by Bob Mayer
He thought of Lisa. She would have been frantic when she didn't find Tommy in the car. "We have to get back to my son," Thorpe said. "Then get in contact with the authorities."
"Your son?"
Thorpe quickly explained about Tommy stowing away and the helicopter crash.
"You left your son to head toward the sound of gunfire?" Parker asked.
Thorpe glared at her. "If I hadn't, you'd be dead." Thorpe was looking at the cuts she'd received from the concrete shards. "How do you know this Kilten guy?" Thorpe asked.
"I met him once."
"Well, he's on the wrong side now." Thorpe opened up a first-aid kit. "Any idea what they're up to exactly?"
Parker was lining up the pieces in her head. "He must be trying to get control of Omega Missile!"
"All right. Why don't you start at the beginning and get me up to speed. What's Omega Missile?"
*****
Lewis sat at the REACT console, Kilten next to him. Cables from the back of Kilten's laptop were plugged into various jacks on the front of the console. McKenzie hovered behind both of them, watching Lewis work. Two ex-paratroopers were next to the elevator, standing guard. The doors slid open and Drake walked in.
"How's the satellite dish?" McKenzie asked.
"All set." Drake said. He walked over to a bank of radios next to the REACT consoles. "I've got it spliced into their stuff here. We can talk voice and transmit data through MILSTAR just like we're part of the system using the REACT here. We can talk to the Pentagon whenever you want."
Drake pointed at Lewis in his Air Force flight suit. "What's this?"
"Seems we had an ace in the hole that we didn't know about," McKenzie said. "Courtesy of the good professor."
Drake fingered his gun. "Can we trust him?"
"Yes," Kilten said. "He knows what we're doing and why we're doing it."
"Careful with that we," McKenzie said. He tapped Drake on the shoulder. "You keep an eye on him, make sure he does as he's told. What about Omega Missile?" he asked Kilten.
"We're in," Kilten said. "I have positive contact through MILSTAR."
McKenzie walked a couple of steps away. He punched in a number on his cellular phone.
*****
Thorpe held up a hand, interrupting Parker as the phone in his pocket buzzed. He flipped open the lid but didn't say anything. McKenzie's voice came out of the speaker. "Bognar? Reynolds? Are you there?"
"Hello, Chief McKenzie. This is Captain Thorpe. Nice of you to call. Your men are, shall we say, indisposed at the moment. Should I take a message?"
"Thorpe." There was a long moment of silence. "Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?" McKenzie finally said.
"You fucked up," Thorpe said.
"I did?"
"Yeah," Thorpe said. "You didn't get into the LCC clean and you've got me here."
There was the sound of laughter. "You are so wrong," McKenzie said. "Right now, I'm standing directly behind the REACT computer and you are the one who can't get in, clean or otherwise."
"What are you trying to do?" Thorpe asked.
"By the time you figure that out, it will be long over," McKenzie replied.
The phone went dead.
*****
McKenzie shut the phone.
Lewis looked up from the computer. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing for you to worry about," McKenzie snapped. How the hell did Thorpe end up here? McKenzie thought. He'd seen a man run out of the tree line and help the woman escape, but he hadn't bothered to try to identify him.
McKenzie knew the number one rule of any military operation was to expect the unexpected, contrary to Kilten's belief in planning. McKenzie absentmindedly rubbed his artificial arm, trying to scratch an itch that his nerve endings told him existed, but the metal arm reminded him didn't.
McKenzie reevaluated his plans, adding in the now known factor of Thorpe. After a few moments he felt better as he remembered the scuttlebutt he'd heard about the Special Forces officer. It didn't change much.
*****
Thorpe punched some numbers into the phone, but nothing happened. "Damn, he must have these on a frequency where they can only talk to each other. I can't get an outside line."
Thorpe flipped the phone shut and stuck it back in his pocket.
"Why didn't you try to find out what he was doing?" Parker asked.
