“I still own notebooks, Ira. I suggest you sharpen some pencils.”
“Pencils? What’re pencils?”
The battle to penetrate the paranoid layers of the Federal Aviation Administration took less time than expected. Balanced reporting and years of cultivating friends within the agency—plus a list of private numbers into the heart of the FAA and the public affairs office—did the trick. If it was Pete Cooke, it was okay. Within fifteen minutes he was shown into the central control room, where one of the more harried coordinators met him at the door.
“You’re putting only the computer-equipped airplanes on the ground?” Pete asked.
“We’re putting the whole system on the ground. The order just came through from the Transportation Department. There’re too many computers out there to differentiate. Even business jets, private airplanes, helicopters, and older passenger jets have computers scattered all over the cockpit. Of course, the hurricane had already forced some groundings for closed airports.”
“This is nationwide?”
He nodded. “Canada’s participating, too. Don’t know about Mexico yet. We’ve got transatlantics and transpacifics to worry about as well. We’re bringing them down all over the place. Gander, Newfoundland, Anchorage, even Iceland.”
“How soon will it be complete?”
The man put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. His collar was open, his tie askew.
“Maybe another hour. We’ll meet the deadline, but getting the system reestablished later is going to be an even greater battle.”
“How about …”
“You’re welcome to watch, Mr. Cooke. I know you’re a pilot. But I’ve got to dive back into this. Ah, off the record?”
“You know it.”
“Off the record, I sure as hell hope the President knows what he’s doing. There’re going to be about a billion furious passengers and crew members out there for the next week at least, as we try to unsnarl this mess. But, of course, I didn’t say that.”
“And I heard nothing. Thanks. I’ll just watch.”
The controller moved off immediately and picked up a telephone, leaving Pete to meld into a corner, where he pulled out his cellular phone once again and dialed the Journal’s 800 number in New York.
SEYMOUR-JOHNSON AIR FORCE BASE, NORTH CAROLINA—6:19 P.M. EDT
The wing commander of Seymour-Johnson Air Force Base had been trying his best to adopt a stoic expression ever since the FBI agents and nuclear experts had begun descending on his base twenty minutes before. In his mind, he was in control of the operation, but to his female aide, Major Dillingham, Brigadier General Wally Walch had a deer-in-the-headlights look about him as he watched the frantic preparations for ScotAir 50, his thinning hair whipping in the twenty-knot advance winds of Hurricane Sigrid.
Walch could see his Air Force staff car at the far end of the main ramp. The Air Force officer placed in charge of the operation, a Colonel Peters, had commandeered it ten minutes ago on arrival from Shaw Air Force Base to the south. Colonel Peters, still wearing a green flight suit, had streaked in at supersonic speeds in the backseat of a two-seat version of the F-15. Another two-seat supersonic fighter was on short final approach, ferrying a nuclear technician in from Wright-Patterson in Ohio.
General Walch gestured toward Colonel Peters. “He needs to brief me on the plan. We don’t really have any details beyond the basics.”
Major Dillingham nodded, her short blonde hair now standing out almost parallel to the ground in the steady wind. Raindrops splattered occasionally around them, but most of the ramp remained dry, even with the angry clouds racing overhead and gathering in the distance.
“I’ll ask him to come over here.” Dillingham began striding away toward a small group of FBI agents and Air Force personnel. General Walch watched some animated gestures before she and the colonel walked briskly back to his location.
“General, sorry, there’s been little time. I apologize for taking over your base. The FBI agent in charge will be with us in a second. The aircraft is around fifty miles out. He’ll be on approach in ten minutes. We don’t want to put him into holding if we can avoid it. The other guy”—Colonel Peters turned and glanced in the direction of the F-15 which had raced in from Ohio—“should be here in a second. He’s the only nuclear expert we have left who can get here in time.”
The wing commander nodded. “Colonel, I was told we had a C-141 inbound from Charleston Air Force Base to wait at your disposal.”
