Ben Bova - Able One

He sensed someone standing behind his chair. Turning slightly, he saw that it was Zuri Coggins.

“Is that going to ruin the mission?” she asked.

“Could be,” said Scheib. “What can I do to help?”

“Get me real-time comm links with that tanker, with the base commander at Misawa, and with ABL-1. We’re tripping over ourselves with the damned security regs.”

She nodded. “I’ll call my office.”

General Higgins came up, looking bleary-eyed and tired of the situation.

“There goes your laser, Brad,” said Higgins. “Looks like we’ll have to depend on the Aegis ships and the missile batteries in Alaska.”

“I’m not giving up on ABL-1, sir,” Scheib said tightly.

Down at the end of the table Michael Jamil watched the tense little minidrama going on around General Scheib.

Let them play their games, Jamil said to himself. What’s important is to find out who’s behind this crisis. Why have they knocked out the satellites? What do they want?

Again and again Jamil had played out every possible scenario he could think of in his mind. He didn’t need computers; he knew the players and their tactics. But none of this made sense. Why knock out the satellites? Why keep those two additional missiles on their pads when they know that regular troops are rushing from Pyongyang to their launching site? It’s been more than ten hours since they set off the bomb in orbit; why are they waiting to launch those other two missiles?

Every scenario he ran through his mind ended in the same way: they’re going to try to kill the President. They’re going to hit San Francisco with half a megaton of hydrogen bombs, but they have to wait until the President’s there. There can’t be any other explanation for what they’re doing. Knock out the satellites to slow our communications links to a crawl, then wait for the President to show up in San Francisco and blow the city off the map. Maybe the explosions will be enough to trigger an earthquake into the bargain.

Jamil looked up at the two generals and the others clustered around Scheib’s chair. They look grim, he realized. Something must have gone wrong.

The woman from the National Security office looked up and met his gaze. She detached herself from the crowd around Scheib and walked down the length of the table toward him.

Jamil got to his feet, and before she could say a word he urged, “You’ve got to get a warning out to San Francisco. You can’t let them fire those missiles without warning the Homeland Security people.”

Coggins stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then she drew in a breath before replying, “Are you really that sure that San Francisco is the target?”

“Yes!”

She looked away, murmuring, “The city would go apeshit if we told them they’re going to be bombed. Mass panic. God knows how many people would be killed in the rush to get away.”

“They’ll all be killed if we don’t warn them,” Jamil said. Then he added, “And the President, too.”

Coggins shook her head. “I don’t know… I just don’t know.”

“Tell your boss, at least,” Jamil said. “Let him make the decision. He’s the National Security Advisor, isn’t he? Let him earn his keep.”

She smiled thinly. “When in doubt, buck it upstairs.”

The flight operations director put down his phone and made a weak smile for Sylvia, who still stood unmoving before his desk.

“Okay,” he said shakily, “I’ve got a plane to take you to SFO.”

“San Francisco?” Sylvia asked. Nodding, the operations director got up from behind his desk. “It’s a private plane. A friend of mine is flying up there on business and he’s agreed to take you and your daughters.”

“That’s wonderful!”

Mopping his brow with a damp handkerchief, the operations director said, “I had to call in a lot of favors for this. I hope you tell Congresswoman McClintock about it.”

“I certainly will,” said Sylvia.

The operations director glanced at his wristwatch as he said, “You go over to the general aviation terminal. There’s a bus outside that’ll take you there. Be quick now. He said he’ll wait for you, but he wants to take off no later than 4:00 p.m.”

Sylvia grabbed the handle of her roll-on. “We’ll be there. Tell him we’re on our way! And thanks!”

The three women hurried out of the office so fast the operations director didn’t have time to pull one of his cards from his wallet and give it to Sylvia so that she could show it to Congresswoman McClintock.

The President looked up from the text of the speech he would give at the Cow Palace as his chief of staff came into the private compartment and sat in the big comfortable chair facing him.

Leaning toward the President, Norman Foster said, “The pilot says we’re on the approach to San Francisco.”

The President glanced at his wristwatch. “Right on schedule. Good.”

“We can still turn around,” Foster said.

The President gave him the stare that often froze lesser men. Foster gazed back at his boss without flinching.

“They’re still worried about the city being nuked?”

“Took a call direct from your National Security Advisor. The admiral thinks the prudent thing to do would be to turn back.”

“I’d look like a damned fool if nothing happens.”

“You’d be dead if they nuke the city. Me too.”

With an easy smile the President said, “I’m going through with this. I can’t afford to look like a coward. I’d never live it down.”

Foster clenched his fists on his lap. “The plane could develop engine trouble. We could divert the flight to some other airport. A military base.”

The President’s smile faded. “You really think they’re going to hit San Francisco.”

“I think they might try.”

“Might.”

“If they do—”

“Norm, you’ve sat in on those intelligence briefings as often as I have. The North Koreans don’t have a missile that can reach San Francisco.”

“Maybe not.”

“Hell, the last time they launched a missile it flopped into the middle of the Pacific. Besides, I’ve checked the reports,” the President went on. “I haven’t been sitting back here playing solitaire, Norm. I do my homework. According to the latest intelligence estimates the North Koreans do not have a missile with the range to reach San Francisco. Nor the accuracy. And especially not the reliability.”

“And you’re willing to pin your life to that?”

The President hesitated for the slightest fraction of a heartbeat, then said firmly, “Yes. I am.”

Foster looked around the compartment, gathering his thoughts. Then he said, “There’s this guy from the NIC sitting in on the special situation team we put together—”

“In the Pentagon?”

“Right.” Foster nodded. “He’s insisting that the North Koreans are aiming for San Francisco, specifically because they know you’re going to be there tonight.”

“He’s running counter to the intelligence reports.”

“He’s got the representative from your National Security Advisor worried enough that she got him to put in another call to us here, warning us.”

“One guy from the NIC?” the President asked. “What’s his background? What does he know about the missiles the North Koreans have?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know his name. But he claims that if they could deliver a nuke into orbit and knock out all the communications satellites, the same kind of missile could hit San Francisco.”

The President leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“One guy,” he muttered.