She jumped up and raced out of the room, calling over her shoulder. “Gotta take this. Talk to you later.”
She ducked into an empty office next door as she was punching up the call. “Tripp? Is that you? Is it really you?” she exclaimed. She had been so worried, so dejected for the last several days, she had almost lost hope of ever talking to him again. “Are you okay? Where are you? How’s dad?”
“Hey, slow down and let me explain. First of all, I miss you and am so sorry I’ve been out of touch. But it’s been absolute hell over here.” He began his story slowly, just as he had rehearsed it. He started to fill her in on how they saw the blast, then how all the power was knocked out. Then he talked about trying to find transportation, finally locating a beat-up Buick and then encountering tribal marauders along the way who were trying to steal their stuff.
“My God, you went through all of that? This is amazing. And from what you’re saying, it was definitely an EMP. That’s been our analysis here too. But, Lord! What a mess. I’m just thankful you got out of there. Where are you now? And how’s dad? He talked about how this was going to be an adventure, but I’m sure he never figured how just how big an adventure it would turn out to be,” she said.
Tripp paused. How in God’s name would he tell her? How could he tell her? How could he explain that Jake had a heart attack and the pacemaker must have failed in connection with the explosion? He had been thinking about this conversation, dreading this conversation for so long, and now he had to fess up.
“Uh, Samantha, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Tell me what?” Samantha asked cautiously. “Is dad okay? Can I talk to him?”
“Well, no, you can’t?”
“Why not?” she asked, her voice rising. “Put him on. He’s got to be there with you. Isn’t he?”
“I’ve got him with me, but he can’t talk to you. Oh hell, Samantha. There’s no other way to say this. When that nuclear blast went off, it must have set off those microwaves you’ve talked about. As I said, it screwed everything up, and it must have knocked out Jake’s pacemaker. He evidently had a heart attack, and nothing worked. We were out in this field …”
“What?” she shrieked. “He had a heart attack? Did he survive? What did you do? Was there anybody around who could help him, a doctor around or anything?”
“No. That’s just the thing. We were out in a field. When the blast went off, as I said, it must have affected the pacemaker or something because I saw him grab his chest and fall down. I worked on him. Hell we all worked, giving him CPR for probably a half hour at least. I don’t know, but we couldn’t revive him. Samantha, Jake died right there in my arms.”
“No! No! He couldn’t die!” she cried out. “He said he was healthy when he left. And you promised to take care of him. You promised. But you didn’t!”
“Honey, listen. I did everything I could. It was awful. Worst day of my life. You have to believe me.”
Samantha started to sob into the phone, “I begged him not to go. I begged you not to take him on that trip. You knew he had a heart condition. But no, you and your company were going to give him this great adventure. And he died over there in some oil field.” She took a gulp of air and shouted, “Tripp, you killed my father!”
“Listen, Samantha. I didn’t kill him. The blast, or whatever it was, killed him. There was nothing I could do. I tried. Please believe me, I tried. We all tried. And after it all happened, we had to figure out a way to get out of there. Like I said, it was a helluva trip. But now we’re in some village and GeoGlobal is sending a plane for us so I can bring Jake back and make arrangements.”
Arrangements? He was thinking about arrangements? He must mean a casket, an announcement, a funeral. Oh God! How could she go through all of that? How could she go through the rest of her life knowing that her father had died early, way too early, and because of a stupid trip that could have been stopped? Could she have worked harder to stop it? Could she have used more persuasion to keep him off that plane to the crazy country on the other side of the world? She felt the guilt, the pangs of remorse wash over her
She visualized his sparkling eyes, eyes she would never see smile at her again. She thought about the bear hug he always gave her when he walked into a room, a hug she would never feel again. She remembered the words, “Hi Pumpkin.” Words she would never hear again. She thought about the future. How he wouldn’t be there to walk her down the aisle. But wait, she wouldn’t be walking down an aisle toward Tripp Adams. That was for sure. She held the phone to her ear, the silence on the other end said it all. Tripp had nothing to say except to talk about arrangements.
“Arrangements? You mean a funeral, don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you something, Tripp Adams.” Trying to regain her composure as the hurt and anger welled up inside of her, she spoke now in a deliberate tone. “If there are arrangements to be made, my brother and I will make them. I just want to get my father home. Back to Houston where he will be buried next to my mother. And as for you,” she took a moment to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand, “as for you, I don’t see how I could ever trust you again with anything. In fact, the way I feel right now, knowing you are responsible for killing my dad, I don’t want to see you again. Not ever!” She hit the end button, put her head down and cried.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ASTANA, KAZAKHSTAN
“President Surleimenov Blamed for Bad Blast.”
“Caspian People Stranded.”
“Violence Reported in the West.”
“Russia Furious.”
“Baltiev Vows to win Election on Peace Plank.”
