held JEEP-1 cards, was airborne thirty minutes later. Some went to the Alternate Emergency Command Center in Raven Rock, also known as SITE R; others to the civilian government emergency bunker, known as the Special Facility, in Mount Weather in northern Virginia.
Four hours later, all but four JEEP cardholders had been flown to their assigned locations. Fifty-nine were at the Special Facility at Mount Weather, and one hundred and ninety-four had arrived at SITE R in Raven Rock. The remaining four cardholders were from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, the government civil defence agency, and were still en route to the civil defence National Warning Center at Olney in Maryland.
‘What about Trooper Jones?’ Richter asked. ‘Where is he going to be crouching with his wad of plastic and his Arwen?’
Colin Dekker shrugged. ‘Flip a coin,’ he said. ‘That bloody lorry could stop anywhere in about a five- hundred-metre length of autoroute. He’ll just have to do a bit of sprinting.’
Richter shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. I can tell you where it’s going to stop.’
‘How?’ Dekker asked.
‘Easy,’ Richter said. ‘Borrow one of Erulin’s snipers and tell him to take out one of the truck’s tyres as it approaches, preferably one of the twin tyres on the tug – we don’t want it to crash. If the driver’s any good it should be stationary in under eighty metres.’
The rear door of the light blue van opened and one of the radio operators gestured to Lacomte. He walked over, listened a moment, and then returned. ‘Reims,’ he said. ‘Now we just have to wait for them to make the turn off the A4 and onto autoroute A26. After that, there’s really nowhere for them to go but here.’
Dekker and Erulin summoned their men and ran through the briefing one final time, then ordered them to suit-up. They donned bullet-proof Kevlar waistcoats under their combat jackets and checked their weapons and ammunition packs. Finally, they retuned their personal radios to a frequency specified by Lacomte, which would allow direct communication between all personnel and the radio van. That done, they sat down on the grass beside the hard shoulder, waiting for the go signal.
Richter and Westwood walked over to Lacomte’s van, and reached it just as he opened the rear door. ‘They’ve passed La Neuvilette,’ the Frenchman said. ‘They’ve made the turn, and I estimate arrival here in about thirty-five minutes.’
‘Right,’ Richter said, and walked over to tell Colin Dekker.
‘How soon do we move?’
‘Lieutenant Erulin can deploy his men as soon as he likes,’ Richter replied, ‘and so can you, but don’t position the Transit until the convoy’s about ten minutes away.’
‘Understood,’ Dekker said, and began issuing orders.
A long ten minutes passed before Lacomte’s radioman announced that the convoy had passed the Vallee de l’Aisne junction. That would be the last check until the vehicles passed under the D977, just to the east of Laon, and just minutes after that they would be on them.
‘Close the autoroute,’ Lacomte ordered, and Richter relayed the news to Dekker and Erulin, who were still waiting beside the Transit. Lacomte had emerged from the rear of his vehicle, and was walking over towards Richter when the radioman shouted. He doubled back quickly and listened intently to the message.
‘What is it?’ Richter asked.
‘They’ve pulled off the autoroute,’ Lacomte said.
Ambassador Karasin had known the American President for three years, and believed he knew him well. He was also, from necessity, able to interpret body language and to use his intuition. And what his intuition told him, as he sat in one of the Oval Office’s comfortable leather chairs, was that, despite the President’s placid exterior, he was consumed with fury.
‘Mr Ambassador,’ the President said smoothly, ‘are you absolutely certain that Moscow knows nothing of this matter?’
The Russian shook his head. ‘Nothing, Mr President. Nothing at all.’ Walter Hicks, sitting in a chair towards the back of the room, nodded to himself. He thought Karasin was probably telling the truth. ‘I spoke with the President himself,’ Karasin continued, ‘and he gave me his personal assurance, his personal assurance,’ Karasin repeated, emphasizing the words, ‘that he had authorized no action of the sort you suggested.’
The American looked at him for a moment before speaking. ‘Well, Mr Ambassador, that’s certainly good to know,’ he replied. Karasin relaxed slightly in his seat. ‘Unfortunately,’ the President continued, just as smoothly, ‘that does present us with something of a problem.’ Karasin looked at him, but said nothing. ‘When we last discussed this,’ the American said, ‘I told you that we had information that an assault was being planned by Russia upon America.’
‘Yes, Mr President,’ Karasin said, nodding. ‘I remember our conversation. I hope you also remember that I said at the time I had no knowledge of this alleged assault. I repeat that now, with the further assurance from our President.’
The American spoke softly. ‘Quite so, Mr Ambassador. The problem is that we now have it on unimpeachable authority that this assault has not just been planned.’ He paused. ‘We now know – not believe or think, but know – that this assault has already been implemented.’
Karasin clenched his fists, his face growing white. ‘I assure you, Mr President—’
‘Assurances, Stanislav,’ the American said, using Karasin’s first name quite deliberately, ‘are no longer sufficient. I have no choice but to advise you that, unless we receive an unequivocal guarantee from your President that the assault has been halted, no later than fifteen hundred hours Eastern Standard Time – that’s twenty three hundred hours Moscow time – today, then one hour later we will launch our strategic bomber force without any further notice or reference to you.’ Karasin shook his head. ‘You should also be aware, Mr Ambassador, that the United States will go to DEFCON ONE in—’ he looked at his watch ‘—a little over eight hours from now. You are aware, I hope, of what that implies.’
‘Yes, Mr President. We know what that means. I repeat, our President has assured me he knows nothing of this assault. How, then, will he be able to convince you that it has been stopped? And how can he stop it?’
The American stood up. ‘Those, Mr Ambassador, are his problems, not mine. I have told you what we will do. Our position is non-negotiable. Good day to you.’
‘What?’ Richter demanded. ‘Where? You mean they’ve turned off it?’
‘No,’ Lacomte said. ‘They’ve pulled into the service area just north of junction fourteen.’
Richter relaxed. ‘Probably just a fuel or food stop,’ he said.
‘I hope so,’ Lacomte replied, ‘but what concerns me is the traffic. I’ve just ordered the autoroute closed north of that junction.’
Richter thought for a moment. ‘We have to preserve the illusion of normality at all costs,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll have to open it up again until they get going.’
Lacomte nodded and jumped back into the van. Richter told Dekker his men could relax for a few more minutes, and climbed into Lacomte’s van to wait for news. The messages they were getting from the driver who had followed the convoy into the service area didn’t seem to indicate anything suspicious. The lorry had been refuelled, as had the cars, and the occupants were visiting the toilets and the shop, always leaving one person in each vehicle. After fifteen minutes, they started their engines again, and eased out into the traffic stream.
Lacomte waited until the pursuit car driver radioed that the convoy was established westbound, and then ordered the autoroute closed once again. ‘Now we wait,’ he said.
Twelve minutes later the radio speaker crackled and, behind the French, Richter could hear the sound of a big diesel engine. ‘The truck’s just passed the Foret de Samoussy rest area,’ Lacomte said. ‘Our first truck is pulling out to follow.’ A minute later the second truck moved out to follow the limousine, then running about half a
