Coup D'Etat (18 page)

“Option one,” said Dartalia. “Under this scenario, India responds proportionally, an eye for an eye, dropping a nuclear bomb on a remote village in Pakistan.”

He clicked the remote. A bright green dot appeared on the map, above a village in southern Pakistan.

“This is the hypothetical bomb footprint of our first nuclear device, dropped on a village in south Pakistan.”

He clicked the remote again.

“At this point, as you can imagine, Pakistan responds,” continued Dartalia. “The cycle is joined. Pakistan strikes a larger area, perhaps two bombs this go-round, higher-density population centers. India counters, again proportionally, as we recognize we cannot let the Pakistanis gain the advantage. Soon, within hours, the two countries are literally emptying their nuclear arsenals.”

The screen showed a progression of green and red dots until the map was consumed in green and red dots representing the nuclear bombs.

“Ironically, the fastest destruction of the two countries comes from this kind of proportional, incremental attack framework,” said Dartalia. “By attempting to control ourselves and limit damage, we end up inflicting the most destruction in the quickest time frame possible.”

“Option two.” He clicked the remote. The screen erased the colored bomb prints, except for the single red dot over Karoo. “Under this scenario, India recognizes the implications of responding. India plays the adult and doesn’t counterattack. We rely upon the United Nations, diplomacy, and conventional military power to respond to the attack on Karoo. The results will surprise I think everyone, as they surprised me.”

He clicked the remote. A radius of red dots burst onto the Indian portion of the map.

“New Delhi’s lack of response is taken as a sign of weakness. Pakistan moves with a decisive second wave intended to wipe us out, and they do so. Under this scenario, as you see, we manage only moderate counterdamage as we were unable or unwilling to move decisively and the Pakistanis remove much of our nuclear arsenal in a brutal second wave.”

General Dartalia clicked the remote. The screen was again wiped clean.

“In addition, under option two, we believe there’s another potentially dangerous outcome if India does not counterattack immediately.”

He clicked the remote. From the top of the screen, red lines with arrows at their tips shot down across the screen from China.

“China moves to annex India,” continued Dartalia. “The Chinese would manufacture any variety of reasons; to maintain order, to prevent Pakistan from doing further damage. But the bottom line is, China covets India and would see a lack of response by India to the Pakistani nuclear attack as weakness, as well as a sign that the Americans have chosen to avoid being dragged into the theater. To move into India with large numbers of ground troops would be easy for the Chinese. Already, they have more than half a million troops along the Aksai Chin. Unfortunately, this is another very real scenario.”

Dartalia reached down and picked up a bottle of water, took a large gulp, then walked back to his place at the conference table.

“Option three,” he said, looking at Ghandra.

Dartalia clicked the remote. Pakistan was quickly illuminated by a progression of green dots that soon overtook the plasma screen. Over India, a few red dots appeared.

“Under scenario three, we move to erase the Pakistani threat. We launch a full-scale nuclear counterstrike, targeting large population centers, military-industrial complexes, transportation assets, power grid, water sources. We wipe Pakistan off the map. We bomb them, as they say, ‘back to the Stone Age.’”

Dartalia paused. He sipped from his water bottle.

“As hard as it might be to contemplate the thought of destroying an entire country,” continued Dartalia, “the bottom line is that under option three, India limits its own casualties to under one million citizens. There will be some damage due to fallout that drifts back into the southern and western regions of India as well as casualties from the few nuclear devices Islamabad will get off before we destroy the rest. But even so, the losses are relatively insignificant. Now, as for world opinion and other such matters, I have no comment. That’s not what I’m paid to think about. But there’s no question that, from a military perspective, option three has the greatest likelihood of success. It is the best
military
option for India.”

Dartalia stood in front of the screen for several moments then walked to his seat at the conference table and sat down.

“Thank you, General,” said President Ghandra. He looked around the table, his eyes settling on Indra Singh, the defense minister. “This isn’t acceptable. There have to be other options. Why would El-Khayab up the stakes like this?”

