Farther out, the earth’s motion awakened long-dormant hot spots and ignited substances locked away by Nature for millennia. Fire shot skyward from the waves and lit the night as submarine mud volcanoes erupted with a violence reserved for apocalyptic legends. Newly released plumes of methane and other gases shook the very air with their explosions and sent flames to towering heights.
Aftershocks continued to rock the region and the complicated shifting of the underwater landscape triggered submarine landslides that, in turn, created tsunamis that raced in all directions.
As the seafloor beneath them heaved and shifted, drilling platforms collapsed, their spindly open towers swaying in dizzy arcs before falling artlessly through the air. With screams of tortured steel, the mighty superstructures were torn apart and crashed into water already patchy with thick, growing islands of heavy crude.
* * *
Along the northern coast of Western Australia, a sky that was clear and shining one minute shivered in the next and conjured a massive cyclone that roared onto the unsuspecting populace like a wild dog. Residents of the territory fled the onslaught of water and wind, seeking futile sanctuary indoors. Its winds as dangerous as razor-sharp teeth, the storm set its grip on the sleepy coastal cities and shook them until their fight was gone.
Rain poured from the sky as though from a faucet. Winds circled and slashed and shrieked with Hell’s own fury. The white sands of the incomparable Cable Beach were sucked away as waves assaulted the shore, stealing whatever they chose. Rising flood waters swallowed coastal cities and towns. Farther inland, sewers and natural waterways alike filled beyond their capacity and spilled over, wreaking their own havoc.
Things not securely anchored to the earth—cars, palm trees, foolhardy humans—became unwitting missiles thrust along erratic trajectories. And when the storm passed, almost as quickly as it had come, survivors emerged, dazed and shocked, and wondering what unholy nightmare had befallen them.
CHAPTER 30
“Okay, I feel like I’m playing a game of Risk. Or chess,” Nik muttered, breaking the tense silence in the sandbox.
They were the first words—make that the first non-profane words—that Tess had heard him say in hours. Since the blip early that morning, he’d been either cursing under his breath or roaring invective while staring at computer monitors and tapping at keyboards. Tess wasn’t much for swearing, but she was tempted. She hadn’t come all the way to Antarctica to spend her time hacking her way into a cache of definitions for a whole bunch of gibberish commands that would be deadly once they executed.
The last set of bursts from the array had made everyone in the control center go pale. The power emitted was beyond awesome and the lights that had appeared all around them in the sky were psychedelic—and terrifying.
But what truly frightened the Teslans was watching their power flicker again.
Tess had immediately gotten on her walkie-talkie to reassure the staff that there was no damage to the installation. It was the truth. What she didn’t broadcast was that the diagnostics revealed that the flickers were just deliberate scale-downs in power output: pranks placed in the code courtesy of Greg. She couldn’t discern any purpose behind them other than to instill fear.
Now, though hours had passed, the room still hummed with tension. Someone had finally turned off the streaming video link to the news shows after the images of the latest round of catastrophes were shown—and burned into their brains.
Banter was no longer tolerated by anyone. Instead, the air in the control room was filled with the clatter of keystrokes as the scientists and software developers worked side by side to wrest system dominance from Greg. Each of the would-be hackers had taken a different line of attack as they tried to get into the core systems, but although everyone was eager to crack Greg’s code, they’d come to realize that blunt force would only cause more trouble. Every keystroke had to be considered. A premature power grab would be foolhardy—they had no way of knowing what security traps were embedded in the software, or what they might do. It was like trying to navigate a minefield. Blindfolded.
Tess broke the silence with an “Oh boy,” and abruptly sat back in her chair as she stared wide-eyed at her screen.
Ron swiveled to face her. Nik stood up and walked the few steps to where she was working. “What?”
Tess glanced up at them, then pointed to the screen. “Anyone secretly entertaining doubts about whether Greg is a genocidal maniac can stop now,” she said, her voice shaky. “That’s the command queue. And if what you all figured out about the system timing for the array is right, then that line of code”—she tapped the screen—“is going to execute not several hours from now—local time—as it appears. It’s going to happen much sooner and it’s going to be big. Really, really big.”
