Rose had cried, yelled, plead, cajoled, ranted, raved, and, eventually, relented. She knew he was right. She wanted to be king of the hill in her chosen career. She had wanted power. She had wanted no encumbrances to achieving her goal.
She had even given up raising her two children because their needs interfered with the needs of her career. They lived full-time with her ex-husband and his new wife. She saw them for two weeks during their schools’ summer vacations and for a week at Christmas every other year. She sent the mandatory birthday presents and made the mandatory phone calls to them on those days.
Now, it was all over. She had reached the giddy heights of power. The President was right. He needed a scapegoat. She would do nicely as one of the sacrificial lambs.
Who would hire someone whose decisions had helped lead to such chaos? She asked herself as she mentally shrugged her shoulders. She finished the resignation letter, printed it out, signed it, and put it in an envelope. She stuffed it in her purse and planned to hand it to the President as soon as confirmation came in that the Russian missile had destroyed Storm Killer.
She turned off the workstation and headed from the room. She turned and looked at Dr. Rosen. He had started working on his letter of resignation with a none-too-happy expression on his face. She gave him no further thought and left to prepare her for own future.
Dr. Rosen had reached some conclusions in his anger. He would not say anything in the letter of resignation other than he was resigning. But he would get even with this presidential idiot. His orders from Mexico City were to destroy the project. He would do that for the money. But, he could ensure that the station was destroyed with a compliment of crew still onboard. He would do that in personal vengeance on the President. He mentally laughed. The President would find his political career totally in ruins when these unnecessary deaths were added on top of the rest of this debacle.
“Too bad,” Dr Rosen mumbled, “but I’ll have to sacrifice my favorite students.”
57
Puerto Plata: At Home
Yvon Latortue and her two youngest children were settled in their apartment. The picture window that looked out on the ocean was covered with plywood from the inside. She could find no one to help her cover the window from the outside.
Yvon had laid in extra water and some canned foods. She hoped it would be enough once the storm passed. She’d spent all of her cash obtaining the meager supplies she had been able to get. The merchants had tripled and even quadrupled their prices in anticipation of the storm causing high public demand for their goods.
She was now nestled on her sofa with her two youngest children. Henri, her oldest child, had run off the night before and had not returned. Yvon had put on a brave face for her two other children, but inside she was crushed that Henri had abandoned her and his siblings.
She and the children were watching the Dominican TV station that was now constantly broadcasting storm-related information. She listened over the sound of the TV to the angry wind that had risen in the last half hour. The eye of the storm was still hours away, yet the sounds made by the storm were already menacing.
She prayed that they would survive the storm.
After he left his mother’s apartment, Henri took shelter with two local petty criminals simply known as Pablo and Pancho. They lived on the top floor of a decrepit apartment building in the oldest part of the city near the warehouses on the docks. There was no electrical power in the building, so the effects of the storm would be minimal on their lifestyle. They lived by candlelight and flashlight at night. The flashlights were only used when they went on what they called their “shopping trips.” These trips were made three or four times a week and usually always resulted in someone’s store or home being burglarized.
Pablo and Pancho were seventeen-year-old twins from a broken home. Their father, a large man who worked as a longshoreman, left them five years earlier after finding his wife in bed with another man. He’d beaten her so badly that she had been hospitalized for several weeks. He had beaten the man to death with his bare hands. He was now serving a twenty-year to life prison sentence for the beating and the death. Their mother had become a prostitute simply to survive and provide money to feed and clothe herself and her sons.
Pablo went to the corner bar and bought three cases of Cerveza Presidente beer, a loaf of bread and a gallon of rice with sweet corn. Pancho found some flashlights and batteries.
Henri was given the job of finding enough cooked chicken to share between the three of them. He failed to procure this, but as he passed an army truck parked next to the local police station, he glanced into the back and saw something promising. Quickly looking around and seeing no one about, he stepped into the back of the truck and raised a tarp that lay over some boxes. The boxes were all marked, United States Army – MRE.
MRE, or Meal Ready to Eat, was an individual ration issued by the United States military for its service-members in combat where field kitchens weren’t available. The Dominican government was moving cases of these to areas they felt would be hardest hit.
Henri grabbed a case and carried and dragged it back to the brothers’ lodgings in the abandoned apartment building.
He presented the case to the brothers and stood back as they opened it with a crowbar they used for their night time “shopping.” As they opened the case, Henri explained where he had found it.
The case contained one hundred and forty-four MRE packages of chicken breast dinners.
Henri succeeded beyond his wildest dreams! The brothers clapped him on the back and congratulated him on his “shopping skills.” Pablo handed him a warm beer and pointed to the tattered sofa.
Henri was then accepted as a resident of the brothers’ home.
They prepared for the storm by moving the sofa into the elevator lobby in the center of the building. At least then maybe they would stay dry.
