The computer recalculated and spit out new coordinates for the projected trajectory of the hostile missile, and its most likely destination:
Latitude: 22-01'10'' N -- Longitude: 160-06'02'' W
Lehua, Kauai, HI
“Oh my God, you’re right. The computer confirms. It’s Hawaii. Find out what’s on the island of Lehua. Not that it’ll matter if that ICBM showers the entire island chain with multiple independent warheads. The entire Hawaiian population will be incinerated.” He keyed his headset again. “COMSAT, this is LP Kosrae. We’ve got confirmation.” He read off the coordinates. “It’s Hawaii, sir. Lehua, Kauai, Hawaii.”
There was no reply from the other side. Only static.
“Sir?”
“Ah, roger that, Kosrae. Estimated time till impact?”
“Based on the calculated distance of 4,485 miles from the original source to target, and the fact that the hostile is now suborbital, traveling at an estimated 13,200 miles per hour, the computer says the estimated time till impact is three and one half minutes. That would make it exactly 3:32 a.m. Hawaii local time.”
3
TO NEW BEGINNINGS
Headquarters of the National Security Agency, aka, ‘The Box.’ Ft. Meade, Maryland. June 19.
In the NSA command center, the months had passed. First one, then another, and Cade wondered where they went. The passage of time knows no enemies. It has no friends. It holds no grudges. It’s only solace is that it never changes, except when there is a hole in your life that you cannot fill.
Cade stared across the room at Knuckles. Ever since he had met the kid, he wondered how old he was. For all Knuckle’s intelligence experience as an analyst at the National Security Agency, the chin on the kid’s face could barely produce peach fuzz. He looked sixteen, maybe younger. Regardless, Cade knew the kid had brainpower that rivaled even “Uncle” Bill Tarleton, the NSA section chief, and the most brilliant code breaker in NSA’s history.
Knuckles looked at Cade, who was still staring at him. “You look like you’re trying to conjure the next winning numbers in the Pennsylvania state lottery,” Knuckles laughed. “I know you’re dying to find out how old I am. I’m twelve years old,” he said.
“No you’re not,” Cade said. “You’re older than that. Come on, how old are you?”
“Not in this lifetime, pal.”
“Oh come on. We work at the NSA. We’re supposed to be able to find out anything about anyone. You know I can find out.”
“Personnel records are sealed, bright guy,” Knuckles said. “Although . . .”
“Although what?”
“We could work a trade.”
“What kind of a trade?”
“You teach me how to talk to girls, I’ll tell you my real age.”
Cade stared back, grinned, and then started to laugh until people turned to see what was going on.
“You want me to teach you how to talk to girls? I couldn’t talk my way out of a paper bag where girls are concerned. Now, my friend, Kyle, he’s who you want. He could convince a girl . . .”
“Well,” Knuckles said, “from what Uncle Bill tells me, you and that hot FBI agent seemed pretty tight.”
The prior year, during what was known as the Thoughtstorm case, Cade had become the FBI’s only insider in the sweeping terrorism investigation. At the time, he worked as a hardware systems administrator for Thoughtstorm, Inc. When it turned out Thoughtstorm was involved with terrorists, he found himself in the middle of the biggest terrorism investigation since 9/11. It had been the beautiful female federal agent that had convinced him to be a material witness in the first place, and now he was in love with her.
Cade looked down. “Yeah, I know. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever been around. We worked so closely during the Thoughtstorm case. Things were so intense. I don’t know, I guess we just spent so much time together that we kind of became a couple there for a while.”
As the case ended, Uncle Bill offered Cade an analyst role. Working at NSA had never occurred to Cade. But, with his old job as a systems administrator at Thoughtstorm gone, the idea of being more involved in espionage work appealed to him.
“But what about now? You’re not together?”
“Doesn’t seem that way, no. I wonder about it all the time. Whether coming to work here was worth it. Sometimes I feel like I stepped into a really cool new career for myself, but I lost Jana in the process. She spent so much time at Bethesda Medical Center recovering from the shooting. I spent a long time watching over her first in the intensive care unit, then all that time in physical therapy. To tell you the truth, she shouldn’t have survived it. But, the good thing is, she’s been back at Quantico for a few weeks trying to get in shape to requalify for active duty.”
The hardest part in Cade’s decision to work at the NSA had been separating from Jana. He may have been in love with her, but he never knew if she felt the same way. And, he always knew she was way out of his league to begin with. Both Jana and Agent Kyle MacKerron were now back at the FBI Academy at Quantico regaining their strength, healing from physical injuries, and requalifying as federal agents. For Cade, who now lived in Maryland near the headquarters of the NSA, having the two of them nearby at Quantico was both heavenly and torturous at the same time. They were close, but he rarely saw them.