Both men leaned over her shoulders and squinted at the screen.
“What is that?” Ron asked.
Tess looked up at him. “I don’t know exactly, but the bursts are sequential. Just like last time, there are four command sequences all timed to execute nearly simultaneously, then there are four more set to happen x time after that. I haven’t figured out what x is yet, but the timing is, again, nearly simultaneous. Step back, fellas. I need some air.” She stood up and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist in a move that was both protective and designed to press against the stabbing pains in her stomach. “The geographical coordinates just reshuffled again, too. We’ll have to figure out the methodology of the new notations. You know, is north south now, or is it east or west? If we can’t figure it out ahead of time, we’ll have to piece it together as things start to happen.”
“What things?” Lindy asked. She was sitting at the workstation next to Tess, and had abandoned her task to watch them. As had everyone else in the room.
“I don’t know. Big things. And they’re going to go off like a string of firecrackers.” Tess managed to give her a weak smile. “Something tells me he isn’t sending sunshine where they want rain.”
“We have no idea where it’s going to happen?” Etienne asked.
She looked at him and shook her head slowly, feeling the situation weigh upon her so heavily that she had to fight the urge to sag to the floor. “No, but based on the range of coordinates at first glance, it looks like … everywhere,” she said, her voice gone quiet. “The best I can figure it is that if you take the equator, the International Date Line, and the Greenwich meridian, you effectively divide the globe into four segments. The last set seemed to include one event in each quadrant. It looks like that’s going to repeat. He’s into equal-opportunity destruction.”
“Well, that narrows it down. I think I need coffee,” Ron said somewhat weakly as he stood up. “With a splash of cyanide.”
“Hey, none of that,” Tess said, brushing the air between them with her hand. Then she sighed. “I’ll join you. I need a momentary change of scenery.”
They left the sandbox together and hadn’t gone but a few feet when Fizz Reilly came charging up the stairs and stopped in front of them.
“The radios aren’t working,” she said, slightly out of breath. “The walkie-talkies.”
“What do you mean they’re not working?” Ron interrupted, sliding the small device at his hip out of its belt clip and fiddling with the buttons. Tess checked her own. The power lights on all of their units were lit, but the units were making no sound. Not even static.
“I mean that none of them work,” Fizz snapped. “They were fine five minutes ago, and then nothing. All channels are down.”
Tess stared at her, wondering if she were hearing Fizz correctly. “But we secured that system.”
As the three of them stood there, the units crackled back to life.
“Well, look at that—,” she began, and stopped when she saw both Ron and Fizz slowly raise their heads to look at her. Ron looked grave, Fizz a little alarmed.
“Well, they work now.” Tess smiled uncertainly. “It was just another blip. I’m sure it’s ju
st like the other ones. Nothing to worry about.”
Fizz cocked her head at Tess and then moved it from side to side slowly. “We don’t have blips here, Tess. Ever. You may not be concerned over those power blips, but everyone else is freaked out. And now the local communication is flickering in and out of life?” She took a breath. “I don’t know what goes on in there”— she pointed to the sandbox door—“but I know how the rest of this place operates. There are backups for everything, and backups for the backups. Our local communication network is a critical system. It doesn’t just go down for no reason.”
“I understand that, but it’s electronics, Fizz,” she replied tiredly.
“No, Tess, Fizz is right,” Ron interrupted. “These radios are on an independent, local system, not connected to anything else. Just like the power system.”
“If it’s independent, why are you looking so grim?” Tess asked, a little bewildered.
“Because Greg’s letting us know he’s tunneled his code into everything, Tess. He’s letting us know that nothing is safe. With another set of crazy-ass commands ready to execute, we need to double down and find a solution,” Ron said.
* * *
It might have felt like the middle of the night, but it was only the middle of the afternoon. Teke Curtis stood near the large conference table in the Situation Room, hands at his sides, looking around idly and wishing like hell he didn’t have to be here.
