Storm Killer

by Benjamin Blue

  He heard the sound of timber splitting and a deep groaning noise as his building’s lower floors began buckling from the stress of the pounding seawater. He continued to stare at his family home as a large wave covered the entire third floor. He groaned and held his sides as he watched his family’s floor covered in the angry water.

  The condemned building began collapsing, and Henri’s last view before falling into the boiling sea was of his family home also tipping and beginning to slide into the sea.

  Edna added to her count of victims.

  65

  Missile

  Tanechka was flying flawlessly. She jettisoned her spent first stage after the solid rocket propellant was completely used. The large, empty piece of hardware fell back to the Earth’s surface and collided with a peat bog in southern Kazakhstan, leaving a large, smoking crater.

  Two young boys playing in a nearby field saw it fall and ran as fast as their small legs could go to see what had fallen from the sky. They knew no fear as they clamored down into the crater to investigate the hunk of metal. The boys died immediately, victims of breathing the noxious fumes still emanating from the now discarded military junk. Their names were added to those of the other innocent victims of the Storm Killer tragedy.

  Tanechka’s second stage was scheduled to burn for one minute and twenty-nine seconds. It ignited in silence, since there was no atmosphere to carry sound, as ninety-nine percent of the Earth’s atmosphere was below its current height. The engine gimbaled to steer her toward her orbital insertion point. She achieved the same orbit as Storm Killer and quickly came up to her target from behind.

  Her Russian caretakers set up the program so that the two warheads would be released in thirty-second intervals at fifty-five kilometers from the target. Their own steering thrusters were used to fine-tune their trajectories into the doomed Storm Killer station. Once within four hundred meters of the doomed station, the warheads would detonate. The thirty-second delay ensured that the second warhead wouldn’t be accidentally destroyed by the detonation of the first warhead.

  Tanechka’s internal computers were sampled and telemetry sent back to her mobile launcher. The Russian launch specialist sampled the data and wrote in the logbook, on course, engine variables within spec. All is well.

  Fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds until warhead release, and then another two minutes and twenty seconds of flight by the warheads. Then, Storm Killer would be no more.

  66

  Verification

  Rose Magruder was lying in a sun-drenched field of crimson red poppies. She felt wonderfully warm and sleepy. The only intrusion was the intermittent ringing sound that seemed to occur every few seconds. What was that noise interfering with my peace and quiet? She thought in annoyance. Why can’t people leave me alone? Who would be trying to call me?

  Call me? It’s my phone! It suddenly dawned on Rose the annoying ringing was the familiar ring tone of her communications device. As she struggled to get up out of her lovely field of flowers, the field dissolved leaving blackness and pain. Her head was throbbing, she could taste something salty on her lips, and her body felt confined. She tried to lift her right hand and found that it was stuck between her back and the metal surface behind her. She worked her hand free and touched her lips. They were wet. She touched her nostrils and felt the same wetness. My nose is bleeding. I wonder why?

  She tentatively opened her eyes and more pain shot through her head. She was somewhere that was semi-dark. She could see dark shapes but couldn’t tell what they were. She seemed to be stuffed into a confined space in some metal box with one open side. What happened? Where am I? I need to rest a little longer. Rose closed her eyes in an attempt to relieve some of the pain in her head. Maybe a little nap would help.

  The phone continuous ringing brought her out of her lethargy. My phone! I have to answer it. It could be important. It could be an update on Storm Killer.

  Storm Killer? Oh, my God! I remember! Everything came flooding back to Rose. The Storm Killer crisis, the resignation request, and Dr. Rosen’s attack! All of this came back to her in a flash.

  She looked around and finally figured out she was crammed under a desk. She could see the legs of the chair pushed in front of the desk. She unwound her legs from under the desk and used them to push the chair away. She gently extracted herself and arose to a kneeling position. Her head hurt and she could not focus her eyes very well.

  She followed the ringing and finally located her phone stuffed in her purse and inside a file cabinet. She swayed slightly has she answered the phone. “Hello.”

  She heard Adam Sand’s voice, “Rose, are you okay? Dr. Rosen said you had a melt down of some sort?”

  She shook her head in an attempt to clear some of the cobwebs. “Adam, Rosen attacked me! He hit me with something heavy and I’ve just now come to.”

  Adam asked, “Rosen? Hit you? Why? Jesus, what is going on? Has everyone gone off the deep end?”

  He continued, “Rose, I have to verify that the missile has not launched yet.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Not launched yet’? They launched when I gave you the warning to get out of there!”

  Adam slumped in his chair and spoke. “But Dr. Rosen called me back only a minute after you told me that and said things were on hold. That the President was going to give us every minute he could to regain control. And, and you had apparently had a breakdown of some sort.”

  “Oh, my God, Adam. Get everyone out of there, now!” Rose pleaded.

  “It’s too late, Rose. We don’t have time. You’ll have to get the President to abort the missile. He’ll just have to trust that we’ll get control of this station in time. If he doesn’t abort, then he just killed another two dozen people up here.”

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds, finally Adam said, “Rose? Rose? Are you still with me?”