“I go over there whenever she lets me,” Cade said. “We’re both just so busy, you know? I get the feeling she’s pulling away from me, almost as if she knows she’s only going to be at the academy for a short time, then she’ll get assigned to a duty station far away from here.”
“Where’s she going to be stationed?”
“From what FBI Director Latent tells me, due to her heroism during the Thoughtstorm case, she can choose to be stationed wherever the hell she wants.”
4
WEAPONS GRADE POSTURING
Outside the United Nations Headquarters building, New York. June 19.
“Okay, Mike,” the cameraman said, “they’re cutting to us live in three, two . . .”
“This is Mike Slayden, WBS News, reporting live from UN headquarters in New York. More info coming in on yesterday’s statements made by supreme leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of North Korea, Jeong Suk-to. As you know, the country of North Korea has become a thorn in the side of the United States, as well as other world nations. Supreme leader Jeong Suk-to’s consistent rhetoric and threats have alarmed world leaders. This morning, United Nations Secretary-General Ashanti Birungi made a statement in front of the UN General Assembly. Mr. Birungi stated, and I quote, ‘The North Korean government has made past claims as having achieved the manufacture of fissile nuclear material. Although these claims are as yet unsubstantiated, the United Nations has issued an edict to Supreme Leader Jeong Suk-to urging him to immediately withdraw his quest to obtain a nuclear weapon. North Korea now also claims to be nearing launch capability. If weapons-grade fissile material is combined with a long-range missile, the threat to human life is great. The time is near and the United Nations must act.’
“Tension between North Korea and western allies has grown considerably in past months as the North Korean leader continues in a tirade of posturing.
“To further complicate an already escalating situation, in an unrelated issue, the Russian delegation to the UN is pressing the North Korean government as to the whereabouts of one of their delegates who went missing one month ago on a diplomatic mission to the North Korean capital of Pyongyang. North Korean leaders in Pyongyang are refusing comment, fueling further speculation and distrust between Russia and North Korea. We’ll keep you abreast of developments as they unfold. For now, I’m Mike Slayden. Watch your twenty-four-hour news leader, WBS, for news, weather, and traffic on the fives.”
5
THE OVAL OFFICE
The White House, Washington, DC. June 19, 9:35 a.m. EST
“Mr. President.”
“Goddammit, General, what is it? I’m in the middle of a call with François Hollande!
”
“Sir, we’re tracking an inbound. Taepodong-class ICBM from North Korean airspace. Launched just minutes ago.”
The president stared at the man, then blurted into the phone, “Président Hollande, mes excuses. Une situation plus urgente. A most pressing situation. Urgent matters of state.”
He hung up the phone then looked at the General whose face looked like the blood had drained from it.
“Where is it headed?” the president said. “Can we intercept?”
“Hawaii, and no.”
“Hawaii? But there’s over a million people in Hawaii! We can’t . . . we can’t shoot down the missile?”
“Population 1.4 million. No sir, we tried. Patriot anti-missile defense systems out at Pearl missed, twice. She slipped through, sir. I’m sorry.”
The president buried his face in his hands.
“Time till impact?”
“Any moment.”
“You can’t mean that!”
“A SATCOM device is being moved in here now, sir. We’ve got two communication uplinks. One to Navy Hawaii Command and the other to a NATO listening post at Kosrae, Micronesia. The listening post is tracking the missile.”
Two young Air Force officers burst into the Oval Office, flanked by the national security advisor and two members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The captain spoke into the SATCOM’s mic. “Go ahead, Kosrae. The president is listening. Repeat what you just said.”
“Roger that, captain. This is NATO listening post Kosrae, Micronesia. The hostile missile is in full descent. Time till impact on the island of Lehua, Kauai, Hawaii, sixty-five seconds.”
“What’s the population of that particular island?” the president said.
“Zero, sir,” the major replied. “Lehua is an uninhabited outlying island of the Hawaiian chain, about twenty miles off Kauai. But I don’t think that matters. If the North Korean government has finally combined long range missile launch capabilities with a nuclear tip, we could be looking at a total loss of the Hawaiian Islands.”
“Forty seconds.”
The volume of the president’s voice exploded. “But we’ve had security briefings for months on the topic of whether or not the North Koreans had the technology to combine a long-range rocket with a nuclear tip, dammit! CIA was so sure that they hadn’t achieved it yet,” the president said as he slammed his fist into the desk. “Why did I listen to them? Shit, we knew they had launch capability, but not the damn nuclear tip. My God, if I’d only known. If I’d only known. I could have done something . . . but I had no idea that that lunatic leader would actually take a first strike at us. A madman. A madman.”
“Thirty seconds to impact.”
The president paced the room. “How come we’re not hearing from Hawaii Command right now?” he screamed. “Where are they?”
