The Krone Experiment k-1

by J. Craig Wheeler

  The phone rang and Isaacs jerked it up.

  “Yes? Right.”

  He reached for a pad and scribbled some numbers.

  “Yes. Yes. Got that.” He listened, then spoke again. “How far is that? Yes, damn it, no question. They’re onto it. Sure, when they come in, but this is just what we needed. Thanks for the quick work. Great. Right.”

  He hung up and relayed the message from Martinelli to Baris.

  “There are five small flotillas in the Pacific, three along thirty-two degrees forty-seven minutes north, two south. Each has a research vessel, a tender, and a destroyer. They’re spaced 1170 miles apart, sailing steadily westward, about 190 miles per day.”

  “So they’re tracking it,” Baris summarized.

  “They’re tracking it,” Isaacs confirmed.

  “How long?” Baris inquired.

  “Seven to ten days. Some got on station earlier.”

  “That’s plenty of time to collect a good timing record,” said Baris.

  “I think there’s no doubt now that Korolev has followed the same path that Runyan led us on,” Isaacs said. “We’ve got to get to that lab and find out what’s going on.”

  “And damn quickly,” Baris said. “If you’ve got this right and Korolev reports to the top brass in the Kremlin that a black hole was made and released at a secret US government lab, oh, boy.” Baris leaned back in his chair. “Can you imagine what the chest-medal crowd will do with that? We’ll be right back to square one when they thought we’d zapped their carrier. Damned if they weren’t right!”

  Isaacs stood up and moved to the window. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out over the trees, rocking up on his toes. He could feel the mid-August heat, which smothered the tree tops.

  “We’ve got a powder keg already up there in orbit,” Isaacs mused. “I don’t know whether we can possibly move quickly enough to neutralize this situation. We’ve got to hope we can find an explanation that will satisfy the Soviets that this wasn’t an intentional, government sanctioned plan.”

  He spun suddenly.

  “It wasn’t, was it?”

  “Whoa,” said Baris thoughtfully. “There’s no clue in any of the files here.” He pointed at the material on Isaacs’ desk. “But that’s pretty clean stuff. I just pulled it out of our library. Our job’s to know everything the bad guys are up to, not everything our team does, so maybe there’s an outside chance. Still, if I read this guy Krone right, he’s the kind who would tackle something like this on his own. Remember these were Krone Industries resources being squandered. Unless there was some heavy-duty laundering, there wasn’t much government funding. I’ll check more deeply, but I think we’re clean.”

  “We’ve got no choice but to get the whole story on Krone and that lab as fast as possible,” said Isaacs, regaining his seat. “Bill, I want you to keep digging here. Track down everything you can going in and out of that lab that could be related to the manufacture of a black hole.

  “Someone’s got to go out to the site, though, and under the circumstances, I think I’d better take that one on myself.

  “I’ll call Pat and get her there too. And I might as well bring Runyan along. He knows Krone and is on top of the scientific aspects. I want you to get a team busy working up a reaction estimate. As things stand, how will the Soviets react if they’re informed of Krone’s lab? What will it take to keep them under control? Okay?”

  “Right.”

  “Any questions?”

  “A procedural one. Before you go, have you told the Director yet?”

  “I spent three hours with him last night. Trying to explain about the black hole. Left him numb. I’ll have to see him now and report on Krone and the message from Korolev. I guess we’ll see what kind of stuff he’s really made of.”

  “Is he going to want to go to the President? Or expect us to draw up a national intelligence estimate to circulate? The black hole is one thing, and perhaps an emergency in itself, but potential Russian reaction is a key issue now.”

  “We’re in a bind. We’ve been waiting to get all our facts straight before dumping something like a black hole in the President’s lap. Of course, until this morning we didn’t know that it was made here, nor that the Russians were on to us.