  Rose had almost fallen from a passing vertigo attack and now felt nauseous, but she managed a reply, “Yes, Adam. I’m here, just feeling pretty shaky and sick.”

  Adam was relieved to hear she was still with him. “Rose, you have to get to the President! Go! I’ll do what I can here, but go before it’s too late!”

  Adam hung up. Rose was left holding a dead phone as she swayed back and forth.

  Okay, I got to get to the situation room. Rose thought as she walked unsteadily to the office door. Pulling it open she slowly made her way toward the situation room.

  The situation room was at the end of hall. Large plate glass windows looked out on the hall from the room. She could see the President’s back as he sat at the conference table awaiting the news of Storm Killer’s destruction. Dr. Rosen was seated to the right facing the windows. He looked up and saw her staggering toward the room. The look on his face was between surprise and panic.

  She was almost at the door when another vertigo attack hit her. She swayed, fell against the hall wall, bounced and slipped to the floor. The last thing she remembered was thinking, Maybe just a few seconds of rest and then I’ll go talk to the President.

  67

  Flight

  Dr. Rosen glanced up and saw Rose Magruder staggering toward the situation room. An electric shock went through his body as he thought. She’s still alive? How? I hit her hard -- twice!

  Now panic started to set in. She was moving in a slow wobbly gait toward the door. She would be to the room in seconds. What the hell am I going to do now? How do I stop her?

  It was at that moment that Rose blacked out and fell to the hall floor. Dr. Rosen sighed in relief. But the relief was short lived. The hall was a busy place; someone would probably find her in short time. Rosen glanced at his watch and struggled for a decision. He finally made it.

  “Mr. President, I have served you as well as I could. I’m sorry that this project ended our relationship.” Reaching in his packet, Dr. Rosen extracted his letter of resignation and presented it to the President. “Here is my resignation. I don’t believe my services are needed any l
onger now that the missile is on the way. The decisions are made and done. I cannot stand to hear first hand of the destruction of what could be a marvelous weapons system. If you will excuse me, I will take my leave.”

  The President gave an almost imperceptible nod and placed the resignation letter next to Rose’s on the table. He then replied in a terse tone, “Fine. Go. You’re done.”

  Rosen stood and handed the President another document. “This is a proposal for using the Storm Killer technology in a wide range of military applications. Whoever replaces me should review it and present its pros and cons to you as soon as possible. In fact, you may wish to review it while you wait for the destruction verification.”

  The President took the thick document and sat it on the table in front of him. “I’ll review it, but I doubt if any application of this technology will occur in my remaining time in the White House. Not after this debacle becomes public knowledge.”

  “Good bye, sir,” Rosen said and, picking up his briefcase, walked briskly out the door behind the President. The President never looked around to see him go. If he had, he would have seen Rose sprawled on the hall floor.

  Dr. Rosen made his way swiftly past where Rose lay unconscious and continued briskly to the elevator. He pressed the up button and after what seemed an eternity, the elevator car door opened. Two Air Force light colonels exited the car and turned left down the aisle towards the Chairman of Joint Chiefs’ operations office. They never looked to the right where the situation room was located and did not see Rose’s inert form lying there in the hall.

  Rosen had frozen when the door opened and the two officers got off. He breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the other direction and continued on their way.

  He entered the elevator and pressed the ground floor button. In less than thirty seconds, he was raised the ten floors to the ground level. Alan Hardy, the President’s Chief of Staff, entered the elevator as Rosen exited it. They nodded at each other but exchanged no words. Hardy punched the down button and the elevator doors slid shut as the car headed back down.

  He signed out, removed his credentials and gave them to the Marine guard stationed at the exit door, and exited the building for the last time.

  He had thought of every possible contingency. He had, over a year ago, purchased six valid United States passports in six different names and had booked multiple flights to Lima, Buenos Aires, London, Madrid, Paris, and Toronto at about two-hour intervals starting at 10 AM.

  At each of these airports he had booked connections to Frankfurt or Rome, and then on to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. And each connection at each stop was booked under a different name on different airlines. He would arrive in Riyadh as either Paul Alan Ackerman, or Frank Aaron Rosensweig, depending on which connecting airport he had to use.

  The United States had no extradition treaty with Saudi Arabia, so Rosen felt safe that he could live out his life in various rich Middle Eastern countries like Saudi Arabia. After all, he had two hundred million dollars of the Mexico City payoff safely deposited in several off shore accounts.

  A small travel bag awaited him in the trunk of a rental car parked at Dulles Airport’s daily garage number 2. In the bag were several changes of causal clothes, shaving gear, and several days of clean socks and underwear.

  An attaché case, also in the trunk, contained a file folder with the passports in individual closed interoffice envelopes. Two other file folders contained his account access passwords and numbers for the various off shore bank accounts he would live off of for the rest of his life.

  Two new PCDs registered to Ackerman or Rosensweig were still in their boxes in the case. He would dispose of one of them when he arrived in Riyadh, depending on which name he had to use to fly there.

  He walked quickly up East Executive Avenue to the blocked off Pennsylvania avenue intersection. He turned right down Pennsylvania and then turned right onto 15th Street. He passed G Street and then crossed over 15th. He walked down the block to the Old Ebbitt Grill, entered through the revolving glass door and into the Victorian-era interior.

