Able One (27 page)

Sylvia explained as they climbed the concrete stairs and found their seats. From this high up the platform on which the President would speak looked little bigger than a postage stamp.

“You said we were going to be in the front row,” Vickie accused.

“We’re not that far away,” said Sylvia as they sat down.

“They’ve set up big TV screens,” Denise said, pointing.

“We’ll be able to see the President’s face very clearly,” Sylvia said. “Just like we’re sitting next to him, almost.”

Vickie muttered, “Big deal.” Sylvia pretended not to hear her.

As the limousine pulled up at the Cow Palace, the President asked his chief of staff, “What’s happening in Korea?”

Norman Foster pulled the phone bud out of his ear. “Looks like they’re getting ready to launch those other two birds.”

“We can see them?”

“Satellite imagery. From the National Reconnaissance Office.”

The Secret Service agent pulled the door open on the President’s side of the limo. The motorcade had driven directly into the Cow Palace’s underground parking area, which had been cleared for security. No cheering crowds. No band playing “Hail to the Chief.” Just a shadowy concrete expanse, chilly, damp.

Before the President could get out of the limo the chief of his Secret Service detail, a tall, lanky man with a weatherbeaten face and a dour expression, ducked his head into the open door and said, “Mr. President, we’ve got to head back to the airport, sir.”

“No, we don’t,” the President said, smiling pleasantly at the agent’s grimly determined face.

“Sir, it’s my duty--”

“I make the decisions, Ron. I’m going ahead with my speech.”

The black-suited agent looked as if he wanted to argue the point, but he recognized the steel behind the President’s smile. “You’re the boss, sir.”

“That’s right, Ron,” said the President. As he got out of the limo he asked his chief of staff, “What about that laser plane?”

Sliding across the leather seat, Foster replied, “Approaching the North Korean coast. Should be in position to shoot at the missiles as soon as they’re launched.”

“If it can get close enough to them,” the President muttered.

“Yep,” said Foster. “There is that.”

The President nodded. Foster slid out of the limo and straightened up slowly. Arthritis, the President knew.

The chief of staff made a small, involuntary groan as he stood up. Then, “The Aegis ships are alerted and ready. So are the ABM bases in Alaska and Vandenberg.”

With another nod, the President muttered, “Now we’ll see if we’ve spent the taxpayers’ money wisely.”

“You bet your life,” said Foster, without a trace of a smile.

ABL-1: Beam Management Compartment

“They're going to launch any minute," Harry prodded

Monk Delany shot a sour glance over his burly shoulder. “I’m ready. I’m ready. Let ‘em launch.”

Bending over the seated Delany, Harry saw that the ranging laser’s screen was clear. Nothing in view.

“Did I hear one of those blue-suiters say we’ve got fighters coming after us?” Delany had his headphone solidly clamped to one ear. Obviously he’d been tuned in to the intercom chatter.

“That’s what they said,” Harry replied tightly.

“Are we turnin’ back?”

“No.”

“But they could shoot us down!”

Harry said, “Or force us to land in North Korea.”

“Christ Almighty,” Delany muttered.

“You’re going to be a hero, Monk. We all are.”

“Dead or alive.”

Harry tapped Delany’s shoulder. “One way or another, Monk. One way or another.”

“They got parachutes on this bird?”

Harry forced a laugh. “I’ll go look,” he said. He left Delany fiddling with the ranging laser’s controls and ducked through to Taki’s battle management station.

She looked up at him. “We’re being chased by a couple of fighters?”

Harry nodded as he slid into the chair next to hers. “That’s the news from upstairs.”

“This is going to get bad, isn’t it?”

“Looks that way. But we don’t have any way out of it.”

“The pilot could turn us around and head back to Japan,” Taki said without taking her eyes off the screens of her console.

“She’s not going to do that. They’ll be launching those missiles any minute.”

“And after that they’ll shoot us down.”

“Taki, there’s nothing we can do about that. We’re in this to the brutal end.”

The look on her face was really inscrutable, Harry thought. What’s she thinking? She doesn’t look scared, or sore, or ... anything.

As Harry slapped a headphone set over his baby-fine hair, Taki said, “You’re pretty cool, Harry. Pretty damned cool.”