  “There’s no time now for a formality like an NIE,” Isaacs continued. “We’ve got a real crisis. We must get the story from that lab and then pass it to the President directly. I think the DCI will see it that way, but that’s why I want you to get on that reaction estimate. We’ll want that as part of the package.”

  Isaacs looked at his watch. “It’s 10:45 now, 8:45 in New Mexico. I should be able to catch something at Andrews that will get us out there by mid-afternoon, local time. It’ll take a few hours to check out the lab. I might make it back here by midnight.

  “I’ll suggest to the DCI that he lay the groundwork for an emergency meeting of the National Security Council about then. And just hope the Russians don’t push the button for twelve hours.”

  “All right,” said Baris, rising to leave. “I’ll get on it.” He strode quickly across the room and out the door.

  “Kate?” Isaacs called, and she appeared in the doorway, attuned to the emergency atmosphere.

  “Tell the DCI I’m on my way to see him. Top priority. Order a helicopter to Andrews Air Force Base. Forty-five minutes from now, maximum. Half hour better. Arrange for a flight out of Andrews for me and two agents. Call Boswank and get him to assign me two of his people. Call Danielson and Runyan in Arizona and arrange for a flight for them. Destination for all of us is Holloman Air Force Base near White Sands, New Mexico. Arrange ground transportation there. We’re headed for a laboratory about forty miles away, up in the mountains. Better yet, see if you can get another chopper to take us from Holloman to the lab. Here’s the name of the lab and of the guy in charge.” He scribbled on a memo pad and handed it to her. “I’ll want to talk to him when I get back from seeing the DCI. And call Phillips in La Jolla and talk to Gantt while you’re on the line to Arizona. I want Phillips here this evening prepared for an NSC meeting. They may want to get together in Pasadena to assemble the relevant information.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kathleen finished making notations on her pad and bustled back into her office.

  Isaacs steeled himself and then headed off to hand his boss the second shocking revelation in less than twelve hours.

  Danielson awoke in her tent in the waxing Arizona heat with the smell of Runyan about her. Over breakfast she felt as if she were two people. One of her talked business with Gantt as if nothing had happened. Her other self was full of Runyan and jolted every time he seemed to give her a special knowing glance. Gantt displayed no reaction, just smiled discretely to himself.

  The call from headquarters came as they were finishing breakfast and galvanized them into action. They barely had time to throw their things together before the whupping of the Marine helicopter from Yuma broke the desert stillness. At the Yuma Air Station Danielson chatted casually with Runyan for the benefit of the strangers around them and continued to shout her secret messages until the transport was warmed up, ready to ferry them east to New Mexico.

  Back in the desert, the camp settled into busy routine. Late that morning, one of the Marines relaxed in front of his tent, waiting for lunch. He didn’t understand the technical functions of the camp and didn’t expect to. He was assigned his job and did it. Nevertheless, he thought it strange that the chief of the operation would take time out to squat, motionless, at the edge of the camp with his index finger thrust past the second knuckle into a small hole in the ground.

  Chapter 16

  A faint rush of electromagnetic waves carried the orders from a Soviet ground station on the Kamchatka Peninsula. On the hunter-killer satellite a switch popped shut, releasing the latent energy in a battery and generating a healthy blue spark elsewhere in the circuit. The spark jostled and heated the fragile molecules of a volatile material. The heated matter exp
anded violently, its force focused by a tough surrounding casing. A detonation wave raced outward in a fury that shot in a narrow arc into space.

  A few hundred yards away, a sleek white cylinder decorated with a small red, white, and blue emblem floated with deadly grace. It was directly in the path of the onrushing explosion. Then the onslaught was full upon it, the pressure soaring ferociously, the outer wall crumpling, the shock wave engulfing everything within. With the shock came heat, heat that triggered circuits in the cylinder.

  In a repeat of the pattern played out only instants before, switches tripped, power surged, tiny sparks crackled and carefully designed chemical explosives imploded upon a finely machined, slightly warm sphere of metal, violently squeezing it.

