Part 7 (1/2)
”We recommend that this threat to national security be eliminated immediately. General McDaniel informs us that he can s.h.i.+ft one of our live-fire prototype ANGELS satellites to within striking distance.”
Autonomous Nanosatellite Guardian Evaluating Local s.p.a.ce (ANGELS) were cylindrical devices no larger than a wastepaper basket used primarily to monitor other satellites. However, during the last four years the JSF had piggybacked at least a dozen new ones aboard other communication satellites with the future mission of converting those ANGELS into low-power laser weapons and orbiting bombs.
”General, I'm wondering if there's a way we can neutralize the threat without destroying the station.”
”Sir, we've considered every possibility. We could cut off their life support, force them to go to the suits. But they might reach their next target before exhausting their oxygen. We can't send up astronauts in time. And if you open this up to debate with the other nations involved, the Russians will achieve their goals before the representatives even sit down.”
”Oh, I'm well aware of that, General.”
”Mr. President, I will say this. If the weapon is clearly identifiable on the station, perhaps attached to one of the Russian modules, we'll make every attempt to destroy it first, then see how they react. They might decide to take the ISS on a suicide run to destroy other orbital platforms, maybe even Freedom Star-in which case we'll have the ANGEL attach itself to the station and self-destruct.”
”General, stand by for one moment please.” Becerra put her on hold, then tapped another screen, bringing up Roberta Santiago, his national security advisor. ”Roberta, you've been listening in.”
”Yes, sir. And my G.o.d, sir. They want you to authorize the destruction of the ISS.”
”Do we have a choice? They will attempt to take out the weapon first.”
”I do have another thought.” Santiago's tone darkened. ”Why do we need to take full responsibility? Why can't we turn this situation around? We're the victims here and we should remain victims. Striking back, killing those two innocent researchers . . . that's-”
”Roberta, what are you saying?”
”I'm saying that within an hour I can have video released to the media. The Green Brigade Transnational will take full responsibility for the ISS's destruction. And the ironic part is, Green Vox won't dispute the lie. It'll surprise him, but he'll be happy to take full credit. He'd blow up the ISS himself if he could. That's a fact.”
An icy feeling crept into Becerra's spine as he considered how cunning and clever such a ploy might be- And how it might backfire. This could be his Water-gate, his Monica Lewinsky, his war in Iraq.
He leaned forward and steeled his gaze. ”Roberta, I won't do that. I'm going to authorize the destruction attempt and I'm going to stand behind it. The ISS is an ongoing threat to national security. There is collateral damage in every war, and that's terrible and unfortunate. But as president, my first responsibility is the defense of the United Sates of America. This will be an unpopular decision-but we have to make it. And we have to be willing to take the international heat. Roberta, are we absolutely clear on this?”
She pursed her lips. ”Yes, Mr. President. I understand.”
He switched back to the chairman's line. ”General Kennedy, you have my authorization to take whatever steps are necessary to neutralize the threat.”
”Yes, Mr. President. We'll act immediately. And I'll update you as soon as we know anything.”
Becerra tapped off the call, closed his eyes, and imagined the news stories to follow, pretty graphics beside the words BECERRA ORDERS DESTRUCTION OF ISS.
TWELVE.
The Commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Donald Stanton, called Admiral Charles ”Chuck” Harrison, Commander Submarine Forces Pacific, regarding a most intriguing loss of communication up in the Arctic.
Stanton was in his office at COMPACFLT Headquarters in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, staring at a computer screen showing him the bio and military service record of the USS Florida Florida's current commander.
The communications screen indicated they had a link, and Chuck appeared, his silver hair expertly razored into a crew cut, his face barely wrinkled for a man pus.h.i.+ng sixty. Stanton had already broken that barrier, and he wanted to believe he looked as good as Chuck. Aw, h.e.l.l, who was he kidding?
”Hey, Donny.”
”Hey, Chuck. Listen, I just got an e-mail from American Eagle telling me we've got total control of the Iridium cell phone system. He wants us to reach out to your boy up north. I was just reading his record.”
”Andreas is a pretty clever lad. Once he figures out the satellite is bent, he just might poke up his sail long enough to check for a text message. But how can I help?”
”My techies tell me they need the phone numbers for every Iridium 9505A onboard Florida Florida, plus we need something-something personal-that will convince Andreas that our text message is legit. I know how serious you guys are about the silent silent in silent service.” in silent service.”
”I'll get the squadron commander on the horn. Smitty keeps a roster of all the allocated 9505As, and next I'll give Andreas's wife a buzz. I'll bet she can come up with something personal to authenticate with.”
”Sounds like a plan, Chuck. My best to Jamie. Fifteen minutes?”
”Back in fifteen, Admiral.”
”Captain, we've covered-”
”Hold on,” Commander Jonathan Andreas said, cutting off his communications officer. ”Right now I want to hear Senior Chief Radioman Sheldon's a.s.sessment of the situation.”
”Captain, I've been over every inch of that gear. I even got Chief Electronics Technician Burgess to look over my shoulder. I swear that the ELF and satellite receivers are good to go.” His tone grew ominous. ”There's just no signal.”
Andreas couldn't estimate how much pride calling in another chief for help had cost his senior chief radioman.
Andreas nodded, ”Sheldon, that's good enough for me.”
Andreas returned to his quarters and sat on his bunk for almost ten minutes, allowing himself to work through the mystery, taking in each piece of evidence, examining it, probing it, trying to reach conclusions. Then he started down a new path, one in which they took action to get answers.
He came up with two plans.
Finally, he stood and purposefully stepped through the doorway into the head separating his stateroom from the XO's. He knocked twice on the door in the opposite bulkhead, then stepped through to where the XO was reading something at his desk. He glanced up. ”Sir?”
Without preamble, Andreas said, ”XO, I'm about to break a cardinal rule, and I want you to hear it.”
”Skipper, are you sure?”
”Yes, I am.” The first plan sounded even more logical to him as he voiced it rapid-fire. ”I'm going to go deep, sprint thirty miles northwest, stick up the antenna, and ping the transponder on the satellite. The problem could still be ours, but right now it's the next-to-last action we can take. What do you think?”
”Skipper, with the shrouded propulsor, and at a depth of, say, eight hundred feet, we can do that.”
”I just can't wait around any longer.”
”No doubt. We sprint at nearly thirty knots and find us a nice lonely spot out in the middle of the gulf.”
”So it's worth a try?”
”It is, but I have to play devil's advocate-what happens if we don't trigger an answering ping from the transponder?”