Madness

by Bill Wetterman

  “But Sir . . .”

  “I can accept no objection. Tell him, and see to it he reroutes the missiles.”

  Latovsky would stay safely underground for another three hours and then fly to New York for his speech to the United Nations at ten o’clock the next morning. By then, he mused, all hostilities would cease.

  #

  While the scientists double-checked for every possible eventuality, Sir Jarvis Franks acted as cheerleader, giving out “Jolly goods” and “Atta Boys” on every one of his rounds, which were now every ten minutes. He wasn’t a scientist, and he didn’t want to be a bother. However, Pendleton insisted Franks make his presence known in a positive way, and he lived to fulfill his missions.

  A sigh of relief escaped his lips when his cell vibrated. “Sir Jarvis here.”

  “Vladimir Kalakos, Sir Jarvis, I have a favor to ask.”

  As Sir Jarvis listened, a sick, acidy burning grew in the center of his chest. “One minute, let me conference you in with the Director of Operations.”

  Once the director entered the conversation, Sir Jarvis remained silent as the two men’s conversation became uncivil. One demanding a redirection of certain missiles and the other insisting the request came too late.

  Finally, Sir Jarvis got in a word. “Based on our inventory, how many missiles are we talking about?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “If there were only ten missiles to redirect, how would you feel?”

  “Somewhat more confident.”

  “Then start with ten and redirect as many as you can. You might surprise yourself and be able to handle them all.”

  Vladimir shouted curses as he hung up, but Franks felt his management skills had again been successfully applied. “Carry on everyone. Good job.”

  Chapter 18

  Pendleton and his team headed to the White House accompanying Vice President Edmunds to a hasty swearing in ceremony. He’d summoned the Chief Justice immediately after the White House medical staff pronounced Monroe dead. General Giamo traveled in the limousine with Edmunds as the military presence in support of Edmunds’ ascendance to the role of Commander-in-Chief.

  “How do you think Americans will respond to the missile firings?” one of Pendleton’s aides asked.

  “They’ll be furious at first. They’ll believe Edmunds betrayed their path toward peace.” He straightened his posture moving his back flat against the leather seat. “But other than an occasional whisper of my name, most of humanity doesn’t know me. And when I address the world, their attitude will hopefully change for the better.”

  “Is there a time set for Edmunds’ speech to the United Nations?”

  “Yes, nine in the morning Eastern Standard Time.”

  “And your speech?”

  “Noon, the same day.” Pendleton settled back watching the crowds gathering in the streets, as Edmunds’ limousine passed the Harvard Club en route to the White House. His cell vibrated. Van Meer was calling him back. “Pendleton.”

  “Arthur, there’s chaos everywhere. Ever since Monroe’s death was announced, people here are in a dither.”

  “Never mind that, Lovey maybe headed your direction to thwart our plans.”

  “How could she know our plans?”

  “I’m not sure, maybe from Reed. The main problem is she ditched Loomis and I don’t know where she is.”

  “Well bloody hell, what do I do if she shows up?”

  “Disable her and bring her to me when all this is over.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll just say ‘Lovey dear, let me disable you.’ She’s a hydrogen weapon for God’s sake. I’m not sure I can handle her.”

  “If you can’t, no one can.”

  “Arthur, be reasonable. I kill people. I don’t disable them.”

  Pendleton’s fists clenched and he screamed. “Don’t argue. Just do what I asked.” He slammed the cellphone against the limo window and spit, “Why is that woman so damn much trouble?”

  “I can’t help you there, Mate,” his driver said. “They say love is blind. But if it is, why is lingerie so popular?”

  Pendleton couldn’t help himself. He let out a roar and patted his aide’s knee. “That’s the bloody thing of it. They hit us where we’re weakest.”

  #

  Thaddeus Cline, Skipper to his friends, hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. He hung up from his call with Franks, showered, shaved, and prepared for the final hour before he either became the most exalted space scientist in history or a villain who betrayed his nation.