  The shock from the first explosion arrived at the same instant. The sphere was warped; the focus of its compression altered. It existed for a brief moment, teetering on the edge of consummation. Each part of it fed neutrons into the others. Deep in the dense nuclei of its atoms, reactions were triggered splitting the nuclei apart, releasing vastly more energy than the penetrating neutrons possessed and more of the catalyzing neutrons as well.

  Then the moment passed. The wracking shock and the partial release of nuclear energy amplified the distortions of the sphere. The chain reaction damped, and the sphere of radioactive metal dissolved into harmless shards. In a heartbeat, the cylinder was gone.

  Nearby, another cylinder, larger, ungainly, stirred into menacing wakefulness. Ports slid open in its sides. It rotated and slurred. Taking aim. Awaiting instructions.

  By shading his eyes from the midday Sun, Isaacs could make out the town of Alamagordo as the military transport continued its descent toward Holloman Air Force Base. He glanced around at his companions, Pat Danielson and Alex Runyan whom they had picked up on a quick stop at Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, and the two Agency men. Although the need was remote, they could provide security backup. The hollow feeling in his gut reflected his anticipation of the significance of this venture. They were headed for the source, the key to the myriad tangled events. He thought back to the simple anomalous seismic signal he had toyed with while on leave last March, over four months ago. His thoughts strayed to Runyan’s voracious beast rifling through the Earth and to the paranoiac escalation threatened by the note from Korolev.

  Maybe not so paranoid. He played a game of role reversal he had often found useful. How would the President of the United States and his military and civilian advisors react to being informed that the Russians, deliberately or otherwise, had created a menace so hideous that it would eat away the substance of the Earth? Even with the damage done, the urge to retaliate, fed by hatred and fear, would be strong, visceral. An image of a battered child who finally takes an ax to his tormentor slipped into his mind. He knew there were Americans who would argue that if the Russians had been the perpetrators, the time would have come to rid the world of them, before going on to face the ultimate menace. Could this development be the final straw for the Soviets, the one that pushed them over the brink in an attempt to eliminate their prime antagonist, despite the consequences? And role reversal, hell, he thought. How will the President react when he’s informed this evening that his own team has committed this inconceivable atrocity?

  The reality was overwhelming. They had a few scant hours to find the keys to defuse the crisis. They needed incontrovertible proof that the incredible event had actually occurred, that a small black hole had been forged on the mountaintop forty miles away. They must discover how and why and then hope the President could use that evidence to convince the Russians that the affair was not an overt act against them. They would also look for any dim shred of evidence that what had been done could be undone.

  Already there was a hitch, an aggravating note of uncertainty amplified by the tension surrounding their mission. Where in the hell was Krone? Their flurry of phone calls had only succeeded in contacting some administrative head at the lab. Isaacs had worried about a confrontation with Krone. He might bluster, cover up, delay them. Worse, he might destroy evidence. Isaacs had dissembled with the administrator, told him that they were an inspection team under the auspices of the executive branch. Only a small lie. It would be presidential business soon enough. In any case, Isaacs knew the power of the vague reference to the Oval Office and he had invoked it unashamedly; there was no time for more complex explanations.

  Isaacs looked over once more at Danielson, her face in profile as she stared out the small window. She and Runyan had been in good spirits when they met. Was there something between them? Would they both be at top efficiency as matters reached their crux? Isaacs was not sure he should have succumbed to Runyan’s pleadings to go to Arizona.

  For the second time in as many days, Alex Runyan had found himself catching a military plane on short notice and heading for a remote corner of the southwest. He and Danielson had taken a military flight to Kirtland and then had transferred to the plane Isaacs had commandeered out of Andrews. Isaacs had filled them in on the progress the Russians had made in duplicating their efforts that gave special urgency to their mission. That had surprised him, but the general chain of events was proceeding as he had foreseen.

