Shadow Command

“Jee-sus…” Gardner breathed. “You mean, they could already have infected our communications and tracking systems?”

“As soon as McLanahan decided to embark on this conflict, he could have ordered the attacks,” Miller said. “Every piece of digital electronic equipment in use that receives data from the airwaves, or is networked into another system that is, could have been infected almost instantly.”

“That’s every electronic system I know of!” the President exclaimed. “Hell, my daughter’s handheld game machine is tied into the Internet! How could this have happened?”

“Because we ordered him to find a way to do it, sir,” chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff General Taylor Bain replied. “It’s an incredible force multiplier, which was important when almost every long- range attack aircraft in our arsenal was destroyed. Every satellite and every aircraft — including his unmanned aircraft and Armstrong Space Station — is capable of electronic netrusion. He can infect computers in Russia from space or simply from a drone flying within range of a Russian radar site. He can prevent a war from happening because the enemy would either never know he was coming or would be powerless to respond.”

“The problem is, he can do it to us now too!” the President exclaimed. “You need to find a way to shield our systems from this kind of attack.”

“It’s in the works, Mr. President,” Carlyle said. “Firewalls and anti-virus software can protect computers that already have it, but we’re developing ways to plug the security gaps in systems that aren’t normally considered vulnerable to network attacks, such as radar, electronic surveillance such as electro-optical cameras, or passive electronic sensors.”

“The other problem,” Bain added, “is that being the unit that developed and is designing the netrusion systems, the High-Technology Aerospace Weapons Center has been in the forefront of developing countermeasures to it.”

“So the guys who are employing the thing are the ones who know how to defeat it,” the President said disgustedly. “Swell. That helps.” He shook his head in exasperation as he tried to think. Finally he turned to the two congressmen in the Oval Office. “Senator, Representative, I asked you in here because this has become a very serious problem, and I need the advice and support of the leadership. Most of us in this room think McLanahan is unhinged. Senator, you seem to feel differently.”

“I do, Mr. President,” Senator Stacy Anne Barbeau said. “Let me try talking with him. He knows I support his space program, and I support him.”

“It’s too dangerous, Senator,” the President said. “One man has died, and several more have been injured by McLanahan and his weapons.”

“A frontal assault with armed troops won’t work unless you’re going to attempt a D-Day invasion, Mr. President,” Barbeau said, “and we can’t pen him up inside Dreamland when he’s got spaceplanes, unmanned aerial vehicles, and bombers roaming around inside a thousand square miles of desert, patrolled by gadgets no one’s ever heard of before. He won’t be expecting me. Besides, I think I might have some folks on the inside who will help. They’re just as concerned as I about the general’s welfare.”

There were no other comments made — no one had any other suggestions, and certainly no one else was going to volunteer to stick their heads in the tiger’s jaws like the Navy SEALs had. “Then it’s decided,” the President said. “Thank you for this undertaking, Senator. I assure all of you, we’ll do everything possible to see to your safety. I’d like to speak to the senator in private for a moment. Thank you all.” The White House chief of staff escorted them all out of the Cabinet Room, and Gardner and Barbeau moved to the President’s private office adjacent to the Oval Office.

No sooner had the door closed than Gardner’s arms were around her waist and he was snuggling her neck. “You macho hot bitch,” he said. “What kind of crazy idea is this? Why do you want to go to Dreamland? And who is this guy you say you’ve got on the inside?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Joe,” Barbeau said. “You sent in the SEALs and they didn’t get it done — the last thing you want to do is start a war out there. Your poll numbers will go down even farther. Let me try it my way first.”

“All right, sugar, you got it,” Gardner said. He let her turn in his arms, then began to run his hands over her breasts. “But if you’re successful — and I have no doubt you will be — what is it you want in return?”

“We have a good deal going already, Mr. President,” Barbeau said, pressing his hands even tighter around her nipples. “But I’m interested in one thing Carlyle was talking about: the netrusion thing.”

“What about it?”

“I want it,” Barbeau said. “Barksdale gets the network warfare mission — not the Navy, not STRATCOM.”

“You understand all that stuff?”

“Not all of it, but I will, in very short order,” Barbeau said confidently. “But I do know that Furness at Battle Mountain has all the bombers and unmanned combat aircraft that use netrusion technology — I want them at Barksdale, along with all the network warfare stuff. All of it. Downsize or even eliminate the B-52s if you want, but Barksdale runs network warfare for anything that flies — drones, B-2s, satellites, the space-based radar, everything.”

The fingers on Barbeau’s nipples tensed. “You’re not talking about keeping the space station?” Gardner asked. “That’s five billion I want to go to two aircraft carriers.”

“The space station can fry for all I care — I want the technology behind it, especially the space-based radar,” Barbeau said. “The space station is dead anyway — folks consider it McLanahan’s orbiting graveyard, and I don’t want to be associated with it. But the nuts and bolts behind the station are what I want. I know STRATCOM, and Air Force Space Command will want netrusion aboard their reconnaissance, airborne command posts, and spacecraft, but you have to agree to fight that. I want the Eighth Air Force at Barksdale to control netrusion.”

The President’s hands began their ministrations once again, and she knew she had him. “Whatever you say, Stacy,” Gardner said distractedly. “It’s a lot of hocus-pocus gobbledygook to me — what bad guys around the world understand is a fucking aircraft carrier battle group parked off their coastline, in their faces, not network attacks and computer magic. If you want this computer-fucking virus thing, you’re welcome to it. Just get Congress to agree to stop funding the space station and give me my two aircraft carriers, minimum, and you can have your cyberwar shit.”

She turned toward him, letting her breasts slide tightly across his chest. “Thank you, baby,” she said, kissing him deeply. She placed a hand on his crotch, feeling him jump at her touch. “I’d seal our deal in the usual manner, but I have a plane to catch to Vegas. I’ll have McLanahan in prison by tomorrow evening…or I’ll expose him as a raving lunatic so severely that the American people will be clamoring for you to take him down.”

“I’d love to give you a big going-away present too, honey,” Gardner said, giving Barbeau a playful pat on her behind, then taking a seat at his desk and lighting up a cigar, “but Zevitin’s going to call in a few minutes, and I’ve got to explain to him that I’m still in control of this McLanahan mess.”

“Screw Zevitin,” Barbeau said. “I suspect that everything McLanahan said about the Russians putting a super-laser in Iran and firing on the spaceplane is true, Joe. McLanahan might be going off the deep end by ignoring your orders, attacking without authorization, and then battling the SEALs, but Zevitin’s up to something here. McLanahan doesn’t just fly off the handle.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, Stacy,” Gardner said. “We’ve got good communications open with Moscow. All they want are assurances that we’re not trying to bottle them up. McLanahan is making the whole world, not just the Russians, nervous, and that’s bad for business.”

“But it’s good for getting votes in Congress for new aircraft carrier battle groups, honey.”

“Not if we have a rogue general on our hands, Stacy. Take McLanahan down, but do it quietly. He could ruin everything for us.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. President,” Barbeau said, giving him a wink and a toss of her hair. “He’s going down…one way or another.”

Barbeau met up with her chief of staff Colleen Morna outside the executive suites, and they walked quickly to her waiting car. “The trip’s all set, Senator,” Morna said after they were on their way back to her office on Capitol Hill. “I have the billing codes for the whole trip from the White House, and they even gave us authorization for a C- 37—a Gulfstream Five. That means we can take eight guests with us to Vegas.”

“Perfect. I got a verbal agreement from Gardner about relocating and centralizing all of the DoD network warfare units to Barksdale. Find out which contractors and lobbyists we need to organize to get that done and invite