“It’s three thirty in the morning there, sir,” said the major.
“General, bring our military to DEFCON 2,” the president said.
“Fifteen seconds to impact.”
“Ah, sir?” cracked a young voice across the SATCOM radio device. “Ah, this is Seaman Jimmy Timms, Hawaii Command. Third watch, post number four, sir.”
“Seaman Timms, this is Major Walter R. Robbins, United States Air Force. Son, just stay on the line with us.”
“Yes, sir,” the young seaman mumbled.
“Ten seconds to impact. Nine, eight, seven . . .”
“Ah, sir, what impact?” Seaman Timms said with all the timidity of a mouse.
“Three, two, one,” the operator at LP Kosrae said. “Hostile missile is down. Hostile is down.”
The president’s hands dug into his hairline and he leapt towards the SATCOM device. “Seaman Timms, are you still with us? Son? Are you there? Dear God, where is he?”
“Yes, sir. I’m here, sir. I just, I don’t understand what’s happening. What was that countdown? I don’t know who I’m on the line with, sir.”
The men in the Oval Office looked at one another. The general whispered, “I don’t know. Maybe it didn’t detonate?”
“Don’t you worry about it right now.” the Major said. “You just talk to us, son. Tell us where you are stationed and what your duties are,” He released the mic and said, “General, this seaman would be stationed on Kauai, correct? Kauai is just twenty miles due east of the missile impact zone. If a nuclear blast just occurred, he’d be able to see it. Hell, he should be dead right now.”
“That’s correct, Major.”
Seaman Timms droned on in the background about his duty station, what his duties were, where he was raised, his mother’s favorite recipe for chocolate chip cookies, which he was currently enjoying. The major interrupted him. “Seaman Timms, can you pinpoint which direction is west of you right now?”
“West? Well sure, sir. The sun sets just out past the flag pole right out the window over there . . .”
“Son, stand up and look to the west. Tell us what you see.”
“Yes, sir. Ah, sir, I don’t see anything really. Just darkness. It’s the middle of the night here. I mean, I can see the flagpole, of course, but after that, the hillside slopes off and drops down to the beach. But off in the distance, if that’s what you mean, I can’t see anything. No lights or anything like that, sir.”
“All right, Timms, just keep looking out in that direction and report anything unusual. Someone will stay on the line with you. Thank you, son.”
“Listening post, Kosrae,” the Major said into the SATCOM. “Can you confirm a detonation?”
“Negative, sir. We see no detonation signature.”
The president was the first to speak. “What the hell happened? The missile didn’t detonate? Was it a dud?”
The general answered. “That’s what we’ll want to discuss with the joint chiefs. But if you ask me, it was no dud. My bet is that the psychotic leader of North Korea is playing with us. He’s taunting us. He wants us to know he can get us whenever he wants. He’s crazy enough to do it, and he’s this close to putting a nuclear tip on one.”
“A madman. An absolute madman,” the president said as he straightened his hair. He cast a gaze on National Security Advisor James Foreman.
Foreman registered the president’s piercing gaze and a cold shiver rode his spine.
“General,” continued the president, “cancel that order to take us to DEFCON 2. Let’s find out if the public knows about this missile launch. If not, keep it quiet, very quiet. I don’t want a panic on our hands.”
The president stared out the twelve-foot window in the Oval Office. “Something is going to have to be done about North Korea.”
Click here to read the full-length novel, Protocol 15
~~~~~~~~~
Thanks to the author Stephen King whose book On Writing allowed me to liberate this story from where it was buried, waiting only for my excavation to begin.
Nathan A. Goodman is a husband and father of two daughters and lives in the United States. The novel The Fourteenth Protocol was written with one very specific goal—the author wanted to show his daughters a strong female character. He wanted them to see a woman in difficult circumstances with the strength to prevail. And he wanted them to know that if they have the guts, they can succeed even in places that are perceived to be “a man’s world.”
Get notified of future releases and connect with the author at NathanAGoodman.com/email
Heartfelt thanks to these supporters for their contributions to this project. This list is not inclusive of all supporters, but instead represents those whose support met the threshold for being included in the finished work. Your generosity will always be remembered.
John Assad, Steve Gordon, Shawn Collins, Hope Hawkins, Leigh and Greg Kershner, Gay and Ken Buxton, Barbara and Bill Coats, Frances and Marc Overcash, Jennifer and Dan Gastley, and Jana Pierce, whose first name inspired that of the heroine.
Story of Espionage and Counter-terrorism (The Special Agent Jana Baker Book Series 1)
Spy Thriller: The Fourteenth Protocol: A Story of Espionage and Counter-terrorism (The Special Agent Jana Baker Book Series 1) Page 35
