—and numerous personal connections—to ensure it was so. As she punched in the first set of numbers, she knew it had all been worth it.

  “Yes?” An answer.

  “This is One. The kindling is burning. In my house.”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “I shall warm myself by the fire.”

  She hung up the phone. The memorized code words had been spoken in Russian, but their meaning was clear.

  She repeated the calls to other numbers, speaking the same words in Chinese, Korean, German, French, Hebrew, and even English—with, of course, a British accent.

  We shall warm ourselves by the fire.

  There was no stopping it now.

  CHAPTER 55

  “Thad, this is Derek Rammes.” It had been years since he’d talked to the man. He’d tried to avoid it as much as possible, but the current situation deemed any further avoidance on his part impossible. Using first names instead of rank or title made it easier to stomach—the fact that Thad Metzger was now chairman of the Joint Chiefs twisted his guts into a greasy knot. He’d disliked the man since their days together at the Point.

  “Hello, General. How are things in Utah?”

  “Beautiful. Just beautiful.” So much for using first names, Rammes thought. “Listen, General, I’ve been having some difficulties getting information through to the president.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m having to go through the damned national security advisor. She’s got the president completely secluded from the normal communication channels and—”

  “Things don’t always work as advertised in a time of war, General Rammes.”

  No shit, Thad. He fumed. “I understand that, but this is highly irregular.”

  “Irregular in what way, General?”

  “Access to the president of the United States is being controlled by a single person. The normal channels in place to get inf
ormation to him are not being used. They were set up to function in a time of war, and like you said yourself, this is a time of war.”

  “But it’s not a normal war, General Rammes. Not normal at all. We’ve never seen anything like this before, and the National Command Authority is functioning as it should in a fast-moving, fluctuating situation.”

  “That’s a load of crap, Thad, and you know it.”

  “You need to remember who you’re addressing, General Rammes.”

  “I know exactly who I’m addressing, Thad. I know you better than most, remember?”

  “We’re not cadets anymore. That was a long time ago, and we’ve moved on to other things, gone our separate ways. Some of us have progressed in our careers further than others and now find ourselves in positions of greater responsibility. You need to respect that.”

  “You’re in that position because Ray Smythe blew his own head off, and furthermore, the only reason you got command of STRATCOM was—” Careful, he is a senior officer. Rammes knew he could be removed if he went too far, and now was not the time to get himself benched. “Look, General Metzger, all I’m saying is I’m uncomfortable with the way things are being run up there. I don’t have a good feeling about the national security advisor and the way she’s controlling access to our commander in chief.”

  Metzger sighed on the other end of the secure line, much like a parent who’s tiring of explaining the same thing to an inquisitive child for the fifteenth time. “The president is being deluged by information. He’s had to watch hundreds of thousands, if not millions of his citizens die at the hands of these monsters, and he’s tired. He’s exhausted. The information is getting to him, it’s just being filtered appropriately.”

  “Filtered appropriately?” Rammes couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

  “Is that too tough a term for you to understand, General?”

  “Oh no, sir, it’s not too tough at all. I just want to know what’s being filtered. If we come up with a solution to this whole mess, the president will need to know about it immediately. There’s no time for it to go through some filter.”

  “You can rest assured that if you do find a solution, I will get your information to the president immediately. I also suggest you spend your time trying to find that solution rather than walking the thin line of insubordination with me. Do I make myself clear, General Rammes?”

  You . . . are an asshole. “Clear. We’re working on that solution now. Two of the casings are being analyzed as we speak. We’re watching the catharsis process run its course, and hopefully we’ll find a way to kill these things before we have to blow half the country to bits to stop them.”

  “Then, you’d better speed things up, General.” The statement had an ominous tone to it.

  “Why?” Rammes knew what the answer would be.

  “We’re launching today. This afternoon. Against the fixed locations of the bird casings.”

  “Thad, you need to give us a chance here. Don’t let them do this. Not yet.”

  “It’s already done. POTUS has given the order.”

  “Jesus Christ! Those cities are still evacuating!”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “Bullshit! We always have a choice! We’re talking about nuking our own country, for Christ’s sake!”

  “This conversation is over, General Rammes.”

  The connection went dead.

  Rammes pressed another button on his secure phone.

  CHAPTER 56

  “Madame Vice President, General Rammes is on the line for you. Button four.”

  “Thank you, Commander.” High over the northwestern United States in her airborne command and control aircraft, the vice president swung her chair toward her secure phone. “Hello, General. Good news, I hope?”

  “Ma’am, this is Lieutenant General Derek Rammes, commanding general of the Vanguard complex. I request level 10 communications protocol.”

  For a second, she was taken aback. But only for a second.

