The Patriot Attack

by Robert Ludlum

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “First, you have to agree that this is just between us.”

  “Okay.”

  “Seriously, Greg. You can’t talk to anyone about this. Not your wife, not your mother, not your priest. Are we clear?”

  “Jesus, Jon. Fine. Scout’s honor.”

  Smith handed him the case and he was about to open it when Smith stopped him. “It’s radioactive.”

  “Radioactive? A little out of your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s just say I’m branching out.”

  “Okay. No problem.”

  They walked to the other end of the lab and Maple put the briefcase into a lead glass enclosure. He used a couple of joysticks to control the mechanical arms inside with impressive precision. A moment later the latches were popped and the case was open.

  “It looks like garbage,” he said, raising the bag of debris and laying it on a small platform.

  “It’s steel, concrete, and plastic,” Smith said. “Try to break it. Hit it with something.”

  Maple glanced at him, a little confused, but then he used the mechanical claw to tap a piece of concrete about the size of a golf ball. It immediately crumbled. Similar tests on the steel and plastic provided the same results.

  “What happened to it?” Maple asked.

  “You tell me.”

  He put a few pieces of debris on a tray. “Let’s take a look through the scope.”

  There was a monitor and keyboard next to the joysticks and Maple punched in a few commands. A moment later a hazy image came up.

  “This is the steel,” Maple said, tapping the screen. “High-quality stuff. But look to the left where the texture changes. Let’s zoom in a little more.”

  Oddly, as the magnification increased the image came into better focus. What had looked like haze from a distance read as countless individual pockmarks up close.

  “Hello…” Maple said, squinting at the image.

  “So that’s what’s causing the structural weakness in the material, Greg? All those little holes?”

  “It’s a good bet. This kind of steel should appear pretty smooth at this magnification.”

  “Could radiation have done the damage?”

  “No,” Maple said, absently. He increased the scope’s power again and the uniformity of the damage disappeared. Some of the pockmarks were round and milky in appearance, while others appeared to have collapsed in on themselves.

  “Let’s take a look at the concrete.”

  They found the same kind of damage in both it and the plastic samples.

  “Where did you get this?” Maple asked, panning the scope back to the steel.

  “It’s not really important.”

  “It would help to give me some context.”

  “I’m concerned it might influence your conclusion.”

  He let out a long breath, still staring at the screen. “Can I bring some other people in on this?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Finally he dropped into a chair and looked up at Smith. “You’re not giving me much to work with, Jon. You’re starting to sound like those military intel guys.”

  “Call me a utility infielder.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Look, if it wasn’t hard, I wouldn’t need you, Greg. Why don’t you just give me your first impression?”

  The engineer chewed his lip for a moment. “It’s not radiation damage. You can take that to the bank. I’ve never seen anything quite like this, and I can guarantee you I’ve seen everything radiation can do to construction materials. It’s weird that the damage is so similar in such different mediums. Can you tell me if they all came from the same place?”

  “They did,” Smith said. “Is it possible that it was sabotage?”

  “With what? A death ray?”

  “You tell me.”

  Maple pointed to the screen again. “Look at the pattern of damage. It’s from the outside in on some samples and coming from a single side on others. Nothing from the inside out.”

  “So it was attacked by something. Like it was facing a radiation source and that source slowly penetrated.”

  “It’s not radiation, Jon.”

  Smith leaned into the screen. “In a way, it looks like a biological attack. An infection. A bacteria attacks the tissue and multiplies, moving inward as it goes.”

  “So you think your concrete got a cold?”

  “Just thinking out loud. What about some kind of corrosive liquid—an acid. It gets on the material and essentially soaks in, weakening it as it goes.”

  “A reasonable guess, but there’s no real indication of that kind of fluid movement. And again, the damage in all three materials looks so similar. If you dump the same acid on concrete, steel, and plastic, you don’t get the same result, right? The plastic maybe gets melted, the steel gets etched, and the concrete just gets a stain. Obviously, I’ll run some tests but I can tell you that this isn’t like any chemical agent I’ve run across. My gut says no.”

  “What else does your gut say?”

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at the image on the screen. “That you’ve found something very new. And very dangerous.”

  23

  912 Miles Northeast of Papua New Guinea

  General Masao Takahashi stood on the bridge of the cargo ship and looked out over the deck. Longer than that of an American aircraft carrier, it was empty with the exception of three massive containers directly beneath his position. As forecasted, the weather had come in, creating a perfect environment for the test they were about to run. The thick layer of clouds was high enough not to hamper visibility, but it would still blind the American satellites that were becoming virtually impossible to schedule around. An intermittent mist was collecting on the glass in front of him and winds were gusting to forty knots, creating what he considered realistic battle conditions. Wars were not won only under temperate skies.

  He looked behind him at the five men on the bridge and at the banks of equipment far too sophisticated for this type of ship. Dr. Hideki Ito, wearing a wool hat and dark glasses to obscure his radiation injuries, was talking quietly to the captain. The other men were glued to their computer screens making the necessary preparations.