58
Treachery
Lt. James entered Francine’s quarters. He found her sitting on her bed with a writing tablet. An unopened bottle of sleeping tablets lay next to her leg. She had been writing in the tablet when he entered. She looked up sharply at him and snarled, “What the hell you do want? Can’t you just leave me alone?”
He picked up the bottle of pills and read the label, “You planning on taking a long nap?”
She reached up and attempted to grab the bottle away from him. He moved a step backward and shook his head. “No, Francine. This isn’t the right way to deal with what’s happened.”
She broke down in tears. “My brother’s dead. My career is over. My family will hate me for what’s happened.”
The lieutenant grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “You’re right. Your life, as you knew it, is over. You will serve some time in prison for your part in this mess, but yours’ is a minor role. The more you do to assist us now, the better it will look to the judge when you face the music.”
She stared at him and cautiously asked, “What do you want?”
“Hoch has been shot. I need you to get your emergency pack and come with me. He’s still alive. Kim is watching him. Please, help us. Help him!”
Francine waved him away, “I can’t. I’m done. You know what I was doing when you came in? I was writing a letter to my folks trying to explain what happened. I was also saying goodbye. I just want to die. Please, just let me---.”
“You’re still a doctor, act like one,” he yelled at her. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
“Damn you, do your professional duty! Save Hoch’s life, and then, if you still want to commit suicide, I’ll help you do yourself in,” he yelled as he placed her in passenger seat of the emergency medical cart. He ran around to the other side and, holding her wrist with one hand, started the cart and began driving back to Hoch with the other.
59
Launch
Two aides had brought the latest FBI, CIA, and NSA progress reports on finding the Storm Killer plotters to the doors of the s
ituation room and handed them to Rose. She scanned them quickly and then took them to the President. She placed them on his right side near his hand. He looked up from the call he was taking and nodded as he began scanning the first report’s executive briefing page. He hung up the phone and continued reading. He finished the first report and sighed thinking, another three hundred-word FBI executive summary that boils down to saying nothing new.
The President had been on another line with NASA engineers getting the timeline required to ensure the station’s crew could be evacuated to safety before the warhead arrived.
The telephone in front of the President came to life with the sound of the un-muting of the phone at the other end of the line.
“Mr. President? Are you there?” queried his Russian counterpart.
“Yes, Vladimir. I’m here,” answered the President.
“We are ready. The launch can occur anytime between one minute from now and fifteen minutes from now. After that, we must update the guidance computer’s data. Once launched, it will take about eighteen minutes to hit the target, give or take twenty seconds.”
The President glanced at the wall chronometer and noted the time. If Storm Killer could be destroyed within twenty-nine minutes and thirty-five seconds, the Lincoln would be spared.
The President’s voice struggled to maintain its smooth tenor as he replied, “Launch it in exactly ten minutes. We will instruct our onboard crew to abandon the station immediately. My technical guys at NASA tell me that is enough to time to suit up, EVA to the waiting shuttle, and have the shuttle move out of range of the explosion.”
“Very well, Mr. President.”
The President pointed to Rose, “Call Adam Sand on the station and tell him to move their rear ends to the shuttle. Now!”
Rose got up from her chair; speed dialed Adam Sand’s number, and walked back toward the senior advisors’ office as it rang.
“Adam Sand here,” Sand answered on the second ring.
“Adam, this is Rose Magruder, please confirm my voice and my phone number,” Rose ordered.
Adam knew her voice and glancing at the caller id, saw that it was Rose’s cell that had called him.
“Verified to my satisfaction, Rose,” Adam replied.
“The missile launches in just under four minutes. You have about twenty-seven minutes to EVA to the shuttle and get out of there before all hell breaks loose.”
Sand sat stunned. They’re really going to blow up a five hundred billion dollar project!
Rose said, “Adam? Did you get that? Twenty-seven minutes. Get going!”
Adam responded through the mental fog he was in, “Got it, Rose. I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. Now go!” Rose ordered as she broke the connection.
Dr. Rosen had walked into the office during Rose’s conversation with Sand. He had searched through the volumes of briefing papers over the first desk and found a very large, heavy, hard-backed 3-ring binder. It was exactly what he was looking for. He laid it on the desk as Rose was finishing her conversation
He looked around outside the office door, shut it, picked up the binder, and walked over to Rose as if to show her something in the binder.
Without saying a word, he raised the binder and swung it like a baseball bat. It caught her in the temple just above the left ear. She fell to her knees. He swung again from above with all of strength he could muster. He caught her at the base of the head where it connects to the neck. He thought he heard a crack of bone as the binder made impact. Rose fell face first to the floor; blood was dripping from her nose.
He grabbed her body by the arms and pulled it into the knee space under the furthest desk in the office. He pulled one of the chairs to the front of the desk. A casual observer at the door would not notice her body.
