“Thank you.” The president looked at the room’s other occupants. “Other options?”
“I’m not so sure about the nuclear option, Ms. President,” said a familiar, laid-back voice and Teke jerked his head around to see Mike Rowan leaning forward at the table, hands folded in front of him. “I suggest considering a HALO drop.”
The president looked at him. “Who are you?”
“Admiral Michael Rowan, ma’am. HALO stands for High-Altitude, Low Opening, Ms. President. It involves dropping a Spec Ops team into the installation. We send a Delta Force team over there on the Peregrine Hypersonic Transport. We drop ’em above TESLA at 20,000 feet. Takes ’em two or three minutes to land. One bounce and in they go, assess the situation, do whatever they have to do”—Mike shrugged—“blow up the arrays, extract the people, stay for lunch, whatever.
“Meanwhile, we scramble a support team to McMurdo. Once the Spec Ops team has the area secure, the support team comes in on a C-17 and evacs everyone to McMurdo and then to Christchurch. They’d be having a pint of Speight’s in some pub about twenty-four hours from now.”
The room stayed ominously silent and after a minute, the president looked at Teke. “What do you recommend, Admiral Curtis?”
Teke hadn’t felt such stabbing pain in his gut since his appendix burst, but he ignored the feeling and met the president’s eyes. “I prefer to use human assets whenever possible rather than a nuclear missile, ma’am. While the nuke would present a faster solution, I think it would be overkill. I have a team in Christchurch on alert since early this morning. It could be deployed to McMurdo now.” He paused. “It’s risky, but the HALO drop has merit, ma’am.”
The president nodded once, then looked at Candy. “Put together a plan. Whatever you need,” she said simply, signaling that the meeting was over.
The room began to empty. Once in the wide corridor outside the room, Candy, Teke, and Chris Hormann stopped and waited for Mike Rowan, who ambled toward them with a grin.
“Score,” he said under his breath as he reached them and then, in a trademark move, he lifted two fingers to his lips; took a deep, triumphant drag from an imaginary cigarette; and blew a long, satisfied breath toward the ceiling. Teke smothered his laugh with a cough.
“A HALO drop?” Chris said quietly. “Why the hell would you push for that, Rowan? It’s homicide.”
“What’s the problem? Those guys are trained for it. They live for the chance to do something like this. Why not make everybody happy?” Mike replied. “Besides, it’s a better option than disappearing the South Pole. I mean, for one thing, there’s no playbook for it; nuking the polar ice cap was never a scenario that came up in the war games at Newport, Hormann. The penguin threat scenario just never seemed credible.”
“How about we call it a draw, fellas?” Candy Freeman turned to Chris Hormann. “Weren’t you a pilot?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She turned to Mike Rowan. “And you were on subs?”
“Yes, ma’am. Seventeen years.”
She turned back to Chris. “Then what were you doing pushing a sub-based intervention and what was he doing talking about air drops?”
“They always try to beat each other at their own game,” Teke answered.
Candy looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. “Whatever floats y’all’s boat,” she said, then shifted her gaze back to Chris Hormann. “I hope you were right about all that ‘can’t irradiate water’ stuff, because it might come down to that. And this is no time for a pissing match.”
* * *
In Dallas, April is one of the months the locals look forward to. There’s a tingle in the early-morning air, and by afternoon the weather is nice enough to leave the windbreakers and sweatshirts at home and break out the new flip-flops and T-shirts.
No one, tourist or local, complained when the afternoon temperatures on Saturday started to rise beyond what the weather guys had foretold. Texans like their heat, and it was a great start to a perfect spring weekend.
The next morning, though, people started to murmur about too much of a good thing. Overnight the temperatures had continued to climb and when dawn arrived the plants were dry of dew and the residents were damp with sweat. The rain that had been predicted never appeared. The wind that always blew a steady stream from the west had disappeared, leaving the air still and hot. Temperatures continued to rise.
By the time church bells had started ringing on Sunday morning, the mercury was past one hundred. Pastors watched their flocks wilt in the pews and shortened their sermons. Coaches across the area lost count of the players who were passing out on the field. Outdoor activities and events were cut short across the region as both the faithful and the profane wondered what the Good Lord was up to.
Seeking relief from the dead heat that had settled on the day like a woolen fog, people stayed indoors in droves, closing drapes and blinds and turning on the air conditioners. The sudden, unanticipated surge in power consumption crashed the electrical grid for the entire Metroplex; windows were once again flung open as residents sweltered in their stifling homes. Frazzled parents gave up the fight to keep their fractious children out of cold, dirty backyard swimming pools not yet cleaned and shocked for summer. Farmers watched their nascent crops wither in the blistering sun, the morning’s irrigation having proved to be a pointless exercise.
