“No. Not at all. He arrived here in a plane, a Focke-Wulf 200S Condor.”
“Wait a sec, I’ve heard of the Condor.” Sam closed his eyes trying to remember what he’d read about the unique aircraft that seemed so familiar to him. “That’s right, wasn’t it a big plane used in trans-Atlantic travel before the war? The Germans converted them into bombers.”
The secretary replied, “That’s right, Sam. He was sent here by the Germans on January 12, 1945, on a mission to bomb Washington, D.C. His cargo was a unique weapon, one that had never been used before.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Sam swallowed. “Are you telling me the Germans had nuclear bombs before the end of World War II?”
“Bomb. Singular.” The Secretary of Defense stopped pacing and gave Sam a level-eyed stare. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Sam. Alex Goodson has just discovered, via his grandfather’s will, that his progenitor was a German pilot trying to attack the United States with an experimental nuclear bomb.”
Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”
“It gets worse.”
“Go on.”
“Our recent intelligence is that the bomb arrived in the country, but obviously, didn’t explode.”
Sam’s skin went cold. “So, it’s still sitting out there, somewhere?”
The secretary put her hand over her face for a moment and sighed. “A few days ago, Alex Goodson posted a topographic map online, which he’d found in his grandfather’s journal. In the image the site of the wreck was identified with a small note stating a German bomber plane crashed here in 1945. Next to that, he posted a simple question, anyone know where this place is? Within a few hours, the first treasure hunters had started their search. By the next day there were hundreds, exploring the region for the lost aircraft.”
“Do we have an operation on site?”
“Yes. There’s a specialist team from the 832nd Ordnance Battalion US Marine Corps out of Fort Lee, Virginia, there now. All the treasure hunters and residents have been removed.”
“Have they found anything?”
“A wrecked Condor, buried deep within the Maryland Gold Mine, located near the Great Falls of the Potomac.”
“And,” Sam paused, cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Did they find the bomb?”
“Not yet. They’re still searching the wreck.”
The phone started to ring on her desk. She strode over, picked it up. “What did you find?” The question came out as hard and fast as machine gun fire.
After a brief, one-way conversation, she said, “I understand,” and hung up the phone.
Sam stood up. “What is it? Did they locate the bomb?”
“No. It had already been moved. The wreckage was located, including an empty bomb bay.”
“So, the bomb was dropped – Lord knows where – it didn’t go off, and has remained hidden in some old building, junk yard, or in someone’s back yard?”
“No. Its cradle had been carefully dismantled manually and the bomb transported. We searched the crash site. No sign of radiation was discovered.”
“What was it, then? Some other type of weapon?”
“I misspoke,” the secretary said. “No signs of the bomb’s physical components were found. Geiger-counter tests show that the bomb had been there at some point. It gave off radiation.”
Sam shook his head again. “What are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you that someone beat us to the bomb, Sam.” The Secretary of Defense sighed, heavily. “And now we have a Broken Arrow right here within the vicinity of Washington, D.C.”
Chapter Five
A Broken Arrow was an unexpected event that involved nuclear weapons or nuclear components, resulting in the accidental launching, firing, detonating, theft, or loss. To date the U.S. Department of Defense has officially recognized thirty-two Broken Arrow incidents, with the revelation about this latest one making it thirty-three.
Sam felt bile rise in his throat.
On top of the seven-hundred-thousand permanent residents of the capital city, Congress was currently in session. There was little doubt in his mind about the intended target if a terrorist organization possessed a working nuclear weapon.
After the incredible adventures that Sam had survived in the last few years, he should have been able to handle the idea. However, like the rest of the world at the time, he had grown up under the fear of nuclear destruction. It was a fear that had literally haunted his childhood nightmares, he found that it chilled him even more than other threats he had faced.
Staring at the pitcher of water, Sam wondered if he should pour himself another drink.
“Would you like something stronger?” the Secretary of Defense asked, noticing the direction of his gaze.
He shook his head. “How long have you known?”
The secretary returned to her seat. “Less than three hours.”
He poured himself another glass of water but didn’t drink it. Suddenly it seemed like he was riding a storm on a small boat being tossed in the waves. He put his tumbler down and stood up. It was his turn to pace the room.
His mind raced. “What have you done so far?” he asked.
“As soon as you arrived, we shut down the major roads, highways, tunnels, and airports. Everything inside the beltway, the metro, water traffic on the Potomac and Anacostia…”
He whistled. “Where, exactly, was the crash site?”
“Buried deep within an old disused gold mine, located at the Great Falls of the Potomac in Maryland.”
“A gold mine?” Sam cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “How did it remain hidden for so long?”
“At the start of World War II, all gold mining activity was banned by the government nationwide as it was felt the manpower to operate a mine would be better used in the war effort. They originally planned to reopen the mine after the war, but this never happened.”
“You’re saying a failed German bombing attempt on Washington, D.C. resulted in a crash directly into one of these abandoned mine shafts?”