He picked up her phone and hit the re-dial of the last number. Adam Sand immediately answered.
“Sand here.”
“Adam, this is Dr. Rosen. I am here in the White House situation room. Rose was a little ahead of herself telling you the missile had launched. The President has decided to give you folks every possible second to regain control up there. We’ll hold the launch for at least another twenty minutes. So good luck in getting control back!”
Adam breathed a sigh of relief. Good, I got a little more time to fix this mess!
Adam said, “Thanks Dr. Rosen. But, why’d Rose tell me that just seconds ago?”
Rosen didn’t hesitate as he lied, “Ah, Adam, it’s awful. Rose was asked to resign at the end of this crisis. It hit her very hard. She hasn’t been herself since the President asked for her resignation. We think the stress and strain just got to her.”
Adam was shocked. He knew Rose Magruder very well and she was as tough as anyone Adam had ever met. But with the relief of knowing his creation had been given a little more life, Adam dropped his thoughts of Rose and began to concentrate on getting Storm Killer under control in the time he had been given.
“I’m sorry for her, Dr. Rosen. When this is over, I’d like to help her in any way I can,” Adam said.
“As we all do, Adam. Now go fix this situation! Best of luck!” Dr. Rosen said and disconnected.
Dr. Rosen threw the phone in Rose’s purse. He noted the envelope addressed to the President and pulled it out. He threw the purse in an empty file drawer, and closed the office door on his way out.
He stepped back into the situation room and sat down. The President asked, “Where’s Rose? Did she get in touch with the station?”
Dr. Rosen extracted the envelope with Rose’s letter of resignation and handed it to the President saying, “Rose gave Adam Sand the instructions for evacuation, and then she handed me this and asked me to give it to you. She left after that.”
The President opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. He saw that it was the resignation he had asked for and put it the side. He cleared his throat and stated, “I would have thought Rose would have had the guts to deliver that to me personally. Shows how much I know about human nature.”
There was silence for a few seconds and then the phone’s speaker rattled again as the Russian president declared, “It is done. The launch order is given.”
The President seemed to shrink down in his chair. He looked physically ill as his voice quivered, “Thank you, Vladimir. Thank you very much. We’ll now wait for our confirmation of destruction.”
60
Back On The Lincoln
The admiral watched the Storm Killer cone approach slowly from the east. The cone was less than sixty kilometers away. The heat could already be felt even at this distance. The sea roiled and boiled. Steam shot up as gigantic geysers from the churning sea.
The end was near.
The crew had been sent to the refrigerated lockers deep in the bowels of the Lincoln. The admiral and the bridge crew would be going down in a few minutes. They needed to bring the ship to a full stop and batten down the ship’s bridge. The ship would float at the mercy of the ocean currents and Edna’s winds until the Navy could send recovery crews after the heat cone passed over.
The admiral thought, the recovery crew will find no one left alive when they arrive. We’ll all be charcoal and black smudges by that time. No one can live through what’s coming our way. What a marvelous weapons system that thing in the sky would make.
He had written letters to his wife, two daughters, and son. In each, he had told them what was happening, what would happen, and that he would always love them and to be brave and happy in life after he was dead. He had told his children how much he had hoped to be a grandfather, but that it did not appear to be in the cards for him. He wrote his wife about the one time he had cheated on her over twenty years ago and pled for her forgiveness.
The bridge crew finished their tasks and moved slowly toward the lower decks. Each officer was savoring the last moments of his or her lives.
The cone of death was now only fifty-five kilometers away.
61
Discove
ry
Lt. James braked to a stop in front of Brad Bolino’s quarters. He got out of the cart without releasing Francine’s wrist. Walking around the front of the cart, he pulled the doctor out and all but dragged her through the front door.
“Kim! I’ve got the doc!” he yelled as they entered. Nothing. No response.
He released the doctor and drew his weapon from the holster. He moved to the bedroom door. The interior was dark. He stopped and listened for any sound from within. He heard Hoch’s labored breathing and his occasional moan. Of Kim, there was no sound.
He slowly reached in and flicked the light switch. The lights came on flooding the room. Lying next to Hoch was Kim’s body. Lt. James was shocked and scared that she had been attacked and was dead or dying. He ran to her side and saw the bruise on her head. He could see she was breathing and what he thought were moans from Hoch were actually her moans.
“Francine, get your butt in here! You have two patients.”
Francine entered the room and hurried to Kim’s side. She checked Kim’s vitals and announced, “Kim should be okay. Get my bag from the cart. Hurry!”
She turned her attention to Hoch.
It took the lieutenant less than fifteen seconds to retrieve the bag and deliver it to the doctor. She opened it, rummaged for some particular medical items and began working on Hoch. Before she had turned to Hoch, she threw Lt. James a capsule of ammonia. “Here, break this under Kim’s nose. This should revive her.”
Storm Killer Page 19
