“Do they know how to dismantle the bombs?”
“Each team has a nuclear physicist to handle that job.”
Jordan could not see the worry lines on the President’s face.
“This will be our last chance, Ray. Your new plan is the last roll of the dice.”
“I’m fully aware of that, Mr. President. By this time tomorrow morning we’ll know if we’re an enslaved nation.”
At almost the same moment, Special Agent Bill Frick of the FBI and his team were converging on the vault that held the bomb cars in the underground parking area of the Pacific Paradise hotel in Las Vegas.
There were no guards and the steel doors were unlocked. A bad omen, thought Frick. His apprehension increased when his electronics men found the security systems turned off.
Cautiously he led his team through doors into what looked to be an outer supply room. On the far side was a large metal door that was rolled into the ceiling. It yawned wide and high enough to pass a highway semitrailer.
They entered a huge vaultlike space and found it completely empty, not even a scrap of trash or a cobweb was evident. It had been scrubbed clean.
“Maybe we’re in the wrong area,” said one of Frick’s agents hopefully.
Frick stared around the concrete walls, focused on the ventilator Weatherhill had wormed through, then looked down at the barely discernible tire marks on the epoxy-coated floor. Finally he shook his head. “This is the place, all right. It matches the description from Central Intelligence.”
A short nuclear physicist with a full beard pushed his way past Frick and stared at the emptiness. “How am I supposed to disarm the bombs if they’re not here?” he said angrily, as if the disappearance of the cars was Frick’s fault.
Without answering, Frick walked swiftly through the underground parking area to a command truck. He entered, poured himself a cup of coffee, and then opened a frequency on the radio.
“Black Horse, this is Red Horse,” he said in a tired voice.
“Go ahead, Red Horse,” answered the Director of the FBI’s field operations.
“We’ve struck out. The rustlers got here first.”
“Join the club, Red Horse. Most of the herd has come up dry too. Only Blue Horse in New Jersey and Gray Horse in Minnesota found steers in the corral.”
“Shall we continue the operation?”
“Affirmative. You’ve got twelve hours. Repeat, twelve hours to track your herd to a new location. Additional data is being faxed to you, and all police, sheriff, and highway patrol units have been alerted to stop any trucks and semitrailers matching descriptions provided by Central Intelligence.”
“I’ll need a helicopter.”
“You can sign for an entire fleet if that’s what it takes to find those bomb cars.”
Frick switched off his radio and stared at his coffee. “Too bad they don’t fax instructions on how to find a needle in a million square kilometers of desert in twelve hours,” he mumbled to himself.
As Yoshishu emerged from the Maglev train at the end of the tunnel from Edo City, Tsuboi was waiting on the platform to greet him.
“Thank you for coming, old friend,” said Tsuboi.
“I want to be here at your side when we are ready to play our hand,” said the old man, his step more sprightly than Tsuboi had seen in months.
“The blast went off in a midwest state as planned.
“Good, good, that should send a shiver of fear through the American government. Any signal of reaction at the White House?”
Tsuboi’s face had a concerned expression. “Nothing. It’s as if they’re trying to cover it up.”
Yoshishu listened impassively. Then his eyes brightened. “If the President hasn’t ordered a nuclear warhead against us, then he has a great fear of what he sees in his future.”
“Then we have won the gamble.”
“Perhaps, yet we cannot celebrate the enormity of our triumph until the Kaiten Project is ready.
“Takeda Kurojima promises to have the program on-line sometime tomorrow evening.”
Yoshishu placed his hand on Tsuboi’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we opened a direct line of communication to the President and informed him of our terms for the new Japan.”
“And a new America,” Tsuboi said pompously.
“Yes, indeed.” Yoshishu looked proudly at the man who had become his chief disciple. “A new Japanese America.”
65
THE LOCKHEED C-5 GALAXY, the largest cargo plane in the world, settled with all the awkward grace of a pregnant albatross onto the Wake Island airstrip and rolled to a stop. A car approached and braked under the shadow of one enormous wing. Pitt and Giordino left the car and entered the aircraft through a small hatch just aft of the aircraft wheel wells.