“Penny for your thoughts, big guy.”
He swung his head at the deep voice so close to his ear and grinned at sight of Mike Rowan, fellow career naval officer and frequent partner in crime.
“How’s it going?” Teke said as they shook hands.
“I’m still living the dream,” Mike replied, quickly surveying the room. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
Teke frowned. “What?”
“The blonde.”
“You mean Candy Freeman, the national security advisor?” Teke asked drily.
“Is that who she is? I thought she was a tour guide,” Mike said absently, and Teke stifled a laugh at his deliberate blandness.
“She’s over there, but I wouldn’t let her hear you say that. In fact, you might be better off if she doesn’t see you.”
“Shit. Too late. I pinched her on the ass as I walked in,” Mike replied. “So where’s Hormann? He’s coming, isn’t he?”
“Should be here any minute.”
“So we’re here to cover your ass, right? Is it a speaking role or just a walk-on?”
“We’ll see how it goes.”
“Hey, kids.”
Both men looked over their shoulder to see the man they were waiting for.
“Hey, Chris.”
“Mike, Teke.” The taller man gave Mike a cursory glance. “Did you get a bad haircut, or did you give up growing hair for Lent?”
“Gosh, what a deadly sense of humor, Chris,” Mike replied, then stopped and squinted at the other man’s uniform. “What’s that?”
“What?” Chris asked, looking down at his chest.
“No, on your collar. Oh, it’s only two stars,” Mike said, but before the other man could respond, Candy Freeman walked over. Mike said hello to her, then strolled to the other side of the room, leaving Teke fighting a smile and Chris simmering.
“So the gang’s all here,” Candy said, nodding at Chris. “What are you up to?”
She’d changed her clothes before they left her office at Bolling, and was now wearing an uncharacteristically sober business suit. Teke knew that when the Queen of the Technicolor Wardrobe wore black, it wasn’t a good sign.
“What else would I be doing except contemplating life and its many wonders?” he replied easily.
The president entered, followed by at least two Cabinet members, several security advisors, and a few assistants. President Hernandez glanced at Teke, nodded at Candy, and continued across the room to take a seat at her desk. Candy, Teke, and the president’s entourage settled into the comfortable chairs arranged around the table.
“Candy, I believe you have some information on the situation developing at TESLA,” President Hernandez said.
“Thank you, Ms. President. We’ve confirmed that the storms in Connecticut, Park City, Central California, and the Mediterranean were triggered by the TESLA installation,” she said calmly, “as were the earthquakes in Mexico and Los Angeles. We’re continuing to investigate other significant events that have happened in the last thirty-six hours. Gianni Barone, an executive from Flint, is cooperating with us and he’s confident that the installation has gone rogue. He believes that TESLA is not under the control of the personnel on site but is being controlled by Greg Simpson. Simpson is currently en route to Annapolis Naval Air Station on a corporate jet that’s being escorted by two F-18 Super Hornets. He’ll be met by FBI and CIA personnel when he lands and brought to the District for questioning.”
“Will that stop the madness?” the president asked drily.
“That depends on what, if any, information he provides, ma’am. We anticipate that the atmospheric and terrestrial havoc will continue.”
“For how long?”
“We don’t know.”
“What is Flint doing to regain control of the situation?”
“They’re trying to re-establish communications with TESLA and determine how to disable the arrays. There isn’t much more they can do.”
Teke watched as the president leaned back in her chair and looked at Candy with an expression that was well on its way to becoming legendary. Piercing, cool, and unwavering, Helena Hernandez’s gaze could bore through titanium.
“What can we do?” she asked bluntly. “Could something be done to make a catastrophic equipment failure look like an accident?”
“Ms. President, if you don’t mind, I’ll let Admiral Curtis field that question.”
“Go ahead, Admiral Curtis.”
“We could destroy the arrays, but I would strongly caution against that, ma’am. The risks to the personnel are too high. The entire installation is just a few hundred acres, and the arrays are close to the habitat. If the life support systems are damaged, they’re in serious trouble. They have nowhere to go.”
