Last Gasp

judge him on this one decision--always supposing there was anyone left to write it.

'Is there a realistic assessment of the potential threat?' asked General Smith, the army's representative on the Joint Chiefs. 'Three years has been mentioned as a finalization point. So what exactly can we expect to see happen in 2001?'

Madden looked up from his pad and gave an almost imperceptible nod to Farrer. The scientist had been exhaustively briefed and rigorously rehearsed, and he launched in confidently.

'There are several possible effects of the rivers' diversion scheme-- code-named Project Arrow by the Soviets--three of which we regard as presenting real hazards to the United States.

'First, the melting of the ice in the Spitsbergen region north of Scandinavia, known as the Eurasian Basin, will produce positive feedback, causing more ice to break up and melt over an increasingly wide area of the Arctic Ocean. This will bring a rise in mean sea level of between seventy and one-hundred-fifty feet, flooding many of our coastal cities and towns, including New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Miami, New Orleans, and scores of other places.

'Second, the change in the ice cover will almost certainly disrupt the circumpolar wind pattern in the Northern Hemisphere, altering the climate right across Europe, Siberia, Alaska, and Canada. This in turn will affect the climate of the United States. It isn't possible to know precisely how, though computer modeling studies indicate that the average temperature of the midwestern states will fall by something like four to seven degrees, which will effectively wipe out all grain production in that region.

'Third, the atmospheric circulation systems will also be affected by the warming of the Arctic Ocean, and since we know that these directly relate to the weather in the tropics it is reasonable to assume that the southern states will experience a shift in climatic patterns. Again, this is impossible to predict accurately, but we believe that the weather will become much more erratic, alternating between torrential rainfall on the scale of monsoons in the southeast and prolonged droughts in the western desert regions.'

'Floods, Starvation, Drought,' barked Blindeye Wolfe, spelling it out in headlines. He looked grimly along the table toward the secretary of defense, eyes narrowed so that they almost disappeared in the creases of his face. 'Jesus, the Soviets have the perfect weapon--the goddamn climate! No call to use their nuclear capability. They'll just drown, starve, and fry us into submission!'

'How much of this is conjecture and how much is fact?' Lebasse said.

Farrer's fair complexion colored a little. 'Well, sir, it's extremely difficult to prove until it actually happens,' he admitted. 'We rely on computer modeling studies for much of our information, but even the most conservative estimates are very disturbing. A minor change in global climate can have disastrous long-term effects.' He cleared his throat. 'For example, it's been calculated that an increase of only four degrees Celsius would be required to melt the entire polar ice cap. The Russians won't achieve that, but even a fraction of that increase would be enough to bring about the effects I've outlined.' He glanced at Madden, but the major was still intent on his doodling.

Lebasse's expression remained inscrutable. The concealed lighting in the windowless room made blurred highlights on the dome of his head.

'That's a pretty horrific scenario,' he said eventually, and then, as if sparked by a new thought, 'Why isn't the president's senior scientific adviser here today?'

Major Madden stirred himself. He had drawn a dagger through the erect penis, which was dripping blood. 'DEPARTMENT STORE has a special security status, Mr. Secretary. Access is restricted to designated military personnel.'

'And that excludes Professor Lucas?' Lebasse frowned.

'Yes, sir.'

Lebasse sighed, shaking his head. 'That's a pity. I'd like his opinion on the scientific validity of all this.' He tapped the thick dossier and looked across at Farrer. 'I'm not disputing anything you've told me, young fella, but before I make my recommendations to the president I want to be absolutely sure we've got this right.' He added darkly, 'I know all about computer predictions. They can be made to prove, or disprove, just about anything you care to name.'

'These came from the DELFI facility at the National Center for Atmospheric Research,' Farrer supplied helpfully. 'It's acknowledged to have the most sophisticated and comprehensive predictive capability anywhere in the world.'

'That I don't doubt,' Lebasse muttered. 'But I'm damned if a decision of this magnitude is going to be based on the say-so of a box of microchips, no matter how 'sophisticated and comprehensive.' ' His gaze swiveled in the direction of General Wolfe and Major Madden. 'I don't see any reason why Professor Lucas can't be given clearance of DEPARTMENT STORE, do you? He is the president's senior adviser in these matters.'

Madden looked up from the pad on which he was drawing, rather crudely, a naked woman with huge breasts and pneumatic thighs, complete with genitalia. 'I'm not completely happy about that, sir--'

'Dammit, man, why not? Do think Gene Lucas is a security risk?'

If the secretary of defense decreed it, then of course it would have to be, Madden knew full well. But it couldn't be allowed to happen. Lucas wasn't in anyone's pocket: He'd give an unbiased and independent evaluation of the Russian threat and the merits of the U.S. project to counter it. Which may, or may not, be in their favor.

They'd have to head this off somehow.

Correction. He'd have to head it off.

'Yes, Mr. Secretary, of course. I'm pretty sure that can be arranged.' Madden smiled with his thin lips. 'It will have to be processed through Advanced Strategic Projects, under whose auspices DEPARTMENT STORE has been developed, but that's a mere formality.'

'How long?'

'Sir?'

'How long will it take to give Professor Lucas security clearance?' asked Lebasse impatiently.

'Forty-eight hours.'

'Good. That's fine.' Lebasse leaned back, palms pressed together.

'Providing there isn't a conflict of interests.'

'What are you talking about?' Lebasse curled his hands into little fists and rested them on the table. 'What conflict of interests?' He was watching Major Madden suspiciously and making no attempt to conceal it.

Madden's face didn't betray for an instant how close to the wind he was sailing. Without a moment's hesitation he replied smoothly, 'When ASP was set up, six years ago, one of the directives was to the effect that no military or scientific personnel who had spoken out against Agent Orange were to be permitted access to or knowledge of DEPARTMENT STORE in any shape or form. Hence the special security classification.'

Yes, that made sense, Lebasse had to admit. Agent Orange was the chemical defoliant used in Vietnam, which years after the war ended was found to have maimed and killed thousands of American combat troops and aircrew, causing cancer, skin diseases, ugly growths on various parts of the body, as well as genetic damage. Many of their children had been born with malformed limbs, blindness, heart defects, duplicate reproductive organs, and internal organs growing outside their body.

Anyone who had voiced disgust or outrage over Agent Orange wouldn't countenance DEPARTMENT STORE in a million years, Lebasse could see that. So what stance had Gene Lucas taken on the issue? Lebasse didn't know.

Neither did he know that Major Madden had two minutes previously invented the ASP directive. None such existed. The deception was risky but necessary under the circumstances. Madden would dig up something on Lucas and Agent Orange, and if he couldn't he'd invent that too.

'Then I'll leave it with you, Major,' Lebasse said. 'You'll inform my office the minute you have anything.'

'Yes, Mr. Secretary.' As if he were making a note, Madden drew a bold arrow from the woman's vagina to the name of the secretary of defense heavily ringed in black. 'Without delay.'

'One question I'd like to ask Major Madden, Tom, before we wind up,' said General Stafford.

'Sure, Walt, go ahead.'

'Assuming we get presidential approval, how soon before DEPARTMENT STORE is fully operational? I mean combat-ready?'

'Fourteen months.' 'You sound very sure of that, Major.'