"He wouldn't exactly tell me if I asked."
"What was the purpose of baiting him, then?"
"Now he has something else to worry about."
"What?"
"Me."
Parker shook her head. "Why don't you tell me how you know this McKenzie guy?"
Thorpe pointed. "We need to get back to the chopper and my son. I'll tell you about it on the way."
Chapter Twelve
three hundred and fifty feet below the lowest level of the Pentagon proper was the Joint Chiefs of Staff's National Military Command Center, commonly called the War Room by those who worked there. It had been placed inside a large cavern carved out of solid bedrock. And while it was ten times larger and over three times deeper than the LCC Parker had been inside of in Louisiana, it was designed along the same principles. The complex could only be entered via one secure elevator and the entire thing was mounted on massive springs on the cavern floor. There was enough food and supplies in the War Room for the emergency crew to operate for a year. Besides the lines that went up through the Pentagon's own communications system, a narrow tunnel holding cables had been laboriously dug at the same depth to the alternate National Command Post at Blue Mountain in West Virginia.
When it had been built in the early sixties, the War Room had been designed to survive a nuclear first strike. The advances in both targeting and warhead technology over the past three decades had made that design obsolete. There was no doubt in the mind of anyone who worked in the War Room that the room was high on the list of Russian and Chinese nuclear targeting and would be gone very shortly after any nuclear exchange. Because of that, it had been turned into the operations center for the Pentagon.
The main room of the War Room was semicircular. On the front, flat wall, there was a large imagery display board, over thirty feet wide by twenty high. Any projection or scene that could be piped into the War Room could be displayed on this board, from a video of a new weapons system, to a map of the world showing the current status of U.S. forces, to a real-time downlink from an orbiting spy satellite.
The floor of the room sloped from the rear down to the front so that each row of computer and communication consoles could be overseen from the row behind. At the very back of the room, along the curved wall, a three-foot-high railing separated the command and control section where the Joint Chiefs and other high-ranking officers had their desks. Supply, kitchen, and sleeping areas were off the right rear of the room, in a separate cavern. The War Room had had its first taste of action during the Gulf War when it had operated full-time, coordinating the multinational forces in the Gulf.
Normally on a Sunday morning only a quarter of the desks in the War Room were filled by the duty staff, but over the last twenty minutes, new personnel flooded the room and the hubbub of activity indicated something more than a normal Sunday morning shift.
The elevator in the left rear opened and the president's national security adviser, Michael Hill, and General Lowcraft, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff strode into the room. Hill was still dressed for golf, but the general was in an immaculate set of green Class As, his rows of ribbons stacked on his left breast.
"What the hell is going on?" Hill demanded as they walked to the center desk and stood behind it. He had been informed on his cellular phone as he'd finished the eighteenth hole that there was a Class-1 Alert and he was required in the War Room as the senior representative of the administration present in Washington. A helicopter had swooped down into the parking lot of the golf course and carried Hill to the Pentagon landing pad. With Kilten's fax still in his pants pocket, Hill felt a
new wave of anger toward the professor and Lugar surge through him.
"We'll find out shortly," Lowcraft said. They had met at the elevator doors upstairs and had not had a chance to talk.
Hill had other things on his mind. He grabbed the general by his elbow. "You told me there was no imagery from the Lebanon incident," he hissed.
Lowcraft stared at the civilian. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't jerk my chain," Hill threatened. "You'll find out who has the real power."
Lowcraft ignored Hill and turned to the War Room. "Give me a status report," he called out.
The senior duty officer, a full colonel named Hurst from the War Plans Division who had had the unfortunate luck of drawing duty this morning, had his position right below Lowcraft's desk. Hurst was air force and wore his blue uniform tightly on his slim body. He had white hair, combed straight back, and a thin, pinched face.
Hurst stood and turned. "We've got a red, level-four serious incident, sir. Omega Missile has been launched without authorization."
