“She’s reviewing them now, sir.”
Marshall nodded. “Then why are we talking?”
“The president would like to speak with your second, sir. Colonel Quinn. The roster says he holds the second launch key.”
“Quinn is busy,” Marshall said. “So am I. We’re trying to re-establish links with several launch control sites that lost contact with Strategic Command. Those boys are in the dark and might launch if we can’t reach them.”
“That is a grave situation, General Marshall, and I will report it to the president. Nevertheless, launch authority for ground missiles has been transferred to Looking Glass. We must ensure procedures—”
Marshall said, “The Chinese have nuked Washington and SAC headquarters. Now you want to quote regulations to me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Marshall said, “Listen to me, Colonel. We have a commander-in-chief who can’t pull the trigger. I need you. America needs you. The people of China, the real Chinese, need you. Are you on board?”
“Of course, sir.”
Marshall said, “Then quit clogging secure channels. I’ll reconvene with the president at the attack conference in six minutes. Over.”
Marshall disconnected Kozlowski and hit his comm. “You catch that, Major?”
Banks’ voice said, “Yes, sir.”
“Clear skies,” Marshall said, and looked at Harney and Wilson, who had already drawn their M9 side-arms with silencers and began firing, taking out half the battle staffers while the others scrambled, too stunned to figure out what was going on. Banks got them on her way in and then sealed the compartment shut behind her, breathless.
Marshall, disturbed that a bullet ricochet had nicked his forearm with a red skid burn, hit the comm again. “Cockpit now,” he said, and another communications tech upstairs put him through to Captain Delaney.
Delaney said, “General Marshall, sir.”
Marshall knew he couldn’t hide everything from the Looking Glass crew, but he could spin it just enough to give him the time he needed. He had trained them all at one time or another, but he couldn’t include them in his plans. He was counting on personal loyalty and the cloud of war to bridge whatever cognitive dissonance was going through their minds.
“I want you and Rogers to seal off the cockpit, Captain,” Marshall said. “Launch control from Offutt has been transferred to Looking Glass, and we’ve had gunfire here in the battle staff compartment. You know the procedures. Take us down to 18,000 feet and extend the VLF antenna. We need to establish links with both our underground launch centers and our submarines. No line-of-sight communications, not even AF1 for the time being. We can’t reveal our location to enemy aircraft. If we are engaged, prepare to deploy all countermeasures at my orders.”
“Copy that,” the pilot said. “Over.”
Marshall stared at the only three officers still standing in the compartment — Banks, Wilson and Harney. Only Banks had broken a sweat.
“A bit early, sir?” she asked.
“Sachs is on to us,” he said and removed the two keys around his neck.
38
Koz was still processing his bizarre and disturbing exchange with Marshall when he walked up to Captain Li on the communications deck. “Marshall blew me off,” he told her. “Something’s wrong.”
“Way wrong, sir,” Li said. “I have something the president needs to see.”
Koz had them meet in Sachs’ suite, where Li showed the president satellite surveillance video over Washington, D.C., before the nuke attack. She zoomed in on a railyard not far from Union Station.
“According to the last communications between the Pentagon and White House, it seems the nuclear device was delivered by rail on a Metro subway train right beneath the Pentagon,” Li explained. “So I crosschecked D.C. police dispatch records, what’s left of their remote backups, and learned that a Metro security guard was found slain this morning at this railyard.”
Sachs remembered seeing the story that morning in the
“Now watch this,” Li said and zoomed in until two Chevy Suburbans popped out of the pixels. “Those are military plates, ma’am. And they belong to this man.”
The picture on the screen changed and an ugly, familiar face filled the screen.
Sachs said, “That’s Colonel Kyle, the Green Beret.”
“And you’ll recognize this other man, too, as the one after your daughter,” Li said, and sure enough the next picture that came up matched the one Jennifer had sent.
Sachs leaned closer to the image, fear and rage swirling inside her. “You’re telling me that these men — our men — may actually have betrayed America and helped the Chinese perpetrate this attack on our capital?”
Li said, “We think it’s more likely they and the ones they report to are in fact behind these attacks and not the Chinese.”
“Proof, Captain,” Sachs demanded. “We don’t have a lot of time here.”
Captain Li nodded. “You can thank your daughter Jennifer.”
“What?”
“I found this on her USB flash drive from school.” Li pulled Jennifer’s PowerPoint slide presentation for school. The top slide was Brad Marshall waving to reporters aboard an aircraft carrier. As the slides flashed, Sachs was embarrassed at Jennifer’s obvious hero worship — or more — for Marshall.
Li said, “This is a Time magazine photo of Marshall after he escaped Iraqi capture during the first Persian Gulf War in 1991. Kyle led the team that rescued Marshall when his plane was shot down.”
It was Colonel Kyle, an arm around a beaming Marshall.
Koz said, “So Marshall and Kyle have a history. I’ve been through this with the president. It’s not enough.”
Li said, “How about this?”
Next up came a recent picture of Marshall inspecting the Tier-One Defender ABM complex in Alaska, and then a haunting longshot of him crossing the tarmac at Offutt AFB. Both came from a Time Magazine “Man of the Year” cover story titled “An American Hero: Forgotten But Not Gone.”
Sachs said, “I still don’t get it. You’d expect Marshall to be at these places. They’re all he has left.”
“Had left,” Li said. “Both have been blown to bits. Before they were, each was visited by Colonel Kyle and other men from Marshall’s past for base parties. Swipe card records place them all in highly sensitive areas at both bases.”
Koz said it out loud. “One stolen SS-20 nuke. Three warheads. Each planted at a strategic location to make it look like a Chinese attack and force us to respond.”
Sachs sat back in her chair, everything sinking in. “Maybe Marshall feels his country doesn’t recognize his contributions, but could he really hate America so much kill innocent lives?”
Li said, “The rest of your daughter’s report argues the opposite, Madame President. That Marshall loves America and feels his warnings about an ascendant China and declining America have been ignored. His very public statements underscore his belief that if we — the United States — don’t act aggressively now, we will lack the weapons and will to do so later. According to that logic, he’s saving American lives.”
“And clearly will stop at nothing,” Koz said. “Madame President, we have to warn General Block at Northern Command to strip Marshall of launch authority immediately, before Marshall does anything crazy.”
“Stop,” said Sachs suddenly, thinking out loud. “Would Marshall have access to this plane?”
Koz turned pale. “We share the same maintenance crews as Looking Glass.”
