by Dave Edlund
“Colonel, I’ve asked General Hendrickson to plug you and your team in where serve the best.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“We do this as a team, okay? Let me know immediately if anything substantial changes. We don’t know how the Russians are going to respond, so the situation is still very fluid. Paul, you remain on deck. When the call comes in from Pushkin, you get in here pronto. I’ll want your take on the conversation.
“That’s it. Gentlemen, we have work to do.”
Chapter 31
October 15
Sacramento, California
The frequent clatter of wrenches was more in keeping with an auto repair shop rather than a chemistry laboratory. Work pressed on at the hastily-fabricated facility at The Office. Karen had just dropped a wrench, the chromed-steel tool slipping from her hand as she grunted while tightening twenty half-inch bolts securing the top onto a large stainless-steel pressure reactor.
Peter was supervising, trying to teach her basic mechanical skills. “No need to apply so much force; snug is good.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” said Karen, wiping her forehead on her shirtsleeve. “How do I know if my definition of snug is the same as yours?”
Peter suppressed a smile. Good question. He turned to face the red, rolling tool chest and then opened one of the middle drawers. Karen stretched to peak over his shoulder.
Finding the tool he sought, Peter handed it to Karen. “What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s a torque wrench. The socket fits onto this end and then you turn the handle to get the torque setting you want.” Peter showed her how to use the wrench, demonstrating on some of the reactor bolts.
“Now you try it,” Peter instructed. In minutes Karen finished setting the retaining bolts in place.
“Thanks,” said Karen. “I still have a lot to learn, but this is fun… kinda.”
“You’re doing great,” said Peter. “Do you know how to finish setting up this reactor?”
Karen nodded. “Yep, but if I have any questions I’ll get you.”
Peter wanted to check in on his father, see how the experimental data was looking. He excused himself, stepping out of the walk-in hood where the pressure reactors were housed, and walked to the bank of analytical instruments on the other side of the lab. Professor Savage was staring intently at a computer monitor.
“How’s it going, Dad?”
“Huh? Oh, we’ll know soon.” The professor pointed his index finger at a green line on the monitor. Peter recognized it as the trace from a gas chromatograph. The instrument was connected to a small tube reactor, and apparently it was currently displaying the composition of gases from that reactor. As Peter watched, the green line began to rise and draw a triangular-shaped peak.
Professor Savage frowned. “That’s not what I wanted to see. That peak represents water. The reaction didn’t occur—there’s no change in the amount of water after the experiment is concluded.”
“What are the test parameters?” Peter asked.
“Water, calcium carbonate, and an iron-based mineral—a candidate catalyst. But there was no reaction, even at 2,000 psi and 500 degrees Celsius.”
“Professor Sato’s calculations indicate this reaction is thermodynamically favored,” said Peter. “So it just means the reaction rate is slow.”
“Of course… I know that. That’s the whole point of my work, to try to identify a suitable catalyst.” Immediately Professor Savage regretted his sharp reply.
Peter knew better than to patronize his father. At times like this it was best to let him vent; he knew it wasn’t personal, just frustration surfacing. There has to be something that we aren’t considering. Peter was trying to think of all the possible variables.
“Dad, what are your standard experimental conditions?”
“We use the tube reactors for low pressure tests, but the large pressure reactors we operate at 10,000 psi and 800 degrees Celsius. A typical screening test runs three days, and then we analyze for hydrocarbon products using the GC and mass spec.”
“And these conditions mimic what you would find at the crust-mantle boundary?”
“Approximately. We haven’t tried higher temperatures and pressures representative of being deeper into the mantle.” Professor Savage shook his head, his shoulders slumped.
“I was certain we were on the right track. Maybe Sato-san’s modeling results gave me too much confidence.”
“Have faith in the science Dad.” That earned Peter a glare from his father.
“What are we missing?” asked Peter. He began to pace back and forth, arms folded across his chest. “You’ve covered temperature and pressure, at least within the limits of these reactors. What else?”