"Go through MILSTAR and get ahold of the Omega Missile LCC REACT to determine status and gain positive control," Lowcraft ordered.
"We've tried, sir. Someone's in the control facility, overriding. Omega Missile's MILSTAR link is locked into its LCC and we have no contact with the Omega Missile REACT. Barksdale Air Force Base received a nuclear strike alert that did not originate from any valid source and then was hit by a massive explosion. We believe the explosion was conventional."
"Who's in the Omega Missile LCC?" Lowcraft demanded. "The crew?"
"We don't know, sir."
Lowcraft stepped back as if hit in the chest. "Oh my God," he muttered, heard only by Hill.
"Will someone please tell me what the hell Omega Missile and REACT are?" Hill demanded.
Lowcraft turned to the civilian. "Omega Missile is a special Peacekeeper ICBM. It's the code name for the Emergency Rocket Communication System."
Hill held up his hands. "General, since I don't have a clue what you're talking about, why don't you just pretend I'm some guy in golf shoes and tell me what's happening?"
Lowcraft took a second to collect his thoughts, then spoke. "Omega Missile can communicate through MILSTAR with every nuclear launch platform this country has. Subs, missile launch facilities—it can even scramble strategic bombers and get them in the air.
"The emergency would be if every other normal mode of communication was knocked out. Omega Missile is the last-gasp means by which the National Command Authority can transmit launch codes and target matrices to America's nuclear forces if all other communication means are destroyed."
Hill nodded to indicate he had followed so far. "OK, so this thing has been launched and we don't know why. We can still communicate with all these same places, can't we?"
"Yes."
"Then get on the radio and tell them all to ignore any launch orders from Omega Missile."
Lowcraft ran a nervous hand across his chin as he thought. "It doesn't work that way. The point of all our training is for the crew never to ignore an EAM launch order from a valid source. Omega Missile is a valid source. In fact, it is the ultimate and final valid source. Did you ever read Fail-Safe?"
"Isn't that a movie? Henry Fonda plays the president?"
Lowcraft looked exasperated. "Yes. Just like in the movie, any launch officer will believe Omega Missile before they believe us. They would ignore even a direct order from their commander-in-chief."
"Bullshit," Hill snapped. "If we get the president on the horn, he'll stop this in its tracks."
Lowcraft raised his eyebrows slightly but didn't say anything. His entire demeanor indicated that he knew Hill still didn't understand what was going on, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
Hill leaned close. "Is this all a setup?"
"A setup?" Lowcraft stared at the other man. "I can assure you, Mr. Hill, we are facing a very grave situation right now."
"Don't fuck with me, General," Hill warned. "I don't know what you people are trying to pull, but I will come out on top, I can assure you."
"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Lowcraft said.
"What about this explosion?" Hill asked, changing the subject. "How many people were killed?"
"So far there are no fatalities," the duty officer said. "The strike warning gave everyone a chance to take cover."
"We have to find out who is behind this," Lowcraft said to Hurst.
Hill wondered if that was one of the astute observations that had helped Lowcraft get appointed chairman. Hill already knew the answer to Lowcraft's question.
Chapter Thirteen
thorpe rubbed his hands over his sharp, damp features and continued over his closely cropped skull. "Lady, how do you do your job?"
Parker, just finishing her Omega Missile briefing for Thorpe's benefit, reacted as if slapped. "That's a lousy thing to say, especially since you just shoved some guy's nose into his brain."
"He and I were both players and it was face-to-face. Him or me. This Omega Missile thing you're talking about is screwed up."
Parker had stopped. They were less than a quarter mile from the chopper crash site. Her eyes coldly fixed on Thorpe. "At least I can do my job sober."
Thorpe's reaction was swift. He reached over and grabbed the collar of her flight suit and pushed her up against a tree. He put his face into hers, his cold blue eyes fixed on her widening pupils. "I am not drunk. I do not drink on a mission. Never. Do you understand? Do you?"
