(Appreciative chuckle.)
The rear admiral picked up a sheet of paper and clipped a gold pince-nez to the bridge of his nose. “The deeps—that’s what we like to call them, the deeps—are in high-order operational condition. At the last efficiency inspection, a little over a month ago, the average rating for the six deeps was ninety-two percent, with the lowest figure eighty-seven percent. This is considerably above the eighty-five percent high-acceptable figure.
“Now as to the missiles: out of the four hundred eighty total for all bases, three hundred and sixty are immediately available at all times. I’ll explain how this works. Each base has four missile watches of twenty birds each; eight ballistic missiles and twelve cruise missiles. Three of these watches are kept at ready, while the fourth is down for maintenance, on a constantly rotating schedule—three days up and one down. There are seldom more than two or three birds actually torn down so the balance of the missiles, say seventeen, can be ready for launch in about two hours, giving us a total capability of four hundred fifty-two missiles. All of them are radiation-hardened and MIRV’d, for a total capability of two thousand seven hundred and twelve targets. Of course there’ll be some overlap.”
“Admiral—” a War of 1812 captain raised his hand. “Excuse me for interrupting, but—how do we launch missiles at that extreme depth?”
“A good question, and the answer is: we don’t. The pressures at these depths would crush the outer skin of a missile like squeezing an eggshell. If it was made strong enough to withstand the depth, it would be too heavy to fly. Each missile is enclosed in a buoyancy chamber made of three-inch stresglass which takes it almost to the surface. It actually fires at a depth of about ten fathoms, allowing us to ignore surface turbulence. The procedure is roughly the same for the ballistic missiles and the cruise missiles, both of which are launched vertical.”
“Glass?”
“Stresglass. Manufactured without the flaws that make standard glass subject to cracking. Glass, properly manufactured, is one of the strongest structural materials we have, particularly in the ability to take stress.”
“Thank you. What is the megaton rating of the warheads?”
“I was just getting to that,” the admiral said testily. “The warheads range between one and five megatons each. The ballistic missiles carry a balance of the larger warheads, while the cruise missiles, which are more properly classed as multiple-dump than multiple-reentry, have mostly the smaller megatonnage warheads. In every case the ERD ratio is more than sufficient to take out the assigned target.”
“The ERD ratio?” someone asked.
“Right. The Estimated Radius of Destruction ratio, based on height of burst, relative hardness of target, and various geological and atmospheric considerations that the computer boys have built into the equation.”
There was at this point a digression into the megadeath ratio from primary blast effect, given the size and density of the city and the altitude of the airburst. Forty thousand feet was generally agreed on as a good height. “Except for seaside locations, of course,” one admiral insisted. Robert was reminded of a group of very small boys discussing how many ice cream cones they could buy with a trillion-trillion dollars. The expression megadeath seemed to have a particular fascination for this group of men; they played with it, rolled it around on their tongues, savored it, and spat it out. It was some time before they tired of the game.
The next speaker was the Society’s control officer from BURPAC, the Navy Bureau of the Pacific, in control of all operations from the west coast of the continental United States to the east coasts of China and India, and all in between (except for six undersea cities that the Navy didn’t know it had). He assured them that the Pacific Command was ready and behind them one hundred percent. All essential positions were now staffed with JPJS members or sympathizers, who were awaiting instructions to a man.
Next came the NORATCOM Command Control officer. This turned out to be Addison Friendly. All heads turned expectantly toward him as he got up to speak. Robert held his breath.
There was no need to worry. Friendly was always ready to speak to any group on any subject from any point of view. “Boston,” he said, looking at each man around the table in turn. “New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, New Haven, and Mystic; the centers of culture and tradition, and home ports of units of the United States Navy since before the Revolution was won, are on our side. How could it be otherwise? You command, in the name of this great country, and we are prepared to deliver. I thank you.”
“What about the comm center in New York?” an admiral asked.
“Ours.” Friendly assured him.
“And the U.N. Space Clearing Center?”
“Just say the word!” Friendly said. In a ringing voice he detailed for them how, when the name of the John Paul Jones Society was mentioned anywhere on the East Coast, grown men stood silent with their hands over their hearts and women wept, knowing that their country was safe and their flag was flying high. Then he sat down.
The EURCOM and AISCOM Control Officers detailed how the Naval units in Europe and Asia were commanded or controlled by JPJS members, who were ready and willing to do their duty.
Speaker number six, the SATCOM Information Officer, a tall, sharp-nosed man in the uniform of a World War One captain about six inches shorter than he was, received instant, respectful attention. “The uniform feels funny,” he said, rubbing his hands over the jacket pockets. “As most of you have guessed. I’m more at home in Space Service gray. But it does not surprise me to find the home of true patriotism among the Armed Forces in the Navy. I go along with you—your ideals and goals—one hundred and twenty percent. And so do a lot of my fellow officers in the United States Air Force Space Service. And now the condition that we have been waiting, hoping, and—yes—scheming for over the past six years is about to happen. As of the next change of watch, we will have one or more men on each of the eighteen United Nations Disarmament Control Satellites. Gentlemen, the day is finally here!” He sat down amidst an appreciative breath-holding silence, and Admiral Luche slowly ramrodded himself to his feet.