  He turned away from the host station and the large turn of the century bar and went down the steps to the toilets.

  Pushing open the door to the men’s room, he sat down his briefcase and opened the utility closet. He pulled out the “closed for cleaning” sign and placed it outside the men’s room door. Pulling a rubber doorstop from his brief case, he kicked it into place behind the door effectively blocking the door from anyone entering.

  He picked up the briefcase and sat it on a sink. Standing at the adjacent sink, he opened the case, and began applying his false goatee and spraying gray hair highlights into his dark brown hair. He had practiced this over and over, and had the entire process complete in less than two minutes.

  He pulled out the doorstop, threw it back in his brief case, and closed the case. Opening the door, he walked around the cleaning sign and back up the steps.

  Exiting the Grill, he retraced his steps to the 15th Street and New York Avenue intersection. Here, he haled a cab. He had planned to use this location, since it was a very busy tourist area and cabs were easy to come by most all times of the day.

  “Dulles Airport, please” Rosen said when he entered the cab. He settled back, and glanced out the window at his last view of the White House. He sighed, checked his watch for the time, and settled back in the seat. He pulled the flight schedules from his pocket and checked the time again. He would get to Dulles, get the attaché case from the car, and be through check-in and security screening just in time to catch the 12:50 Continental flight to Lima, Peru.

  68

  Back on The Chip’s Trail

  Lt. James spoke, “While we wait for Adam, let’s start to try and figure out where to start after the chip. Or more to the point, where is Brad?”

  Kim said, “I’ve already tried Brad’s PCD. No response, it’s turned off. I just activated the tracker.” The tracker was a station function that would locate any of the senior staff via their PCD, even if the unit were turned off. This was a military add-on that NASA had thought was a good idea. If a disaster of some sort hit the station, the decision makers could be physically located quickly by simply entering their code to the tracker.

  The lieutenant replied, “Good. I’ve a bad feeling that he is in serious trouble.”

  Kim replied, “I’ve got a bad feeling that he is serious trouble.”

  Lt. James looked surprised and asked, “Why?”

  “If we can believe Senor De La Cruz, there are still two saboteurs onboard. They report to Dr. Rosen, the President’s Science Advisor, who has been bought by some important and obviously wealthy people in Mexico. The saboteurs must know Dr. Rosen pretty well. I don’t think he would recruit strangers into his plot. I would think that at least one, if not both, of these traitors are of a level of authority that having conversations with Dr. Rosen would not seem unusual. In fact, their conversations would probably be considered NASA business as usual. So they would be in the senior staff structure.” She paused to catch her breath and check the tracker.

  Kim continued, “And then, the bloody shoe prints of Rafael’s killer would indicate the person had been at the crystal lab crash site and got his shoes all cut up. Other than us, everyone there initially was senior staff. Since the techs showed up much later at the site, they would have been busy in their cleanup when Rafael was murdered.”

  The Lieutenant nodded, “Go on”.

  “Let’s assume that Rafael was attempting to write the initial of his killer. The bloody B would narrow it to one of three people at the crash site. They are Brad Bolino, Greg Ballard, and Layne Bartlett,” Kim ticked off on her fingers.

  The lieutenant nodded again, “And now, Brad Bolino is missing, and he has the chip.”

  “Yes, but he’s not missing now!” Kim expressed jubilantly as she pointed at the tracker screen. “The tracker says his PCD is moving, and is headed toward the evacuation staging area at the hub. He appears
to be using the elevator.”

  “Let’s go!” Lt James said as he leapt toward the door.

  At that moment the lieutenant’s cell rang. It was Adam Sand. “James, we’re in deep crap. The missile is already on its way. I’m trying to get the President to abort it now that he knows there are still people on the station with not enough time left to evacuate. It would certainly help if we could say we have regained station control!”

  “Adam, we believe Bolino is in on this plot and has the chip. He probably killed Rafael. He’s headed to the evacuation point. We’re going after him. Give us three or four minutes to recover the chip.”

  Adam replied, “Lieutenant, I’ll give you all of the time you want. There is no way we can get everyone off the station before the missile gets here. So we either convince the ground to abort the missile or we all die. It’s that simple. We have about twenty minutes left.”

  “Okay, I understand. We’ll let you know as soon as we have the chip. Goodbye.” The lieutenant hung up, quickly explained the situation to Kim, whose eyes widened as their perilous position struck home.

  They ran out the door to their security cart. In back were two PPUs, the personal propulsion devices. As they began to strap on the units, Kim placed a hand on top of the lieutenant’s hand holding his PPU. She looked at him in the eye and said, “I’ll go get Bolino. I need you to chase down the connection between Dr. Rosen and Bolino. Maybe that’ll tell us who the other traitor is, too.”

  Lt. James balked and shook his head, “No, I’m going with you.”

  Kim could tell by the look on his face that he was determined to go after Bolino. She simply said, “Lieutenant, I was given command of this investigation and I order you to do as I say. This is not open to a democratic vote on your part. Now go and do as I ordered.”