Admiral Sandecker was waiting inside. He shook hands and led them through the cavernous cargo bay that could fit six highway buses and seat a hundred passengers. They walked past a NUMA Deep Sea Mining Vehicle that was tied down on a pair of wide stainless steel tracks. Pitt paused in his stride and ran his hand over one of the great tractor treads and stared for a moment at the huge machine, recalling his narrow escape in Big John. This DSMV was a later model and was given the nickname of Big Ben.
The two big articulated arms with the excavation scoop and claw that were normally installed on the deep-sea vehicles had been removed and replaced with extensions fitted with a variety of remote manipulators for grasping and cutting through metal.
The other modification, Pitt noticed, was an immense nylon pack that rested on top of the upper body and control cabin. Heavy lines ran from the pack and were attached at numerous points around the vehicle.
Giordino shook his head sadly. “I’ve got that old feeling we’re about to be used again.”
“They aim to really stick it to us this time,” Pitt said, wondering how the aircraft could lift off the ground with such a massive weight in its belly.
“We’d better get forward,” said Sandecker. “They’re ready for takeoff.”
Pitt and Giordino followed the admiral into an officelike compartment with a desk and chairs bolted to the floor. They were connecting the buckles on their seat belts when the pilot pushed the throttles forward and sent the great aircraft and the twenty-eight wheels of its landing gear rolling down the runway. Affectionately called the Gentle Giant, the huge C-5 Galaxy lifted into the tropical air with a thundering roar and slowly climbed in an easy bank toward the north.
Giordino glanced at his watch. “Three minutes, that was a quick turnaround.”
“We haven’t time to throw away,” Sandecker said seriously.
Pitt relaxed and stretched out his legs. “I take it you have a plan.”
“The best brains in the business have put in a lot of last-minute homework on this one.”
“That’s obvious by this aircraft and Big Ben arriving here with less than twenty-four hours’ notice.”
“How much did Ingram and Meeker tell you?” Sandecker asked.
“They enlightened us on the secret history of the B-Twenty-nine resting on the seabed,” Pitt answered, “and gave a brief lecture on the geology and seismic fault system around Soseki. Meeker also claimed that by detonating the atomic bomb still inside the aircraft, the shock waves could cause the island to sink beneath the sea.”
Giordino pulled out a cigar he’d already stolen from Admiral Sandecker by sleight-of-hand and lit it up. “A cockamamie idea if I ever heard one.”
Pitt nodded in agreement. “Then Mel Penner ordered Al and me to enjoy a holiday on the sandy beaches of Wake Island while he and the rest of the team flew off into the blue for the States. When I demanded to know why we were being left behind, he clammed up, revealing only that you were on your way and would explain everything.”
“Penner didn’t fill in the cracks,” said Sandecker, “because he didn’t know them. Nor were Ingram and Meeker briefed on all the updated details of ‘Arizona.’ “
“Arizona?”
Pitt asked curiously.
“The code name of our operation.”
“Our operation?” Giordino questioned guardedly.
“It wouldn’t, of course,” Pitt said sarcastically, “have anything to do with Big Ben, or the fact that Arizona is the name of a state, or more precisely the name of a battleship at Pearl Harbor.”
“It’s as good as any. Code names never make any sense anyway.”
Sandecker stared at his friends closely. A day’s rest had helped, but they looked dead tired and worn out. He felt a gnawing sense of guilt. It was his fault they had already endured so much. And now once more he had recommended their services to Jordan and the President, knowing full well that no other two men alive could match their skills and talents in a deep-ocean environment. How terribly unfair to throw them into another deadly maelstrom so quickly. But there was no one else on God’s earth he could turn to. Sandecker could taste the remorse in his mouth. And he felt guilt at knowing Pitt and Giordino would never refuse to attempt what he asked of them.