The colonel nodded. “Yes, sir.” He looked around at the FBI team still conferring in the distance. Satisfied no one else was listening, he turned back to the wing commander. “I’ve been ordered to bring the 141 here and technically keep him standing by, General. That’s in case we decide to dump the bomb instead of defusing it. Theoretically, we could load the bomb on the 141 and have the crew go drop it at sea. For some strange reason, however, he’s just going to remain in holding near Charleston.” He winked at the general, who did not respond. “I can tell you, sir, that bomb isn’t leaving this base. We’ll take care of the weapon here, one way or another.”
General Walch looked taken aback. “I thought dumping it at sea was a presidentially mandated option if you couldn’t get it defused.”
“I was briefed by the Pentagon, sir, right after the Air Force Chief of Staff returned from a teleconference with the President. There was discussion that the President suggested we consider dumping if we decide defusing it in time is not safely possible. But my orders are to preserve the bomb at all costs, which means we’ll use every available second to get it defused. By the time our man gets through trying, if for some reason he doesn’t succeed, there won’t be enough time left to fly it anywhere. In that case, we’re ready to just blow it up here.”
“How comforting, Colonel,” General Walch said sarcastically. “I, too, spoke to the Pentagon, and my understanding was that the C-141 was to be here and standing by. You realize, of course, that the interpretation you just gave me could be considered a violation of the President’s orders?”
Colonel Peters scowled at the senior officer. “General, this is U.S. Air Force Top Secret clearance stuff, okay? We’re on the same team here. We’re both senior Air Force officers, and like you, I take orders from our commanders at the Pentagon. I’m responsible for defusing and preserving this bomb. I’m not responsible for mind-reading the current political hack in the White House to try to figure out what he might think he wants. And, forgive me, sir, but for this mission, my direct commander is General Billings on the Air Staff.”
The wing commander looked at Colonel Peters in silence for a few moments. “Anything I can do for you, then, Colonel Peters?”
He shrugged. “Not much at this point, except clear your base and keep an aircraft standing by to get you and your people out of here if we’re within twenty minutes of detonation and we haven’t turned it off.”
“We’ve got that KC-10 ready over there,” General Walch said, gesturing to the military tanker version of the civilian DC-10 sitting in front of the control tower. In the background, three more KC-10’s were waiting, the last wave of the mass evacuation taking place on the base.
The colonel began to turn and walk off, then thought better of it and turned back to the general.
“By the way, sir, here’s all I know at present. The terrorist is an American female. The FBI feels they can arrest her without incident, and that’s the first task. Deadly force against her has been authorized, but we can’t separate her from the bomb until we’ve analyzed and duplicated the radio signals being broadcast by her pacemaker. Once she’s under control and we’re sure she doesn’t have a remote detonator, we’ll start work on the bomb. While we’re trying to defuse it, another team will be wiring it with high explosives. If we can’t get it out of the 727, and for some reason can’t deactivate it, then, as a last resort, we’ll blow it up, along with the 727.”
“What if the woman resists, Colonel?”
“Tha
t’s why I need your security police, sir. The feds will do everything they can to talk her off, because the last thing we want is her holding the plane hostage with the bomb aboard. We also don’t know for sure if any of the crew is working with her, so we’re going to have to gain their trust until we’ve got firm control. But the bottom line is, get them all in custody and disarm the damn thing.”
“And if it goes off prematurely with a nuclear detonation?”
Colonel Peters looked at General Walch, then at Major Dillingham, then back again.
“Well,” he began, “to tell the truth, if it goes off without warning, we’ll never know it in this life, unless you’d already put at least thirty miles or so between yourself and this location.”
The major inhaled sharply, but quickly recovered her composure. The general’s eyes widened slightly, but otherwise his features remained impassive. He said to the colonel, “I know you need to get back to the FBI group,” as he gestured to the contingent of three dark-suited men standing several yards distant.