The admiral turned his head around the table like a slow-panning camera, but his eyes were fixed elsewhere. “The preliminaries are over,” he said, “and the Plan is about to commence. I will now outline for you the Plan.”
He paused for a sip of water, and then continued. “The present government of China, a group of power-mad megalomaniacs, has been plotting against the United States for some time. This is clear to any right-thinking American who hasn’t allowed himself to be blinded by the tons of shit that the propaganda departments of China, the U.N., and even our own government have been grinding out.
“The fact that when the Chinese missile attack comes, it may or may not face retaliation from the U.N. peace keeping satellites, will be of small consolation to the millions upon millions of dead Americans killed in the strike.” (It wasn’t megadeaths when it came to Americans, Robert noted.)
“It is our clear duty to prevent that attack by any means necessary. That is what we are here for; that is what we are sworn to do; that is what we shall do.
“Within the next ten days every one of the multinational”—he spat those two words out—“crews of the U.N. missile satellites will be infiltrated by our men. Or, to give credit where it is due, our allies in the Air Force Space Service. At the earliest opportunity these men will either take command of the satellite or sabotage it. A coded message will be sent out on the data channels, and when the last satellite is deactivated we will be ready to strike.
“Ten days from now, the Saturday after this, is zero day. The completion signal will be sent on either zero plus one, or plus two, or plus three. We must be ready to act at all times during this four-day period. Our men will be manning every major communications facility throughout the Navy.
“When the signal is received, our undersea bases will launch a missile strike against China that will completely destroy the
ir missile capability and most of their major cities. After that we sit down and wait. I am assured that the satellites can hold out without supplies for four months, by which time our action will be a fait accompli, and we will have had time to convince the free world of the justice of our cause. And America will once again be secure. Are there any questions?”
The EURCOM admiral raised a hand. “How sure is it that the satellites will be controlled?”
Admiral Luche turned toward SATCOM. “General?”
“Certain. The mixed crews suspect nothing, and security has grown lax over the years. Those are dedicated men riding the sky, gentlemen. If they are unable to take control of a satellite, they will destroy it!”
“I salute you,” Admiral Luche said. “We of the Navy know what it is to go down with your ship. Anything else?”
“What is the code word?” Friendly asked.
“It is a phrase that should be familiar to you all,” Luche said. “It will be sent in clear: ‘I have not yet begun to fight!’” All those present, except Commander Pickwick, nodded gravely.
“Is that all? Very well, then I call this meeting closed.” Admiral Luche rapped on the table with his finger again. “You are all invited to an informal dinner in my quarters this evening, gentlemen.”
“Atten-shun!” the adjutant called, and they all snapped to their feet as the admiral left the room.
Let’s get out of here, Friendly sent as they all filed through the door. He led Pickwick out and stashed his unresisting body in a chair in the wardroom. Then they made their way along the corridors to the elevator and up to the Alfred.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hing read the orders in his hand. Then he sat down, took a deep breath, and read them again. They refused to change. Hing cursed in Mandarin, then in Cantonese, then in French, then English, then German. He ran through Arabic and Hindi-Urdu before running out of curses and breath.
“Is something wrong?” the elder Sen asked.
Temporarily out of words, Hing merely handed him the decoded page.
burn burn burn burn burn burn burn
this originates at highest authority and is verified by the codeword mpret.
the data sent by your group has been analyzed and studied in accordance with the precepts of chairman mao. the following conclusions have been drawn.
1. the united states of america possesses six (6) undersea bases in the pacific ocean.
2. these bases possess a missile capability that can be directed against the people’s republic of china.
3. the united states intends to use this capability possibly/probably by first subverting the united nations satellite missile potential.
4. this presents an unacceptable risk.
5. our leading scientists agree that due to the severe problems inherent in maintaining a base at great depths the bases are small and can hold no more than sixteen missiles each. practical problems in our experience would indicate further that no more than twelve of these missiles can be constantly ready for launch.
the decision has been made that it is necessary to cause one of these bases to fire its missiles, and thus alert the united nations satellite force. if the proper code sequence is transmitted in advance of the planned launch time, there is a strong probability that at least one and not more than three of these bases will act upon this signal and fire its/their missiles at a time when we are prepared for them therefore you are urgently required and commanded to take the following steps.
1. ascertain the command frequency and code that will be used by the l. mendel rivers base to direct the undersea bases to fire their missiles.
2. construct a transmitter powerful enough and of the proper frequency.
3. it will take until the sixteenth (16) to accomplish the evacuation of all major target areas. this can be kept secret for a period of ten (10) to twelve (12) days. therefore you are to accomplish your mission during the period between the sixteenth (16) and the twenty-sixth (26).
4. you will transmit on your assigned frequency the code word m u s s e l ten minutes before you begin each test attempt to launch the missiles and the code word c l a m immediately upon terminating each test. each test period is to run for no more than fifteen (15) minutes and is to be at least (2) hours after the last.
5. upon successful completion of the above destroy all equipment and disband your cell.