  Having convinced himself that a black hole was running rampant in the Earth, Runyan had found a man-made origin more plausible than other preposterous possibilities. Still, a stunning technological feat was demanded, and he was keenly interested in discovering the details that this trip promised to reveal. His instinct told him that their only hope for salvation lay in fathoming the secrets of creation. Paul Krone. Runyan shook his head. He’d done it this time.

  Runyan, too, glanced over at Pat Danielson. This trip promised no chance to renew the relationship started in the warm Arizona night. On the contrary, she seemed to be getting a little withdrawn. When they lay on the mattress, comfortable, chatting, she had confessed to having no close male relations for some time. Could she keep an affair casual, friendly, the way he wanted? Was she the type to suffer second thoughts if no permanent relation was in the offing? Now he’d have to watch his step.

  Pat Danielson’s mind was in a turmoil. On the noisy flight from Yuma she nearly forgot their mission, as she repeatedly thought of Runyan, buckled into the hard utilitarian seat next to her. She relived their undressing in the Moonlight that bathed the tent, their tender precarious coupling on the narrow mattress, his successful, unhurried manner, the quiet conversation after, cramped cooperative attempts at sleep and his half-comical departure at dawn as the camp came to life.

  Then in Albuquerque when they met up with Isaacs the enormity of the situation rushed back upon her. To all the fear and fascination she felt toward the object of their quest, now the burden of keeping the Russians at bay was added.

  In Isaacs’ presence, all business, she felt pangs of guilt for allowing her personal urges to come to the fore. With guilt came questions. Was it a one shot affair? Had he gotten what he wanted? Did he really care? He had spoken briefly of a wife and described, honestly it seemed, his estrangement. But was he honest? And even if he was, had he really said anything that implied a commitment to her, to Pat? The more she thought, the deeper became her guilt and embarrassment.

  She looked out of her portside window now as the plane flew west, parallel to the main runway below. She made out a sprawling complex of runways, hangars, and military aircraft. That disappeared behind them until the plane went into a left bank that took them perpendicular to the runway, affording a clear view of the base and the Sacramento Mountains rising in the east. She thought she caught a glimpse of their ultimate destination on one of the far ridge tops. Again the plane banked for its final approach, and the only view was the desert plain and bounding mountains stretching endlessly to the north.

  The aircraft bumped and twisted slightly in the mild cross-wind at landing. They taxied up to a hangar, the engines were cut, the hatch thrown open, and they scrambled out. They were met by a young lieutenant who handed Isaacs a message. Is
aacs read it, crumpled the paper angrily in his fist and then hustled Runyan and Danielson aside. He spoke to them in an intense whisper.

  “The Russians have moved already. They triggered one of the hunter-killers a half hour ago and took out our nuclear satellite that was on station with their laser.”

  Danielson felt as if she had been shocked out of a state of half-trance.

  “It didn’t detonate? The nuke?”

  “No,” Isaacs seethed. “They took the chance and pulled it off cleanly. The laser is free to operate with impunity.”

  “And what does that mean?” Runyan inquired, leaning over to catch Isaacs’ words.

  “It means,” Isaacs spat, “that they can pick off all our early warning and military communications satellites. We’ve evolved to the point where we are absolutely dependent on that technology. We’d be blind to a first strike!”

  “I thought we had backups stored in high orbit.”

  “Yes, but there’s a good chance they could knock them off as they’re brought down. Besides, if they go for a first strike, they could pull it off before we could adjust for our losses.”

  “Would they go for a first strike, risk retaliation?” Danielson asked, her eyes searching Isaacs.’ “Maybe they just want to assert their authority to have the laser up there.”

  “Maybe. But now they have every reason to think we deliberately manufactured and released a black hole and then lied to them about it. A whole new level of escalation.”

  “Escalation of what?” Runyan demanded. “Surely they know we’re as imperiled as they are.”

  “The cool heads, yes. It’s the hot ones I’m worried about,” Isaacs replied. “Theirs and ours!”