“Me?” He felt totally surprised. “I’m scared halfway to death!”

“Halfway,” she said, with a slight curve of her lip. It might have been the beginning of a smile, Harry thought. Or a sneer of disdain.

With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Harry turned back to the console in front of him. “We’ve got business to do.”

“Right, chief.”

Harry puzzled over the intercom board for a moment, then pressed the key that he hoped connected to Rosenberg, back aft.

“Yo,” said Angel Reyes’s voice.

“Where’s Wally?”

“In the toilet. I think he’s throwin’ up.”

“Great.”

“Naw, I’m only kiddin’. He’s takin’ a leak.”

Harry realized that Angie and Wally hadn’t heard about the North Korean interceptors. Good. They’ve got enough to worry about just keeping their minds on business.

He asked into his lip mike, “You guys ready back there? Everything up and running?”

Reyes’ voice took on a more formal tone. “All systems are go,
el jefe.”

“Any problems? Any anomalies?”

“Pressures in the green. Pumps functional. Feed lines purged and clean. We’re ready to rumble, boss.”

“Good,” said Harry. “Looks like the rumble’s about to start.”

The Pentagon: Secretary of Defense’s Office

“With all due respect, sir, I should be downstairs with the situation team,” General Scheib said. The Secretary of Defense nodded once. With a glance at the Secretary of State, sitting to one side of his wide, gleaming desk, he replied, “We need your honest assessment of the situation.”

“And yours,” State said, pointing a manicured finger at Michael Jamil, her face a mask of ice.

Scheib was on his feet in front of the desk, his uniform immaculate, his chiseled face clearly showing his displeasure. Jamil stood beside him, Zuri Coggins slightly behind the two men.

“Honest assessment?” the general echoed. “The Koreans are about to launch their two remaining missiles. Our antimissiles systems are on alert. The airborne laser plane is approaching the North Korean coast.”

“Are those missiles aimed at San Francisco?”

“No,” said Scheib.

“Yes,” said Jamil.

With an angry glance at Jamil, General Scheib insisted, “They don’t have the range or accuracy to reach San Francisco.”

“They do if they’ve been upgraded by the Chinese,” Jamil retorted.

“You’re not still accusing the Chinese of this?” the Secretary of State said.

“It’s the only scenario that makes sense,” Jamil explained. “The DPRK wouldn’t dare start this unless they knew the Chinese were backing them up.”

“But I’ve had assurances ...” State’s voice dwindled away as she realized that she had nothing but the unsupported word of an informal back-channel contact.

Jamil took half a step toward her and said earnestly, “Madam Secretary, we know that the North Koreans launched the bomb that knocked out our satellites. That took more thrust and accuracy than their Taepodong-2 missile has. It had to be upgraded. And where’d they get a nuclear warhead? Their own nuclear program isn’t that advanced.”

Defense was frowning. State looked distracted, as if she was trying to absorb this information and match it with what she’d thought she’d known earlier.

Jamil went on, “Pyongyang wants--needs!-- reunification with South Korea. China wants Taiwan. They both want us out of Asia.”

Defense put up a beefy hand. “Wait a minute. How does bombing San Francisco and killing the President get them any of those things?”

“Are we willing to have a nuclear war with China?” Jamil demanded. “Are we willing to see half our cities destroyed, maybe more? A hundred million casualties? Over Taiwan and the reunification of North and South Korea?”

“If they kill the President--”

“Even then, sir. The Chinese are betting that we’ll back down. And if we don’t, if we launch our missiles at China, they’re betting they can absorb our attack and come out the winner.”

The Secretary of State heard Quang’s warning in her mind,
You must realize that there are factions within our council. We have our own hard-liners, you must understand.

“But we wouldn’t attack China,” State said, as if trying to convince herself. “We’d attack North Korea.”

“And China would retaliate. They’d have to. They couldn’t sit back while we destroyed an ally that’s right on their border.”

“Chongjin,” Defense murmured.

State turned toward him with a questioning look.

“The Korean War. China came in when our troops approached the Yalu River, the border between Korea and China.” Defense looked suddenly old and frightened, his liver-spotted face gray.