  No hookers, no booze, no fast cars occupied his time these last three months. Instead of feeling nervous, he was thoughtful. For the first time, he studied his life from the right side of his brain, not the left. He felt ageless. Flashes of coordinates switching from one global position to another flew through his mind like the Aurora Borealis.

  He’d arrive at the Missile Defense Agency with thirty-minutes to spare. Three of his technicians would be on duty, the minimum required for an emergency operation. With the pressing of a key on his laptop, the pathway to the launch sequences would open to the center in Oxfordshire.

  Cline slipped on his lab coat, clipped his pass card to its pocket, and smiled like a Cheshire cat at his image in his bathroom mirror. He owned no weapons. Yet he was secure with his knowledge and his science. The plan would go as Pendleton wished. Nations labeled as uncontrollable would lose their military capabilities and leadership in minutes. A warning shot at religious fanatics would deliver an edict. Play ball with the new regime or face annihilation.

  As he pulled out of his neighborhood on Sunset Bluff and headed to Route 231 for his drive to work, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony played on his DVD player. However, playing wasn’t the glorious Ode to Joy of the last movement. Cline played the First Movement’s fifteen minutes repeatedly, parts of which sounded like an orchestra tuning for a grand event.

  A grand event indeed.

  #

  Hans Van Meer checked the schedule of speakers on the list to address the United Nations in New York the following morning. Prime Minister Lodge would speak at eight a.m., President Edmunds at nine, Serge Latovsky at ten, and Li Ziyang representing the People’s Republic of China at eleven. With the leaders of the world seated in the front row of the United Nations Building in New York, Arthur Pendleton would pick up a microphone a quarter of the world away precisely at noon, Eastern Standard Time, and deliver his speech to the world.

  Van Meer sipped his coffee as his plane descended to eight thousand feet in preparation for landing in Huntsville, Alabama.

  “We’ve been given a ten minute delay into Huntsville,” his pilot said. “Estimated landing time now is 1:16 a.m.”

  “And drive time to the Missile Center?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “Good, that puts us there in time to escort Cline away, safe and sound.”

  #

  Peacock’s aircraft touched down at Redstone Air Force Base at 1:20 a.m., grateful her plane flew a different path than local air traffic.

  “I aim to please,” Agent Keller said. He helped her out of the jet. On the tarmac, he handed her the black case and her purse. “Put in a good word to the Ursas for me.”

  “Roger that, Agent Keller.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, I’ll fly you anywhere you want at any time.”

  The look he gave her said one horny man. She didn’t have time for sex now, although her brain could have flown her there in an instant. She must direct her energy and focus on stopping the missiles from launching.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, grabbed the keys to the Lincoln and headed out on her four-mile drive to the Missile Defense Agency.

  The four-mile drive with a great GPS took only seven minutes. However, as she pulled in to the agency parking lot, a flash of light from a passing car blinded her. She hit the brake and skidded to a stop.

  What the hell?

  Her vision cleared. Whatever blinded her made her so irritated s
he wanted to hit something.

  Focus on the task.

  She pulled into the first available space as another flash inside her head and an audible clicking sound shutdown her ability to reason for a moment. When the trauma passed, she thought, I’ve disconnected from the lab and the sensors are deteriorating from lack of activity. Stay on mission. Kolb will not win.

  She steadied herself, slipped out of the car, and looked for a doorway or a secret elevator. Finding none, she searched Major’s device for the Missile Defense Agency and found a diagram. “Good grief,” she said, unlocking the security door on the north side of the building. “This gadget opens anything.”

  The map took her up a flight of stairs to a doorway marked Authorized Personnel Only. There was a place for the identification badge to slide in and a thumbprint. She took Major’s thumb out of her purse and pressed it in the reader. A greenish light flashed across the thumb several times. When the green light turned solid, she swiped the identification badge and opened the door.

