'Southern end of the Kamchatka Peninsula,' said Arnold. 'Big Russian Navy base in Eastern Siberia, ass-end of nowhere. We had already tracked that ship every mile of the way on its Fleet Transfer from the Murmansk area, but we now know it had been sold to the Chinese, because it was too expensive to run.'
'Well, where is it now?' Again the President seemed rattled.
'We watched it sail from the Russian Base on Saturday morning, February ninth. Saw it turn south, and the Russians say it was almost certainly bound for Southern Fleet Headquarters in Zhanjiang. However, we have reason to believe the Barracuda dived ten miles offshore and then turned north.'
'Why did it?'
'Sir, do you really want to know that detail?'
'No. I believe you. It turned north. Then what?'
'Big cruise missiles slam into Valdez twenty days later.'
'And all the priceless surveillance in our expensive Navy heard nothing?'
'Correct. Not a whisper.'
'Well, why the hell not?'
'Because it was creeping along like a sneaky little bastard, sir. When nuclear boats go very, very slowly no one can hear them. 'Specially if they navigate away from obvious areas we might patrol.'
'Has anyone seen anything that could have been a submarine?'
'Not on this side of the Pacific, sir. But we know it was there. And in my opinion, it still is. I imagine my colleagues around the table agree?'
'I don't think there's much doubt about it,' said the CNO. General Scannell nodded and so did Admiral Morris and Bob MacPherson.
'Which leaves us with the option of the 'flaming datum.' We stay on high alert and wait for him to strike again.'
The President looked, felt, and was totally exasperated. 'Well, how many cruise missiles could he have?' he asked.
Admiral Morgan shook his head. 'We think a total of twenty-four, so far as we have ever known.'
'And how many has he fired?'
'Don't know. At least accurately we don't know, because we are still investigating Alaska. But we think he could have fired a total of fourteen — possibly eight at Valdez, almost certainly six at Grays Harbor.'
'So we are looking at one more attack, at least?'
'I guess so.'
The coffee and English muffins arrived at a timely moment, drawing the sting out of yet another Presidential riposte. But the Chief Executive now waited until it was served, until the man in the white coat had inquired formally of Admiral Morgan, 'Buckshot, sir?'
Then he demanded, 'But what about the Navy — there must be some kind of a protective barrier we can throw up?' He said it almost plaintively.
'It's a waste of time, sir,' said Admiral Dickson. 'By the time we put to sea, he could be anywhere.'
'I can see no option but to wait,' said Admiral Morgan. 'But I am worried about the Navy… '
'How do you mean?' asked the CNO.
'Well, the sub looks rather as if it is moving south, and there are a lot of ships in the San Diego Base. It would be terrible if he fired a cruise missile, or even a torpedo at a carrier.'
'Are you kidding me, or what?' said the President, eyebrows raised.
'Well, he just leveled an oil refinery that is a whole lot bigger than six carriers, and he didn't have much trouble doing that.'
'But surely there's some defense… '
'An incoming cruise,' said Admiral Dickson. 'Launched from out of the sea, traveling at six hundred knots, ten miles a minute, two hundred feet above the surface, unexpected, in the middle of the night. The odds are heavily with the attacker.'
'The only defense is to keep moving the goddamned ships around,' said Admiral Morgan. 'Foreign countries have daily satellite pictures of all our Bases, and this joker can very easily access and receive that data by sticking his mast a few feet out of the water for around seven seconds when he knows the ocean is deserted.
'Then he programs the GPS into the missile, and throws it straight at us, down the bearing, following the GPS data. It can't miss, and he's gone… '
'And moving the ships around would be a huge pain in the ass,' said Admiral Dickson. 'Sir, they are in the dockyard for several reasons, most of them to give the men some shore leave after months at sea, but also for refit and servicing. It takes about a thousand people to move a big aircraft carrier. It would cause havoc if we had to move them all every two days.'
'Hell, I guess so,' agreed the President. 'But there is one other thing I wanted to ask about the cruise missile. Can it adjust its course during flight?'
'Sure,' said Arnold. 'You just feed in a few different numbers before you launch it. But you can't change the flight plan after launch. Ultimately, it homes in on the GPS data, the position it received from the satellite picture, accurate to three meters.'
'Smart little steel bastard,' said the President.
'Actually, sir,' said Arnold, 'I do hate to seem pedantic, but I am afraid the cruise missile is a particularly dumb little bastard. It's entire guidance system depends one hundred percent on the GPS, which, as you know, is operated from one of our own military satellites. It allows everyone in the goddamned world to get an accurate fix to within three meters of accuracy.'
'WELL, WHAT'S EVERYONE IN THE GODDAMNED WORLD DOING ON OUR SATELLITES?' said the President, literally shouting now.
'Because your esteemed left-wing asshole predecessor decided to make it available to everyone, in his usual devious, dishonest, know-nothing, liberal shithead manner.'
Even in moments of near-paralyzing tension, Admiral Morgan's ability to bring the house down remained undiminished.
General Scannell, Admiral Morris, and Bob MacPherson burst into laughter. The President, chuckling, hesitated and then asked, 'No seriously, how come everyone, even this lunatic hurling missiles at us, can have access to the satellite?'
'Sir, it used to be that the GPS was strictly military, for our use only. Then it was decided the system was such a navigational help, it would make all kinds of human activity much easier. You know, sailing, trekking, mountaineering, rallying, merchant marine, everything…
'So we opened it up. BUT — and this is a big BUT — the military insisted that while we retained the cutting edge of accuracy to three meters, everyone else could have accuracy to one hundred fifty meters.'
'You mean,' said the President, 'if you were that far off course, you deserved to hit the beach in your brand-new Chesapeake cabin cruiser?'
'Correct, sir. If one hundred fifty meters wasn't good enough, go buy yourself a sextant and learn some navigation skills.'
'Well, then what?'
'I guess there was a whole lot of pressure from boat builders and navigational-aid manufacturers,' said Arnold. 'And your predecessor gave in, and said he did not see anything wrong with providing accurate navigational aid to everyone.'
'Christ, the military must have objected?'
'They actually raised hell, sir, because of today's obvious reasons.'
'And?'
'Your predecessor ignored them, as he ignored everything they ever said, except if he needed them for some diversionary tactic.'
'You mean if we switched off the satellite that feeds the GPS, they could no longer guide those missiles long distance.'
'Yes. That's what I mean.'
'Well switch the fucker off then,' said the President.
'OK,' said Arnold.
