Rescind Order

by Natasha Bajema

  Her face flushing, Grace broke eye contact and stared at the table. “Sir, the design of the ARC system is too complex to explain causality in such a short timeframe. I need more time and a few additional analysts to run some in-depth diagnostics.”

  “How much time?” he asked.

  “One or two days at—”

  Hawkins cut her off before she could finish. “You’re suggesting we cancel the planned test and evaluation? Do you understand how much is riding on it?”

  “Yes, sir. I do, but—”

  Hawkins interrupted her again. “In the absence of these diagnostics, you’re making some rather big assumptions.”

  Grace nodded. “Sir, I’m assuming that the system is not functioning properly because ARC has never recommended a countermove before. And I don’t have enough information to explain why. That’s the problem.”

  Hawkins frowned. “I thought you said the problem was that ARC is interpreting China’s deployment action as offensive. Now you’re saying the problem is that you can’t explain the reasons for the recommendation coming from ARC. Which is it?”

  Grace cleared her throat. “Sir, it’s both. Even with additional diagnostics, we may not be able to fully explain either issue. In rule-based systems of the past, programmers could trace outcomes or system behavior back to a rule or complex interactions among different rules. When a deep neural network learns from data, it tweaks its own algorithms to produce our desired outcomes. There are too many algorithmic layers and billions of interactions among them to make an accurate determination about what causes certain outcomes. This level of complexity allows ARC to solve complex problems, but it can also cause the system to fail or behave in unpredictable and complex ways. To put it simply, we can’t understand how the deep neural network learns from the data we feed it—especially when new data diverges from the training data.”

  Hawkins furrowed his brow. “Okay, fine. Then if you can’t explain why the ARC system produces a specific outcome, can you at least explain to me why I should care? I still haven’t heard any reason why we shouldn’t proceed with ARC’s test and evaluation later today.”

  Because ARC gives the order to launch nuclear weapons?

  “Yes, sir. The problem arises from the tight interlocking of the different components of ARC. As you know, the ISR component is directly linked to the early warning, command and control, targeting, and launch components. If the ISR component of ARC has misinterpreted the last round of data and deviates from the model of deterrence, the system could be recommending moves that are intended to defeat rather than deter an adversary. In short, ARC could be leading us down a path of nuclear escalation, but we can’t be sure. For this reason, I think we should take the system offline until we can figure out why this is happening and make sure it doesn’t unintentionally lead to further errors.”

  “Now you’re suggesting we take ARC offline?” Hawkins said, his jaw tightening.

  Dietz cleared his throat. “Sir, I think we’re getting dangerously close to an overreaction here. My team’s systems engineer from Centoreum Tech has explained to me that there is actually no false positive. The ARC system is functioning entirely as expected. Major Lim simply doesn’t understand how the system functions and is dead wrong.”

  Her body tensed, and Grace looked at the door again.

  Still no sign of Colonel Martinez.

  Hawkins narrowed his eyes. “So, you’re saying that there’s nothing to worry about here?”

  “Sir, that’s correct,” Dietz continued.

  “What about the recommended move to DEFCON 3?” Hawkins asked. “Are you saying we should just do what ARC says and increase the readiness of our nuclear forces?”

  Dietz shook his head. “Sir, that decision is above my pay grade. I’m saying we shouldn’t get distracted by minor technicalities. Instead, we should calmly review the recommendations made by ARC. These recommendations come from Centoreum’s proprietary technique for developing a ‘dynamic’ deep neural network. You may recall when the department put together the request for proposal, we specifically asked for a system that would be designed to learn continuously and remain up to date. We wanted to make sure the real-world environment would not evolve significantly beyond the algorithmic model generated by the training data. If that were to happen, the system would fail to operate in the real world. Obviously, this is something we needed to avoid—”

  “But that’s also the problem, sir,” Grace said, interrupting her boss and making direct eye contact with Hawkins. “What if ARC’s deep neural network has tweaked the algorithms to assume a greater likelihood of China’s use of nuclear weapons than is actually the case? That will have effects on the other components in the—”

  “Sir, the changes in the algorithm fall within acceptable parameters,” Dietz said, his voice growing louder. “Centoreum Tech has developed a system to support our nuclear decision-making by detecting anomalies in behavior patterns of our nuclear adversaries. The fact that China has forward deployed two of its nuclear-armed submarines is an anomaly in its behavior, which may indicate a significant change in their doctrine and represent some form of escalatory signaling by the Chinese. Or it could mean exactly what the Chinese are claiming it means. It could simply be a defensive move in response to greater ocean transparency around key choke points.”

  Hawkins held up his hand. “Okay, I think I’ve heard enough.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid the chairman has gotten held up by traffic after all. I’ll brief him when he gets in. Today’s test will proceed as planned. If the ARC system functions as expected, we will put it back online and discuss implementing ARC’s recommendations. General Myers and Captain Dietz, I’d like a word with you both, please. The rest of you are dismissed.”

  Uh oh.

