Poseidon's Arrow

floor drains. The thin liquid spread quickly, nearly covering the concrete floor. The arsonist made his way back to the door, then pulled a lighter from his pocket. As kerosene trickled past his feet, he leaned down and ignited it, then jumped from the building.

With a low volatility and high flash point, the kerosene didn’t explode, instead igniting in a river of flame. As fire detectors erupted throughout the building, ceiling-mounted sprinklers kicked on—but only for a second, as the disrupted water supply ran dry. Unabated, the fire spread.

Pablo didn’t look back as he ran to his partner in the gully.

Juan looked up and shook his head. “Eduardo says the front gate sentry is on his way.”

Across the grounds, sirens and alarms wailed. But no one had yet noticed the swirl of smoke from the roof of the adjacent building. At three in the morning, no one at the facility was prepared to deal with multiple fires, and municipal firefighters were thirty miles away.

Pablo wasted no time watching the incineration. He nodded at his partner, then sprang off to the east. Juan had to scramble to catch up. They crossed the dirt road that led to the front gate moments before an approaching vehicle drew near. The terrain beyond the road turned to open rolling desert, and they dove to the ground as the first security vehicle roared by. Another chain-link fence appeared a short distance away. They cut a gap just big enough for one to slip under while the other pulled up the mesh.

In forty minutes of steady hiking, they reached the main highway two miles away, draining their supply of bottled water. They paralleled the highway east a short distance until spotting a black four-door pickup truck parked near a culvert, neatly hidden from easy view. Eduardo, the third partner, sat behind the wheel in a worn polo shirt, smoking a cigarette.

The two men dropped their packs and pulled off their black hats and sweaters, replacing them with T-shirts and baseball caps.

“Congratulations,” Eduardo said. “It appears you have succeeded.”

For the first time, Pablo looked back at the mine facility. Billowing clouds of smoke hung over the complex, illuminated by streaks of orange flame that leaped from several sources. The mine’s firefighting equipment was woefully inadequate to deal with the fires. By all appearances, the inferno was still spreading.

Pablo allowed himself a half grin. Except for the appearance of the watchman, everything had gone according to plan. The two main extraction facilities, the heart of the complex, would soon be reduced to charred wreckage. Unable to process ore, the entire operation would grind to a standstill for at least a year, maybe two. And if they were lucky, it might all go down as an unfortunate accident.

Juan followed his gaze, watching the pyre with satisfaction. “Looks like we set the whole state on fire tonight.”

The distant flames glistened in the big man’s eyes as he turned to Juan.

“No, my friend,” he said with a wicked grin. “We have set the whole world on fire.”

2

SWEAT TRICKLED DOWN THE PRESIDENT’S NECK, dampening the collar of his starched white shirt. The mercury was hovering near triple digits, unusual for June in Connecticut. A slight breeze off Block Island Sound failed to cut the humidity, leaving the riverside shipyard a sweltering hothouse. Inside a massive green assembly bay known as Building 260, the air-conditioning fought a futile battle with the afternoon heat.

The Electric Boat Corporation had begun building diesel marine engines on the site along the Thames River in 1910, but ultimately submarine construction became the company’s bread and butter. The Groton shipyard delivered its first submarine to the Navy in 1934, and had since constructed every major class of U.S. underwater warship. Nearing completion inside the green building stood the imposing hull of the North Dakota, the latest fast attack submarine of the Virginia class.

From a scaffold stairway that led from the North Dakota’s conning tower, the President stepped heavily onto the concrete floor with a grunt. A large-framed man who hated confined spaces, he was thankful the interior tour was over. At least it had been cooler inside the submarine. With the economy a mess and Congress mired in another deadlock, visiting a shipyard seemed like the last priority on his agenda, but he had promised the Secretary of the Navy he would go boost the morale of the ship workers. As a small entourage flocked to catch up with him, he suppressed his irritation by marveling at the sub’s dimensions.

“An amazing feat of construction.”

“Yes, sir,” said a blond-haired man in a tailored suit who hung at the President’s elbow as if attached by a string. “She’s an impressive feat of technology.” Assistant Chief of Staff Tom Cerny had specialized in defense issues on Capitol Hill before joining the administration.

“She’s slightly longer than the Seawolf class boats, but downright minuscule compared to a Trident,” said the tour guide, a chipper Electric Boat engineering manager. “Most people are used to seeing them in the water, where two-thirds of their bulk is hidden from view.”

The President nodded. As it lay on huge supporting blocks, the three-hundred-and-seventy-seven-foot-long hull towered over them.

“She’ll be a great addition to our arsenal. I thank you for giving me the opportunity to see her up close.”

A granite-faced admiral named Winters stepped forward.

“Mr. President, while we were happy to have you preview the North Dakota, she was not the reason we asked you up here.”

The President took off a white hard hat affixed with the presidential seal, handed it to the admiral, and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“If a cold drink and a touch more air-conditioning can be worked into the bargain, then lead on.”

He was escorted across the building to a small door guarded by a uniformed security man. The door was unlocked, and the presidential group led in one by one, their faces captured by a video camera above the sill.

The admiral flicked on a bank of overhead lights, illuminating a narrow bay that stretched nearly four hundred feet. The President saw another submarine in a state of near completion, but this vessel was like nothing he had ever seen before.

Roughly half the size of the North Dakota, it sported a radically different design. Its unusually narrow jet-black hull tapered sharply at the bow. A low, egg-shaped conning tower rose just a few feet above its top deck. Two large streamlined pods were affixed close to the stern, almost in the shape of a dolphin’s tail. But the most unusual feature was a pair of retractable stabilizers, shaped like triangular wings, that stretched from either side. A pack of four large tubular canisters clung to their undersides.

The design reminded the President of a giant manta ray he’d seen while fishing off Baja California.

“What on earth is this thing?” he asked. “I wasn’t aware we were building anything other than the Virginia class boats.”

“Sir, this is the Sea Arrow,” the admiral said. “It’s a prototype platform developed under a secret R & D program to test highly advanced technologies.”

Cerny turned on the admiral. “Why wasn’t the President informed of this program? I’d like to know how it was funded.”

The admiral stared at the aide with the warmth of a starving pit bull. “The Sea Arrow was built with Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency and Office of Naval Research funding. The President is presently being informed of its existence.”

The President ignored them and strode along the vessel, peering at the odd appendages along the hull. He studied a concentric circle of small tubes that sprouted off the bow, then made his way aft, noting the sub had no propellers. He gave Winters a questioning look.

“All right, Admiral, you have my curiosity. Tell me about the Sea Arrow.”

“Mr. President, I’ll pass that task to Joe Eberson, who heads up the project. You met Joe earlier. He’s DARPA’s director of Sea Platforms Technology.”

A bearded man with studious eyes worked his way to the front of the group. He spoke in a measured tone with the hint of a Tennessee accent.

“Sir, the Sea Arrow was, or is, being built as a multigenerational leap in undersea