  “Stand by.” She removed a coded identification book from her briefcase and opened it to the appropriate page. “General Rammes, this is Ms. Allison Perez, vice president of the United States of America. Prepare to authenticate.”

  “This is General Rammes. I authenticate Maxwell, Donald, Lebanon, six, six, two, four. Day code is one, one, Kilo, Echo.”

  Good authentication. “Stand by.” She muted the line. “Commander Williams!”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Set me up for level 10, this line. Right now.”

  “Understand, ma’am. Level 10.”

  Allison held the receiver to her ear, listening to the soft clicking and bursts of muted static that signaled the recoding of the secure call. Level 10 was the highest level of encryption possible. It was used only in the direst of circumstances, where absolute confidentiality was required. Once the level 10 encryption code was used, it would have to be changed. Because of its secrecy, there were only three codes loaded and available for use at any one time. It would take the eggheads at the National Security Agency about six months to produce a new code to replace one of the three.

  The Navy commander returned a few seconds later. “You’re all set up, Madame Vice President.”

  “Thank you, Commander.”

  She heard the lock slide shut on the other side, and knew the commander was now guarding the door, armed with his sidearm. Use of deadly force was now authorized. No one would be allowed entry until she gave him permission.

  “General, this is Perez.”

  There was a delay as the supersecret encryption equipment sent the four words she had spoken through a maze of highly sophisticated algorithms, scrambling sounds, scrambling the order, and then scrambling it again and again and again, until the only sounds transmitted to the Vanguard communications complex were a jumbled mess of static.

  On the other end of the line, a set of identical encryption equipment rapidly put the electronic puzzle pieces back together. The vice president’s voice came through the receiver with a tinny, metallic sound.

  “Madame Vice President, I need to know if you’re aware of the president’s decision to release nuclear weapons against the cities infested with the bird casings.” It was a tough call. If she knew, he would have compromised a highly secret code, and effectively ended his career. Worse than that, however, he would look like a bumbling idiot.

  To put it in simpler terms, he’d just shot his wad.

  When the general’s words reached her ear, Allison couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “General Rammes, I am not aware of any such order.” If the order was valid, she’d been completely left out of the loop. Betrayed. By her own president. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. “Clarify.”

  A pause.

  “General Metzger informed me of the order. It’s going to happen this afternoon. I’m not aware of the exact time.”

  A pause.

  “How certain are you of this, General?” She immediately regretted questioning him, because if he had even the slightest doubt, he wouldn’t have used the level 10 communications protocol. Her words were already on their way, however.

  A pause.

  “As certain as I’ve ever been about anything, Madame Vice President.”

  A pause.

  An electronic voice spoke from the receiver, announcing the call would only last another fifteen seconds, a safeguard to prevent a hostile listening station from intercepting a long enough stream of data to help break the code and decipher the message.

  “I will contact the president immediately, General. Thank you.”

  A pause.

  “You need to get us more time, ma’am.”

  A pause.

  Ten seconds until termination, the voice announced.

  “I’ll
do what I can, General.”

  Five seconds until termination.

  A pause.

  “Godspeed, Madame Vice President.”

  A pause.

  The line went dead in her hand.

  CHAPTER 57

  The ramp at Barksdale AFB, Louisiana, was thrumming with activity. Trailer after trailer snaked its way to the waiting B-52s from the cavernous weapons storage bunkers, each trailer hauling tons of ordnance.

  Munitions troops quickly filled the BUFFs’ bomb bays and wing pylons with five-hundred-pound high-explosive bombs, soon to be dropped all over the American Midwest in a frantic attempt to kill the fixed ground waves, before they rose again with the coming of darkness.

  On another part of the ramp, far away from the line of ancient, drooped-winged B-52s, sat three bat-winged B-2 Spirit stealth bombers.

  Whiteman AFB, Missouri, was the normal home for these aircraft, but the fleet of B-2s had been dispersed due to the proximity of the creatures to their home base. They now sat at different bases around the United States. Some were being used for conventional strikes because of their massive conventional-weapons-carrying capabilities, but these three were being used for an entirely different purpose. A purpose they’d been specifically designed to accomplish during the latter years of the Cold War.

  Small, cylindrical objects were being loaded into their bomb bays. Streamlined. Small fins at the rear. Glinting like fine sterling silver in the sun.

  These objects had come from different munitions bunkers. Handled carefully. Cautiously.

  One weapon was loaded into each aircraft.

  Inside the supersecret bombers, flight crews went through their preflight checks, readying the billion-dollar war machines for flight.

  The mission profiles were uploaded.

  The targets were programmed into the targeting software.

  The time to launch was set.

  Only one more thing was needed for the aircraft to fly.

  A final order from the president of the United States.