  Dietz shot Grace a death glare as he made his way toward the front of the room where General Hawkins stood. As Grace rose from the table, she glimpsed an I-told-you-so grimace on Arjun’s face. Without giving him another glance, she grabbed her notepad and marched out of the room, her cheeks blazing from the heat of her embarrassment.

  Outside the conference room, Grace pulled her smartphone from the lockbox and hurried down the corridor in search of a good signal. When she found two bars, she dialed Colonel Martinez’s number. No answer.

  Shaking her head in frustration, Grace typed out a text:

  Where are you? We need to talk right away.

  24

  The Benefactor

  MORGAN

  0935

  Eisenhower Executive Office Building

  The White House

  Morgan’s high heels clacked on the black-and-white checkered marble floors as she strode through the long hallways of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. Next to her, David shuffled along, struggling to keep up with her pace. Even more quiet and contemplative than usual, he appeared to be lost in another world.

  To fill the void of silence, she caught herself looking down at her feet in search of the 400-million-year-old fossils visible in the polished stone floor tiles throughout the building. Even after six months of working at the White House, Morgan marveled at the building’s beauty—the high ceilings and ornately decorated white woodwork, the mauve-painted columns and cream-colored walls, and the heavy, solid wood doors.

  Her favorite elements were the cast-iron doorknobs, which were embossed with old department symbols. They were historical markers of the early 1900s, during which the building housed the U.S. Departments of State, War, and the Navy.

  Her smartphone buzzed with a text from Luis about the ARC system. Apparently, Grace was very worried about the system not functioning properly and was unable to convey her concerns to Pentagon leadership. Luis suggested that perhaps Morgan could bend the ear of the president and help them out.

  With what leverage?

  Morgan frowned at the new complication and wondered if she should pay the Pentagon a visit and learn about it herself. She’d have to know the details about the ARC syst
em before bringing the matter to the president for her consideration.

  Not the best timing.

  David picked up his pace as he approached a tall wooden door. The plaque with a Presidential Seal notated the room number and the name of the office—European and Russian Affairs.

  “Did you see the headline about the president’s autopsy this morning?” David asked.

  Morgan stopped in front of the door and stared at him wide-eyed, a hitch in her breath. “Uh, no, I didn’t.”

  “The medical examiner found traces of chloroquine in his bloodstream,” David said, biting his lip. “There’s rampant speculation on social media that malaria medicine might be the cause of the president’s sudden heart attack. Of course, the medical examiner has warned against jumping to such conclusions. The president was taking the med for his trip to South Africa. More tests are needed to confirm actual levels and to prove any connection to his death. But that’s not stopping people on social media from claiming the president was assassinated.”

  Holy shit.

  Morgan’s pulse spiked, and the blood drained from her face.

  Was the president assassinated?

  She dreaded the answer to her questions. She looked at her watch.

  I need to talk to Jack.

  “Anyway, I thought you should know. I meant to tell you earlier,” David said. “I guess there’s never a right time for news like that. And I didn’t want you off your game in front of the president this morning.” David punched in his code on the electronic box.

  The lock beeped as Morgan nodded, still reeling from the shock. David held the heavy door open for her as they entered the cluttered foyer. An administrative assistant looked up, her eyes widening at the sight of the National Security Advisor.

  Maybe we should have called ahead. Showing up unannounced might throw them off.

  Although he was her boss, Morgan sometimes forgot that David held the prestigious title and reported directly to the president.

  “Dr. McDonough, how can I help you?” the administrative assistant asked, blinking rapidly, a look of awe on her face.

  “Is Mike in his office?” David asked, pointing to the open door at the far end of the hallway.

  The assistant nodded, glancing at her computer screen. “I think he’s on the phone. But it’s not important. I’m sure he won’t mind the interruption.” She gave him a sweet smile, and he nodded.

  Morgan followed David down the hallway. As they got closer, she could hear Mike’s voice. It sounded like he was talking to a good friend or perhaps his wife. David rapped softly on the doorframe, and they entered the office. Mike looked up at them, smiled, and held up his finger.

  Morgan was certain Mike was in his mid-thirties, but his exact age was not apparent from his appearance. Though his face was mostly wrinkle-free, there was not a single stitch of hair on his shiny head. Unlike her boss, however, Mike was extremely fit and his athletic frame was visible under his checkered button-down shirt and navy pants.

  “Babe, gotta go. The boss is here.” Then he hung up and grinned from ear to ear. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Mike’s office was quite expansive, fitting two large desks, a small table with chairs, several bookshelves, and even a sofa that looked like it had been worn in with some late nights. Mike sat at the desk facing them with his computer to his back.

  “There’s an extensive backstory, but I’ll just get to the point,” David said curtly, not bothering to have a seat. “Our intel folks think this morning’s tweets from China Xinhua News may actually originate from a Russian agent who hacked the handle. Apparently, Chinese intelligence privately agrees with this assessment. But we’re still trying to confirm the identity of the person who made the posts, so it’s anybody’s guess at this point.”

  Mike’s eyes widened.

