“For example?”
“Missile sponge. Our one hundred fifty Minuteman missiles, plus the same number at Warren and Malmstrom air force bases, force the Russians to send at least nine hundred missiles against them to ensure their destruction and so to use a significant number of their missiles.”
“They need at least two missiles to destroy each of ours? Aren’t global positioning systems becoming extremely accurate? What if they needed only one on one?”
Almost successfully hiding his annoyance, Nichols told him that the Russians wouldn’t take the risk.
“So,” said Martin, the upper middle of the country is sacrificed to draw off some of the Russian missiles.”
“On the contrary, this is one of the legs of the deterrent force.”
“Very well. Another one of Mrs. O’Hare’s arguments, given that our ICBMs can’t move to avoid being hit, is that there is little time to decide if a warning of an attack is accurate, but I don’t want to ask about that. Is it true that a number of the missile launch officers on base have been using mind-altering drugs and if it is true, doesn’t that make them less capable of using good judgement? They are, after all, in charge of the most destructive weapons ever made.”
“A small group has been identified using marijuana when off duty. I’m afraid this generation of young people has a rather nonchalant attitude toward marijuana. As I said, they were not on duty and remember it takes two missile launch officers to launch a rocket. The public has never been in any danger whatsoever.”
Martin shook his head and leaned forward.
“Colonel Nichols, former secretary of defense William Perry was interviewed on NPR in 2018 about the danger of false alarms. He was asked if it terrified him. This is what he said. He read from his moleskin notebook.
* * *
PERRY: It does terrify me. In fact, what really terrifies me is that people don’t understand this issue. They don’t understand the problem we have today—the problem of starting a war by mistake is probably greater today than it was during the Cold War because the things that can cause that false alert are not just a single person making the wrong judgment. It’s not just a machine here. Now we have the possibility of malicious hacking into the system either by a malevolent individual or by an unfriendly government. So the problem today is much greater than it was during the Cold War.
* * *
“So, Colonel Nichols” said Martin on finishing, “does it scare you.”
“I have full confidence in the U. S. Air Force.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
From a somewhat reluctant Roy Haugen, Captain Andresen received the telephones confiscated from Calderone, Caulfield, and Forster. Haugen had considered the benefits to himself were he the one to expose the drug supply line. But marijuana and LSD were not what most people considered hard drugs and he worried that his airmen, specifically Caulfield and Forster, bad boys as they were, would suffer punishments out of proportion to their crimes. Calderone, a missile launch officer, because of his responsibility was another matter. Who knows how he might be disciplined?
Andresen quickly established that Forster’s telephone was the most littered with coded messages and that Batman was the sender and receiver of most of these messages.
The telephone company, with a court order to do so, unmasked Batman as Wayne Smedberg.
When Andresen and officer Shirley Johansen arrived at the Smedberg’s front door, Johansen allowed playful visions of battering rams to dance in her head. When Harriet Smedberg, Wayne’s mother, puzzled but relaxed, welcomed the officers in, her visions of battering rams evaporated.
Introductions made, Andresen said he’d like to speak with Wayne.
“He’ll be home soon,” said Harriet Smedberg. “He’s out skateboarding but he’s always on time for dinner.” She added hopefully, “He’s a good boy.”
Mr. Smedberg, who’d been out working in the garage, soon came in.
As of yet Andresen had not mentioned the purpose of their visit, but now with both parents present, he decided to tell an abbreviated version of the story. The Smedberg’s were attentive.
“…so I’m concerned your son is, forgive the expression, a drug dealer. Not heroine or methamphetamines, that is, not the most dangerous drugs.”
Dinner delayed, the four waited in the living room for Wayne to return.
When he did, skateboard in hand, the adults stood.
“Wayne,” said Mrs. Smedberg. “This is Captain Andresen and officer Johansen. They’d like to speak with you.”
“Yeah, sure. What about?”
He remained standing.
“Do you know a man named Charlie Forster?” asked Andresen.
“You haven’t told me what this is about.”
This was Andresen’s business, but Johansen was reminded of a nasty cousin of hers who was always disrespectful.
“We think you’re selling drugs to people on the base,” she blurted.
Andresen shook his head.
“Okay, officer, I’ll take it from here.” He smiled at her so she would not be too offended.
“I want to speak with a lawyer,” said Wayne.
They were still standing.
“Wayne!” said Mrs. Smedberg appalled. “What do you mean a lawyer?”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Smedberg,” said Andresen, taking an envelope from his back pocket. “He does have a right to remain silent.”
He took a sheet of paper from an envelope and handed it to Mrs. Smedberg who shared it with her husband. The words “search warrant” could not have been printed any bigger or bolder.
“Excuse us,” said Andresen. He turned, followed by Johansen, to face a staircase. “I take it the bedrooms are upstairs.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Smedberg, as dismayed as his wife.
A hallway ran along the second floor. Wayne’s room was easy to identify, given an unmade bed, a couple of t-shirts on the floor, a desk laden with plastic figures representing various characters from an online shooter game.