“All right, I won’t hand you a lot of crap or sing ‘America the Beautiful.’ I’ll be as straightforward as I can.” He broke off and laid a geological chart on the desk that showed the seafloor for fifty kilometers around Soseki Island. “You two are the best qualified to make a last-ditch effort to finish off the Dragon Center. No one else has as much hands-on experience with a Deep Sea Mining Vehicle.”
“It’s nice to feel needed,” Giordino said wearily.
“What did you say?”
“AI was wondering what exactly it is we’re supposed to do.” Pitt leaned over the chart and stared down at the cross marking the location of Dennings’ Demons. “Our assignment is to use the DMSV to blow up the bomb, I assume.’
“You assume correctly,” said Sandecker. “When we reach the target site, you and Big Ben will exit the plane and drop into the water by parachute.”
“I hate that word,” Giordino said, holding his head in his hands. “The mere thought of it gives me a rash.”
Sandecker gave him a curt look and continued. “After landing in the sea, you’ll settle to the bottom, still using the chutes to slow your descent. Once you are mobile, you drive to the B-Twenty-nine, remove the atomic bomb from inside its fuselage, carry it to a designated area, and detonate it.”
Giordino went as rigid as a man seeing a ghost. “Oh, God, it’s far worse than I thought.”
Pitt gave Sandecker a glacial stare. “Don’t you think you’re asking a bit much?”
“Over fifty scientists and engineers in universities, government, and high-tech industries joined together on a crash program to develop Arizona, and take my word for it, they’ve created a perfect diagram for success.”
“How can they be so sure?” said Giordino. “No one has ever dumped a thirty-five-ton deep-sea vehicle out of an aircraft and into the ocean before.”
“Every factor was calculated and evaluated until all probability of failure was worked out,” said Sandecker, eyeing his expensive cigar in Giordino’s mouth. “You should hit the water as lightly as a falling leaf on a sleeping cat.”
“I’d feel more comfortable jumping from a diving board into a dish rag,” grumbled Giordino.
Sandecker gazed at him with forbearance. “I am aware of the dangers, and I sympathize with your misgivings, but we can do without your Cassandran attitude.”
Giordino looked at Pitt questioningly. “What attitude?”
“Someone who predicts misfortune,” explained Pitt.
Giordino shrugged moodily. “I was only trying to express honest feelings.”
“Too bad we can’t ease Big Ben down a ramp off a ship and let it drift to the bottom with variable pressure tanks, as we did with Big John over Soggy Acres.”
Sandecker said indulgently, “We can’t afford the two weeks it took to get your DSMV here by sea.”
“May I ask just who the hell is going to instruct us how to remove an atomic bomb from tangled wreckage and detonate it?” demanded Pitt.
Sandecker handed them both folders holding forty pages of photos, diagrams, and instructions. “It’s all in here. You’ll have plenty of time to study and practice procedures between now and when we reach the drop zone.”
“The bomb has been under water inside a mangled aircraft for fifty years. How can anyone be certain it’s still in any condition to be detonated?”
“The photos from the Pyramider imaging system show the fuselage of the B-Twenty-nine to be intact, indicating the bomb was undamaged during the crash. Mother’s Breath was designed to be jettisoned in water and recovered. The armored components of its ballistic casing were precision cast with machine finishing and fit together with tolerances that were guaranteed to keep the interior waterproof. The men still living who built it swear it could remain on the bottom of the sea and be detonated five hundred years from now.”
Giordino wore a very sour look. “The explosion will be set with a timer, I hope.”
“You’ll have an hour before detonation,” Sandecker answered. “Big Ben’s top speed has been increased over Big John’s. You should be well away from any effects of the blast.”
“What’s well away?” Pitt pursued.
“Twelve kilometers.”
“What is the end result?” Pitt put to Sandecker.
“The concept is to induce a submarine earthquake with the old atomic bomb and cause a set of circumstances similar to the one that destroyed Soggy Acres.”
“A totally different situation. The explosion on the surface may have caused a sub-bottom quake, but our habitat was wiped out by a resulting avalanche combined with thousands of kilograms of water pressure. Those forces don’t apply on ground above the surface.”
