The Nostradamus File

by Alex Lukeman

  "The silos are open," Stephanie said. "It's what Nostradamus predicted. A nuclear war."

  The silo openings had been concealed under desert sands. Now they were exposed. White vapor rose from the openings. Israel was preparing to launch.

  "They're launching in Iran," Stephanie said. Her voice was hoarse.

  The screen showed intense heat at one of the silos, then at half a dozen more. The missiles began to rise into the air. At lift off, the deadly shapes were still visible. It was like watching a slow motion ballet of death.

  "Oh, Jesus," Ronnie said.

  Then the screen went white in a violent burst of light and blanked out.

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know." They watched. The image returned, distorted with lines of static and visual debris. A towering, brown mushroom cloud rose into the desert sky over Iran. The missile base at Badr had ceased to exist. There was no sign of any Iranian missiles, no readouts of projected trajectories, arrival times, targets. They were all gone.

  No one said anything. They watched the cloud, billowing up into the atmosphere.

  Elizabeth's phone rang.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  President James Rice sat in a comfortable, brown leather chair at the head of a long table in the Situation Room, watching events spin out of control.

  This can't be happening, he thought. But it was, right in front of him.

  Air Force officers and technicians manned a long console and monitored satellite feeds to a dozen screens set on the wall. Others present in the room included General Price from the Joint Chiefs, the National Security Advisor, Hood from CIA and the Secretary of Defense. The Vice-President was on his way to shelter in West Virginia, just in case. The Secretary of State was in England. Marine One idled on the White House lawn, ready to ferry Rice to Andrews and Air Force One in case he decided to take his command center airborne.

  The Israeli and Iranian force deployments were laid out on the screens for all to see. The Middle East crawled with military activity. Israel's planes were in the air and heading for Iran. The Iranian silos were hot. The Israeli silos were going hot. Iran was scrambling its fighters.

  The Israeli PM and the Iranian Supreme Leader were not responding to calls from the White House. Half a dozen world leaders were clamoring for the President's attention. The only ones Rice was talking to were the Russians and the Chinese, the only ones that mattered at the moment. He had them on speakers so the others could hear.

  "Mister President, this is a very dangerous situation."

  It was the Russian, Gorovsky. Someone spoke in simultaneous translation on his end as he spoke. Rice considered him a brutish man. Brutish, but smart. It wouldn't do to underestimate him.

  "It has been made more so by Iran's acquisition of one of your warheads," Rice said.

  He didn't want to get into a pissing match with the Russians, but the only thing they respected was force and the willingness to confront.

  "We provided no such armaments. But you have armed the Jews."

  "Not with nukes," Rice said. "The Israelis did that for themselves."

  "With your help. Mister President, our satellites show that you have gone to your highest state of alert."

  "As have you, President Gorovsky."

  "We would be foolish not to."

  "If you see that, you know that we have not released our bombers. They are at the fail safe points, as are all our forces. As, I might add, are yours."

  "We do not wish for war." There was just a note of conciliation in the Russian's voice.

  "Mister President." It was the Chinese leader's voice.

  An Air Force Colonel watching the console said, "Sir, there's been a nuclear explosion in Iran."

  Russia and China were tracking events with their own satellites. Excited voices crackled from the speakers. Rice watched the distinctive cloud boiling up into the Iranian sky. His stomach clenched.

  "Whose was it?" he said.

  "We don't know, yet. We have to wait for analysis."

  "How big?"

  "Hard to say, sir. Maybe a megaton. Possibly less. Not more."

  "A missile warhead?"

  "Yes, sir. There were no planes in the area. We picked up nothing coming in. They launched, then the nuke went off."

  "We need to know where that nuke came from. How soon can we find out?"

  "Working on it, sir."

  "President Gorovsky. Premier Li," Rice said. "Please, let us not do anything in haste."

  "The Israelis have attacked Iran with nuclear weapons," Gorovsky said. His voice was angry, agitated. "This cannot be tolerated."

  "We don't know that," Rice said. "Perhaps not. We detected no incoming missiles or planes. It may be an accident. A systems failure on an Iranian missile."

  "A nuclear accident in Iran? On one of their missile bases?" It was Premier Li. "Iran does not have nuclear capability. We are certain of this."

  "Not yet, they don't," Rice said. "But our intelligence says they have a warhead. An old SS-13, from the days of the Soviet Union."

  "Ah," Li said.

  Gorovsky blustered. "We had nothing to do with this. The Russian Federation wants only peace. We are signatories on the non-proliferation treaties. We do not sell nuclear weapons to others. If a warhead was obtained by Iran, it was not Russian."

  "Of course, Mister President." Rice was soothing. "We are well aware of your efforts to limit the spread of such weapons. No one suggests you are responsible in any way."

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs rolled his eyes. Everyone in the room knew that an unknown number of Russian nukes had been stolen or gone missing when the Soviet Union collapsed. The latest intelligence estimates set the number at no less than 80.

  An officer entered the room and held a whispered conversation with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

  "Mister President."

  "Yes, General?"

