by Dave Edlund
“Well, our capabilities will allow a military response to range from surgical air strikes from unmanned drones to submarine-launched Tomahawk cruise missiles. Those Tomahawks carry either conventional explosives or tactical nuclear warheads.”
“I can’t imagine that this would escalate to nuclear war.”
“Mr. President, I was simply giving you an idea of our offensive capability in the theater. Any decision to use nuclear weapons would have to come from you.”
“Hmm. I trust you will remember that, General.”
“Of course, sir.”
Hale spoke in defense of General Hendrickson. “No one wants to see this escalate, sir.”
President Taylor looked squarely at his military advisors. “Remember, the success or failure of this operation is contingent on solid diplomacy with a small amount of encouragement from our men and women in uniform. I don’t want anyone to get trigger-happy. I’m holding you responsible, General Hendrickson, and you too, Howard, to make sure everyone involved in this operation follows the plan and does their job. Do we understand each other?”
“Certainly, sir.” General Hendrickson was taken aback by the President’s rebuke. “I personally vouch for the professionalism of our officers and enlisted men. There are none finer… anywhere.”
Hale began to speak in defense of the general, but President Taylor held out his hand to stop him.
“Look, General. I know that. Please, don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. This administration has the highest level of respect for our military men and women. But the success of this operation is dependent on everyone doing exactly the right thing. We cannot afford having anyone get excited, understood?”
“All involved in this operation will perform as the professionals they are. You have my assurance on that.”
President Taylor nodded, assessing the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. General Hendrickson had an outstanding record, of course. He had been appointed to his post less than a year ago, and Taylor was still assessing his mettle. The President liked what he saw, so far. The next 48 hours would either prove his leadership, or he would fail. And the country’s fate could very well hang in the balance.
The President shifted his attention. “Colonel Pierson. I want to thank you personally for the outstanding job you and your team have done. I understand that your men have not only saved the lives of the American and Japanese academic team in Alaska, but that your analysts have been instrumental in working the intel and providing answers regarding the responsible parties. The men and women under your command have provided an invaluable service to their country.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I assume you are familiar with Operation Checkmate?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“And what is your take on events? Let’s begin with the Russians, and then tell me how you think the Venezuelans will respond.”
“Well, sir, I agree with Secretary of State Bryan. I think the Russians are not committed to having a dog in this fight. They will distance themselves from Garza and his generals.”
“All right. And tomorrow, when Phase II of the operation commences?”
“The Venezuelan military is way outclassed. Without the support of Russia, they will have no choice but to concede the field.”
“Hmm. Paul, assuming Colonel Pierson’s assessment is correct, what is the next step?”
“Concurrent with the military phase of the operation, State will be in constant communication with the chargé d´affaires of the Venzuelan embassy and, through him, the minister of foreign affairs. I agree with the military assessment, and State will stand ready to close the deal. State provides the carrot; General Hendrickson’s team provides the stick.”
“I like the way you put that,” President Taylor smiled. “Let me know if you feel we should modify the package of incentives that we discussed yesterday. Anything else, gentlemen?”
All four men shook their heads.
“All right. You all know how much is riding on this. If we screw up, it could be the beginning of World War III. We can’t let that happen. At the same time, we’ve got to make Garza understand that his state-sponsored terrorism will not be tolerated. This is all about timing and proportion.
“Colonel, I’ve asked General Hendrickson to plug you and your team in where serve the best.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“We do this as a team, okay? Let me know immediately if anything substantial changes. We don’t know how the Russians are going to respond, so the situation is still very fluid. Paul, you remain on deck. When the call comes in from Pushkin, you get in here pronto. I’ll want your take on the conversation.
“That’s it. Gentlemen, we have work to do.”