  Major wasn’t original. She found herself in a hallway identical to the one in The Klingerman Institute. She repeated the same track and came to a door. She fully expected to open the door and find a men’s restroom. When she did open it, she stopped short. Instead of a restroom, she discovered an observation hall overlooking the Missile Defense Complex. She viewed the heart of the operation through a one-way glass panel. Halfway down the walkway to the right was a door that led to a stairway down into the Missile Defense Complex itself. A banner on the far wall read, Welcome to the Asteroid Project.

  She was about to pull out the gun Loomis gave her when a violent flash of light and horrible pain exploded in Peacock’s head. She screamed and collapsed to the floor unable to move. She whispered. “Fight! Kolb must not win.”

  #

  “I’ve arrived at the Center,” Van Meer said to Pendleton via cellphone. “Has Edmunds been sworn in?”

  ‘He’s taking the oath as we speak.”

  “I haven’t seen a glimpse of your darling, Laverna.” He scanned the building cameras and the cameras at the entrance. “No one’s coming in or near the building.”

  “And Professor Cline?”

  “He’s at his desk and relaxed. The three technicians who work for him are going about their business as usual.” Van Meer cocked his head. “Did anyone hear that?”

  “What?” a technician responded.

  Van Meer looked toward the paneled glass around the ceiling. “I thought I heard a siren or something high pitched.”

  “Don’t go imagining things, Hans,” Pendleton laughed and then whispered. “Edmunds has finished his swearing in. He’ll be heading to New York for tomorrow’s speech. I’ll be leaving as well.”

  “Same plan—same schedule?”

  “Yes, remember to synchronize your watch. The whole rollout depends on our working in unison.”

  Chapter 19

  Serge Latovsky’s aircraft lifted off the runway at 1:45a.m. Eastern Standard Time for its seven-hour flight to New York. Traveling with the newest technology and using the Arctic route cut two and a half hours off the former trip time. His informants told him Li Ziyang left Beijing at midnight taking the same flight path. The two men would enter the United Nations building at approximately the same time with Latovsky speaking first.

  He would be over the Arctic Circle when the missiles fired. His people had suffered harshly from this prolonged conflict. He hoped Pendleton kept his word and the rockets reached their intended targets with the least amount of collateral damage to Russia as possible. He studied his speech prepared by his closest advisors and most proficient speechwriters. He would laud Pendleton’s goals and agree with the concept of a one-world government, in which he held an active role.

  If Latovsky could manipulate Pendleton, eventually he hoped to elevate himself over the entire Eastern Europe and Western Asian Regions. As of takeoff, North Korea had launched no missiles. Latovsky drummed his fingers on the arm of his seat. What would Li Ziyang do about Korea? Ziyang wasn’t returning his calls.

  Over an hour into his flight, his red phone rang, and he jerked up in his seat. The past week had drained his confidence. “Yes?”

  “Serge, Arthur here.”

  “I’m headed your direction. Is everything on schedule?”

  “Edmunds has been sworn in as President of the United States. The Chinese have counseled the North Koreans. North Korea will hold off taking action until the United Nations meets. And, my man is in place at the Missile Defense Complex.”

  “Are you sure about the North Koreans and the Chinese?”

  “I heard it from Li Ziyang, himself.”

  How did these two become such close friends? Li Ziyang hadn’t contacted Latovsky. A bad feeling caused him to wipe his brow.

  “Stop worrying, Serge. Worry doesn’t become you. We’re minutes from changing the world.”

  A click said Pendleton was gone. Sweat poured down Latovsky’s face. He had no facts to say otherwise. Nevertheless, the smell of betrayal filled his mind, and he couldn’t let that smell go.

  #

  The International Space Innovation Center teemed with activity. Eighty-four top-notch employees were primed to leap into action when Professor Cline flipped the switch at his desk. There were twenty-five missiles in each of thirty-five banks circling the earth. A team of two skilled technicians per bank poised ready to convert target locations and fire the missiles. The other teams positioned themselves to track the missiles to their targets by satellite and verify the hits.