6. personnel will leave country according to either plan two (2) or three (3).
7. this is to be regarded as of the utmost urgency.
burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn
“The codeword mpret?” Sen mused. “Does it mean anything?”
“It is the title of the ruler of Albania in 1913. Is that your only comment—does mpret mean anything?”
“It’s a bit much to take in,” Sen agreed. “Can we do it?”
Hing raised his shoulders and spread wide his arms. “Can we do it? I ask the gods in Heaven. I don’t even believe in the gods in Heaven, but obviously I have no one else to talk to. Here I am, gods, asked to launch an atomic attack against my own country, and my assistant asks merely, ‘can we do it?’ Gods, why? Why me? And why, oh Confucius, oh Buddha, oh Christ, why him?” Hing snatched the paper back from Sen and set a match to it, watching it curl and blacken in his hand.
“Shouldn’t we memorize it first?” Sen asked nervously.
“I already have. Every unmentionable word.”
“Oh,” Sen said. “For a moment I was afraid—”
“You were afraid I was going to disobey orders. Honorable Sen, I have made you my confidant, but not my master. I still decide what we do here, what orders to give. Yes, we’re going to do it. I do not like it, but mine is not to reason why. Let us forget the rest of that quote.” He dropped the ashes and ground them under his foot. “Ask the technical people to report to me; I have an interesting job for them.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
As Robert stepped out of the shower, the telephone was bleating. He entered the drier for a thirty-second blast of warm air, then, wrapping a vast hotel towel around him, accepted the call. Addison Friendly, unkempt and unshaven and still in rumpled dress blues, stared out at him. “Burrows, get up here quickly!”
“Why?” Robert asked, suppressing a yawn. “For God’s sake, Captain, we haven’t been to sleep in two days. All I want to do is crawl onto that waterbed, turn it on, and float for ten hours.”
“Cut that ‘Captain’ crap, we’re out of the Navy now; or I am anyway. Take a pill and get up here. Leah is missing.”
“What? Where—I mean, how—”
“I have no idea. Put some clothes on and get up here.”
“Right.” Robert cut the connection and turned to his suitcase.
Friendly was talking on the phone as Robert entered his room. Talking is perhaps too inexact a word. He was pleading, commanding, gesticulating, and pounding on the table with his fist. After thirty seconds more of this he disconnected and started pacing about the room, taking off his uniform and letting the garments fall on whatever he was passing. “It’s sometimes useful to have two identities. As head of Astral Emprise I’ve arranged for some of our personnel to come out here to help, and as a Navy captain I’ve got them a jet cargo transport. We’ll meet them at the airport in about two and a half hours. Excuse, me I’m going to take a shower, back in a minute. Stay by the phone.”
Robert sprawled on the orange flower-patterned couch that the hotel’s decorator thought went with the gold-laced green wallpaper and turned on the holo. The world, under the watchful eyes of the holocasters, went on normally. The newsmen, with their shoulder cameras peeping everywhere, had such an air of omniscience that it was hard to believe anything of importance was happening that didn’t appear on the evening news. A yellowback riot in the crumbling Unworld of Chicago’s Loop came alive on the stage, followed by an overall view of the Amazon Dam, as the first water rushed down its spillways. Then, for a brief moment while global weather patterns were mapped ou
t, Earth spun slowly two feet from Robert’s face. The continents, the oceans, the clouds, and even the major currents showed crisp and real on the stage. Robert resisted the impulse to reach out and touch the globe, since that would break the static field, the image would wipe, and his skin would feel fuzzy.
Friendly, arrayed in maroon mufti, emerged from the shower room. “Onward and upward,” he said. “To the airport!”
“Right,” Robert agreed, rising from the couch. “Who are these people you have on order from Astral Emprise?”
“One seeker, man named Ohara, and about a dozen grips; as many as they could round up in ten minutes.” Friendly popped open a small travel bag and distributed a sampling of its contents into his various pockets, finally clipping a smoothbore, double-barrel cap-and-ball pistol, Navy Model, McCulloch & Wistead, 1814, onto his belt and sliding a massive gold signet ring on his finger.
“Look,” Robert said, “I’m on your side.”
Friendly cocked an eyebrow.
“What I mean is, if you would tell me what you’re talking about, I’d appreciate it. I might even be able to help.”
“Oh. Let’s see—seeker: one who seeks, or locates; specifically through extrasensory means. To find Leah. Grips: those who lift or carry things; strong bodies. To get Leah back.”
“What’s wrong with the Navy?” Robert asked. “I mean, if we need men, couldn’t we pick up volunteers from a local naval base? There shouldn’t be any lack of volunteers for a mission to rescue a pretty girl.” He closed the door behind Friendly, who was moving down the corridor toward the elevator with the straight-line determination of a rhinoceros.
Friendly jabbed the down button. “Who do you think kidnaped Leah?” he asked.
“The Navy?”
“It’s most probable. There are one or two other possibilities, with our one-time host, the Oriental gentleman ahead on points.”
“You seem certain that she’s been abducted. Couldn’t it have been something else? An accident?”
Psi Hunt Page 18