Chapter 31
October 15
Sacramento, California
The frequent clatter of wrenches was more in keeping with an auto repair shop rather than a chemistry laboratory. Work pressed on at the hastily-fabricated facility at The Office. Karen had just dropped a wrench, the chromed-steel tool slipping from her hand as she grunted while tightening twenty half-inch bolts securing the top onto a large stainless-steel pressure reactor.
Peter was supervising, trying to teach her basic mechanical skills. “No need to apply so much force; snug is good.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” said Karen, wiping her forehead on her shirtsleeve. “How do I know if my definition of snug is the same as yours?”
Peter suppressed a smile. Good question. He turned to face the red, rolling tool chest and then opened one of the middle drawers. Karen stretched to peek over his shoulder.
Finding the tool he sought, Peter handed it to Karen. “What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s a torque wrench. The socket fits onto this end and then you turn the handle to get the torque setting you want.” Peter showed her how to use the wrench, demonstrating on some of the reactor bolts.
“Now you try it,” Peter instructed. In minutes Karen finished setting the retaining bolts in place.
“Thanks,” said Karen. “I still have a lot to learn, but this is fun… kinda.”
“You’re doing great,” said Peter. “Do you know how to finish setting up this reactor?”
Karen nodded. “Yep, but if I have any questions I’ll get you.”
Peter wanted to check in on his father, see how the experimental data was looking. He excused himself, stepping out of the walk-in hood where the pressure reactors were housed, and walked to the bank of analytical instruments on the other side of the lab. Professor Savage was staring intently at a computer monitor.
“How’s it going, Dad?”
“Huh? Oh, we’ll know soon.” The professor pointed his index finger at a green line on the monitor. Peter recognized it as the trace from a gas chromatograph. The instrument was connected to a small tube reactor, and apparently it was currently displaying the composition of gases from that reactor. As Peter watched, the green line began to rise and draw a triangular-shaped peak.
Professor Savage frowned. “That’s not what I wanted to see. That peak represents water. The reaction didn’t occur—there’s no change in the amount of water after the experiment is concluded.”
“What are the test parameters?” Peter asked.
“Water, calcium carbonate, and an iron-based mineral—a candidate catalyst. But there was no reaction, even at 2,000 psi and 500 degrees Celsius.”
“Professor Sato’s calculations indicate this reaction is thermodynamically favored,” said Peter. “So it just means the reaction rate is slow.”
“Of course… I know that. That’s the whole point of my work, to try to identify a suitable catalyst.” Immediately Professor Savage regretted his sharp reply.
Peter knew better than to patronize his father. At times like this it was best to let him vent; he knew it wasn’t personal, just frustration surfacing. There has to be something that we aren’t considering. Peter was trying to think of all the possible variables.
>
“Dad, what are your standard experimental conditions?”
“We use the tube reactors for low pressure tests, but the large pressure reactors we operate at 10,000 psi and 800 degrees Celsius. A typical screening test runs three days, and then we analyze for hydrocarbon products using the GC and mass spec.”
“And these conditions mimic what you would find at the crust-mantle boundary?”
“Approximately. We haven’t tried higher temperatures and pressures representative of being deeper into the mantle.” Professor Savage shook his head, his shoulders slumped.
“I was certain we were on the right track. Maybe Sato-san’s modeling results gave me too much confidence.”
“Have faith in the science Dad.” That earned Peter a glare from his father.
“What are we missing?” asked Peter. He began to pace back and forth, arms folded across his chest. “You’ve covered temperature and pressure, at least within the limits of these reactors. What else?”
Professor Savage joined his son’s brain storming exercise. “Well, background radiation is minimal, so we haven’t considered adding that to the experimental conditions.”
Peter shook his head. “No, nuclear reactions are not going to affect the chemical reactivity anyway. And electromagnetic radiation can’t penetrate the rock matrix.”
“Wait!” Ian Savage stood ram-rod straight, his eyes wide and fixed on his son. “That’s it. We didn’t account for that!”
“Didn’t account for what?” said Peter.
“Magnetism.”