  Sir Jarvis Franks remained in the control room mesmerized by the proficiency of the talent assembled. Franks understood his weaknesses. People viewed him as odd. He was effective in a likeable—cartoonish sort of way, and he knew that’s how people viewed him. Underestimating him could ruin an enemy. Intelligent beyond the norm and loyal beyond the norm as well, Franks experience running MI6 made him invaluable to Pendleton and the future Global Realm.

  “I’m on the phone with Cline,” the project leader shouted, his hand waving in the air. “Synchronize at two minutes at my signal. Now.”

  Sir Jarvis marveled that his watch adjusted one tenth of a second and was precisely in tune with the master wall clock.

  We’re ready to go.

  #

  “Let’s discuss our moves from here,” Pendleton said as he disconnected from Oxfordshire.

  His pilot and crew gathered around him. “A plane is waiting for Van Meer at Huntsville airport. If he has my wife with him, they will take off from Huntsville at five in the morning and meet us at our destination seven hours later. If not, Cline alone will be onboard. Van Meer will stay and track down Laverna.”

  “When must I have things ready for take-off?” his pilot asked.

  “General Giamo cleared us out to depart Andrews at five as well.”

  “Roger that.”

  Pendleton slid into his limousine at the White House and settled back in his seat. He bowed his head. “Father, protect her. Heal her. Help me free her from the nightmare she’s in.”

  His driver looked back at him with sadness in his eyes. “Are you hurting, Sir?”

  “Terribly.”

  “I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve learned a few things. The best advice I can give is that reality is never as bad as worry.”

  I used to believe that.

  The driver had never met Lovey. On a day Pendleton should be leaping for joy, he found no joy to celebrate. Precise strikes would eliminate the most dangerous threats in the old world. His organization was ready to announce the coming of the new world. But if he lost Lovey to death or insanity, only George would ever bring life to his heart again.

  #

  Anne Pendleton knew up from down. She knew east from west, and she definitely wasn’t traveling west. The British Airways charter she’d boarded, surrounded by members of the Sons of Tiw, was headed southeast at a rapid speed.

  “I thought we were going to Boston. Isn’t Boston in a dif
ferent direction?”

  “You’ve never met me, Mrs. Pendleton, save for a second at Arthur’s wedding. My name’s Milton Rogers.” The gray-haired gentleman sitting next to her flashed a broad smile.

  She studied his face. “Yes, I remember you. I’ve seen you on the telly, right next to our prime minister.”

  “Indeed, you’re right.” Rogers squeezed her hand and gave a sleeping George a gentle pat. “We wouldn’t harm you or Arthur’s boy for the world. No, we’re not going to Boston. I can’t tell you where we’re going. But we’re taking you to a safe, friendly place.”

  “I hate mysteries.” She shook her finger at Rogers. “And life with my son is always a mystery of one kind or another.”

  Rogers seemed to be an intelligent, thoughtful man, one who liked her son. She knew that likely millions would die in the coming weeks and she needed answers.

  “Milton. May I call you that?”

  “Indeed, Madam.”

  “To what end is all this politics and warfare heading? People are scared to death, and I’m one.”

  “So as I understand it, Arthur’s been mum with his mum.”

  Anne chuckled. “You’re quite right.” She eyed her new friend with interest.

  “I took young Arthur Pendleton under my wing almost sixteen years ago now.” A grin of good memories brightened his eyes, and Anne found the grin endearing. “At first I educated him on how quickly the planet was disintegrating. Then he educated me on how only an enlightened dictator, despot, whatever one wants to call the person, could save the planet.”

  Anne saddened. “Arthur’s bitten off more than he can chew, I’m afraid.”

  “If anyone can save the planet, he can. He asked God if His Son’s hour was here and got no answer. So he moved himself.”

  “What will he do?”

  “Imagine a world where all men truly are treated equal and have an equal opportunity to be anything they want to be.” Rogers turned full face toward her. “Imagine a world with no money, no more irritating ads, no more political races, and no more wars. That is what your son aims to achieve. And I will help him do it.”