“I do, sir, yes. Wish us luck and say a few prayers.” The colonel looked at his feet and took a deep breath, as if deciding whether to say anything more. Suddenly he looked up, catching Major Dillingham’s eyes. “I’m told this thing will shut down the entire country, in addition to vaporizing Goldsboro, if we let it go off. I can assure you I won’t let that happen.”
His eyes shifted to the general, who smiled a strained smile and gestured toward his shoulders. “Probably a star in it for you, eh, Colonel?”
“Sir?”
“Amazing what it takes to make general these days. Good luck, Colonel Peters.” General Walch gripped the major’s arm and turned them both toward base operations across the ramp. Colonel Peters knew he’d just been insulted, but there was nothing he could think to say in response as they turned away.
SEVENTEEN
ABOARD SCOTAIR 50—6:23 P.M. EDT
As the descent began, Linda McCoy returned to the cargo cabin to brief Vivian, who seemed on the verge of tears.
“About ten minutes more,” Linda told her, adjusting the single blanket protecting Vivian from the cold floor.
Vivian patted her hand in return. “I appreciate your coming back to check on me.”
“I hate that you’ve had to sit alone back here.”
“I’m so sorry, Linda, that I’ve involved all you good people in this mess. I had no idea …”
“Don’t worry about it. Really. What’s important is that we’re in this together, and we’re going to take care of it together. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good.” Linda brushed back her hair with her free hand as she knelt beside Vivian. “Now here’s what I need to tell you. Our young captain’s been talking almost nonstop to the FBI. They’re fully aware you can’t get more than fifteen feet away from this thing, but they’ve got a radio circuit rigged to fool it. They’ll figure out the frequency and identification codes broadcast by your pacemaker and adjust their radio to mimic it. Once that’s working, they can get you out of here. The bomb won’t know the difference.”
“You said we’re near Goldsboro, North Carolina, Linda. They can’t let the thing explode anywhere on the continent, and certainly not close to any cities. The government does understand this is a thermonuclear bomb that will trigger a Medusa Wave, don’t they?”
“They seem to. Look, Vivian, I’ll be brutally honest with you on this. Scott’s trying to get their promise not to burn this device or blow it up with high explosives. He read the same message on the computer screen you and I did. He’s terrified the military won’t listen, because we’re both convinced the thing’s not bluffing. So, can you tell me anything I can pass on, any snippet of information I could give them, that would help prove your husband could have put a booby trap on this thing?”
“A booby trap …?” Vivian suddenly dropped her gaze to the aluminum floor and smiled slightly as her expression brightened.
“What?” Linda asked, puzzled.
Vivian looked up, still smiling.
“The image!” she said cryptically, waving a hand at the bomb as if trying to exorcise some vision Linda couldn’t see. “I … I’m sorry! You triggered a silly image.”
Linda cocked her head slightly. “What? Tell me.”
“Rogers was cruel to me, abused me, and belittled me, and in later years grew into a monster. That’s all true. But in the early days of our marriage he could be hilarious, too. A dry, droll sense of humor. That’s one reason I fell in love with him.”
“But what’s so funny now?”
“When you mentioned ‘booby trap,’ I couldn’t help laughing. That was what Rogers called my bra.”
Linda rolled her eyes and shook her head as Vivian grew serious again.
“You asked what to tell them, Linda. Tell them to look into my husband’s work in the sixties and seventies. They’ll find he invented the most accepted nuclear trigger mechanism and at the same time wrote at least one paper on the fact that any existing trigger could be modified to set off a nuclear detonation if high explosives were used to destroy it. He knew how. Tell Scott he’s right. If they blow it up, they’ll trigger the Medusa Effect.”
Linda nodded. “Okay.”
Vivian reached out to grab Linda’s arm. “But there’s more to consider here. They’re going to waste time if they try to defuse it. They won’t be successful, and if they push too far, they’ll blow all of us off the map and unleash Medusa. There’s nothing Rogers won’t have thought of. Nothing. The case is welded shut, and any attempt to get inside …”
“Listen to yourself, Vivian!” Linda’s voice sounded incredulous. The older woman responded instantly, as if jolted.