People seeking cool destinations fared no better than those who stayed home. Every nearby lake was abuzz with boaters and JetSkiers seeking relief from the heat while shallow waters near the sandy, manmade shorelines were dense with bodies. Lines of stopped vehicles, their hoods up, their bellies steaming, queued along the sides of roads in all directions as their owners fretted under an unrelenting sun. The brave and the foolhardy among them left the dubious protection of their cars in search of shade and shelter. They walked toward uncertain refuge with slower and slower steps, stumbling along asphalt highways striped with tar softened by layers of dizzy, shimmering air.
As the day went on, not the merest wisp of a cloud marred the traitorous, celestial blue sky, and the sun turned lethal as it continued to heat the land and the people on it.
CHAPTER 31
Tess entered the conference room with Nik close behind. She whirled to face him as he shut the door.
“Okay, look. I feel like I’m at the top of a really tall roller coaster that’s poised for a dive. It’s a sensation I’ve never liked,” she began with no preamble, her voice grim and a little rough. “We’re watching the world fall apart. We can’t stop it and we’re no closer to determining what’s next in store. The blips have put everyone on edge and tempers are starting to fray, including my own, and emotions are starting to run high. Kendra is passing out anti-anxiety meds like they’re candy. Despite all that, what I need to do right now is assess our security.” She looked at him. He looked as exhausted as she felt. “We’ve been off line for more than forty-eight hours, during which time we have assaulted countries all over the world with extreme weather and other unnatural disasters. Let’s you and me talk about retaliation in real terms and in real time.”
“Tess, by this time, Flint, if not the U.S. government, has figured out that something is seriously wrong down here.”
“Yeah, I get that, Nik,” she snapped. “But you don’t turn a polar station dark and not send up the emergency flares, which I wanted to do but I let you persuade me otherwise. My decision. I accept that. But now we have to consider what they don’t know, which is whether we’ve been taken over by terrorists, whether we’re all in cahoots with Greg, or even whether any of us are still alive. They have no idea what we’re doing down here except messing up the entire world, and we have no way to let them know that we’re trying to make it stop.”
“Tess, you said we had to brace ourselves,” he said, making an obvious effort to keep his voice calm. “Maybe we have to take it to the next level. Code, I don’t know, Red. All Systems Go. Send up the flares, stop the pinging. Whatever.”<
br />
“We’re past that stage, Nik. I don’t think anyone will care that we’ve stopped the pinging.” She paused. “I’m thinking the odds are way too high that we’re going to be on the receiving end of a military intervention by U.S. forces or someone else’s if that next set of commands executes.” She paused again. “My God, Nik, just looking at the code makes me sick. The sheer magnitude—”
“There’s not going to be a military intervention,” he said flatly. “There are no troops for thousands of miles. They can’t drop a bomb on us. It’s Antarctica. There are treaties—”
“Why couldn’t they? Think about what Greg’s done,” Tess said, feeling her anger start to bubble over. “He—make that we—have caused huge earthquakes. Catastrophic storms. Wildfires. Tsunamis. At least one cyclone and dozens of floods. And then there are the spin-off events, and all that death and destruction.” She took a deep breath, then continued more calmly. “Why wouldn’t the countries where this stuff is happening consider those to be acts of war? They know we’re doing it.”
“They also know we’re civilians.”
“So is the Taliban. And Al-Qaeda,” she snapped.
“Thanks for the comparison,” he shot back. “Think about it, Tess: they’d go for the arrays before they’d go for the installation.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How could they take out the arrays without killing us? They surround us on three sides and they’re only a football field away. Greg was an ass to build them so close to the habitat in the first place,” she hissed. “He had to have the exterior walls lined with lead, for heaven’s sake.”
“On the bright side, that will help absorb any blast.”
“Stop being such a smart-ass, Nik. What if whatever they drop on us lands on the runway? Or the wind turbines? Then what? I go from being the new boss to collateral damage in two days?” she demanded.
“Clearly,” Nik snapped. “But they wouldn’t blow anything up, they’d disable it.”
“Great. With what? A death ray I don’t know about?” Tess threw her hands into the air and let out a hard breath. “Look, the point I’m trying to make is that I don’t want them to do anything to us or to the arrays. Ugh.” She pushed her hands through her hair.
“Okay, let’s assume that they know that Greg was acting alone—”
“That’s a leap, Nik. Besides, I don’t think anyone cares at this point whether Greg acted alone. All that matters is what TESLA is doing,” she pointed out, then closed her eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths before opening them. “Okay, rant over. We both need to get back out there. The only logical thing to do is to keep on hammering away at the code and hope that we’re not condemning the entire world to a premature death.” She walked to the door and, her hand resting on the door handle, turned to him. “And Nik, stop the pinging.”
“You just said it was pointless.”
“I know. But at this stage, letting them know we’re alive and in trouble might be our only means of saving ourselves.”
She opened the door and re-entered the sandbox.
* * *
Greg had spent the last few hours of the flight asleep. He roused himself only when the flight attendant awakened him with the news that they were on the final approach for landing and his seat needed to be upright. He stretched, then raised the window shade—and caught his breath at the sight of a military jet flying parallel to them. Glancing down, he realized the scenery below them was all wrong. They were over open water and the land in sight was neither Long Island nor Connecticut. He looked over at Fred, who was watching him with a cold smile.