  “Morgan and I think a direct connection to the Russian government sounds farfetched given the potential risks of nuclear escalation,” David continued. “But perhaps a Russian oligarch with major interests in the oil and natural gas industry and a penchant for taking risks could be behind the mischief. Morgan and I were brainstorming if there are any Russian oligarchs who might like to mess with U.S.-China relations to ruin the clean energy deal.”

  “That could be any number of them,” Mike said, staring up at the ceiling. He went silent for a moment. “Wait a minute… I may have something for you.” His eyes lit up as he swung around to look at his computer. He opened up his file directory and began going through several news headlines he’d bookmarked. “Aha… yes, this is what I remembered reading about.” He scanned the article on the screen. “During the peak of negotiations for the clean energy deal, two Russian oligarchs owning substantial natural gas deposits with interests in building pipelines to Russia made the news headlines with various threats against the United States.”

  “What sort of threats?” Morgan asked.

  “They hinted about their connections to organized crime in Russia and claimed we would experience their retribution at a time, place, and means of their choosing. Something overly melodramatic like that.” Mike gestured with his hands as he talked. “We’ve had our intel teams at the CIA and NSA tracking them for months, but nothing tangible has come in over the wire. Just a lot of chatter about organizing future cyberattacks against the United States—possibly targeting the electrical grid or the industrial control systems for nuclear power plants. We’ve had the FBI watching domestically for anything unusual to pop up. But nothing has happened.”

  “Okay, so who are these guys?” David asked.

  “The two I’m thinking of are Igor Koslov and Viktor Pasternak,” Mike said. “Both are self-made billionaires.”

  “And you think they’re capable of hacking the handle and posting the fake tweets?” Morgan asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Mike said. “That and a helluva lot more. Of course, they hire people to do their dirty work. They have assets placed around the world and, as I said, connections to sinister types.”

  Morgan heard a door open, a woman’s voice, and feet stomping down the hallway. Seconds later, Elise marched into Mike’s office with her lips pinched together and her posture stiff.

  “There you are,” she said with her hands on her hips. “I have been looking everywhere for you two.”

  “I told my assistant where we were heading,” David said, his tone slightly defensive.

  “Well, she wasn’t there,” Elise said sharply. “I stood at her desk for five whole minutes, and she never turned up.” She waved her hand around in agitation. “Anyway, the president wants to see both of you in the Oval Office right away. We’ve just received satellite confirmation that China has tested a ballistic missile in the South China Sea.”

  Morgan and David exchanged uneasy looks.

  “Intel analysts are still examining the data to identify the missile type and ascertain the nature of the test,” Elise continued. “The president wants to hold a press briefing in less than two hours and needs to be prepped.” Elise motioned for them to follow her before they could respond. “Let’s get going right now.”

  Elise left with the clear indication she expected them to follow. David thanked Mike for the information, and Morgan was about to follow him out of the office when Mike raised a hand.

  “Before you go, let me just print out that article for you,” Mike said.

  David motioned to Morgan to wait for the printout and started down the hallway after Elise. Mike grabbed the papers off of the printer, stapled them, and handed them to her.

  “Here you go,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Morgan said, walking toward the door.

  “Not a problem. Let me know if you guys need anything else, okay?”

  Morgan nodded and quickly made her way out of the suite and down the hallway to the elevator. Elise and David were nowhere to be seen.

  They must have been really booking it.

  She sighed and pressed the button. Morgan glanced at the article as she waited for the
elevator. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the image on the front page that Mike had handed her.

  Holy shit.

  It was a picture of three men—the two Russian oligarchs mentioned by Mike were relaxing on a yacht with drinks in their hands. Morgan recognized the third man, who stood out next to the other awkwardly dressed pale-skinned and gray-haired men. He was none other than Anton Vega, the famous American space technologist. His sepia skin and black hair glowed with a thin layer of sweat under the bright sun. Looking relaxed, Anton wore aviator sunglasses, a white linen embroidered shirt, and beige shorts. In the American news media, most reporters just called him Vega.

  But Morgan knew him better as the Benefactor—the suspected financial sponsor behind the Nightfall Incident and a close friend and associate of her mother’s.

  Morgan’s stomach roiled, and she felt like she might lose her breakfast.

  Is my mother somehow caught up in this mess?

  25

  Missile Test

  SUSAN

  1015

  Oval Office

  The White House

  From her vantage point, Susan admired the exquisite carvings in the English oak wood of the Resolute desk. It stood in its full glory in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows which were wrapped by the classic light-blue curtains Harrison’s wife had chosen for the Oval Office. The famous desk had been used by all of her predecessors over the past four decades. By now, it had practically become tradition for every president to use the desk.

  Among other things, Elise had been bugging her about plans for redecorating the Executive Residence and Oval Office, but Susan hadn’t decided yet what she wanted to do about any of it. Still reeling from Harrison’s sudden death and overwhelmed with the China crisis, she barely had time to catch her breath, let alone think about furniture.

  As her team filed into the Oval and took their places on the couches next to her chair across from the Resolute Desk, Susan contemplated her preferences on what she felt to be a trivial matter. Despite a stab of guilt, she couldn’t help indulging herself. There was a small part of her that yearned to focus on entirely inconsequential issues, even if for a moment.