Professor Savage joined his son’s brain storming exercise. “Well, background radiation is minimal, so we haven’t considered adding that to the experimental conditions.”
Peter shook his head. “No, nuclear reactions are not going to affect the chemical reactivity anyway. And electromagnetic radiation can’t penetrate the rock matrix.”
“Wait!” Ian Savage stood ram-rod straight, his eyes wide and fixed on his son. “That’s it. We didn’t account for that!”
“Didn’t account for what?” said Peter.
“Magnetism.”
Peter and his father stared at each other for a dozen heartbeats, silent. Peter spoke first.
“You said your catalyst is an iron-based mineral. Does it respond to a magnetic field?”
Slowly a grin overtook the professor’s scowl. “Yes, it’s paramagnetic.”
“That has to be it,” said Peter. “I can build an electromagnet around the pressure reactor. We can vary the intensity of the magnetic field by adjusting the current through the coil.” Peter scratched his head, deep in thought. “I’ll use a water cooling loop to maintain the coil. We’ll need a variable high-power DC supply. The rest can be made in Bend at my shop. I’ll get Todd, my chief engineer, going on it as soon as I get a rough design sketched out.”
“You can design and build this?” Professor Savage asked, more than a little surprised.
“It’s what I do, only on a much smaller scale. I’ll need a range of magnetic intensity, or gauss, that you want to achieve inside the reactor. Err on the side of making the field too intense.”
“I can do that. If I recall correctly, there’s an obscure paper on the influence of magnetic fields on mineral carbonate reductions. It was published a decade ago by a Russian, I think. It should be in my files that Jim had shipped down here.”
“Good. I’ll get the reactor dimensions and start—” Peter closed his eyes, concentrating.
“What is it?”
“Are you sure that paper was published by a Russian scientist?”
“No, I’m not certain. Quite honestly I had forgotten about it until now. Why?”
Peter recalled what his father had said before, that the field of abiogenic oil formation had been pioneered by Russian and Ukrainian scientists.
“I’m not sure, but that seems important. If I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
Chapter 32
October 16
Washington, D.C.
The sun rose over Washington, ushering in yet another crisp October morning. The city was waking up to business as usual. None of the residents or visitors to the nation’s capital had any idea of the drama that had been unfolding, hidden from the headlines. And roughly 2,000 miles to the southeast, the final chapter was about to be written.
During the middle of the night, President Vladimir Pushkin had called President Taylor. Pushkin was the consummate statesman… composed, charismatic, and savvy. Without admitting that his government had even thought about any wrongdoings, Pushkin asserted that Russia did not condone terrorism. If Venezuela was, indeed, sponsoring terrorist acts, they would do so without the support of Russia.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Pushkin. I am glad we agree on this issue.” President Taylor did n
ot want to push his luck. He had the response he was looking for; any further engagement could result in a change to that answer.
“President Taylor, one question if I may?”
“Certainly, Mr. Pushkin.”
“What are your intentions concerning Venezuela?”
“Our intentions are, simply put, to persuade President Garza to recognize the error of his ways.”
“If our positions were reversed, I would do the same, Mr. President. I wish you luck.”
President Taylor pondered Pushkin’s words for a moment. I’m sure you would. “Now, if I may ask a question of you?”
“Have you not asked enough already? But please, go ahead.”
“May I have your word that your government will issue a ukase forbidding involvement in our business with Venezuela? We expect our business to be concluded within a day or two.”
Pushkin thought for a moment, weighing his options and calculating his political risk and potential reward. He had expected this move from the American President. From the beginning, he had been using the Venezuelans. Now they would become a very convenient scapegoat.
“You have a basic understanding of Russian, very good.” President Taylor thought he heard a heavy sigh over the phone line, and then Pushkin continued, “Yes. I give you my word that the Russian Federation will issue an edict ordering our military to stand down. But remember that I am keeping score. And now you owe me a favor in return. At some time in the future, I will call it in.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pushkin. I’ll see to it that your spetsnaz soldiers are returned as soon as possible.”
