“I don’t know either,” Nurlan said. “We did have big test this morning.”
“Oh, the test,” Zhanar said, putting the towel aside and brushing out her damp hair. “What happened? Do you think it had anything to do with all this trouble?”
“I not know,” Nurlan said. “What I do know is my plan worked. Bomb not go off on ground. I work to make it go up higher. Want be sure nobody gets hurt or gets radiation. Bomb is bad thing. Don’t know why president ordered us to set it off. But we had to do it.”
“But that’s great,” Pete said. “You wanted to save people and you did that. The SAINTS would be proud of you. Of course, we can’t tell anybody. You’d get in all kinds of trouble. But at least you did it.” He took a swig of water and reached for one of the sandwiches. “The question is, what do we do now? And how long will this crazy black out situation last? If it goes on for a long time, I wonder if the hospitals will be able to handle their patients? I mean, your hospital is pretty new, right?”
“Oh yes. We have all the latest equipment,” Zhanar replied. “X-rays, CT scans, operating rooms. They have some generators, but those couldn’t handle everything.”
“So with no power,” Pete asked, “what will happen now?”
Nurlan glanced at his friend and thought for a long moment. “If no power, no food, no water, no cars, things could get ugly around here.” He turned to Zhanar. “You still have pistol I bought you long time ago?”
Her face registered surprise. “My gun? Yes, I have it in my bureau. But why? Why would I need it?”
“As I say, could get ugly, could get bad here. At least we have gun, and that may be only way we protect ourselves.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
WASHINGTON, DC
Fast-paced, yet plaintive. That’s what the music of Chopin’s Etude Opus 10, Number 12 sounded like to Samantha as she drove from her Georgetown condo to the GeoGlobal office on K Street. She had her radio tuned to the local NPR station, WETA, and the familiar piece sounded as if the pianist were racing to an uncertain fate. Indeed!
She pulled into a parking lot, told the attendant she’d only be a few minutes, grabbed her shoulder bag and headed to the lobby. She took the elevator up to the third floor, walked down the corridor to the glass door emblazoned with the “GG” logo and pushed inside. “I’m Samantha Reid, here to see Godfrey Nims,” she announced to the attractive woman sitting at a curved walnut desk. The reception area wreaked of understated elegance, with sleek charcoal leather couches and a pair of matching chairs off to one side inviting a visitor to sit down and read a copy of today’s The Wall Street Journal or the most recent issues of The Oil & Gas Journal arrayed on a glass coffee table. But Samantha didn’t want to sit down. She was too nervous. Too anxious to talk to Tripp’s friend and colleague. As the receptionist called Godfrey’s line to announce her arrival, Samantha couldn’t help pacing in front of the desk.
“Mr. Nims should be out shortly, Miss Reid. Can I get you a cup of coffee or water perhaps?”
“No thanks. Already had my quota of caffeine for the morning, but thanks anyway.” She continued to walk across the area, pretending to examine the collection of framed maps on the wall. She peered at one showing Europe and Asia and tried to pinpoint just where her dad and Tripp might be right now. That area is so vast, she thought, or half-vast, she added to herself with a sense of deprecating humor.
“Samantha, there you are,” a booming voice greeted her as the jovial lobbyist came through a set of swinging doors. “Come in. We have a lot to talk about.”
“I only have a few minutes. Have to get to our usual morning staff meeting,” Samantha said as she followed Godfrey back to his office. “But I wanted to see if you had heard anything from Tripp.”
“Here, sit down a minute,” he said, pointing to a dark red arm chair in front of his massive desk. “In answer to your question, I’m afraid it’s a ‘no.’ So far anyway. All we know right now is that Tripp and Jake were out in our new test fields south of a city called Atyrau which is on the Caspian. They were scheduled to head down there to check on some wells and also take a look at a possible new field. But suddenly we lost all contact, and we figure it’s a big power outage or something. Of course, there’s that report in the Washington Post this morning that Kazakhstan conducted some sort of nuclear test, which was against all of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty rules, of course. But their government is trying to say it was a mistake. I don’t know how you can detonate a bomb and say it was a mistake, though. What are your people saying?”
Samantha leaned forward, not certain how much she should divulge about the explosion the satellites had photographed. “We believe they did explode a nuclear device, and we’re trying to figure out if that’s what caused the disruption in communications. It’s very likely. But the important question now is, what happened to Tripp and Jake? Are they okay? Were they anywhere near this test, or whatever it was? If they were, would they have any way to get out of there to a safer place? One where they could get a call through? Do you have any other people in the area you can reach? What about the people in Atyrau? What are they saying?”
“You see, that’s just it. We can’t get through to Atyrau either. And that’s quite some distance from the fields. We have people in both Astana and Almaty but those cities are thousands of miles east of there, and it’ll take a while for them to get to the Caspian.”
“Can’t they fly there?” Samantha asked, somewhat exasperated with the explanation.
“They’re saying that they’re trying to locate personnel along the way to see who has communications of any kind, what the state of the air field is right now, and of course if there is any radiation in the area.”
