close to the coast it would appear the missiles came from Russian soil.”
Brady sat down. “Correct.”
Admiral Divico had been unusually quiet, his eyes studying the map. “We’re in a box,” he said. “We’re in a damned box, unable to do anything about it.”
“What do you mean, Max?” Secretary Rees asked.
Ringold looked angrily at the admiral.
Brady smiled grimly.
“The small-class experimental sub that supposedly sank last year during a test run,” the admiral said.
“What about it?” the president asked. “That was one of our best-kept secrets. All civilian personnel on board. High-paid volunteers with no family, picked by…” he paused. “Who did pick that crew?”
“We did,” Kelly said glumly.
“Several members of the agency who,” Brady said, “have quietly and mysteriously left the city over the past thirty-six hours. No answer at their homes.”
“That doesn’t answer my original question,” Fayers said.
The admiral locked eyes with Brady. “I believe Mr. Brady is about to tell us that sub didn’t sink.”
“That is correct, Admiral. It was spotted last month by one of our operatives. He couldn’t be one hundred percent certain; but certain enough to report it to me. I had had strong suspicions about it all along. The agent was killed just hours after making that report. The sub was taking on supplies, from a ship belonging to— quote/unquote—a friendly nation.”
“Goddamn it!” Ringold said. “What small-class experimental sub?”
“It was top secret,” the admiral said. “Very few people knew anything about it.”
“Well… thanks just a whole hell of a lot!” Ringold blurted.
The admiral shrugged his total indifference as to what Ringold thought. “You didn’t have a need to know.” The admiral then added, “Shit!” Then he put together a string of expletives that made the Watergate tapes sound like children’s nursery rhymes.
“Where in the hell could a sub hide for this long?” Ringold asked.
“This sub could hide anywhere it wanted to hide,” Travee said. “It’s invisible. Sonar can’t detect it. But God, it was expensive to build. Greatest weapon invented in the past fifty years. Came along much faster than its airborne counterpart. For all the good it’s going to do us.”
“All right,” Secretary Rees said. “Do we or don’t we notify the Russians and the Chinese? Do we tell them what we know—what we suspect? Take a chance?”
“What do we know we can prove?” General Dowling of the Marine Corps asked.
“We have nothing we can prove,” Brady said. “No hard evidence to present to them. And,” he said softly, “do we have the time? The Chinese—and this is my personal opinion—would, I think, behave in a decent manner. The Russians I wouldn’t trust as far as I could spit. Their minds would work this way: the sub is American; the missiles are American; the crew is American—the fault is ours. They’d drag us right into a war. We don’t know where the sub is; we can’t stop it. No,”—he sighed—“I think we have to chance this and hope we take minimum casualties. And the American people
“That’s a damned cold-blooded attitude!” Ringold said.
“But a necessary one.” Brady defended his statements. “Better the people are surprised—if it comes to that—than have several days of pure panic. And”—he held up a finger—“the Russians have a very good civil defense system: bunkers, food, water. The U.S. has shit for CD. Let the Russians get the message the same time our people receive it. More dead Russians and less U.S. casualties.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Divico said. The other members of the Joint Chiefs nodded in agreement.
“Let me say this,” Fayers said. “Mr. Brady believes the launch will be made within a week. All right, we’ll stay with that hypothesis. We don’t know where the sub is, but we’ll assume it’s in position to fire. Now, according to Ringold, his bureau has never heard of the rebels. Fine. As far as I’m concerned the rebels—if they exist—are of little concern at this moment. I’m not sure how we would go about breaking up a group we didn’t know existed— again, if they do—until a couple of hours ago. We don’t know what military units are involved in this, or where they are located. We don’t know what commanders we can trust. For that matter, I don’t know if I can trust any of my staff, and you don’t know if you can trust me. I don’t know if I can trust any of you!”
Fayers’ gaze swept each man. Words of protestation formed on each tongue, then died before being sounded, each man knowing there was nothing he could do to convince the others of his innocence.
Fayers continued. “So we have to assume we can trust each other. That is the only way we can possibly deal with this.”
“How is the sub armed?” Ringold asked, feeling a bit less left out.
The admiral sighed, cutting his eyes to General Travee. “With Thunder-strikes,” he said.
“Oh, hell!” Hyde of the Air Force and Dowling of the Marine Corps spoke in unison.
“What is a Thunder-strike?” Ringold asked. The feeling of being left out once more struck him.
“Yes.” The president leaned forward. “I’d like to know that myself. I’ve never heard of anything called Thunder-strike.” He glanced at each of the Joint Chiefs.
General Hyde said, “The… ah… president before you… ah… authorized them, sir. Before our tenure on the Joint Chiefs, I might add,” he said, a bit defensively. “The code name is ‘Supersnoop.’ It is not a large missile, but it is very powerful… and practically unstoppable. Like the sub, it’s Stealth-coated. No one will pick them up until it’s too late. Hugs the ground.”
“How very interesting,” President Fayers said dryly. “How very informative. I can but assume construction continued even after the latest SALT was signed?”
Divico cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
“And they are not included in the breakdown of our nuclear arsenal?”
“That is correct, sir,” Divico admitted.
“Well, isn’t that marvelous?” the president said. “That sure as
No one said anything in rebuttal.
Fayers’ tone was sharp. “How many of these Thunder-strikes do we possess?”
“One hundred and fifty,” General Dowling replied.
Fayers swung his gaze to the marine. “You all knew of these missiles?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The weapon is very powerful?”
“Yes, sir. Some are equipped with germ-type warheads.”
Fayers slammed his hand on the table top, startling the men. “Well, that is just dandy. Yes, indeed. That is just fucking wonderful!”
And the president seldom used profanity.
Divico defended his missiles. “We had to have the edge, sir. Had to stay ahead of them. Without the missiles, the Russians would have never signed the new SALT. We talked of telling you, but…” His voice trailed off.
“Where are the Thunder-strikes stored?” Fayers asked.
“California.”
Fayers pointed a finger at Divico. “Admiral, you will—personally, tonight—transport yourself to that depot and count each Thunder-strike. Report back to me as soon as possible. Within hours. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m certain that all one hundred and fifty will not be at the depot,” Secretary Rees opined. “But of those that are, do we ready them for launch?”
“Yes,” Fayers said.
“I may take that as a direct order, sir?” Divico asked.
“Yes,” Fayers said.
“Dear God!” Ringold whispered.
