how thick was the floor of the crater…You know, it might have been impenetrable. And, anyway, where could the missile have come from — I imagine you’re not talking ICBM, are you?”
“Well, not from Hamas. God help us if they’ve got one of those. But I’m thinking maybe a cruise aimed at the crater. Or two. Or three. Or more.”
“Fired from?”
“Usual place, George. Possibly that second
“Well, I suppose that’s all possible. But with this Administration, we cannot spend a lot of time chasing up theories like that. They’re already asking us to downsize every department. There’s going to be enormous budget cuts, and they have their own agendas, mostly to do with calling off our worldwide hunt for imaginary terrorists.”
“Hmmmm,” said Arnie. “Do you think they’re going to react in any way to the letter from Hamas?”
“Romney will dismiss it as a hoax. And the President will agree with him. My guess is, it will never get as far as here. Though they might just forward a copy to the CIA.”
“How about it isn’t a hoax. How about they did hit Mount St. Helens? How about they are in that fucking nuclear submarine, loaded to the gunwales with missiles, planning God knows what? How about they really did send a letter of warning?”
“I guess we’ll know soon enough,” said George.
“How’dya mean?”
“Well, that letter was unfinished,” said George.
George’s voice trailed off. “That’s what it really said, right?”
“Absolutely. And if the letter has any substance whatsoever, we’ll hear again, correct?”
“That’s my take on it, Arnie, old buddy.”
“Okay. But meanwhile I would like you to ask young Ramshawe to do a bit of sleuthing, check a few things up for me…I want to show him the letter, if that’s okay by you.”
“No problem. I’ll walk you down to his office. He’s less busy these days. We all are.”
The two Admirals finished their coffee and walked down to the office of the Director’s assistant. Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe was hunched over a pile of papers, his office much less like a rubbish tip than usual, the clear and obvious sign of a workload reduction.
Everything had changed in the world of international Intelligence. Where once people in the White House and the Pentagon jumped when a single word of warning emanated from Fort Meade, nowadays there was only cynicism. NSA suspicions were dismissed curtly. The new Administration’s significant operations staff followed their President’s lead — that is, the CIA, the FBI, the Military, and the National Security Agency were comprised of a group of old-fashioned spooks, out of touch with reality, living in a somewhat murky past of Cold Wars, Hot Wars, and random terrorism.
The modern world, at the conclusion of the first decade of the new millennium, was a completely different place. What mattered here was friendship, cooperation, not military buildups, witch-hunts for allegedly corrupt dictators, and truly ferocious attacks by America’s Special Forces against those who displeased or ran foul of the United States.
People like old Arnold Morgan, even General Scannell, Admiral Dickson, and certainly Admirals John Bergstrom (SPECWARCOM) and George Morris, were regarded as dinosaurs. Young White House execs had taken to using Jurassic Park as a kind of insider’s code name for the great Fort Meade Intelligence complex. The Pentagon’s high command were The Psychopaths. And President McBride had served notice that he did not like being surrounded by the Military, not inside his own White House. And this despite the fact that the Navy practically ran the place, the Army providing the cars and drivers, the Defense Department the communications, the Air Force all aircraft, and the Navy the helicopters.
Yes, a President could marginalize the military. And yes, he could dismiss them as irrelevant to his programs. But, as Commander in Chief, he would upset the Admirals and Generals at his own peril. No President of the United States had ever gone quite as far as losing the confidence of the Pentagon.
So far, Charles McBride was only tinkering. But he was already having an effect, and soon young officers like Lt. Comdr. Jimmy Ramshawe might decide the civilian world was beckoning. But not yet.
“G’day, gentlemen,” he greeted the two Admirals. And he stood up to shake hands with Admiral Morgan. “Peaceful retirement, sir? Not missing the factory yet?”
Arnold chuckled, amused that Jimmy still remembered he traditionally referred to the White House as “the factory.”
Admiral Morris took his leave, saying, “Jimmy, the Admiral wants to have a chat with you. I have to go to that meeting. You needn’t bother about it. Stay here and talk to Arnold. He’s got some interesting stuff to show you.”
“As ever,” replied the Lt. Commander, grinning his lopsided Aussie grin. “See you later, sir. Okay, Admiral, I’m all ears.”
Arnold Morgan took out the copy of the Hamas letter and handed it over, watching while Jimmy read. “Streuth,” he said softly. “That looks to me like these bastards just blew up Mount St. Helens?”
“Maybe,” said Arnold, cautiously.
“Well, if they didn’t, what’s this then?”
“Good question, James. Good question. Although we shouldn’t dismiss the straightforward answer that it’s just an ordinary hoax, the kind we get from all manner of fucking lunatics, all the time.”
“Yeah. But this is a bit subtle for a lunatic, sir. They’re apt to write more on the lines of…‘
“I know. That’s true. And I’m glad you’re getting a feeling of authenticity from this note. Like I am. It’s just the way it’s phrased. And George jumped on the fact that it seemed like unfinished business…‘
“That’s my feeling. No doubt,” replied Jimmy.
“Well, to short-circuit a lot of chat,” said Arnold, “let’s assume they did blow Mount St. Helens. A bomb could not have done it. Which leaves a missile, or missiles.
“As ever, they seemed to come from nowhere. As ever, they must have come from a submarine. You know, specially made cruises, big, sharp-pointed nose cones that would pierce the floor of the crater. So far as I can see, that’s the only possibility. So…where, Jimmy, is the second
“Hold it, sir. Lemme just jump into the ole computer.” He hit several keys, the screen flashed a few times and settled into the file he requested. “Sir, I’ll read this stuff off, just the important bits…You might want to make a couple of notations while I do it. Here’s a notepad and a pen…ready?”
“Fire at will,” replied the Admiral, easing into the spirit of things.
“July 5, spotted the
“She could have gone through the Korean Strait, or around the outside of Japan, and headed north, south, east, or west. Or even back to Zhanjiang, where she’d been for many months. The satellite shots showed three tiny figures on the bridge. I made a note, hope to Christ one of ’em wasn’t Major Ray Kerman, or we’re in real trouble!
“She dived as soon as the water was deep enough off South Korea, then vanished. But I have two more notes here…on July 16, our SOSUS Station on the island of Attu, far west end of the Aleutians, reported a transient contact to the north, 53.51–175.01 East. They thought it was a nuclear turbine. They also thought it was Russian. Heard a lot of noise, ballast blowing, high revs for one minute. Then nothing.
“But we picked up something on July 22, six days later, precisely consistent with a submarine making a very slow 5-knot passage for 720 miles to the Unimak Pass. It was just a radar contact…five seconds…three sweeps on the screen.
“Then it disappeared. Tell you the truth, sir, I would not have bothered much. It was just the length of