Radiation? Samantha didn’t think so. Not if this bomb was, in fact, exploded fifty miles up in the air. Or higher. Then again, there hadn’t been any atmospheric tests in years, so what if there was some sort of fall-out that their scientists hadn’t predicted? And no one knew much about the weapon either. The more she thought about it, the more upset she got. “Well, I just wanted to come by and talk to you in person because I figure you’re the first person Tripp will try to contact,” after me, that is. “But as soon as you hear anything, anything at all, you will call me, right?”
“Look, Samantha. I know how close you and Tripp are, and I know how you feel about Jake going on this trip. Tripp told me you had misgivings.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Samantha said. “After all, he’s got a heart condition, and I was really worried about his traveling half-way around the world right now.”
“I know. But I’m sure that Tripp has everything under control. He’s that kind of guy. You know that.”
Do I? She wondered. She glanced at her watch and got up from the chair. “I’ve got to run. I was just hoping that you might have heard something by now.”
Godfrey got up as well and started to walk her to the door. “You can be sure that as soon as we get any word at all, you will be the very first person I call. You can count on it.”
What could she count on? She thought about the GeoGlobal offices in those other cities and wondered how long it would be before they got their act together and went looking for their men? She doubted anyone would want to fly into an area where they didn’t know if there was air traffic support or even a workable landing field to say nothing of the possibility of radiation of some sort. No, she couldn’t count on them. She couldn’t count on the lying Kazak government. And she doubted she could count on Pentagon satellites to show any more than the images she had seen already. What now?
As she retrieved her car from the garage attendant, she felt more and more despondent. Almost by rote, she drove over to the Southwest Gate of the White House, waved her pass and watched the black iron gates slowly open to allow her access to the driveway called West Exec and park her car in one of the prize slots there between the West Wing and the EEOB. She gathered her bag, brief case, and umbrella and ducked under the awning at the d
oor to the West Wing basement. It had been stormy the last couple of days, reflecting her mood of the moment. And she had no idea when the weather, or her outlook, would clear up. Nodding to the Secret Service Officer seated at a desk just inside the door, she turned left and walked up the steps to her second floor office.
“Staff meeting in five minutes,” her assistant, Joan, reminded her as she headed to her cubicle of a work space.
“I know, thanks,” Samantha mumbled, trying to push away thoughts of Tripp and Jake trudging around in some field, cut off from civilization and stuck with no way to escape. Out of habit, she checked her iPhone, desperately hoping for an email. Something. Anything. She scrolled down through dozens of messages, saying a silent prayer that she’d see a note from Tripp. Yet she knew in her heart it wouldn’t be there. Not now. Maybe not ever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SOUTHWESTERN KAZAKHSTAN
“Where the hell are we?” Tripp asked, peering out the window of the old Buick as they navigated a series of intersecting tracks. “Not exactly a road, is it?”
“Hardly. Not in this part of the country,” the driver remarked as he maneuvered the car over the rocky terrain. “No place to break down, that’s for sure.”
“But do you have any idea where we’re headed?” Tripp said, “We’ve been roaming around for a day and a half. And all we’ve seen are a few foxes and a bunch of lizards. I don’t want to sound like a kid asking ‘Are we there yet?’ but you said that there was a small city out here somewhere. Another one starting with A. How much longer do you think it’ll be?”
Bill, the owner of the Buick had been dozing in the back seat, but he sat up and looked around. “Never been in this part of the country before. Sure is desolate,” he said. “Wait a minute, up ahead, way ahead, isn’t that something? Some people? A fence or something?”
The driver stopped the car and pulled out a pair of binoculars. “Oh shit!”
“What?” Tripp asked.
“Looks like it could be some of their so-called Road Police.”
“Out here? Who the hell do they think they’re policing?” Bill asked, leaning over the seat to get a better look.
“Let’s just call it local extortion.”
“Oh great,” Tripp said. “So what do we do? Pay ‘em off?”
“Might have to. I don’t see another way around them,” the driver said, pulling back onto the rudimentary path.
As they approached, they saw two bearded men dressed in what looked like cotton robes, carrying rifles. The driver pulled up, but kept the engine running. Tripp murmured, “What do you suppose they speak? Kazak?”
“Could be Kazak, Russian, Kurdish, Uzbek. You can’t believe how many different dialects, how many tribes, how many, well, you get the idea. I’ll try Kazak and see if I can negotiate something.”
He tried a friendly greeting, asking about the weather and if there had been any other cars in the area. One of the men raised his rifle and replied, “No. No cars. No people today. You have money? You have food? We want water, food. All you have.”
The driver translated for Tripp and Bill.
“No way,” Tripp whispered. “We need everything we’ve got to get us to the city you showed us on the map. Akespe or something like that? You said it was on the Aral Sea and would probably have communications. We’ve got to get there. Can’t let these jokers take our supplies.”
Bill chimed in. “Got my Glock back here. Think we can fake ‘em out with that?”
“Could be pretty dicey,” the driver said in a low tone. “Those guys both have guns. They could shoot out our tires and still take our stuff. Then where would we be?”
“I say we chance it,” Bill said, reaching down on the floor beside a satchel where he had stashed the gun. Tell them to give us a minute to count our money or something. Then roll up your windows and floor it. What do you think, Tripp? You in for this?”