Parker quickly nodded an agreement, ignoring the fact that the proximity of his breath belied his words.
As quickly as the anger erupted, it dissipated and Thorpe let go.
Parker edged away from him and her voice took on a cool, professional tone. "The system in the payload consists of two parts: a sophisticated computer and a powerful transmitter. The computer can hold all the launch codes, targeting matrices, and authorizations, while the transmitter accesses MILSTAR, a high-tech, frequency-jumping, secure global satellite network by which those codes and matrices are sent. It cannot be aborted by anyone else."
"REACT, the computer that runs everything, was developed to be totally self-sufficient for each nuclear weapon. Whoever has the proper code word has complete control and can't be superseded by anyone else, even if they have their own REACT computer. The real killer is that the Omega Missile REACT controls Omega Missile, which thus can control every other REACT computer in the arsenal."
"I have to assume that Kilten has control of REACT. Therefore, he has his finger on the button of this country's entire nuclear arsenal."
Thorpe was staring at her with a numbed, wounded expression, his mind still scurrying to catch up with all that had happened. "I'm sorry about grabbing you."
Parker shook her head. "Get your head out of your ass, soldier. Did you hear what I just said? This whole planet is on the verge of a meltdown and I really don't give a shit about you or your problems. I don't know how I'm going to stop Kilten, but I'm going to try. Just stay out of my way."
They both tensed as they heard the soft crackling of underbrush. Thorpe wheeled, the muzzle of his MP-5 leading the way. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Parker slapped the barrel of the weapon up. Thorpe cursed and was bringing it back down when he heard the low voice call out,"Dad?" and then he saw Tommy stepping between two bushes.
"Oh, God. Oh, Jesus." Thorpe ran to the boy and scooped him into his arms. Burying Tommy's face in his neck, he returned to Parker, who waited silently. She watched the big man trying to control emotions that weren't meant to be controlled. His shoulders shook and his chest was heaving. If he cried, only the boy felt his tears. Parker knew it was her only chance.
"What's it going to be, Thorpe? Are you with me or are you going to give up like McKenzie? You think you lost the reason for what you do and who you are? Look at your son—doesn't he matter?"
Thorpe looked over Tommy's blond head and met Parker's soft
ening gaze. "I'm sorry."
Parker sighed, scraping the toe of her boot in the dirt, anxious to keep moving. In her mind she could picture the Omega Missile system deployed in space. "I know."
Thorpe slowly put Tommy on the ground. He extended a hand to Parker. "Let's get him back to the chopper and figure out a way to get you into the LCC."
"I was just looking for you, Dad," Tommy said, regaining his composure. "The pilot passed out."
"It's OK, Tom."
They walked quietly, lost in their own thoughts while Thorpe held his son's hand tightly. When they arrived at the wreckage, Thorpe knelt down next to Maysun, who was unconscious.
"How is he?" Parker asked.
Thorpe pulled some smelling salts out of the first aid kit. "A slight case of shock," he answered. He wafted the salts under Maysun's nose. The pilot started awake.
"What? What's going on?"
Thorpe quickly brought him up to speed on what was happening. He didn't mention that Tommy had wandered away. When he finished, Thorpe turned back to Parker.
"Who would think up something like Omega Missile?" Thorpe asked.
"Kilten did. Or at least he did to the specifications given him by the Joint Chiefs."
"So they invented a way for us to finish off the whole world in case we get wiped out first? A machine to destroy the rest of the planet if we could no longer do it ourselves?"
"That about sums it up," Parker said.
Thorpe wondered aloud, "When did we get so sick?"
Parker remembered Sanchez's career-ending decision. She'd had her own epiphany in the past fifteen minutes and as much as she didn't like it, she accepted it. "When people like you and me become part of the machine. You can get pretty sick when you don't pay attention to your gut."
If Thorpe found her answer odd, he didn't show it. "So is there any way for you to just turn the machine off?"
"Only by getting back in the LCC and getting to REACT."
