Гарри Гаррисон - Skyfall

“The solar output hasn't varied, the beginning of the storm is not the size anticipated.”

“With our luck it's going to get bigger, sooner, and if it doesn't we still have only seventeen hours left, so the hell with it. Rig the bomb and have someone press the button.”

“Do you really believe what you're saying?” Patrick asked.

“Hell yes, but why the cross-examination?”

“Simply because neither Nadya nor I can help. The physical preparations will have to be done by you and Gregor.”

“That is logical,” Gregor said.

Coretta was shocked at first, then she smiled wryly. “Well, well, it-comes to that. The good Dr. Coretta Samuel, saver of lives, ends her days building an atomic bomb. Why not, Commander. They'll be singing folk songs about me in the ghettos before you know it.”

“Then we are in agreement,” said Gregor. “It will be done.”

“Agreed,” Nadija said.

“I'll tell them.” Patrick switched on the radio. “Prometheus calling Mission Control. Can you patch us through to Mr. Dillwater…”

“NO!” Flax's answering shout was so loud that the wall speaker rattled with it. “I am connecting you to the President of the United States, to Dillwater as well, and the entire cabinet who are meeting at this time.”

“Flax, what is it?” Patrick asked, but the crackle of static was his only answer.

“He sounded angry,” Coretta said. “What can it possibly be?”

“Mr. President, Mission Control insists on speaking to you as well as the entire cabinet.”

“Why? What is it?”

“I'm not sure, sir. He sounded very disturbed. He informed me that the Prometheus crew had reached a decision on HOOPSNAKE but he wanted to speak first, Mr. Flax that is.”

“What the devil is the matter with the man? He can't order me around like that…” Bandin was getting angry and Dillwater made some attempt to soothe him.

“I don't think it's like that, sir. The man is tired, we all are, I am sure it's a matter of some import….”

“Put him on, get it over with.” Dillwater nodded and spoke into his phone. Flax's voice blasted from the loudspeaker.

“This is Mission Control. I have Prometheus on this open circuit, am I through to the White House?” Dillwater spoke quickly, before the angry President could.

“Yes, you are, we are all listening.”

“Good. You as well, Prometheus?”

“Roger.”

“Then I want you all to listen to General Bannerman's answer to a question I have for him. General, is it true that you informed us some hours ago that the resupply shuttle for USAF Research Satellite would not be ready to fly for some time?”

“That is correct.”

“No, it is not correct. It is a lie. The truth is that the shuttle is now on the pad at the Cape, on the line and ready to take off as soon as it is fueled. Isn't that true?”

“It is not.” Bannerman's face was expressionless, conveyed nothing. In contrast to Dillwater and the other cabinet members who were stunned, shocked by the question. Flax continued to speak.

“You are lying. The two pilots, Cooke and Decosta, are in the ready room there right now, at the Cape. Why don't I pick up the phone and call them? “

There was dead silence in the Cabinet room. General Bannerman did not move or answer. They sat like that for seconds until Patrick's voice, from Prometheus, sounded through the room.

“We heard that question here — but we have not heard the answer.”

“I'm sorry,” Bannerman finally said. “The USAF shuttle is classified, top secret, and we cannot discuss it….”

“But we must!” Dillwater was shaking with anger as he jumped to his feet. “I cannot believe this. If the shuttle is on the line it could have been launched already, could have taken the crew from Prometheus….”

“Break the connection,” Bandin said.

“But, Mr. President, we must know, they must know in Prometheus, it is an unforgivable crime if it is true….”

“Break off, that's an order,” Bandin snarled.

Dillwater hesitated, staring at the President, his eyes widening with sudden knowledge. “I'll call you back in a few minutes,” he said to the phone.

“You can't…” Flax's voice was cut off and Dillwater spoke to the President.

“You knew, didn't you? All the time, those crewmen have been fighting to save that ship, have died, been blinded, all that time you knew that they could have been taken off by the shuttle. And you agreed to have them commit suicide with HOOPSNAKE. You did this knowing that the shuttle…”

“Shut up and sit down, Dillwater. You don't talk to the President of the United States that way.”

“Oh yes I can when the President has done as repugnant an act as you have….”

“Dillwater, you're out of your depth and getting into deep trouble,” Bannerman said. He stood and faced Dillwater, eye to eye. “We'll hear no more of this.”

“We will hear all about it, General,” Dillwater said firmly, not wavering an inch. “This is, I hope, still a free country. You cannot have me shot for speaking. You tell me the entire truth now or I am walking out of here and straight to the press and air every bit of your squalid lying to the world.”

“You are talking treason, Dillwater.” Bannerman's hand slapped at his belt where his pearl-handled automatic pistol usually hung.

“Am I? Then you shall have to arrest me and kill me because I shall go on speaking it until this filthy mess is exposed. And you will have to shoot everyone in Mission Control as well since they heard everything we heard.”

“He's right, Mr. President,” Dr. Schlocter said calmly. “The cat appears to be out of the bag and it will not get back inside. We must take some concerted action here, very quickly, before rumors spread from Mission Control. If the shuttle is on the line it should be manned and a rescue mission should be launched. It may still not be too late.”

“Negative!” Bannerman snapped, whirling on his new adversary. “The shuttle is loaded, its payload is classified and cannot be touched. If word of it leaks out there will be a lot bigger trouble than Prometheus to answer for.”

“What is the payload?” Schlocter asked.

“You've seen the memo. The CIA package, PEEKABOO.”

Schlocter went white, slumped back in his chair. “Yes,” he said. “That cannot come out, something must be done….”

“I want an outside line,” Dillwater said into his telephone. “Operator, I want to place a conference call to the Washington news desks of the television networks. That is correct, CBS, NBC and ABC. Please call me back when the call goes through.” He hung up and faced Bannerman, still speaking softly. “You have about one minute to tell me what this PEEKABOO business is.”

“You're-through, Dillwater,” Bandin shouted. “Out on your ass.”

“I have resigned, Mr. President, from this position in NASA and from any other in your administration. As soon as this present affair is concluded.”

“You are jeopardizing this entire nation, goddamn it, and I could have you shot. PEEKABOO is a very sophisticated twenty-ton package that this country will be mighty glad it has in the case of any emergency.”

“Exactly what does it do?” Dillwater asked.

“In time of emergency, for defense only, this bird carries just about the biggest laser ever made, completely computer controlled to defend itself, take out any missile homing in on it.”

“And why should missiles be homing in on it?” Dillwater said.

“Because PEEKABOO will be hung in orbit zeroed in on Moscow. That laser is powered by a nuclear generator and is probably the closest thing to a death ray that we will ever have. When it is fired it punches straight down through the atmosphere and burns whatever target it is aimed at. Very precisely. It has a map of Moscow and it is very accurate. It can take out the Kremlin without touching a cobblestone in Red Square right next to it, zap the Army barracks without touching the Gum department store adjoining it.”