“What is that jet doing out there? Where are we?” Greg demanded.
“There are two of them, actually. They began escorting us about forty-five minutes ago, and at the moment, we’re over the Atlantic,” Fred replied.
“That’s not Long Island down there,” Greg spat.
“No, it’s not. It’s either Delaware or Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Depends on exactly where we are. There was a change in the flight plan. Some people in Washington want to talk to you.”
Greg, who’d never before encountered true fear, felt everything in his body go still. “I have immunity.”
“Really?” Fred asked without much apparent interest. “Then maybe when the FBI and CIA agents take you off the plane, they’re just going to turn you over to one of the other countries you’ve destroyed. There are enough of them, some less civilized than others when it comes to matters of law enforcement. Saudi Arabia and Iran, for instance. If nothing else, you’d be assured a speedy trial. Probably followed by a public decapitation or hanging.” Fred shrugged. “As my eleven-year-old is fond of saying, right now it sucks being you.”
He’s bluffing. “They can’t turn me over to anyone.”
“Of course they can. You’re the only suspect for a whole catalog of crimes against humanity.”
Greg felt his composure begin to slip. “Are you coming with me?”
Fred’s smile widened. “You look scared, Greg.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“Why would I?”
“You’re my lawyer.”
“No, I’m not. I’m Flint’s lawyer. If I go anywhere with you, it would only be to make sure you don’t incriminate Flint.”
“Croyden—”
Fred’s smile faded, replaced by a cold hardness that turned his face into a mask. “Croyden is dead. His car was trapped in the avalanche in Park City. He and his whole family were killed, thanks to you. Which is the real reason I can’t be a spectator at your grilling by the feds. I need to be in Connecticut as part of the transition team. I might be able to spare someone to come down here a little later in the week.”
The sensation of dampness was making itself known beneath his clothes, and Greg felt his face grow warm. He pushed back against the encroaching fear and surreptitiously slid his palms along the thighs of his trousers. “They have nothing on me.”
“Even if that’s true, which I doubt, be assured that very soon they’ll have everything that Flint can possibly provide them, Greg. The company will cooperate fully. In fact, Gianni has been working with them since the storm hit Greenwich. There may even be a team of feds on their way to TESLA by now.”
Greg felt the blood drain from his face and leaned his head against the seat. It’s too soon.
Fred pointed out the window. “See that smoke in the distance? A freak electrical storm triggered a wildfire in the Shenandoah National Forest two days ago. Being April, it’s not quite wildfire season. Took the Park Service by surprise, apparently. It was a hell of a storm, and it’s a hell of a fire. There were lots of springtime campers and hikers in those mountains. The body count is already approaching triple digits.” Fred looked Greg straight in the eyes. “The worldwide body count is well into the millions and not all precincts have reported in, as they say. Does that matter to you at all?”
Greg said nothing, then simply closed his eyes.
Too soon, he heard the full thrust of the wind screech against the upraised flaps and then, moments later, felt the soft bump of the landing. He opened his eyes and looked out the window. It didn’t look like any airport he’d ever seen.
“Welcome to Annapolis Naval Air Station,” Fred said coldly.
The plane taxied for only a short time, then came to a stop. Greg noted that the engines were idling, not shutting down.
He watched the flight attendant open the door and drop the steps. Two men in business suits and two women in khakis and windbreakers entered the cabin. One of the women made a beeline for him.
“Dr. Simpson, I’m Special Agent Gray. I’d like you to come with me now, sir,” she said.
Greg looked up at her. “And just where would you be taking me?”
“To FBI Headquarters, sir. Please stand up.”
Greg was acutely aware that all the people he’d been traveling with—the Flint executives and security teams—had remained seated and were watching him with av
id, silent interest. The two flight attendants, the pilot, and the co-pilot were clustered at the front of the plane. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the security people were actually grinning. He returned his attention to the agent standing in front of him. “Why are you taking me there, Agent Gray?”
“There are a lot of people who’d like to speak with you, Dr. Simpson. Please stand up.”
“I’m due in Connecticut.”
“Dr. Simpson, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I can assure you that going down those aircraft steps is not easy when your hands are cuffed behind your back. Please stand up,” the agent said, her voice betraying no frustration.
Reluctantly, Greg stood up and moved toward the doors. From the corner of his eye, he saw his luggage being taken out of the hold. The two men and the other female agent preceded him down the steps; Special Agent Gray followed him. He was escorted to one of three large, black Suburbans parked in a line. All five of them climbed in. He was seated between the two FBI agents in the second row of seats. The two others sat in the front.
No one said anything as the car began to move across the tarmac. As they made a turn onto a road, he saw the Gulfstream taxiing slowly toward the runway.
* * *
The silence in the White House Situation Room was dense with tension. Every chair at the long conference table was filled and there were more ribbons and brass in the room than there were left at the Pentagon. It was the third time in two days Candy had been here and the second time in several hours.
Dry Ice Page 30