“Yes.” The Secretary of Defense opened a map of the region dated late 1939. Sam came to her side, bent over to study the chart, his hand on the table.
“As you can see here,” she said, “the whole area was riddled with open mine shafts. In January 1945 there was a massive eastern blizzard. The event resulted in a total whiteout. We believe that’s the day the German FW Condor made its bombing run.”
“If that’s so, it makes sense,” Sam said, “The pilot must have run out of fuel and put down in what appeared to be a gradually sloping field of white.”
“Right,” she acknowledged. “And then, unexpectedly the nose of the FW Condor fell through the boarded-up entrance to the mine shaft. Whereupon, the pilot escaped, and realizing what had happened, he hid the aircraft’s wings – which were a metal and fabric composite – inside the mine, as well, to conceal his aborted mission and its cargo. He then re-boarded up the entrance, where the aircraft and nuclear bomb must’ve remained hidden ever since – well, until recently.”
“Radiation, even at low levels, may have damaged the nearby plant life,” Sam mused. “But it’s been sealed off?”
“Completely.”
“And how long are you going to be able to keep D.C. under lock and key?”
The secretary grimaced. “There’s already an uproar, half an hour after you arrived. That’s not your concern. We can deal with it.”
The Washington D.C. area would be particularly susceptible to major problems from a lockdown of any sort – many of the people who worked in the area lived elsewhere. Including the members of Congress, which was currently in session. Sam didn’t envy the secretary the job of trying to keep that group under control.
He set the thought aside. “What do you need me to do?”
He had half an idea of what she might need from him, but he suspected it would probably involve breaking a number of laws. If so, he needed her to be absolutely clear about what she n
eeded.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “We have some very discreet, very intelligent people working on what possibly could have happened to the bomb and the various ways that such a thing could be brought past the Beltway without our knowing it.”
“But you already know how it was done,” Sam said.
“I have my suspicions.”
“And?”
“How would you bring a nuclear weapon into the D.C. area, Sam?”
Sam’s wry grin wasn’t a happy one. “You know how I’d do it. I’d go straight along the Potomac River.”
Chapter Six
Officer John Dwyer was one of the four Virginia-based police officers who had been chosen to stand guard on the Chain Bridge over the Potomac. The cars had been parked at the intersection of North Glebe Road and Chain Bridge Road. The George Washington Memorial Parkway, which ran alongside the river and which passed over North Glebe Road, was packed nose-to-tail with traffic. North Glebe and Chain Bridge Road were busy, but nothing that the four of them couldn’t handle – yet. If the situation went on much longer, it would cause nothing but problems.
A few minutes earlier, he had spotted movement in the green woods below the bridge. Several running and hiking paths ran through the trees nearby. Their orders had been to block off the Virginia end of the bridge, not to prevent anyone moving along the recreational trails, but he still thought he’d better take a closer look. Telling the others what he’d seen, he started moving back along the bridge, checking the rocky riverbank for a swimmer or a boat. Something small. Perhaps a canoe.
He didn’t spot anyone, but he decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have one of his men take a walk along the bridge to check every few minutes from now on.
He turned back to return to the others and froze.
One of the officers yelled back at him, “What is it? Do you see something?”
Officer Dwyer’s mouth had fallen open. Surely, he must be going nuts or something…
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
“What is it?”
“A shark.”
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” the other officer asked.
But there it was, a dark fin slicing through the surface of the water, heading downstream toward the bridge.
Officer Dwyer blinked as one of the other officers started to swear. He heard pounding footsteps running toward him.
No, not a shark – the top of a shark’s fin wasn’t squared off like that. Whatever was down there was man-made. Fortunately, it wasn’t moving too quickly, and it was leaving a wake behind it that would be hard to miss.
He grabbed the shoulder of Officer Jackson, who had run up to stand next to him.
“Call that in, Jackson.”
“Me? You’re the one who spotted it. You try to explain it.”
Officer Dwyer said, “The parkway’s backed up all the way to the Francis Scott Key Bridge, Jackson.”
“So?”
“So I’m going to follow the thing on the running trail. Unless you want to haul ass down there and run after it?”
Jackson, who was built like a Mac truck and huffed like he'd been running on the jogging track, shook his head. Officer Dwyer sent up a mental “thank you” to his father, who had always taken him jogging as a kid. Pleased to be generating some heat in the cool morning air, he ran to the end of the bridge, waved at the cars backed up on the overpass, and took off running along the trails.
A few minutes later his cell phone rang.
“Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed to no less than the Secretary of Defense. “I still have the mini-sub in pursuit…”
Chapter Seven
The Secretary of Defense said, “Thank you, Officer Dwyer. Please keep it in sight at all times, if possible. We have sent out several drones as back up. You should be seeing them soon.”
She paused.
“I’ll take that into consideration. Thank you, ma’am.”
She put down the handset. There was a fine tremor in her hand. That’s new. She then let out an explosive breath.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“One of the officers along the Chain Bridge called in with the report that another Officer had seen a shark in the Potomac.”