Andresen on one side, Johansen on the other, examined the bed, not overlooking pillows, mattress, and then the underside of the bed frame.
Each searched one half of the desk. In the rear of the bottom left hand drawer under some Batman comics, Johansen found a blotter of acid, divided into squares, each printed with a likeness of the mad hatter.
“Bingo,” she said, displaying the blotter, held at a corner between thumb and index finger. “He’s not too concerned about anyone finding it.”
Mr. and Mrs. Smedberg stood in the doorway.
“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Smedberg.
“LSD,” answered Johansen.
“Oh,” she said, perplexed.
Mr. Smedberg disappeared from the doorway, returning as Andresen began going through Wayne’s closet.
“He’s gone,” said Mr. Smedberg. “Took off just like that. It’s going to take a while for me to process this. Wayne’s a good kid.”
Wayne’s attitude had disturbed Johansen, though for her being a good kid might have consisted of instant contriteness, admission of guilt, and an offer to polish her car.
“Possession of LSD is a crime in all fifty states,” she said.
Down on hands and knees and halfway into the closet, Captain Andresen passed articles of clothing, sporting equipment, board games, books, magazines, and shoes to Johansen, who placed them aside.
A cardboard box containing something heavy, was the last object on the closet floor. Within it was a single 40mm high-explosive NK 18 grenade.
Andresen picked it up and whistled.
“That’s not a grenade, is it?” asked Mr. Smedberg, shocked.
“I’m afraid so,” said Andresen. “We’re going to have to arrest the boy when we find him. You understand.”
Wayne’s parents agreed they would call the police when their son returned home, which Andresen was fairly confident they would.
On the way to their patrol car, Johansen said, “I wonder
if he will go home. This is deep shit, if you’ll excuse my French.”
“It sure is. One of these grenades exploded on Edna O’Hare’s front porch. But he’s just a kid, not even finished with high school. He probably doesn’t have a place to go.”
“How about his friend Baxter.”
“Good idea, though I don’t like the idea of barging in on colonel Nichols.”
“He’s not your commanding officer, if I may say so.”
“You’re right, Shirley. You’re right.”
On the base, the Nichols family lived in a well-manicured tract of similar two-story, white houses with ample driveways and garages, and modest, but sufficient, front and back yards. Most Americans would be happy to live in similar pleasant, if uniform, neighborhoods.
Not expecting to find Wayne Smedberg at the Nichols home, Andresen and Johansen nevertheless drove from Minot north to the base.
“We’re going to have to speak with Frank Nichols sooner rather than later,” said Andresen.
“He won’t be home at the time of day,” said Johansen.
“I know.”
Judy Nichols had not seen her son’s friend Wayne for at least a week, which was not out of the usual. He seemed perfectly normal.
“We’d like to speak with Baxter,” said Andresen. Obligingly, Mrs. Nichols immediately called him on her cell phone asking him to come home. After a little back and forth in which she explained that the police wanted to speak with him, she hung up.
“He’s playing touch football with some friends. He’ll be home in twenty minutes.”
Only now did she ask what the matter was.
By the time Baxter arrived, they had explained the situation. Mrs. Nichols had been concerned that they were here about the fight at Edna O’Hare’s protest. They weren’t.
Introductions made, the four sat in the living room. Baxter was subdued and polite.
“My husband Frank will have wished to be here, but we know better than to bother him when he’s at work. So much on his mind these days.”
“Wayne is a friend of yours, right?” said Andresen.
“Yeah. He is.”
“Does he use LSD?”
Baxter frowned.
“Yeah. I guess. He has.”
“You guess? Have you ever had LSD with him?”
Baxter looked at his mother. He was already in trouble with them both for the fight and now this, but he could face another parental scolding. How serious a crime was use of LSD? It couldn’t be that bad? He saw no point in lying. Not yet.
“Yeah. I have.”
“We’d like to search the house, but we have no warrant. Would you permit us to?” asked Andresen.
“Yes, of course.” said Mrs. Nichols.
Baxter shrugged.
They limited the search of the house to Baxter’s room, which was much more ship-shape than Wayne’s had been—military influence doubtless.
Next they searched the garage, if a bit haphazardly, Helen and Baxter tailing them. The garage’s rear door lead into the back yard in which sat a small red garden shed not much bigger than a van.
Johansen walked over and tried the door.
“It’s locked.”
“That’s funny,” said Mrs. Nichols. She went back into the garage for the key.
Wayne sat on the floor cross-legged, head hung. He sighed and stood up.
“You’re under arrest,” said Andresen.
Irate that his son could be caught up in such a mess as drug dealing, Frank Nichols refused to get Baxter a lawyer when Andresen threatened him with arrest.
Under questioning in a bleak grey room at police headquarters in Minot, Baxter, offered clemency if he cooperated, admitted driving the car to Edna O’Hare’s home, where Wayne had thrown the grenade onto her porch, because she was a Russian sympathizer. Baxter swore he didn’t know what Wayne had been up to when he asked for the ride.