  “Is everything ready?” Takahashi asked.

  Ito gave a jerky nod. “Yes, of course, sir. The planes are being uncrated as we speak.”

  “I’d like to meet the pilots.”

  The scientist looked through the window, suddenly seeming a bit pensive. He was not a man to brave the elements, or indeed to leave his lab if he could avoid it.

  “Akifumi,” Takahashi said. “Perhaps you would like to join me?”

  Captain Akifumi Watanbe gave a short bow and motioned toward the bridge’s exit. He was a man of few words who, despite current appearances, had never been involved in the merchant marine. He had retired from Japan’s naval defense forces five years ago, and it was unlikely that there was a more patriotic or competent officer in the country.

  The wind lashed the stairs as they descended, but the rain began to dissipate. On deck, crews from the air defense force were preparing two Mitsubishi F-15 Eagle fighter jets. Another crew was farther forward setting up an aircraft carrier–style catapult that had been specifically designed and built for that vessel.

  The two pilots were standing together at the front of the planes, and both snapped to attention when they saw Takahashi approaching. There were no words spoken. None were necessary. He bowed deeply and then backed away to watch them climb into their cockpits.

  Automation was the future of warfare, particularly for a country with as few resources as his own. It was a reality he both accepted and despised. There was a time when wars created heroes. When loyalty and courage rose to unparalleled heights. When men came to understand who they were and form bonds stronger than anything civilian life could ever hope to produce.

  It was nothing more than nostalgia now. Let the Americans and Chinese bankrup
t their countries with weapons and tactics that were nothing more than incremental improvements over those used against his own country so many decades ago. Neither he nor Japan could afford such childish illusions.

  Another smaller crate had been opened behind him and Takahashi walked to it with the ever-silent Watanbe trailing close behind.

  The next-generation missile it contained was finally small enough, though he frowned as he passed a hand over its titanium shell. At two meters, it was at the very limit of the guidelines he’d set out. The mantra “Small, cheap, and independent” had been coined by his mentor, and Takahashi had remained loyal to its spirit for more than thirty years now.

  He moved around the weapon, careful not to interfere with the men preparing it for launch. There were two flexible forward wings and a set of oversized tail wings that allowed for the extremely high level of maneuverability the system demanded.

  When all this began so long ago, Takahashi had wondered if he would see this class of weapon operational during his lifetime. It had been made a reality only by an advance in solid propellant that made it three times as energy dense for the weight as the most sophisticated fuel used by the Americans.

  His people had focused first on an underwater version—a rocket-propelled torpedo that was crucial to the defense of an island nation and relatively easy to develop in secrecy. The air-to-air system they were testing today was based on that technology and, while not originally prioritized, would become a critical piece in the overhaul of Japan’s military capability.

  Ultimately, the goal would be to shrink the projectiles down to a meter and reduce the cost to the point that he could unleash swarms numbering in the thousands. Japan’s enemies would have no answer.

  Takahashi felt a hand on his shoulder. “I’m being told we’re nearly ready, Masao.”

  He turned and smiled warmly at the captain. “Lead the way, old friend.”

  When they reentered the bridge, Dr. Ito was rushing around with a level of nervous energy that belied his age and physical condition.

  “Doctor,” Takahashi said. “I’m told we’re ready to proceed?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, spinning and giving an awkward bow. “We’re in the process of rebooting the water-launched unit. Less than a minute.”

  One of the missiles was currently lying on the seafloor—another advance borrowed from their torpedo technology. And another capability that greatly benefited an island nation.

  Outside, the engines of the two fighter planes began spooling up, and Takahashi leaned into the windows to watch one being attached to the catapult. He heard Watanbe announce that there were no other craft within radar range and clear the pilot for takeoff. A moment later the F-15 was speeding down the makeshift runway.

  “What are the final numbers, Doctor?” Takahashi asked as the second fighter prepared for launch.

  “I think it’s most instructive to make comparisons to the American F-16. Our weapon has five times the operational range, partially due to more advanced propellant and lower weight but also because they can simply be destroyed when their fuel is expended as opposed to having to return to base. In mass production we’re estimating a unit cost of four million US dollars as compared with twenty-five million for the F-16, not including the pilot and an order of magnitude more maintenance. Our maximum speed is approximately Mach eight compared with Mach two for the plane. And we can pull twenty-three g’s in a turn whereas the most a human pilot can endure is nine.”

  “But a pilot can think,” Takahashi said.

  “So can our computers, General. In fact, our systems are consistently outperforming human pilots.”

  “In simulations.”

  “I know you have a great bias against simulations, General, but they’ve become quite sophisticated.” He looked down at the floor for a moment and then raised his head, daring to meet the general’s gaze. “I want to say again that this test isn’t nece—”

  Takahashi held up a hand, silencing the man. Ito’s concern for the two pilots demonstrated his complete inability to look past his tiny world of equations and experiments. These pilots had been honored with an opportunity to sacrifice for their country. Their courage would be remembered for generations.