“Of course. Until the next time we meet.”
And the call ended. It had been an exhausting day, again. But with Venezuela isolated from Russian military support, the course was now clear for Phase II. It was now up to Secretary of Defense Hale and General Hendrickson and their assembled team.
Operation Checkmate began with a redeployment of select stealth assets to forward locations. The theater of operations would be in and around the city of Caracas. After reviewing the Southern Command Forward Operating Locations, or FOL, Hato International Airport in Curacao was selected for the operation. A squadron of F-16 Falcon fighters and four E-3 Sentry early warning aircraft were already stationed at Hato. To support the aircraft, as well as other Navy and Air Force planes temporarily deployed to Southern Command FOLs, 230 Air Force personnel were permanently stationed at Hato.
Over the previous days, the Air Force had redeployed six F-22 Raptors, nine RQ-1 Predators, and seven RQ-4 Global Hawks to the airfield in Curacao. Since Hato International Airport is also the commercial airport on the tiny Caribbean island, located on the northern edge of the capitol city Willemstad, the aircraft were moved in over the previous two nights to avoid arousing suspicion. The Raptors immediately taxied into hangers upon landing, out of view behind closed doors. The Predators and Global Hawks were transported in C-141 cargo aircraft to avoid visual sightings and unloaded inside closed hangers.
In the early morning hours of October 16, well before the sun rose over the Missouri farmland, two B-2 Spirit stealth bombers of the 509th Bomb Wing took off from Whiteman Air Force Base. Anyone observing the airfield from a distance would not likely see the black aircraft against the dark sky. But if their departure was observed, it would appear just like any other training flight. The planes rose in the dark sky on a northerly heading that would take them over Iowa and Minnesota.
One hour into the flight, the formation banked to the right and set a new heading, due east. They followed this course for almost four hours, flying at an elevation of 50,000 feet, placing the Spirit of Hawaii and the Spirit of Florida well above commercial aviation routes. After flying about 600 miles beyond the eastern seaboard, the formation banked right again and assumed a new heading—south.
“Black King. New course one-eight-zero degrees. On my mark… mark,” announced Major Anderson, who was piloting the Spirit of Hawaii.
“Copy, White King,” was the reply from the Spirit of Florida, piloted by Captain Landon.
The B-2s had already flown about 2,000 miles by the time they turned south over the Atlantic, and they had another 2,000 miles to fly to the target. Maintaining maximum altitude and minimal radio communications, the two bombers continued their journey. Over the Sargasso Sea, east of the Bahamas and north of the West Indies, the stealth bombers formed up on a KC-135 Stratotanker dispatched from Tyndall Air Force Base in northern Florida. The refueling tanker was flying a race-track pattern, loitering in the area while waiting for the scheduled arrival of the B-2s.
Major Anderson was approaching from behind the tanker. “Blue Bird, this is White King, over.”
“Uh, White King. Copy. Blue Bird is in position. Lowering boom.”
As the tanker, call sign Blue Bird, extended the refueling boom, Major Anderson deftly maneuvered his plane beneath the tanker, aiming to catch the end of the boom in the receptacle located behind the cockpit at about the middle of his aircraft. After Anderson’s tanks were filled, the boom was disengaged and he pushed the stick forward and to the right, clearing the way for Captain Landon to repeat the process.
“White King to Black King, new course one-eight-one degrees. Maintain speed and altitude.”
“Roger, White King,” replied Landon. Following this course, the B-2s would arrive over Caracas as scheduled at 6:00 P.M. local time.
Two-hundred-forty miles north of Caracas, four F-22 Raptor Advanced Tactical Fighters formed up on the B-2s. They were rapidly approaching Venezuelan air space. Additional security was provided by the five Global Hawk unmanned surveillance drones deployed over the five principal airbases in Venezuela and one E-3 Sentry AWACS aircraft flying an oval pattern 300 miles north of Caracas.