“Hey, I was in the Navy. Want me to handle the gun?”
“Nah. I was Army. Long time back, but I know what I’m doing,” Bill whispered.
“You pay!” one of the Kazaks demanded, waving his rifle.
“Give us a few minutes. We have to count our money. Then we talk.”
“No talk. We want all your money. Water too,” the man demanded.
“Just a minute. We don’t want to cause trouble. We know you need supplies way out here, and we understand that you police the road.” He paused and started to point over the Kazak’s shoulder. “But out there, look. It’s a herd of wild boar.”
As the Kazak turned, the driver gunned the engine and blasted through a crude woven fence the men had hauled across the path.
Both Kazaks raised their rifles, shouted, “Stop. Stop or we shoot.” And then they opened fire. A bullet shattered the back window as the driver careened to the side of the path and then jerked the wheel to the right again. Tripp slammed against the door since there were no seat belts in this ancient vehicle.
Bill took aim out the broken window and took a shot at the men running after them.
“Don’t try to kill them,” Tripp shouted. “Just keep them distracted if you can.”
“Right,” Bill said, firing off another round. “Just need to teach those bastards a lesson. Wish they hadn’t trashed my window. I’ve been working on this baby for a month now. Almost had her in shape, and they had to go and shatter the glass. Well, let’s see if I can shatter their asses.”
Another shot from the Kazaks hit the back fender with a loud pinging sound. Both the driver and Tripp kept their heads down while Bill fired once more, sending the tribesmen running for cover. “We’re probably out of range now, but keep going. They’ll give up, and I didn’t see any other cars or trucks around. They can’t come after us. Probably just have some horses stashed somewhere.”
The driver headed over a small ridge and spotted a couple of yurts out in a dusty field. “They must live over there.”
“Yeah,” Tripp said, “Got some cattle over there too. Looks like fences made out of branches or something.”
“They’re rushes all woven together,” the driver explained.
“Well, I for one hope we can rush right out of this damn place,” Tripp said, settling down in his seat. How are we fixed for fuel?”
“Got about a quarter tank left, but when we get farther away from these clowns, we’ll stop and get a refill from the bottles in the trunk.”
“As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” Tripp said with the beginnings of a wry smile, “Any idea how much longer it’ll be until we get to that Askespe place?”
“At the rate we’re going on these trails, it could be days.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE WHITE HOUSE
Samantha slipped on her black strap heels and checked her makeup in the West Wing bathroom mirror. Since most White House staffers never had time to go home and change before attending a fancy dinner in town, they brought evening clothes to the office, and tonight she had to bring a very formal gown. It was a full length black sheath with a scoop neck and lace sleeves covering her arms. Can’t wear too much décolletage in this White House. A conservative, understated look was expected. She brushed out her mane of long hair, the color of nutmeg, and pinned it back off her face with a pair of pearl barrettes. She grabbed her evening bag and headed downstairs.
She walked along the colonnade next to the Rose Garden and entered the ground floor of the public rooms. As she walked up the steps to the Cross Hall, she saw that some of the guests had already arrived by way of the North Portico, although the president, first lady, and the guests of honor, the president and first lady of Poland had yet to make their entrance down the grand staircase from the private quarters. The Marine Band, clad in their usual bright red jackets with gold buttons, was playing a George Gershwin tune near the entrance. As she surveyed the scene, she realized that while every single guest in the room had to be positively thrilled to be invited to a White House State dinner, she was here
only out of duty and obligation. Staff members didn’t get invited to many of these affairs, but now that she was the assistant to the president for Homeland Security, she was included from time to time. And anyone receiving a White House invitation knew it was more like a summons than an invitation. You attended unless you were in the hospital on life support.
One of the black tie clad waiters passed in front of her with offerings of wine and champagne. She took a glass of Chablis and sauntered into the Red Room. When she got her first White House job, she had been so excited, she’d read an entire book on its history. Now as she mingled with the other guests admiring the Empire furniture and the portrait of Dolly Madison hanging over the fireplace, she remembered that this was the room where Rutherford B. Hayes took the oath of office way back in the 1800’s.
She didn’t see anyone she wanted to talk to in that room, so she strolled next door to the oval Blue Room where they always put the White House Christmas tree because the room had 18 foot ceilings. Now that it was summer, the room served as the traditional place where the president and first lady usually stood for photos. The staff called that the “Grip and Grin” routine. She glanced over at the Hannibal clock on the white marble mantel and saw that it was probably time for the grand entrance so she walked back out to the Cross Hall, and there they were. The president, his wife and honored guests slowly coming down the red carpeted stairs together as the White House photographer snapped a dozen shots.
“Hey, isn’t it great that we both were invited to this shindig tonight?” Angela whispered, sidling up to Samantha.
“Oh, hi. Yes, although I have to admit I’m not in much of a party mood right now.”
“Still haven’t heard anything from Tripp, huh?” her friend asked.
“No. Nothing. Even the NSC can’t get a decent report from that part of Kazakhstan. Communications are still down, so they’re trying to get some of the ambassador’s people to fly over there and figure things out.”
Castle Bravo Page 14
