National Security Advisor, Defense Secretary, and Secretary of State — not bad for someone whom the Chiefs of Staff had obviously decided to shunt aside, General Samson thought, checking his uniform.
Of course, he also had three men who might be charged with a war crime. Even if he could blame that on Colonel Bastian, the stain might spread to him. Samson had decided he’d have to handle the issue with kid gloves. Certainly he’d defend the men, especially if there was evidence that they weren’t to blame. But if push came to shove, three sergeants weren’t worth jeopardizing his career over.
“They’re ready for us, General,” said Major Catsman.
“How do I look, Natalie?” Samson asked, presenting himself.
“Very good, sir.”
Samson smiled appreciatively. Use a woman’s first name, defer to her judgment on aesthetics, and they’d follow you anywhere.
Catsman could be salvaged, as long as he surrounded her with enough of his own people. He needed a good staff officer, someone who knew the place well, so he could avoid the land mines while reshaping the place.
Catsman led Samson down the main hallway to the elevator. Inside, they had to wait for the security devices to take their measurements.
“We’re getting rid of that thing,” said Samson impatiently.
“General?”
“The biometric thing or whatever the hell it is that’s wasting our time.”
The elevator jerked the doors closed, as if it had overheard. Samson wondered if maybe it had — there was no telling what the eggheads had concocted here.
The video conference had already begun by the time Samson arrived. Colonel Bastian’s red-eyed, stubble- cheeked mug filled the center screen.
“The aircraft were definitely Chinese,” Colonel Bastian was saying. “Absolutely no doubt.”
“Were you over their territory?” asked Secretary of State Jeffrey Hartman.
“Not for the better part of the engagement.”
“Which means you were at one point.”
“After we attacked, certainly.”
“Before then?” asked Hartman.
“I’d have to review the mission tape. The border there is tricky.”
“Do these new weapons pose a threat?” asked Secretary of Defense Arthur Chastain.
“We can neutralize them now that we realize they exist,” said Dog. “We’ll use radar-emitting decoys.”
“What weapons is he talking about?” Samson asked Catsman.
He thought he was whispering, but his voice was picked up by a nearby microphone and transmitted over the network.
“Good evening, General,” said the Secretary of Defense. “We’re speaking of the radiation homing missiles the Chinese used against the
“I see,” said Samson. Had he been briefed on this earlier? He didn’t think so, but then he’d spent the day listening to so many reports about weapons systems that he couldn’t be sure.
“The missiles aren’t the major threat,” said Bastian. “As more of the power comes back and the military in both India and Pakistan turn their attention back to their borders, it’s going to be difficult for us to operate up there all. The Marines and our Whiplash people are operating very far from the coast — too far. We have to wrap it up quickly.”
“I’m of the opinion that we wrap it up now,” said the Secretary of Defense.
“There are only three warheads left,” said the Secretary of State. “If we don’t get them, someone else will. Terrorists, most likely.”
“The Ch-Ch-Chinese are helping them,” said a young man Samson didn’t recognize.
“Who is that?” Samson asked Catsman. “He has a terrible stutter.”
Again, Samson thought his comments were private. But the session was conducted with open mikes, and everyone on the line heard. The young man — Jed Barclay — turned beet red.
“NSC liaison,” said Catsman.
“Navy intelligence has a different view,” said Admiral Balboa. “They don’t see a link. The Chinese actions can be explained by their own internal needs. And you were over their territory, Bastian. You shouldn’t have fired.”
“I was under fire already,” said the colonel. “I did what I had to defend myself and complete my mission.”
Samson felt torn. Bastian was surely correct, and one of his people; the general felt he should stick up for him. But on the other hand, Balboa was the head of the Joint Chiefs, and the lieutenant colonel’s tone was hardly respectful.
“And then there’s the matter of that baby,” said Balboa. “Wait until the media gets a hold of that. Al Jazeera, or whatever that damn Arab television station is — they’ll crucify us.”
“I take responsibility, Admiral,” said Bastian.
That was just what Samson wanted to hear. The colonel explained the circumstances, adding that the entire incident had been caught on video.
“So we’ve heard,” said Balboa. “I, for one, haven’t seen it.”
“As tragic as it was,” said Admiral Woods, “it does appear to have been an accident. The Dreamland people uploaded some of the digitalized recording of the event. Obviously, I still want to speak to the men, but from what I’ve seen—”
“I’m looking into it personally myself,” said Samson, protecting his territory. “I’m going to speak to them. I’ll make a full report.”
Woods frowned. There would be a question of jurisdiction and priority — the men were under Samson’s command but had been operationally controlled by him. Who took precedence?
As far as Samson was concerned, he did. He prepared for a fight, but before he could say anything else, the Secretary of State changed the subject.
“Where are the other warheads?” asked Hartman. “How long before they’re found?”
“Colonel Bastian is the best source on that,” said the admiral.
“We’re not sure,” said Bastian. “Probably in the far border areas around western Pakistan and northern India, near the Chinese border. The scientists are still refining the estimates.
Additional U-2s and Global Hawk drones have arrived in the area and are flying at night, using infrared and low-light sensors. The scientists are tweaking some of the image reading data to make them more effective. Dr. Rubeo can give you the technical information on the search plots and everything related to them.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” said Ray Rubeo.
Rubeo was sitting quietly at a front console on the right, head stooped down as if he were one of the engineers and techies monitoring systems — so low-key, in fact, that Samson hadn’t noticed him until now. The general kept his displeasure in check as the scientist flashed a brief presentation on the screen showing the possible locations of the three missiles. The presentation was brief and professional, but it still angered Samson — he should have seen it first.
“We are still developing theories on what happened,” added Rubeo. “I can bore you with the technical details, or we can move on.”
His voice dripped with arrogance, but none of the others peeped.
“Until the President orders otherwise, we have to proceed with the operation,” said Chastain. “But it can’t go on indefinitely.”
“Indeed,” said Rubeo. “I would note that the power grids in the affected countries have now been offline for twenty-four hours more than our original projections predictions. We may be living on borrowed time.”
The tired chatter of the