Built with stealth technology, the Hawks could loiter at high altitude for up to twenty hours. Using sophisticated optical imaging and electromagnetic sensing technology, they would monitor activity at the airbases in both the visible and infrared spectrums and transmit this data back to the AWACS for analysis. Because the Global Hawks were unarmed, command decided to pair a Predator armed drone with each Hawk.
The six planes continued flying toward Caracas at a modest speed of 500 knots, maintaining radio silence. The AWACS, code name Thor, was not detecting any aircraft other than scheduled commercial flights. So far, so good, thought Major Anderson.
Over Caracas, Major Anderson finally broke radio silence. “White King to Black King. Vector to primary target. Hold position and engage at 1830 hours.”
“Roger, White King.” The Spirit of Florida split off and flew to coordinates N 10º 30’ 29.52”, W 66º 55’ 08.99”. These coordinates coincided squarely with the main entrance to Miraflores Presidential Palace. Two of the four F-22 Raptors stayed with the Spirit of Florida with orders to neutralize any perceived threat from hostile aircraft, including authorization to shoot first.
Major Anderson banked the Spirit of Hawaii to the left, and with his own escort of two Raptors, piloted his aircraft 180 miles to the coastal city of Barcelona and the General Jose Antonio Anzoa Tegui air base, arriving on station at 6:29 P.M. Anderson placed the B-2 in a circular holding pattern over the air base. Captain Landon was in a similar holding pattern over the presidential palace.
Due to stealth technology the B-2s, as well as the Raptor escorts, had remained invisible to air defense systems. But that was about to change—it was 6:30 P.M.
“White King to Black King. Open bomb bay doors on my mark… mark,” ordered Anderson. At the same time, the bomb bay doors on both B-2s opened. The Spirit of Florida, located over the presidential palace, and the Spirit of Hawaii, positioned over the General Jose Antonio Anzoa Tegui Air Base, suddenly lit up on air defense radar systems throughout Venezuela.
To the air defense operators it was as if the two planes materialized out of thin air. “Colonel! We have multiple contacts!” shouted a corporal manning a radar installation—one of many—at Tegui Air Base. “Two contacts, sir. O
ne over Caracas, the second over this air base!”
The corporal watched the radar screen intently, drops of perspiration beading up and trailing down the sides of his face like raindrops on a windshield.
“Where did they come from?” demanded the colonel.
The corporal stammered, “They just appeared… from nowhere!”
The colonel was immediately on a secure telephone line, wanting to confirm the radar reflections with other air defense stations while the corporal continued to watch the blips on his radar screen. He punched a button and then moved a cursor across the screen, lining it up with the blip over Caracas, displaying the longitude and latitude. The computer instantly listed the distance to the nearest likely targets. “Sir,” he interrupted the colonel, “the bogey over Caracas… it’s positioned over the presidential palace in a tight circular holding pattern.”
The colonel shifted his eyes toward the radar operator. “Scramble fighters! I will inform the minister of defense!”
As the order was relayed, fighters were hastily prepared for launch from the two airbases closest to the unidentified intruders.
Chapter 33
October 16
Airspace over Venezuela
In the cockpit of the Spirit of Hawaii, the threat warning receivers were blaring, indicating that multiple targeting radars were seeking a lock. A moment later the tone changed, indicating that radar lock had been achieved. Captain Landon in the Spirit of Florida was having a similar experience.
“My fun meter is pegged,” quipped the copilot to Major Anderson.
“Spool up the HARMs. Fire when ready,” ordered Anderson. Anticipating the order, the copilot had already started to power up the AGM-88 HARM anti-radiation missiles secured on a cylindrical pod within the body of the B-2. With the bomb bay doors open, it was only a matter of seconds to achieve lock on the closest targeting radars and launch four missiles. The first HARM unerringly homed in on the radar signal from an air defense battery at Tegui Air Base. Ten seconds after launch, the missile exploded on the radar dish, destroying its targeting and tracking capabilities.