Peter and his father stared at each other for a dozen heartbeats, silent. Peter spoke first.
“You said your catalyst is an iron-based mineral. Does it respond to a magnetic field?”
Slowly a grin overtook the professor’s scowl. “Yes, it’s paramagnetic.”
“That has to be it,” said Peter. “I can build an electromagnet around the pressure reactor. We can vary the intensity of the magnetic field by adjusting the current through the coil.” Peter scratched his head, deep in thought. “I’ll use a water cooling loop to maintain the coil. We’ll need a variable high-power DC supply. The rest can be made in Bend at my shop. I’ll get Todd, my chief engineer, going on it as soon as I get a rough design sketched out.”
“You can design and build this?” Professor Savage asked, more than a little surprised.
“It’s what I do, only on a much smaller scale. I’ll need a range of magnetic intensity, or gauss, that you want to achieve inside the reactor. Err on the side of making the field too intense.”
“I can do that. If I recall correctly, there’s an obscure paper on the influence of magnetic fields on mineral carbonate reductions. It was published a decade ago by a Russian, I think. It should be in my files that Jim had shipped down here.”
“Good. I’ll get the reactor dimensions and start—” Peter closed his eyes, concentrating.
“What is it?”
“Are you sure that paper was published by a Russian scientist?”
“No, I’m not certain. Quite honestly I had forgotten about it until now. Why?”
Peter recalled what his father had said before, that the field of abiogenic oil formation had been pioneered by Russian and Ukrainian scientists.
“I’m not sure, but that seems important. If I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
Chapter 32
October 16
Washington, D.C.
The sun rose over Washington, ushering in yet another crisp October morning. The city was waking up to business as usual. None of the residents or visitors to the nation’s capital had any idea of the drama that had been unfolding, hidden from the headlines. And roughly 2,000 miles to the southeast, the final chapter was about to be written.
During the middle of the night, President Vladimir Pushkin had called President Taylor. Pushkin was the consummate statesman… composed, charismatic, and savvy. Without admitting that his government had even thought about any wrongdoings, Pushkin asserted that Russia did not condone terrorism. If Venezuela was, indeed, sponsoring terrorist acts, they would do so without the support of Russia.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Pushkin. I am glad we agree on this issue.” President Taylor did not want to push his luck. He had the response he was looking for; any further engagement could result in a change to that answer.
“President Taylor, one question if I may?”
“Certainly, Mr. Pushkin.”
“What are your intentions concerning Venezuela?”
“Our intentions are, simply put, to persuade President Garza to recognize the error of his ways.”
“If our positions were reversed, I would do the same, Mr. President. I wish you luck.”
President Taylor pondered Pushkin’s words for a moment. I’m sure you would. “Now, if I may ask a question of you?”
“Have you not asked enough already? But please, go ahead.”
“May I have your word that your government will issue a ukase forbidding involvement in our business with Venezuela? We expect our business to be concluded within a day or two.”
Pushkin thought for a moment, weighing his options and calculating his political risk and potential reward. He had expected this move from the American President. From the beginning, he had been using the Venezuelans. Now they would become a very convenient scapegoat.
“You have a basic understanding of Russian, very good.” President Taylor thought he heard a heavy sigh over the phone line, and then Pushkin continued, “Yes. I give you my word that the Russian Federation will issue an edict ordering our military to stand down. But remember that I am keeping score. And now you owe me a favor in return. At some time in the future, I will call it in.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pushkin. I’ll see to it that your spetsnaz soldiers are returned as soon as possible.”
“Of course. Until the next time we meet.”
And the call ended. It had been an exhausting day, again. But with Venezuela isolated from Russian military support, the course was now clear for Phase II. It was now up to Secretary of Defense Hale and General Hendrickson and their assembled team.