  "We had a low orbit bird in the area and managed to get readings from the cloud. The radiation signature is unique. The bomb was Russian, manufactured at Mayak. It wasn't Israeli."

  Every nuclear bomb or warhead manufactured anywhere in the world contained uranium or plutonium with distinctive markers that allowed accurate identification of its origin. Mayak had been Russia's major facility for nuclear weapons production for many years.

  "You're certain?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You heard that, President Gorovsky?" Rice said.

  "We did not attack Iran!"

  "No, of course not. Iran acquired a missile illegally and it failed when they tried to launch. They destroyed their own base. No one is blaming you, Mister President."

  He turned to General Price.

  "General, have the Israelis launched?"

  "No, sir. They can see the same thing we do."

  Rice decided to gamble. It was a big gamble, if he was wrong. But the news that this wasn't an Israeli strike altered things.

  "President Gorovsky, Chairman Li, we must halt this before it goes any farther. I am ordering our forces to stand down one level. General Price, please go to DEFCON2."

  "Sir..."

  "DEFCON2, General."

  Price was reluctant. "Yes, sir." He took out his phone, spoke into it. "Confirmed, sir."

  "Thank you, General."

  Gorovsky's voice was tense, but something had changed. "I will also stand back," he said. They heard him giving the orders.

  "We shall do the same." It was Li.

  "Gentlemen," Rice said. "Perhaps this time we can forge a new beginning. Let us use this terrible incident to find new ways to rein in these weapons. Now I am going to call the Prime Minister in Israel."

  "I will see what I can do with Tehran," Gorovsky said.

  "Perhaps a summit in Beijing might be a good idea," Li said. "Neutral ground for Tehran and Jerusalem."

  "An excellent idea," Rice said. "Thank you, gentlemen." He ended the call and turned to Price.

  "Keep an eye on those bastards," he said. "
I don't trust either one of them. Keep our subs at DEFCON1."

  Price looked relieved. "Yes, Mister President."

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  "It was a rough week," Nick said.

  He was sitting in the shrink's office. Milton nodded politely.

  "I can't tell you exactly what I did."

  Milton waited.

  "I was thinking about the last time I was here. You remember what we were talking about?"

  "You said you felt helpless. About the grenade."

  "Yeah. Well, more than that. It's not just that grenade. What I do...it could happen again."

  "I know."

  "You do?"

  "You carry a gun. You're no longer in the military. I would guess you face situations like that grenade more often than you'd like."

  "You saw in the papers, about Israel and Iran?"

  "Pretty hard to miss."

  "Something else I can't control. Wars other people start."

  "How do you feel about it? That incident?"

  "They teach you that phrase in shrink school? How do you feel?"

  Milton smiled. "First thing. Well, almost. So, how do you feel?"

  "The same as with the grenade. Only more general. There's nothing I can do about it if the idiots running the world start throwing nukes at each other."

  "Idiots is a harsh word."

  "I don't think so. If anything, it's too mild."

  Milton was quiet. Then, "How are you doing with the dreams?"

  "I've been too tired to dream."

  It wasn't true.

  "You do anything to relax?"

  "Have a drink. Read a book, sometimes."

  "You looked pretty stiff when you walked in here."

  Stiff was an understatement. He had two broken ribs from the round he'd taken in Maine. His back was tight. His neck was sore.

  "It's nothing."

  Milton looked at him, waited.

  "I'm still having the dream."

  Milton nodded.

  "It's screwing up my love life."

  "Is that all?"

  "All what?"

  "All that's screwed up?"

  "Maybe it's more than just the dream doing it. All I know is I'm tired. I feel like I can't connect with Selena, not like we used to anyway."

  "Go back to helpless."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Remember, you said you felt helpless when the grenade was coming at you."

  "So?"

  "Helpless about what?"

  Nick could feel himself tensing up. "You know what. The grenade."

  "The grenade is just a grenade."

  ...the grenade is coming toward him, turning end over end, a lopsided throw. It will kill him...he starts to move but it's too late...

  He became very still. A shudder of energy passed through him. He'd always thought the dream was caused by guilt over killing the child. In that moment of stillness he saw that it wasn't about the child. Not at all. The grenade had made him know he wasn't invincible. That he was no different from anyone else. That he could die a violent, painful death, just like all the others he'd seen die over the years. He'd never admitted it to himself, even after years of war. Never seen the simple truth of it. Suddenly it seemed obvious.

  He looked at Milton.

  "I could have died."

  Milton waited.

  "I never let myself...I wouldn't let myself feel it."

  Milton nodded. "It's alright," he said. "You don't have to be Captain America all the time."

  After he left Milton's office, Nick sat in his car. Something had changed. He felt light, as if a weight had been lifted from him. He didn't know why, but he didn't think he'd have the dream again or feel the same way if he did. He realized that he felt relaxed. It was a strange feeling. He hadn't been relaxed like that in a long time.

  He thought about Selena and smiled. He took out his phone and called her.

  "Hey."

  "Where are you?"

  "Outside the shrink's office."