“We need to strike back immediately,” interrupted Singh, looking at the president. “There’s no use contemplating
why
he did this. He did it. It’s that simple. And right now, a delayed response by you, Mr. President, will be misinterpreted.”

“I agree with Indra,” said Priya Vilokan, the prime minister. “There are geopolitical issues at play here. If we don’t hit back—hit back immediately, hit back hard—we’re sending a message to El-Khayab and to Beijing. We’re saying, come into our land, kill our people, use your most fearsome weapons, your nuclear weapons, it’s okay. We’ll fume and get angry, but in the end we will do
nothing
. In turn, this message spreads. It has unintended consequences. It will be seen by the Chinese, hungry at our northern border. We must respond, even if we do not want to. That’s the point. We
must
respond, President Ghandra.”

The prime minister pounded the table with his fist. His face flushed red with anger.

“Even if we decide that the response is proportional, an eye for an eye, even if we select a random town somewhere in the northern territories, we
must
do something,” continued Vilokan. “To not fight back is simply too dangerous to our own people. It will harm India for generations to come.”

President Ghandra stared at his prime minister, considering his words. He looked to his left, at the oldest man in the room, Vijay Ranam, the Indian home secretary. “And you, Vijay? What do you think? Next to Indra, you’re the biggest hawk in India.”

“It’s a difficult question,” said Ranam. “There’s no clear-cut answer. Every choice has pitfalls. I’m the only man in this room who fought in the last war with Pakistan, in 1971. We won that war. I met General Arora on the second day of the war. I will never forget him. He was a warrior. I’m a warrior. I fear what happens if we do not hit back, and hit back with overwhelming force.”

“A full retaliatory strike?” asked Ghandra.

“Yes, Mr. President. Option three.”

“What of the diplomatic ramifications?”

“Our obligation is to the people of India,” said Ranam. “Without question, we will be condemned. Just as America was after Hiroshima. But El-Khayab dropped the first bomb. He struck first. Karoo is our Pearl Harbor.”

“We’ll be wiping out tens of millions of people.”

“More than a hundred million, sir,” said Dartalia, “to be accurate. Which is far fewer than if we do nothing.”

Ghandra leaned back in his chair. It was a surreal feeling. The world had yet to learn of the nuclear strike. The calls had yet to start pouring in. It was the proverbial calm before the storm. But they would start soon. Soon the world would know that the Pakistanis had changed the course of human events, and done so in dramatic fashion.

“I want to look at a detailed operational plan for option three,” President Ghandra said, looking at Dartalia. “You have one hour.”

22

DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE OPERATIONS COORDINATION CENTER

LEVEL G, ROOM 400

THE PENTAGON

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Four minutes after the detonation of the bomb at Karoo, Defense Intelligence Operations Coordination Center—DIOCC—had picked up the atomic fingerprint of the event.

Occupying a large, windowless suite of offices on the basement level of the Pentagon, it was DIOCC’s responsibility to gather and coordinate all relevant information coming from sources across the globe; relevant intercepts from the National Security Agency, CIA, Homeland Security, NORAD, other units of Defense Intelligence Agency, Interpol, MI6, and other foreign intelligence sources. DIOCC’s job was to synthesize raw information, and then get the national security apparatus, including the Department of Defense, briefed and moving.

DIOCC had been focusing on the war in Kashmir; nine analysts were tracking developments in the theater of battle between India and Pakistan, around the clock. Still, what Lieutenant Myles Heddeke saw coming in from NORAD, a live-feed satellite shot from an AWACS lofting 32,000 feet over India, left him momentarily speechless.

Recovering, he said quietly, “I got something.” Then, noticing that no one heard him, “Hey, I got something. I think someone dropped a fucking nuke!”

“What do you got, Myles?” asked a middle-aged woman with short-cropped blond hair, Major Anne Callaway, who walked quickly from her desk to Heddeke’s desk.

In front of Heddeke sat two large plasma screens, bolted to the cement wall. The central screen collected data from different sources. The right screen showed a topographical map grid, isobars in bright green, a geographic layout of the area around Karoo, in amazing detail. In the middle of the grid pattern, a bright red ball was spread out like cotton candy.