  “Proceed,” Takahashi said, leaning into the glass in order to track the two F-15s as they flew loops around the massive container ship.

  Ito tapped the shoulder of a young man sitting at a computer terminal. Almost immediately the rocket on deck began to smoke. A moment later flame exploded from the back, blackening the deck and sending it streaking into the air. It leveled off and entered a holding pattern above them.

  “Please keep your eyes starboard,” Ito said. Takahashi turned and watched a second missile burst from the water and join its mate arcing lazily around the ship.

  “To be clear, it’s my understanding that these weapons are completely autonomous,” Takahashi said. “You and your people will not be controlling them in any way.”

  “That’s correct, General. Once they’re given the order to engage, ongoing human involvement is unnecessary.”

  He nodded. While giving machines this much autonomy had its dangers, there was little choice. America’s drones could be controlled from remote locations due to the weakness of their opponents. A sophisticated enemy would have the ability to jam, and perhaps even co-opt, control signals.

  “Can we begin the attack protocol, sir?”

  Takahashi nodded.

  “In this first demonstration, we’ll be flying the units in their basic mode. To use video game terminology, this is level one.”

  It was an apt analogy. The computer control system had been created by a former video game designer who had specialized in building computer-generated opponents for human players. The man was undeniably brilliant, but Takahashi still had his doubts. It seemed impossible that a pile of transistors and silicon chips could compete with human instinct, ingenuity, and courage.

  The missiles broke from their holding pattern and went directly for the fighter aircraft, which immediately took evasive action. The rockets had no offensive weapons per se. They were ramming devices. Kamikazes.

  “In basic mode, we’ve exactly matched the missiles’ capabilities to those of the planes,” Ito said as the general watched one of the fighters go into a steep dive in order to avoid being hit. The pilot barely managed to pull up before impacting the water while his electronic opponent broke off and lined up for a second attack.

  “So what you’re seeing here is a direct comparison between the abilities of the pilots. Human against machine.”

  Takahashi noticed that he was leaning against the ship’s controls and righted himself, standing straight as the battle played out before him. It was difficult not to let his expression reflect what he was feeling as he watched. Next to him, even the stoic Watanbe seemed disturbed at what he was seeing. The pilots—two of their best—were completely outmatched. They were surviving by flying at the ragged edge of their abilities, using guns and air-to-air missiles to try to keep their electronic opponents off them.

  “There’s simply no way they can compete,” Ito said, seeming to read the general’s mind. “You’ve created an unfair test. The computer can monitor hundreds of different variables, calculate millions of possibilities, and make nanosecond decisions that are translated into action instanta—”

  “Go to full capability,” Takahashi said.

  “But, sir, haven’t we already proved—”

  “You’ve proved nothing!” the general shouted. “Do it now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ito said, shrinking back, clearly unable to understand the general’s sudden anger.

  One of the pilots fired a missile and despite himself, Takahashi felt a moment of elation when it locked onto one of Ito’s missiles. The precisely executed evasive maneuvers he’d come to expect of the cutting-edge weapon weren’t materializing. Perhaps these computers weren’t as superior as their creator believed.

  But then the engines flared
and Ito’s rocket increased its speed to what seemed an impossible level.

  “The fighters’ AAM-3s have a top speed of only Mach two point five and a range of thirteen kilometers,” Ito explained. “The computer’s determined that it will be more efficient to just stay ahead of it until it runs through its fuel.”

  The pilot banked to try to take out the other autonomous missile as it skimmed the waves in pursuit of the other fighter, but there was no chance. It was too fast to even reliably track with the human eye.

  The plane exploded into a fireball just as Takahashi spotted the imminent return of Ito’s second weapon. The pilot saw it too and with no other recourse, aimed straight for it with guns firing a constant stream of tracer bullets. They collided less than a second later, another fireball filling the air before breaking up and falling lazily toward the sea.

  Takahashi took a hesitant step back from the windows. The test had been a resounding success, but his only sensation was one of numbness. He had set out to change the world and done just that. He had created a new reality in which men like him, men like those magnificent pilots, were of no importance.

  “They’re ready to be put into full production?” he asked finally.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then do it.”

  “Right away,” Ito said.

  “And the Fukushima project?” Takahashi asked. “We’re on track again?”

  The loss of the Reactor Four lab had been a setback, but the new facility in the north was proving to be a more effective—and more private—setting for what needed to be done.

  Ito licked his cracked lips. The damage to the flesh on his face normally made his expression difficult to read. Today, though, his fear was on full display.

  “Progress is difficult, General. We’re trying to control the underlying forces of nature.”

  “It’s my understanding that all your tests have been one hundred percent successful.”

  “Yes, sir. My error correction systems have functioned flawlessly to date. But those are only small-scale simulations. We—”

  “Weren’t you just telling me that I should rely on simulations?”