William Johnstone: Out of the Ashes

“What do we know we can prove?” General Dowling of the Marine Corps asked.

“We have nothing we can prove,” Brady said. “No hard evidence to present to them. And,” he said softly, “do we have the time? The Chinese—and this is my personal opinion—would, I think, behave in a decent manner. The Russians I wouldn’t trust as far as I could spit. Their minds would work this way: the sub is American; the missiles are American; the crew is American—the fault is ours. They’d drag us right into a war. We don’t know where the sub is; we can’t stop it. No,”—he sighed—“I think we have to chance this and hope we take minimum casualties. And the American people must not learn of this. The instant we assume a public defensive posture, the sub will fire its missiles. The American people won’t have time to do anything. Besides, we don’t know how many missiles will make it through our screens.”

“That’s a damned cold-blooded attitude!” Ringold said.

“But a necessary one.” Brady defended his statements. “Better the people are surprised—if it comes to that—than have several days of pure panic. And”—he held up a finger—“the Russians have a very good civil defense system: bunkers, food, water. The U.S. has shit for CD. Let the Russians get the message the same time our people receive it. More dead Russians and less U.S. casualties.”

“I’ll go along with that,” Divico said. The other members of the Joint Chiefs nodded in agreement.

“Let me say this,” Fayers said. “Mr. Brady believes the launch will be made within a week. All right, we’ll stay with that hypothesis. We don’t know where the sub is, but we’ll assume it’s in position to fire. Now, according to Ringold, his bureau has never heard of the rebels. Fine. As far as I’m concerned the rebels—if they exist—are of little concern at this moment. I’m not sure how we would go about breaking up a group we didn’t know existed—again, if they do—until a couple of hours ago. We don’t know what military units are involved in this, or where they are located. We don’t know what commanders we can trust. For that matter, I don’t know if I can trust any of my staff, and you don’t know if you can trust me. I don’t know if I can trust any of you!”

Fayers’ gaze swept each man. Words of protestation formed on each tongue, then died before being sounded, each man knowing there was nothing he could do to convince the others of his innocence.

Fayers continued. “So we have to assume we can trust each other. That is the only way we can possibly deal with this.”

“How is the sub armed?” Ringold asked, feeling a bit less left out.

The admiral sighed, cutting his eyes to General Travee. “With Thunder-strikes,” he said.

“Oh, hell!” Hyde of the Air Force and Dowling of the Marine Corps spoke in unison.

“What is a Thunder-strike?” Ringold asked. The feeling of being left out once more struck him.

“Yes.” The president leaned forward. “I’d like to know that myself. I’ve never heard of anything called Thunder-strike.” He glanced at each of the Joint Chiefs.

General Hyde said, “The… ah… president before you… ah… authorized them, sir. Before our tenure on the Joint Chiefs, I might add,” he said, a bit defensively. “The code name is ‘Supersnoop.’ It is not a large missile, but it is very powerful… and practically unstoppable. Like the sub, it’s Stealth-coated. No one will pick them up until it’s too late. Hugs the ground.”

“How very interesting,” President Fayers said dryly. “How very informative. I can but assume construction continued even after the latest SALT was signed?”

Divico cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“And they are not included in the breakdown of our nuclear arsenal?”

“That is correct, sir,” Divico admitted.

“Well, isn’t that marvelous?” the president said. “That sure as hell lets out telling the Russians anything, doesn’t it, gentlemen?”

No one said anything in rebuttal.

Fayers’ tone was sharp. “How many of these Thunder-strikes do we possess?”

“One hundred and fifty,” General Dowling replied.

Fayers swung his gaze to the marine. “You all knew of these missiles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The weapon is very powerful?”

“Yes, sir. Some are equipped with germ-type warheads.”

Fayers slammed his hand on the table top, startling the men. “Well, that is just dandy. Yes, indeed. That is just fucking wonderful!”

And the president seldom used profanity.

Divico defended his missiles. “We had to have the edge, sir. Had to stay ahead of them. Without the missiles, the Russians would have never signed the new SALT. We talked of telling you, but…” His voice trailed off.

“Where are the Thunder-strikes stored?” Fayers asked.

“California.”

Fayers pointed a finger at Divico. “Admiral, you will—personally, tonight—transport yourself to that depot and count each Thunder-strike. Report back to me as soon as possible. Within hours. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m certain that all one hundred and fifty will not be at the depot,” Secretary Rees opined. “But of those that are, do we ready them for launch?”

“Yes,” Fayers said.

“I may take that as a direct order, sir?” Divico asked.

“Yes,” Fayers said.

“Dear God!” Ringold whispered.

“You know this for a fact?” the Russian asked.

“I know it for a fact.” The man spoke from the shadows of the room.

“The Chinese have developed a low-level missile, capable of sliding through our defenses undetected?”

“That is true, sir. Our mole in the Pentagon reported this to me.”

“I find it most difficult to believe,” the Russian agent said. “I find it incredible that Chinese technology in the field of nuclear weaponry would surpass ours, much less that of America.”

“They were working together, sir.”

“China and America?”

“Yes.”

“That I can believe. So these reports, rumors, we’ve been hearing for months—they are true?”

“Yes, sir. I am afraid so.”

“These missiles… we thought were solely American… Thunder-strikes—how many do the Chinese possess?”

“Hundreds.”

“No! Hundreds?”

“Yes, sir. Our mole said several hundred, at least. All armed and aimed—at us.”

“And many are of the germ type?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like to see one.”

“I know where one is stored, ready for shipment to China.”

“Message coming in, sir,” an aide informed the president.

Fayers jerked up the phone. “Speak!”

Admiral Divico’s voice was calm. “You wanted the count on the missiles, sir?”

“I didn’t send you out there to pick cantaloupes!” Fayers was angry, his angry mood made worse by the dizzy spells he’d been suffering all night and most of the morning. His head ached, throbbed with pain. He had said nothing about it.

“One hundred, sir.”

“ One hundred? You said we had a hundred and fifty.”

“One hundred, sir.”

“How many does the sub carry?”

“Twelve, sir.”

“Thank you very much, Admiral.” Fayers spoke through the pain in his head. “That only leaves thirty-eight unaccounted for.” He broke the connection.

Major Bass stood before Travee’s desk. He thought the general looked tired… haggard. Maybe worried about something. “General Saunders was fishing with the CG of Fort Leonard Wood, sir. On the morning in question.”

“Fishing? Vern hates fishing. Where were they fishing?”