“India-controlled Kashmir,” said Heddeke, pointing his finger at the screen. “East of the Line of Control. Near a village called Karoo.”

“DOE just confirmed,” said a man two desks down from Heddeke. “They’re estimating a thirty-four kiloton blast.”

“Okay,” said Callaway, stepping back, pointing to a young officer across the room. “Let’s get this up the tree. This is top priority, to the President, SECDEF, Langley, NSA, et cetera. Immediately.”

Callaway picked up the phone.

“Control.”

“Get me the president.”

*   *   *

President Allaire was seated at the cherrywood breakfast table in the White House residence, reading
The Wall Street Journal
. The phone on the wall rang loudly. He put down the piece of English muffin in his right hand and hit the button for the speakerphone.

“Yes.”

“Mr. President, this is Major Anne Callaway at DIOCC. Pakistan dropped a nuclear bomb on India, sir.”

“When?”

“Approximately five minutes ago, sir.”

“Has India responded?”

“Not yet, Mr. President.”

“Is it isolated? Are there more?”

“So far this is the only bomb we’ve picked up. It was presumably delivered via jet so it will be hard to know whether it’s isolated or not for a few minutes.”

“How big?”

“Thirty-four kiloton.”

“Where?”

“A small town called Karoo in Kashmir.”

“How many people.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

“Okay,” said the president. “Major, I want you to stay on the line. Control, get the secretary of defense and the rest of the national security directorate over here.
Immediately.
”

President Allaire stood up and pushed the last bite of English muffin into his mouth, ran out of the kitchen, past several attendants, to his office within the personal residence. He knew he had precious few moments. Behind the desk, he hit a red button.

“Yes, Mr. President,” the female voice said.

“Get me President Ghandra in New Delhi,” said President Allaire. “And find Jessica. I need her up here.”

The president stood behind the small, elegant desk, looking out the window, the Washington Monument in the distance. He had to think clearly now. He stared at the black phone in his hand.

After less than a minute, the warm voice of Rajiv Ghandra came on the line.

“Mr. President.”

“Rajiv, I’m deeply sorry for what’s happened.”

“Me too,” said Ghandra, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “As you can imagine, I can’t talk for long.”

“How many casualties?”

“Eight to ten thousand. We won’t know for a few hours.”

“I’m urging you to hold off retaliation until we can analyze the strike and discuss with various back channels what has happened and why,” said Allaire.

“My country is under attack,” snapped Ghandra, his voice rising. “It’s time for New Delhi to conduct its own war council. At this point India and America’s interests are not necessarily aligned.”

“You’re wrong. They
are
aligned. The actions you take in the next few hours impact the U.S. I’m asking you to take the time to properly analyze the options before you.”

“What is there to analyze?” asked Ghandra, exasperation in his voice. “The Pakistanis dropped a
nuclear bomb
.”

“Is it the only one?”

“We don’t know.”

“Was it a rogue group within the Pakistani military?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

“Are there more bombs in the air right now?”

“We’re looking and right now the answer is we don’t know.”

“If you launch a retaliatory strike immediately, even though the facts and circumstances surrounding this first nuclear device are as yet unknown, and Pakistan counters, by dinnertime India and Pakistan are both gone,” said Allaire. “Give America time to help India figure out what is best for India. This could be an isolated attack by a crazed El-Khayab. It could’ve been done by a rogue within Pakistan Armed Forces. It will inflame the world. China will share your anger, as will Russia and the rest of the civilized world. Your job, your duty, is to do what is best for India.”

The phone console was silent for a moment. President Allaire looked up as Jessica came sprinting into the room.

“I am told that I need to move my location. I will need to call you back.”

“Do I have your commitment, Rajiv, that you’ll give the U.S. adequate time to help you develop a strategy?”

“I cannot do that. However, I will take your advice to heart.”

“I’m getting on a plane within the hour,” said Allaire, glancing at Jessica, who shook her head. “I’ll be in New Delhi in approximately ten hours. I expect the Indian government to hold off a counterstrike until then.”