“IAEA Again Demands Inspections”
“US Imposes Sanctions”
Viktor Surleimenov, waved the newspapers and shouted to his aide in a voice of tightly controlled rage. “Get the vice president in here. Now!” He studied the headlines. He was so angry and frustrated, he wanted to throw the papers against the wall. He picked up his desk phone instead. When his secretary answered, he barked, “Get the editor of Gazetakz over here.”
“You wanted to see me Viktor?” his number two asked, rushing into the ornate office.
“You’ve seen the papers. This is a disaster. I order one small test. One very small test out in some remote area where no one would be affected. And what happens? Those idiots blow up the thing and black out the whole western part of our country. What kind of numbskulls are running our new plant out there anyway?”
“I hear you,” the VP said. The tall, charismatic man with deep set gray eyes strode across the room and picked up one of the papers. “You issued that statement saying it was a mistake. Looks like nobody is buying it,” he said, pointing to the headline about the opposition candidate, Sergei Baltiev. “Funny how he first campaigned on building a strong defense, in coordination with the Russians, of course. And now he does a 180 and talks about nothing but peace.”
“That man practices political backflips all the time. Nobody can believe anything he says. But now, with this, he might be in position to make it a tough match.”
“And what about the IAEA?” the VP asked, pointing to the story about inspections.
“They want inspections, and they want us to formally sign the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Agreement. Israel hasn’t signed it. Pakistan hasn’t signed it. Why should we?”
“Well, what about the US sanctions? We can’t afford sanctions, especially when we have so many oil and gas contracts with the Americans right now.” He leaned down and read the second paragraph. “And it says here that they’re not only placing sanctions on parts of our economy, they’re going to be targeting the assets of some of our top people in government positions if any are held in the United States.”
“I, for one, don’t have any money over there. I’ve got it invested right here.” The president raised his eyebrows and added, “Well, I might have a small account in the Seychelles, but no matter.”
“I don’t have funds in the states, either. But you kn
ow who does,” the VP said with pointed glance.
The president thought about that for several seconds and said, “Wait. You’re right. I’ve been so focused on the campaign ads that, for a minute, I forgot about Baltiev’s investments in San Francisco. That fancy condo up on that place called Russian Hill. Considering the way he cozies up to Moscow, seems rather appropriate. Well, I used that line in a campaign speech. And I hear he’s got a lot of money deposited with the Bank of America in that city. The trouble is, he’s not working for the government. So the Americans won’t be targeting his money. But, wait a minute, sit down. I just had a positively brilliant thought.”
The other man settled down in an upholstered arm chair and gave the president his rapt attention. “What kind of thought?”
“You know the expression ‘Kill two birds’?”
“Yes. Go on.”
“Now think about this. Those scientists I just called numskulls might have come up with a great new weapon. And they probably don’t even know it.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were supposed to detonate that test at sea level, just over the Caspian. But it turns out that it malfunctioned and was fired way up in the atmosphere, which produced one of those pulse things. We talked about that in that first emergency meeting,” Viktor said.
“Yes. It looked like they got it all wrong.”
“Maybe yes. Maybe no. When they created that pulse, it knocked all the power out for miles around. Killed all the communications, computers, transportation. Everything. That’s what our military is telling us, the ones who got through on that flight yesterday.”
“Yes. It’s a terrible situation. We’ve got to get some convoys together. Get some of our troops to the area to restore order. And we’ve got to get food and water to the people, especially in Atyrau. I saw the report that gangs of locals are holding up the citizens, stealing any food they can find. They’re even preying on nearby farmers. We can’t have such chaos.”
“I know that. I already sent the order to send transport planes. But back to the subject of the mistaken test. If sending up a missile armed with a very small nuclear device and detonating it so far up can cause this kind of havoc in our country, think what it would do in a country that is much more advanced. A country that relies completely on electronic systems, the internet, all of that.”
“What are saying? Surely you’re not contemplating an attack on another country. That would be political suicide,” the VP said, his voice rising.
“Now listen. Back to the two birds. First bird. The United States imposes economic sanctions on our economy. Second bird. Sergei Baltiev has millions of dollars hidden away in the Bank of America in San Francisco. Money I’m sure he’s planning to use in his campaign against me. He’s probably already drawing down that account for some of the ads he’s been running. So, say we figure out a way to get one of our missiles within striking distance of San Francisco. And say we shoot it up high, way over the city. We don’t kill anybody on the ground. We don’t want to kill anybody. But we bring all of their communications, their equipment, their electronic records, and that means bank records, to a halt. At least for a while. This stops Baltiev. The more I think about it, if the American president is going to freeze our assets, we’ll fry theirs!” he said triumphantly.
“You can’t do that,” the VP challenged, jumping up from his chair and pointing his finger at the president. “Are you insane? You attack the United States, you don’t think they will retaliate? You are a fool.”