“The water pressure, no. The avalanche, yes.” Sandecker tapped his finger on the chart. “Soseki Island was formed millions of years ago by a long extinct volcano that erupted just off the coast of Japan and spewed a river of lava far out into the sea. At one time this immense lava bed was an arm of the Japanese mainland, rising above the water to a height of two hundred meters. It rested, however, on soft layers of ancient sediment. Gradually, gravity forced it down into the softer silt until it fell beneath the water surface with only its lighter and less massive tip remaining above sea level.”
“Soseki?”
“Yes.”
Pitt studied the chart and said slowly, “If I get this right, the bomb’s shock waves and resulting submarine quake will shift and weaken the underlying sediment until the weight of the island pushes it under the sea.”
“Similar to standing in the surfline while the wave action slowly buries your feet in the sand.”
“It all sounds too simple.”
Sandecker shook his head. “That’s only the half of it. The shock waves alone aren’t enough to do the job. That’s why the bomb must be moved ten kilometers from the plane before it’s detonated.”
“To where?”
“The slope of a deep trench that travels parallel to the island. Besides producing a subocean shock, the magnitude of the atomic explosion is expected to tear loose a section of the trench wall. The tremendous energy, as millions of tons of sediment avalanche down the side of the trench in unison with the shock waves from the bomb, will create one of the most destructive forces of nature.”
“A tsunami,” Pitt anticipated the admiral. “A seismic sea wave.
“As the island begins to sink from the seismic shocks,” Sandecker continued, “it will be dealt a knockout blow by the wave, which will have achieved a height of ten meters and a speed between three and four hundred kilometers an hour. Whatever is left of Soseki Island above the surface will be completely forced under, inundating the Dragon Center.”
“We are going to unleash this monster?” Giordino asked suspiciously. “The two of us?”
“And Big Ben. It was a rush job, no way around it, but the vehicle has been modified to do whatever is demanded.”
“The Japanese mainland,” Pitt said. �
��A heavy quake followed by a tsunami smashing into the shore could kill thousands of people.”
Sandecker shook his head. “No such tragedy will occur. Soft sediments out to sea will absorb most of the shock waves. Nearby ports and cities along the coast will feel no more than a few tremors. The seismic wave will be small on the scale of most tsunamis.”
“How can you be sure of the ten-meter crest? Tsunamis have been known to go as high as a twelve-story building.”
“Computer projections put the wave crest that strikes the island at less than ten meters. And because Soseki is so close to the epicenter, its mass will act as a barrier and blunt the effects of the wave’s momentum. By the time the first mass of water reaches the coast, at low tide I might add, its crest will have diminished to only one and a half meters, hardly enough for serious damage.”
Pitt mentally measured the distance from the bomber to the spot marked on the slope of the underwater trench for the detonation. He judged it to be about twenty-eight kilometers. An incredible distance to drag an unstable forty-eight-year-old atomic bomb across rugged and unknown terrain.
“After the party,” wondered Pitt, “what happens to us?”
“You drive Big Ben onto the nearest shore, where a Special Forces team will be waiting to evacuate you.”
Pitt sighed heavily.
“Do you have a problem with any part of the plan?” Sandecker asked him.
Pitt’s eyes reflected an undercurrent of doubt. “This has to be the craziest scheme I’ve ever heard in my life. In fact it’s worse than that. It’s damn right suicidal.”
66
RUNNING AT ITS MAXIMUM cruising speed of 460 knots per hour, the C-5 Galaxy ate up the kilometers as darkness fell over the North Pacific. In the cargo bay, Giordino ran through a checklist of Big Ben’s electronic and power systems. Sandecker worked in the office compartment, providing updates on information and responding to questions raised by the President and his National Security Council, who were sweating out the operation in the Situation Room. The admiral was also in constant communication with geophysicists who supplied new data on seafloor geology, along with Payload Percy, who answered Pitt’s inquiries on the bomb removal from the aircraft and its detonation.
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