Operation Checkmate began with a redeployment of select stealth assets to forward locations. The theater of operations would be in and around the city of Caracas. After reviewing the Southern Command Forward Operating Locations, or FOL, Hato International Airport in Curacao was selected for the operation. A squadron of F-16 Falcon fighters and four E-3 Sentry early warning aircraft were already stationed at Hato. To support the aircraft, as well as other Navy and Air Force planes temporarily deployed to Southern Command FOLs, 230 Air Force personnel were permanently stationed at Hato.
Over the previous days, the Air Force had redeployed six F-22 Raptors, nine RQ-1 Predators, and seven RQ-4 Global Hawks to the airfield in Curacao. Since Hato International Airport is also the commercial airport on the tiny Caribbean island, located on the northern edge of the capitol city Willemstad, the aircraft were moved in over the previous two nights to avoid arousing suspicion. The Raptors immediately taxied into hangers upon landing, out of view behind closed doors. The Predators and Global Hawks were transported in C-141 cargo aircraft to avoid visual sightings and unloaded inside closed hangers.
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In the early morning hours of October 16, well before the sun rose over the Missouri farmland, two B-2 Spirit stealth bombers of the 509th Bomb Wing took off from Whiteman Air Force Base. Anyone observing the airfield from a distance would not likely see the black aircraft against the dark sky. But if their departure was observed, it would appear just like any other training flight. The planes rose in the dark sky on a northerly heading that would take them over Iowa and Minnesota.
One hour into the flight, the formation banked to the right and set a new heading, due east. They followed this course for almost four hours, flying at an elevation of 50,000 feet, placing the Spirit of Hawaii and the Spirit of Florida well above commercial aviation routes. After flying about 600 miles beyond t
he eastern seaboard, the formation banked right again and assumed a new heading—south.
“Black King. New course one-eight-zero degrees. On my mark… mark,” announced Major Anderson, who was piloting the Spirit of Hawaii.
“Copy, White King,” was the reply from the Spirit of Florida, piloted by Captain Landon.
The B-2s had already flown about 2,000 miles by the time they turned south over the Atlantic, and they had another 2,000 miles to fly to the target. Maintaining maximum altitude and minimal radio communications, the two bombers continued their journey. Over the Sargasso Sea, east of the Bahamas and north of the West Indies, the stealth bombers formed up on a KC-135 Stratotanker dispatched from Tyndall Air Force Base in northern Florida. The refueling tanker was flying a race-track pattern, loitering in the area while waiting for the scheduled arrival of the B-2s.
Major Anderson was approaching from behind the tanker. “Blue Bird, this is White King, over.”
“Uh, White King. Copy. Blue Bird is in position. Lowering boom.”
As the tanker, call sign Blue Bird, extended the refueling boom, Major Anderson deftly maneuvered his plane beneath the tanker, aiming to catch the end of the boom in the receptacle located behind the cockpit at about the middle of his aircraft. After Anderson’s tanks were filled, the boom was disengaged and he pushed the stick forward and to the right, clearing the way for Captain Landon to repeat the process.
“White King to Black King, new course one-eight-one degrees. Maintain speed and altitude.”
“Roger, White King,” replied Landon. Following this course, the B-2s would arrive over Caracas as scheduled at 6:00 P.M. local time.
Two-hundred-forty miles north of Caracas, four F-22 Raptor Advanced Tactical Fighters formed up on the B-2s. They were rapidly approaching Venezuelan air space. Additional security was provided by the five Global Hawk unmanned surveillance drones deployed over the five principal airbases in Venezuela and one E-3 Sentry AWACS aircraft flying an oval pattern 300 miles north of Caracas.
Built with stealth technology, the Hawks could loiter at high altitude for up to twenty hours. Using sophisticated optical imaging and electromagnetic sensing technology, they would monitor activity at the airbases in both the visible and infrared spectrums and transmit this data back to the AWACS for analysis. Because the Global Hawks were unarmed, command decided to pair a Predator armed drone with each Hawk.