Coggins stepped up beside Jamil. “For what it’s worth, I think this scenario makes sense.”

“And the President’s been apprised of all this?” State asked.

Coggins replied, “I’ve spoken to my boss, the National Security Advisor, personally. He’s contacted the President’s chief of staff out in San Francisco.”

Impatiently, General Scheib said, “Whatever scenario you want to believe, we’ve got the airborne laser approaching the North Korean coast and the gooks about to launch their missiles. I ought to be down in the situation room.”

“Yes, you should,” Defense said. With a wave of one hand he commanded, “Get down to your post. I only hope to God Almighty your people can shoot those damned missiles out of the sky.”

The Pentagon: Elevator

Zuri Coggins realized that General Scheib was terribly tense. Despite the cool appearance he was trying to project, she could see that the general was boiling inside. As the elevator stopped at every floor and people got on and off, Scheib nervously jabbed repeatedly at the button for the basement level even before the elevator doors could close. “Come on, come on,” he kept muttering. Jamil, standing beside her in the back of the elevator cab, half-whispered, “Thanks for backing me up in there.”

He looked weary, spent, close to exhaustion.

“I think you’ve got it right,” she told the analyst, also speaking in a near whisper.

“I thought she called me up there to fry my butt,” Jamil confessed.

Coggins said, “Speak truth to power.”

“And get your head chopped off.”

She nearly laughed. “This isn’t Iran, Mr. Jamil. We don’t hack people’s heads off.”

His eyes narrowed. “You assume I’m a Muslim, don’t you?” Before she could answer, Jamil stated, “My family’s been Christian since the Middle Ages. That’s one of the reasons my father left Lebanon.”

“I see,” said Coggins. She debated telling him, then decided it would do no harm. “I
am
a Muslim, you know. My grandfather was a Baptist, but he converted to the Nation of Islam when a prizefighter named Cassius Clay converted and took the name Muhammad Ali.”

She thought that if the situation weren’t so desperately deadly the stunned look on Jamil’s face would have been hilarious.

The Secretary of Defense leaned back in his plush swivel chair and eyed the Secretary of State closely. She seemed lost in thought, sitting in the big leather armchair, her eyes turned toward the windows but obviously seeing something other than the view out there.

He lied to me, State was thinking. Quang told me China had no intention of attacking the United States, but if what this analyst says is true, then China’s actually behind the North Korean attack. Quang lied. After all these years, he lied to me. How long have the Chinese been preparing for this moment?

“Well?” Defense rumbled, tired of the silence. “What do you think you’ve accomplished?”

State stirred herself out of her private thoughts. She blinked once at the man behind the big ornate desk.

“Do you believe him?”

“Who? That kid?”

“He’s a first-rate analyst with the National Intelligence Council. I had my people check him out after we spoke together on the phone earlier today.”

“If he’s right, we’re in deep shit,” said Defense. “Whatever we do, we’re in for it.”

Strangely, State smiled. Defense had seen that smile before. It usually preceded a beheading.

“I read somewhere,” State said slowly, “that the Chinese symbol for crisis is a combination of two other symbols: one for danger, the other for opportunity.”

“Opportunity?”

“The President has handled this crisis badly, going off to San Francisco to show what a macho strongman he is.”

Wondering where she was heading, Defense chose his words carefully. “If that kid is right and San Francisco is nuked ...”

“Parkinson becomes President.”

Defense huffed. “He’s a horse’s ass.”

“Yes, isn’t he?”

“I had him bundled off to the National Redoubt this morning, when this missile business came up.”

“So he’s safe.”

Defense nodded and muttered, “Too bad.”

“Not at all,” State countered. “You wouldn’t want the Speaker of the House to be President, would you?”

“God, no!”

“Parkinson can be handled. He can be led.”

“By you?”

“By us,” State replied, her smile widening. “We can form a sort of committee.”

“A triumvirate. Like in ancient Rome, after Julius Caesar’s assassination.” And he remembered from history that the triumvirate quickly broke apart as Octavian bested the other two and made himself Rome’s first emperor, Augustus Caesar.

State nodded absently, her mind already obviously looking ahead. “If the President dies in a nuclear attack on San Francisco--”