Viktor turned on him and pointed right back. “You do not call me a fool. I know what I am doing. We can send up a weapon and cause this, what did they call it? This EMP thing and no one will know who did it. It will be a completely secret operation. We don’t put our name and address on our missiles or our bombs. We’ll launch it from a fishing boat or something like that. And they will never know what hit them. They’ll be too busy trying to restore order to their precious city of hills.”
The vice president stared at his president with unconcealed shock. “I can’t believe you are contemplating such a thing. You hear about the chaos inflicted on our own people and you want to inflict the same thing on innocent Americans?”
“Oh, don’t be such a bleeding heart. So the Americans will have a set-back for a while. But in the meantime, the Americans will get distracted from all their sanctions talk, and I will have cut the legs out from under Baltiev. And that means I win the election. As for the chaos out by the Caspian, I’m sure our people will forgive me for that nuclear test once I explain that I was doing it for them, for the true Kazaks, to keep us safe and strong from any encroachment by the Russians. See, my plan not only kills two birds, but maybe a third one—Russian designs on us. Now wouldn’t that be a nice trifecta!”
CHAPTER FORTY
HOUSTON, TEXAS
“In the words of Theodore Roosevelt,” the Minister intoned, “It is not the critic who counts. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who knows great enthusiasms, great devotions, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
Samantha sat transfixed by the words, the ceremony, the casket in front of the altar. Had she simply been the critic while her dad was the man in the arena? The man whose face was often marred by dust and sweat? When Jake worked with the wildcatters, that’s how he looked. She could visualize him now in one of his checked shirts, with his wide grin and open arms. But as her mind’s eye conjured up the image, the tears welled up once again. She fished in her purse for a Kleenex as the Minister announced the last hymn. Her brother took her arm when the entire congregation stood up to sing Abide With Me, Fast Falls the Eventide. She found her place and tried to sing along, but her voice caught in her throat. She tried to look down and decipher the words. Instead, a trio of tears fell onto the hymnal page. The words now were a blur but she heard the people behind her.
“I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me”
Triumph? Where was the triumph? For Jake? For her? For anyone seated in the little chapel just down the road from his house? Their house. The house where she grew up. The house where she raced home from school to do her homework before her dad got in from the fields. The house where they would sit and pore over geologic reports and print-outs of various formations, making bets on where the next well could be found. The house where her dad taught her to ride her first bicycle on the long driveway. No training wheels for her. Jake had simply held onto the seat until she first tried the brakes and pushed down to get the pedals going. Then he’d let go, and she was on her own. He was like that. Always shouting, “You can do it!” “Way to go!” and “Great job!” He wanted her to be free, independent, and confident. He was never overly protective like some parents on the street.
As she thought about it, she realized that over the years, she was the one who had become overly protective. But after her mother had died of cancer and Jake was living alone, how was she supposed to react? Especially when he began to have heart trouble. Maybe she could have been even more protective. Maybe she could have talked him out of that trip. Maybe she could have saved his life. Maybe.
And what about his life or the next life. Was there a next life? She thought about the meeting they had when the Minister stopped by the house the day before. He had asked if she had any questions about the funeral. She said that it all looked well organized, thanks to her brother who had written and placed the obituary, selected the hymns and planned out the whole program. She was grateful for the help since she had been overwhelmed at the office just at the time when she should have been fl
ying back to Texas. She had talked to her brother, sent emails, and stayed up till all hours notifying scores of Jake’s friends after she finished her White House work. She had arrived in town only two days before the funeral and was relieved to see that most of the details had been handled. She thanked the minister for his time and just as he was getting ready to leave, she decided to ask him a question. One she had pondered for years. Now was the time to blurt it out. So she looked into his eyes and said, “Tell me. Do you really believe in life after death?”
He thought for a long moment and then replied, “Yes, Samantha. I truly do. Let me say this. In this life, we are like the child in the womb. Think about it. When the baby is in the womb, it only knows a certain kind of life. But then suddenly, one day, it is thrust into a new and wonderful life.” Then he had taken her hand and added with a comforting smile, “And he can’t go back and tell the other kids. And so it shall be in the next life.”
She had thought about that. Long and hard. Was he right? Would there be some new and wonderful next life? She prayed it was so. But right now all she could think of was this life. And this was a life lost to her forever.
She sat and refocused on the program. At the end of the hymn, the Minister said a brief benediction and six pall bearers walked up the aisle, raised the casket and carried it outside to a waiting car. Tripp was one of them. She had tried to tell her brother to get Tripp out of the proceedings. She didn’t want to see him. Didn’t even want him in the church. But she couldn’t stop him. At least she didn’t have to talk to him. She never wanted to talk to him. Not now. Not ever. Even glimpsing him sitting in the last row when she had entered the church, made her feel that stab of pain once again. The pain of loss. Not only the loss of her dad, but the loss of trust in a man she thought she loved.
Castle Bravo Page 17