  She didn't say anything, then "How did it go?"

  "Good. It went good." He paused. "What are you doing tonight?"

  "Are you asking me out on a date?" He could hear amusement in her voice.

  "We never did get to that Indian restaurant."

  "No, we didn't."

  "I'll meet you outside your building. How about seven?"

  "You're sure?" She wasn't asking about the restaurant.

  "It's going to be alright," he said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Nick left his building for his evening run and saw Adam's armored Cadillac waiting for him. Here we go again, he thought. He got into the car. The door closed. They pulled away.

  The car was still the same inside. Black leather, new and comfortable. Blacked out windows that let nothing through. Black partitions behind the driver and along the middle of the rear compartment. Speaker grill next to his ear.

  "Hello, Nick."

  The distorted electronic voice was the same. Nothing ever seemed to change inside this car except his future.

  "Adam."

  "I hope you hadn't planned anything for this evening."

  This was new. "Nothing special."

  "Good. Please give me your cell phone and your gun." A drawer slid open in the partition. "You can have them back later."

  Something else that was new. Adam had never made the request before. Nick had a small Colt .380 he took on his runs. With hollow points, it had enough hydrostatic shock potential to stop almost anyone.

  He stalled. "Why do you want them?"

  "It's a condition. I'm sorry, but it's necessary. As I said, you will get them back."

  The gun and phone were useless inside the car anyway. Nick put them in the tray. It slid shut.

  "Where are we going?"

  "You'll see. Good work with the ark."

  That Adam knew what had happened didn't surprise Nick at all. He always seemed to know what Nick had been doing.

  "McKenzie got away," Nick said.

  "We know where he is. It's not important at the moment."

  We.

  "Director Harker thinks others were involved with Harrison," Nick said. "In his secret society."

  "They were. That also doesn't matter at the moment."

  Nick wondered what did matter. He was out of small talk. The speaker was silent.

  He guessed they'd been riding for about a half hour when the car came to a smooth halt. There was a pause, then the car moved forward again and stopped. Nick waited for the door to unlock. He heard the click. He got out and stood by the car.

  He was inside a large hanger or warehouse. It was mostly dark. The floor was cement. The car was parked under a bright light. The air was cool. The building smelled faintly of dust and construction.

  Ahead of him was a dimly lit gallery set off by a partition of glass. He could make out the seated silhouettes of seven people behind the glass. One of them was a woman. It was impossible to make out the features of the people sitting there. A speaker grill was set in the wall under the partition. Adam's voice came through the grill.

  "I apologize for the dramatics, Nick, but it's better this way. You cannot identify us. It has been decided you should know more about who we are."

  "And you're going to tell me?" All his senses were on full alert. His ear was quiet.

  Adam chuckled. "In a general sense. We are the Guardians."

  You have got to be kidding, Nick thought. Guardians of what?

  Adam continued. "Our organization goes back to the time of the Templars. I am our spokesman."

  "You're Templars?"

  "There have always been Templars dedicated to our task. When the Order was forced to go underground, our group was formed."

  Nick was at a loss for words. Finally, he said, "For what purpose?"

  "To guard the Ark. To preserve what is good in the world against the forces that would overwhelm it."

  "That's a tall order," Nick said. "Why are you te
lling me this? What's the point of this meeting?"

  He was getting angry. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because of the cloak and dagger set up. Or maybe he was tired of being manipulated by forces he couldn't control. He thought of the shrink, Milton. He'd probably approve of that thought.

  "AEON is the point of this meeting," Adam said.

  Nick knew about AEON. It was a centuries-old conspiracy that spanned the globe, an organization dedicated to dominating the world. Because of AEON, Selena had almost been killed. Because of AEON, the world had almost tipped into nuclear war.

  Adam's voice sounded deep and metallic through the speaker. "We are the counterbalance to AEON. You and your group have been effective in helping us block them. We want you to inform Director Harker of our existence and establish a communication protocol. It is a precaution, in case a time should arise when it is not possible to meet with you as I have done in the past."

  Meaning if I get killed, Nick thought, or he does. There has to be a reason for the armored car. Adam had established trust with Nick. Now he wanted Nick to set up contact with Harker, something that would never happen without that trust.

  "Why reveal yourselves to me now? What's changed?"

  "The world is approaching a turning point," Adam said. "AEON must not succeed in their plans for control and domination. The events in Russia were a disaster for them. It set off an internal struggle for control of the organization. That has now been resolved and they are renewing their agenda. There is a certain amount of danger involved for me. We felt that revealing our existence at this point would give more weight to our request and prepare you if a new connection must be made."

  That didn't sound good. From what he'd seen, Nick thought Adam was well protected. If he was worried, something bad was in the wind.

  Nick needed time to think. He changed the subject. "The Ark Harrison had in Maine was a forgery, a replica. Did you know that?"

  "Yes. We have the genuine one. We have kept it safe since the Order found it concealed on the Temple Mount."

  Nick had trouble taking that in. "The Ark still exists? You have it?"

  "Yes."

  "Where is it?"