Sam blinked. “A shark?” A flash of insight hit him. “A midget submarine! That’s how they’re moving the bomb into D.C.!”
“It seems that way,” the secretary said, sounding unusually hesitant and uncertain. “We don’t have time to put together a team or anything else to be able to prevent it from destroying the whole area. It’s already in position, although if they moved just a little further south, they’ll be able to do more damage.”
“Get me on a helicopter!” Sam said excitedly, in a loud voice that was nearly a shout.
“Sam, it’s too late. We need to concentrate on evacuation instead.”
“Just get me out there. I’ve got an idea.”
The secretary picked up the phone, then tossed it into a chair and stepped out of the office door. “Henriks! Get me a helicopter pilot out on the pad now!”
Sam knew his way and was already running full-speed down the halls.
Chapter Eight
In moments, Sam was approaching the Pentagon’s helicopter pad. A VH-60N Black Hawk converted to VIP use was waiting on the helipad, engine running, rotors slowly turning.
Sam spotted a single-link steel chain crossing the paths between the pad and the walkway leading up to it, and quickly unhooked it on both sides. About fifteen feet of chain in total. – it might just be enough.
People waiting to receive VIPs leaving the danger area via helicopter were just going to have to take their chances on getting too close to the machines. He had a plan for that chain. He wrapped it around his chest – cold, heavy links. The weight reassured him.
The Secretary of Defense caught up to him as he was heading for the Black Hawk.
“Sam Reilly, what are you going to do with that?” she shouted.
“You’ll see.”
Bent over, the two of them jogged up to the helicopter. Sam started to climb in.
An airman intercepted them, standing in Sam’s way. “Stop! What are you doing?”
The secretary waved the pilot down. “We’re appropriating this chopper! It’s of national importance!”
The pilot was already shaking his head. “No can do, ma’am. Every one of the twenty-six helicopters of the 12th are en route to the Capitol to extract designated public servants as part of the Continuity of Government Plan. I’m pretty sure that this man’s not on the list.”
“You don’t understand,” the secretary started to say.
Sam interrupted the argument. “No problem, Captain. I just need a ride to the Potomac. You can drop me off on the way to Capitol Hill.”
Chapter Nine
A few curt words over the pilot’s headset and they were on their way. It sounded like this pilot was engaged to assist in White House evacuation. Whatever vital function was being sacrificed or delayed to carry out Sam’s plan, he didn’t ask.
Within two minutes, they were above the Potomac, flying upstream.
“Any word on where the sub is now?” Sam asked the secretary through his headsets. The Black Hawk was fast, but noisy.
“The officer trailing it on foot lost sight of it near Bear Island in the Potomac Gorge. He states it submerged completely under the water at that point.”
Sam shook his head. Something about the situation wasn’t right. The two of them leaned over the sides of the helicopter, searching for evidence of movement.
She asked, “See anything?”
It was a bright and sunny day. Sam peered into the clear water to the brown riverbed. “Not yet.”
They passed the Francis Scott Key Bridge. Already traffic was a nightmare.
“Sam!”
He quickly switched to the secretary’s side and looked into the deeper blue water. The ripples sparkled back at him. A rill of lighter water within the river caught
his eye. At the head of it, a dark shape.
There’s the midget sub.
“Get me down as low as you can,” he shouted over the headset, then ripped it off.
The pilot dipped the nose and took the Black Hawk into a hover just above the water. Sam unwrapped the heavy chain from around his chest, forming it into a circular link that he could still hold. It was as good a position as Sam was going to get – just ahead of the path of the submarine.
Sam slid open the door, fighting a stream of wind.
Holding onto a support handle, he studied the location of the midget sub one last time. Ten feet under water, it was not the kind of thing he wanted to dive straight onto.
The pilot shouted something.
Sam could just catch the secretary saying, “The only thing he can do. He’s sacrificing himself to save the rest of us.”
Sam grinned as he had a plan. No one was getting sacrificed today, especially himself! They were coming up to the Three Sisters, three rocky islands, west of the Key Bridge. Now was as good a time as any.
Taking a deep breath, he jumped into the water.
The surface split around him, and cold water rushed over his head. The submarine was moving faster now that it had hit the deeper water around the Three Sisters. He was going to have to hurry. He kicked upward, swimming with difficulty. The chain was trying to pull him down onto the rocky bottom of the river.
He let it unwind, quick as he could.
The midget sub, which looked like a Japanese Type A Ko-hyoteki – of which only fifty had been built during World War II – was driven by a single propeller. It controlled its depth by adjusting its fins like a torpedo rather than by adjusting its buoyancy the way a full-sized sub would. But for its fins to be useful, the Ko-hyoteki’s propeller would need to be turning.
Stop the propeller and the sub would sink.
He let the smooth dark side of the sub pass by underneath him. The weight of the chain seemed determined to drag him under. He had to expend most of his effort powerfully kicking his legs, just to keep his head above the water.
The Heisenberg Legacy Page 6