“Wha … what?”
“You sound just like those warnings your husband programmed into the computer.”
Vivian looked up, then turned to study the bomb. “I guess I do,” she said, absently, as her eyes locked on Linda again. “But it’s because I know he’s not bluffing.”
“But he was bluffing when he said any movement would be detected, wasn’t he?”
Vivian shook her head vigorously no. “That wasn’t a bluff. That was a foul-up of some sort. He made a mistake, or something malfunctioned. Vastly different. We can’t rely on any more mistakes.”
“So what makes you think that single mistake won’t let us find a way in?”
“He would have expected a frantic attempt to defuse it, can’t they see that? He’ll have known that the military couldn’t just sit back and wait to see if he was really going to wipe out the Pentagon and most of Washington, not to mention unleash the Medusa Wave. He knows they’ll have to try to get inside and turn it off. He’s probably loaded dozens of warning algorithms. Ultimately, he’ll explode it rather than permit it to be defused.”
“Just like he did when you walked to the back of the plane?”
Again Vivian looked at her with surprise. Linda could see confusion in her eyes.
“He … that may have been different. He wants to make me hurt. He wants to scare me.”
“Right. So why would he want to set it off? Think about it, Vivian. Setting it off would end your pain and suffering. If he’s bluffing but keeps threatening, he gets the maximum terroristic advantage. The more he can pull your chain, the more he can torture you. He blows you up, that’s the end of the torture.”
“But, Linda, there is a limit. Rogers knew that if someone got inside the casing with the intent to disarm it, he’d lose his leverage. He can’t accept any loss of control. He’ll detonate it, rather than lose control. What happened before—my attempt to walk away and his reaction—didn’t do enough to threaten his control. If he detects …”
“If it detects. Your husband’s dead. Don’t forget, this is a thing!”
“Okay. If it finds it’s about to be defused, it will detonate.”
Linda nodded. “That’s logical.”
“Listen to me, Linda. You’ve got to convince Scott and everyone else
out there making decisions that the only way to avoid this horror is to take advantage of the one mistake Rogers made, the fact that the bomb doesn’t know where it is. You can’t reason with this terrorist. He’s dead. You can’t defuse the bomb. But you can fly it over the ocean and dump it. It probably can’t successfully trigger a Medusa Wave if it blows up far enough underwater.”
“We’ve got to get you free first.”
“If there’s enough time, and if we find a way. If not, I’ll have to go with it. I’m responsible for everyone being in this fix to begin with. But the Air Force will have to get this thing offshore and fast!”
“Vivian, Scott’s arranged to get my cargo off and have Jerry and Doc and me rush away to cover. He’ll stay with you until you’re sprung loose from this thing, but I’ll stay, too, if you’d like.”
Vivian’s head was moving back and forth in an emphatic no. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You take those three guys and get as far away as you can. I don’t even want Scott to stay.”
“I have a feeling you won’t convince him,” Linda said.
“He’ll accomplish nothing staying with me. I don’t need the hand-holding. I’d feel better knowing all four of you were a hundred miles away.”
“I’ll feel better knowing this thing is turned off and dismantled.”
Vivian nodded, but Linda caught a quizzical look in her eyes and arched an eyebrow to ask what she was thinking.
“You know, Linda, it’s funny.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t be more than, what, thirty-two? And Scott can’t be more than thirty, yet you referred to him as ‘our young captain.’ I can tell you I’m pretty impressed with that young captain, whatever his age.”
Linda looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, I am, too.” She looked toward the front of the compartment, past the ticking bomb. “I sat behind him through that frightening approach to Pax River, Vivian, and watched him. I watched the veins in his arms and hands and how he refused to let the airplane get away from him. I was pretty angry with him at first today for various reasons, but he’s … quite capable. I do trust him, and that doesn’t come easy for me.”
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