“That’s my wife, always thinking ahead.”
Chapter 3
Five months before the event.
Weinstein met his old friend Dean Whitman at a steak house where they had a private table that could be closed off by a privacy curtain. Rick asked with a mouthful of steak, “What’s so important you needed to see me in person?”
“I want to show you something…”
Rick picked up the folded pages and began reading. He dropped his fork and quickly forgot about his meal. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
“I wish it was, I really do. I can attest to the grad student and professor who ran the numbers. I ran them through our supercomputer in the science department. Here’s the printout from “Big Bertha.” These will really turn your stomach.”
Rick looked up while holding the folded computer printouts, “How long?”
“Five months.”
“Are you one hundred percent sure? I can’t send this up the line unless you’re one hundred percent sure. If you’re wrong, you’ll be finished here, and you’ll never work in any university again. Now, are you sure you want me to send this up the line?”
“Yes, I’m placing my name on this. I want you, I need you to send this up the line. Washington needs to do something about this or we’re all going to pay the devil.”
“I have one last question. Do you know where it will hit?”
“Someplace in the northern hemisphere. If it hits the ocean, the tidal wave will be over five hundred feet high and it will destroy every city, Rick, every damn coastal city will be destroyed and that includes D.C. I can’t narrow it down any better than that. My little supercomputer isn’t up to that task. NASA will need to run the numbers…”
“How many know about this?”
“Counting you? I’d say no more than five. I don’t think the two who brought it to me told anyone…”
“I want their names and files…”
“Come on, you know I can’t give you their files. That’s confidential information…”
“I see. Okay then I’ll settle for their names and contact information.”
After the Dean left, Weinstein shook his head thinking, this is a disaster. If they’re right, it will create a panic unlike anything we’ve ever experienced. Way more than the stupid pandemics. The President will use this to go to town and start well, who knows what that cowboy will do. All we needed after three pandemics was another outsider who thinks history and rules don’t apply to him. We had to ruin one to get rid of him and then we got one who was brain dead after almost ruining us and then we got another outsider and this one is so outside he hasn’t found the door to come in yet. I better get the agency on checking these two locals out before I do anything else. I can best do that from Area 51.
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Area 51 is usually associated with the rumors of aliens and hidden alien flying saucers. In reality, it’s part of the US Air Force test range called Groom Lake where secret planes and equipment are tested. One of Rick’s unofficial tasks was to monitor the test flight program of the B-21, the new stealth bomber. The previous administration had reduced the military budget so much to fund social programs that the B-21 was three years behind schedule. It should have already entered service and yet only a handful of the secret planes were flying test missions. Rick’s mission this week was to oversee the results of the bombers’ new self-protection systems which was a combination of electronic jamming, chaff, and decoys.
Once Weinstein was in a secured SCIF he placed a call to NSA’s secure computer, “This is ID number WHOXray 5671. I have an approved surveillance mission, two subjects, I am sending the files over now. Priority TS, presidential level 001.”
“Please repeat priority level.” Replied the computer.
“TS, presidential level 001.”
“Code accepted, mission accepted.”
Weinstein added, “Twice daily updates.”
“Accepted.” Replied the computer.
Rick’s next call went to the secure computer at the Department of Anti-threats, North America at the Department of Homeland Security. “ID number WHOXray 5671. I have an ELLIE mission, repeat, this is an ELLIE mission. NSA file, Delta Foxtrot, 07222230.”
“Confirmed. Action required?”
Weinstein thought, I love automated systems. I don’t have to deal with people who will ask stupid questions and waste my time, time we don’t have. The system will handle the requests and automatically issue the orders. All I have to do is enter the correct access code and priority level and like magic, it’s done. I can even make someone disappear by entering the correct code, although that one I don’t have yet. Anyway, what I need now is them to be watched and to make sure they don’t spread the secret until we’re ready to release it, if we ever do.
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Professor Wright checked Imus’s work on his own computer, and he logged onto the university’s computer network which used spare computing power on every networked computer to calculate the rock’s impact point. He let the computers crunch the numbers until the display on his laptop blinked informing him the task he’s programmed had been completed. He looked at the message and froze. Oh, by all that’s holy. It can’t be.
A computer at the NSA pinged at the same moment, an encrypted message was sent to Weinstein on his government issued encrypted phone. He shook his head at the message. “contact has received computed message.”
What the F does that mean? Damn computers I wish someone had programmed them to speak in ENGLISH. How difficult could that have been? Native language computer, what utter BS.
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Jon wished his old windshield wipers worked better. The damn wind and snow are falling and blowing faster than the wipers, even in their fastest setting, can clear the windshield.
