suitcase nuke into a nuclear MRI machine in a container. Like you thought, the machine was delivered before we clamped down, so they just inspected the container and verified a hot machine inside and then with a police escort passed all our detectors to …”
“NYU Medical Center. I got it!”
Joey was speechless. Bill had hung up as Joey said, “How did you…”
The laundry hamper bumped and rumbled across the roof despite the efforts of the orderly not to disturb the case cushioned atop 10 dirty pillows and made snug by rolled-up heavy blankets on all sides. Once he landed, Number 1 ran to help him, ordering, “Lift; take the weight off the wheels to lessen the bumps.”
Near the aircraft, they lifted the case, kicked over the hamper, and rested it on the hamper’s side. Number 1 opened the case and methodically armed each part of the firing circuits in the exact sequence. The Russian legends and Cyrillic markings on the bomb, long since translated in his head, posed no challenge. Then he removed a lead separator, which kept the volatile nuclear isotopes relatively safe during transit. He dialed a timer to five minutes. Satisfied that this was done, he pulled a pin from a switch guard. There was no longer a physical obstruction in the way of the switch handle’s path.
“For Allah, for my people, for my father and my sisters, and with my brother moving my hand, let the
He threw the last switch.
“The Ambassador to the U.N., her staff, Undersecretary of Commerce, and SCIAD.” The head of the Secret Service read off the short list of administration assets in New York City to the President and his COS.
“Are they all safe and in secure environments?” The Chief of Staff asked.
The Ambassador is at the U.N. and has her detail. The Under Sec is now at the Fed Dep and secure. Quarterback, er, SCIAD and Mrs. Hiccock are presently unaccounted for.”
“What does Bill’s detail report?”
“Well, sir, I am sorry to say that Mr. Hiccock left the hotel without notifying his detail.”
“He’s a science nerd and he gave your top-notch agents the slip?”
“With all due respect, my men were essentially escorting him. We had no threats, no actionable intelligence. As you know, the weakest link in any protection plan is the protectee. If they don’t play ball, short of physical restraint, there isn’t much we can do. Unless the President orders us to close-cover the protectee as a national asset, then we remove the possibility of them exercising any discretion on the level of protection.”
The COS waved him off. “Okay, okay. Don’t quote me the manual chapter and verse.”
“What about Mrs. Hiccock? I personally ordered protection for her. Can’t we find her by calling them?”
“There’s been some sort of hostage scenario occurring in New York. We’re getting more intel now, but even the NYPD doesn’t have a clear picture yet.”
“First the radiological bomb in the station and now a hostage taking? What’s the FBI think?” the President asked.
“They’re just getting this also. We’re talking the last 30 seconds, sir.”
“Find the Hiccocks. I want quarter-hours on this. You brief me, Bob.”
They were going up First Avenue when Bill’s cell rang. “Agent Burell, have you found out anything?”
Bridgestone tried to glean the gist of the call.
“And you are pretty certain that this is golden? Okay, thanks and sorry you had to do that.” Bill ended the phone call.
“What are we dealing with, Mr. Hiccock?”
“Agent Burrell learned that they do have the nuke and are planning on an airburst over midtown from the copter. You were right; the hospital was the cover for the radiological signature.”
“How did the lady come to this knowledge?”
“She had to cut him a few times and threaten to take away his ability to procreate, but he ain’t dead.”
“We should buy her a drink if we survive this afternoon.”
The Chief of Staff hurriedly entered the room. “Mr. President, Bill Hiccock on the line.”
“Bill, where are you?”
Bill’s voice filled the room from the speakerphone. “I’m in midtown Manhattan. Bridgestone and I are in hot pursuit of a news helicopter that may be the delivery method of the suitcase nuke.”
“Another suitcase nuke? What makes you think that, Bill?”
“Could be the same one, sir. Dr. Quan Li confirmed the Persian Gulf spike was weaker than the refinery spike. The attack on our ship was intended to fail and appear like we sunk the suitcase nuke as well. It was just a low- level radiological device. Everything, including the seemingly premature announcement taking credit, was all deception. Thanks to your order covering her, Agent Burrell has derived intelligence to support that they have the loose nuke in the city and are planning an airburst.”
“Airburst? How can they pull off an airburst?”
“Bridgestone’s trail led to a movie company that rigged up a copter and we’ve just observed it landing at a hospital in Manhattan. They could be transferring the nuke now, sir.”
“What do you need, Bill?”
“Opinions, sir. Do we shoot it down or do something else? I’m afraid we may only have a few minutes, if that much.”
“Got it. Bill. I’m switching you to the Sitch Room. Ray and I will hustle down. Meanwhile, our military guys and nuke experts are there. Start without me.”
The President put the phone on hold.
Ray picked up the other phone and ordered the call directed to the Situation Room, nine floors below. When he hung up, he asked the President, “Why did you choose not to tell him that his wife might be involved in the hostage scenario?”
“Do we know that for sure? He’s the point man for this administration in what, God forbid, could turn out to be the greatest mass murder in history. I need him focused on saving millions. If we find out that she is in danger, we’ll tell him what we know, but not rumors.”
“Yes, sir. One last thing, sir.”
“Yes.”
“We don’t know if the station bomb isn’t a failed suitcase device. It may blow. I recommend you prepare for that possibility.”
“How do you prepare for something like that?”
“Prayer?” Ray Reynolds said as he went off to put his staff and their minions on alert.
The President sat for a moment, the enormity of what could be going on settling in his mind. He looked at the picture of his daughter, Marie, on his desk. That nuke was still out there… the one they knew of. There could be more. He reached into his drawer and retrieved a folder. The breaking of the band that sealed the folder revealed in red letters across the face “Jesus Factor.” Mitchell spent the next three minutes uninterrupted as he read what only one of his predecessors had even seen.
On the 69th parallel, in the Aleutian Islands, there was a DEW line early tracking station. In its four-foot, concrete-walled installation was a circa 1969 IBM Systems 360 — 65 computer. It was hooked up to two radio- telescope dishes located out on the frozen tundra. Their sole purpose was to track to within a meter the true distance to the sun from the Earth at every second of the day for every day in the 35 years since it went online. Two Air Force techs at the Defense Early Warning facility checked on it every eight hours. They didn’t know why or for what reason they did this. The computer was hooked up to NORAD. There, at the North American Aerospace Defense Command, was a single unmanned console. The commander of the watch had sealed orders on how to operate the console if a call from the President ever came.
There was no need to authenticate the voice on the other end. The watch commander knew that this was the President’s personal line to NORAD.
“Yes sir,” he said crisply as he answered a phone that hadn’t rung since the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962.