Wayne had received two grenades from some guy on the base in exchange for a blotter of acid and eight ounces of marijuana.
Whatever might be said about their delinquency, Wayne Smedberg and Baxter Nichols were not hardened criminals, as newspapers sometimes described those with multiple felonies.
Wayne admitted to several crimes: drug possession, drug sale, accepting stolen property (grenades), and malicious mischief, having convinced everyone that he had no intention of hurting anyone when he threw the grenade onto the porch. He just wanted to frighten Will Larrabee.
“Larrabee?” said Andresen. “Not Mrs. O’Hare?”
Tears ran down Wayne Smedberg’s cheeks.
“The son-of-a-bitch beat me up. I thought about it day and night. My nose hurt so much. I wasn’t doing anything. I was just watching him fight with Baxter. And then he beat me up in front of those people and just walked away.”
He was sobbing now.
As far as the grenades, he swapped some blotter acid and marijuana for them. His grenade supplier, a guy named Charlie on the base, though they never met on the base.
Wayne went to Ward County juvenile detention.
Andresen and Haugen reviewed the case. Charlie had to be Charlie Forster.
Chapter Sixty-Five
The Committee for a Sound Nuclear Deterrence, headed by a red-haired old woman dressed as a witch, was enthusiastic to have Mr. Martin in town making a documentary about the ICBMs. And while enthusiasm might not be the word to describe Minot’s reaction, there was excitation if not excitement.
This could be nothing but a good thing for Edna, thought Will. Her aim, after all, was to raise consciousness about the plan to replace the Minuteman with the GBSD and now her arguments might be heard by a national audience. No matter that the air force’s arguments would be heard, too.
This was the time for Will to complete his trip to New York, to keep his promise to his mother.
When Will told Karen he had something he wanted to talk with her about, she suggested they take a stroll along the river walk.
They stopped on a bridge crossing the Souris, leaning their forearms on the railing. The water was covered with a blanket of green algae.
“I’ve been thinking that this might be the time to go to New York.”
“Oh,” said Karen.
“Edna has made an impact. People are going to hear her arguments.”
Karen looked at him and nodded glumly.
“So I was thinking, why don’t you come with me?”
“Oh, Will. What a wonderful idea, but… I couldn’t possibly do that.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“You like the idea though.”
“Yes. Very much.”
“So tell your father. I mean if you’re old enough to have a lover, you’re old enough to go on a car trip with him, not that I would put it that way to your family.
“We’d only be there for a week max. I’m going to lay all responsibility in my brother’s lap, which I think he wants anyway. It will be easier on him if I keep my promise to my mother. She won’t be able to use me against him. Come on, Karen. What’s the worst your father can do?”
“I don’t know.”
“I want to be there when you tell him you’re going with me.”
Karen laughed.
“You want to, though, right?” asked Will.
“Yes.”
“So ask him and see what he says. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
They turned back to stare at the green river.
To Karen’s surprise, when her father heard that she wanted to discuss an important matter with him and wanted Will to be present, he invited Will to join them for dinner.
“I hope it’s not about the missiles,” said Haugen. “I’m not changing my mind about that and I’m not going to be interviewed by that Martin character. I’d rather house one of the missiles in our garage than mug for that guy’s camera.”
At dinner, Amy said, “We have ice cream for dessert.”
“Yea,” said Lilly, though it
was no surprise as Roy Haugen’s one vice was addiction to ice cream after dinner, summer, winter, spring, or fall. Still, Lilly never tired of saying “Yea.”
When all had empty ice cream dishes before them, Roy said, “So what’s on your mind, Karen?”
“Maybe Lilly should go watch some TV while were talking,” said Karen.
“I want to listen, please,” said Lilly. “I won’t say anything.”
“Is this an adult subject?” asked Roy.
“Well, no,” said Karen. “Not exactly.”
Karen’s hesitancy signaled that maybe it was indeed an adult subject or had adult subject implications.
“Lilly, please respect your sister’s wishes,” said Amy. “She wants some privacy.”
Lilly made a face and left the table.
“I hope when I have kids, they’re as well behaved as Lilly,” said Will.
Roy nodded.
“All right. What’s the topic, adult or not?” said Roy.
To everyone’s surprise, it was Will who spoke.
“I’m going out to New York to visit my family for a few days, a week at the most, and then coming back to Minot. I’d like Karen to come with me.”
“It was my idea,” said Karen, thinking that little white lie might make the trip sound innocent.”
Roy scowled but before he could say anything, Amy asked, “Why do you want to go?”
“For the fun of the road trip.”
“And to be with Will?” added Amy.
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m planning stops in Madison, and Cleveland. We’ll have separate rooms, of course.”
“I’m sorry,” said Roy, “but I don’t approve.”
“Why not, Dad? I’m eighteen.”
“I shouldn’t have to answer that question, but I will. Because it’s just improper. What kind of lax parents do you think we are? Can you imagine me letting my daughter go off for days with someone we hardly know? I mean no offense to you, Will. You understand my position, I’m sure.”
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