“What are our options? Can the arrays be taken off line?”
“Ma’am, if that were possible, I imagine it would already have been done.”
The president kept her gaze fastened on him. Her voice was very calm. “I’m not referring just to powering down the installation. I’m asking about taking it off line. Remotely, if necessary.”
The room was silent for a long minute as Teke stared at the president’s serious, unwavering expression.
Holy shit.
Teke kept his gaze trained on the small woman at the head of the big table. Anyone tough enough to be born in the shallows of Miami Beach to a mother who’d just waded ashore from a boat with nothing but rags on her back, and rise up to be sworn into the Oval Office sixty years later could probably face down anyone and win. Even a psycho scientist named Greg Simpson.
“If you’re asking whether we could destroy the arrays, ma’am, the answer is yes. Using fighters or bombers at this time of the year is out of the question. There are no staging locations and the weather conditions are too risky. But remotely, via satellite?” Teke shrugged. “Sure. It would take a while to get an armed bird into the correct position and orbit, but we could zap TESLA with some electromagnetic pulses that would incapacitate it. Snap, crackle, pop. Or we could take the big bang approach and launch missiles from one of our subs, but, likewise, it would take some time to get them into position. Both options put the people at TESLA in jeopardy.”
“How much time would it take to get a satellite or sub into position?” the president asked, ignoring his last statement.
“We could have an armed satellite in position within five hours, ma’am. We have an attack sub, the USS Texas, in the region transiting from Perth. It carries both conventional and nuclear Tomahawks,” Teke replied, hoping the big n wo
rd would make her change course. “However, we can’t use conventional weapons. Their maximum range is six hundred miles with a top speed of five hundred fifty miles per hour and the TESLA base is one thousand miles inland. The nuclear Tomahawks have a longer range, about fourteen hundred miles. Based on how close we can get the sub to the coast due to the buildup of winter sea ice, the flight time would be approximately three hours from launch to target. I can have my staff draft scenarios and run estimates on the collateral damage to the environment and to the installation—”
“Don’t forget about the Tridents, Teke.”
Teke looked over his shoulder at Chris Hormann.
“Thank you, Admiral Hormann,” Teke replied curtly. “A Trident missile would be an option, ma’am. It’s a submarine-launched ballistic missile with multiple nuclear warheads. It has a range of seventy-five hundred miles with a top speed of eighteen thousand miles per hour. We have an Ohio-class sub carrying D-5s on deterrent patrol in the Indian Ocean south of Diego Garcia, which puts it well within range. Once launched, a modified low trajectory D-5 launch could be on target from the southern Indian Ocean in under ten minutes, ma’am.”
The president frowned at him. “Let’s keep nuclear missiles off the table for the moment, Admiral Curtis. The environmental fallout—no pun intended—would be extreme and we have international treaties to uphold. I’d prefer to do it without fireworks if we can help it. The media coverage—images on Google Earth—”
“With all due respect, ma’am, the environmental fallout would be less than you might imagine,” Chris interjected smoothly.
Teke controlled his surprise as he looked at his colleague and friend. You want to nuke Antarctica?
Chris sent the president a reassuring smile. “We could send in a D-5, set up an airburst at ten thousand feet. It would take out the troublemakers, melt some ice—maybe down to bedrock, maybe not—but that would be about the extent of it. Even with the high winds. You see, ma’am, when you nuke a city, all kinds of things become irradiated: metal, concrete, dirt, living tissue. But you can’t irradiate oxygen and hydrogen atoms, which is all water is. Even in a nuclear reactor, it’s not the water that gets tainted; it’s the stuff in the water—particulates and whatnot—that get irradiated. Antarctic ice is pretty pure, so if you melt it and blow a few icebergs worth of the resulting water vapor into the air and it gets carried a few hundred miles, it’s not the same as if it were tons of irradiated and airborne dust from an urban blast. There’s just not much to contaminate down there, ma’am. I think it’s a viable solution.”
Dry Ice Page 29
