Don Pendleton - Act Of War

“Anything from the TDT?” Brognola asked pointedly, laying aside the report.

“Sadly, no. And the Joint Chiefs checked with the Theatrical Danger Team immediately. Normally the TDT has got a plan for damn well everything, but this time…”

“Nothing?”

“Exactly.”

“And the vice president must have checked with the AEC, CIA…” Brognola pursed his lips, mentally running through the entire catalog of alphabet agencies. Then he shifted mental gears. The facts were plain. Nobody in America must have any idea how the weapons were triggered, or else the President would not have summoned me, the Justice man thought. Fair enough.

“I’ll assume that we are quickly disassembling our stockpiles?” Brognola asked, reaching for a cup of coffee.

“Across the board. Oak Ridge, Paris Island, San Diego, Fort Bragg, Arctic Base One, aircraft carriers, submarines…” The President made a circular gesture to indicate the all-inclusive process.

“I’m surprised the bastards didn’t hit Oak Ridge first,” Brognola admitted. “Maybe the enemy is not as good as we fear.”

“Oh, they might have,” the President admitted honestly. “But where the Oak Ridge Nuclear Weapons and Storage facility is located on the map—and where it is actually located—are two entirely different things. The atomic lab is well hidden, as protection from the old Soviet Union from blowing it out of existence.”

Really? That was news to him.

“Certainly served us well enough today. If their stockpile of hydrogen bombs had detonated, half of the nation would be dying right about now from the radioactive fallout.” Then Brognola frowned. “Any reactions from the nuclear power stations?”

“Thankfully, there was not, especially since all of those are near major cities,” the President said, obviously pleased how fast the man thought.

“So this trigger effect only works on weapons, eh?” the big Fed mused, rubbing his chin. “That’s something, at least.”

“Unless the effect that set off the bombs does not work on power plants.”

“Because they don’t have a critical mass in the reactors?”

“That is the logical conclusion, but we may be wrong.” Draining the cup, the President placed it on the table. He stared at it for a minute, his thoughts private.

“Hal, we’re completely in the dark on this. An unknown enemy, with an unknown weapon and unknown goal. Did they try to destroy the Unites States and fail? Is this the opening round in a major conflict, or something else entirely?”

“What’s been done already, sir?”

“Every tactical nuke is being taken apart while it is being moved far away from civilian population centers,” the President declared. “Plus, until further notice, the nation will remain at DefCon Five, full war status. All military leaves have been cancelled, troops are arming, the Umbrella of fighter planes is out to maximum range and our entire stockpile of nonnuclear weapons is being prepared.”

“How long until every nuke is disarmed?” Brognola asked, leaning forward in his chair.

The President gave the man a hard look. “Using every available technician…sixteen days.”

“Sixteen!”

“Best we can do. On top of everything else, we’re also moving the bombs to secret locations, so the enemy can’t find them.”

“Unless they can sweep the entire continent with this triggering device.”

“Agreed. In that case, we’ve already lost, and the death toll will be in the millions, the hundreds of millions if they get even the slightest bit lucky and set off a couple of plutonium bombs.”

Brognola grunted at that. Too true. A radioactive death cloud would sweep across the globe, killing everybody. That wouldn’t happen unless the enemy was suicidal or totally insane. Neither possibility was completely out of the question.

“Have there been demands from anybody? Hamas, al Qaeda, Iraq, China?”

Frowning deeply, the President said, “Thankfully not yet, and we can’t make any inquires. That would only demonstrate that we have no idea who is behind all of this. And as long as the enemy is not sure of exactly what we know, they’ll be cautious. Afraid of our direct military retaliation. Even without nuclear weapons, America has a tremendous military. But if the enemy discovers the truth…”

The President didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Brognola understood. Then the enemy would be free to do whatever it wanted. The only thing holding the terrorist states in check had always been the threat of nuclear strikes from the U.S. If the news of the covert disarmament was released, an incalculable wave of terrorist strikes would sweep the free world like a plague.

“Even worse,” the President continued. “If somebody, anybody, does make a demand, then we would have no choice but to comply. This isn’t a matter of making policy, or standing tall, but outright survival. We’re virtually helpless for sixteen days.”

“Even less if the enemy demands access to our Keyhole and Watchdog satellites,” Brognola added grimly, “then they could monitor our nukes, and stop them being moved or disarmed.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Plus, any demands we receive may not even be the people behind the attacks,” the big Fed noted pragmatically. “It could simply be some opportunist group claiming the credit and trying to sneak one past us. Nuke Israel, or a million Americans die. Release every terrorist held in American prisons, hell’s bells, release everybody in all of our prisons. Or else.”

“Or else,” the President agreed solemnly.

“What do you want us to do, sir?” Brognola asked, standing.

“Find them,” the President said bluntly. “Find them and kill them and smash their damn machine, whatever it is.”

“You don’t want it recovered?”

“Hell no, it’s too damn dangerous. Smash it to pieces and burn any records, blueprints, schematics, whatever you find.”

“Done,” the Justice man stated, extending a hand. When the politician first took office, he had used euphemisms like “terminate with extreme prejudice,” or “permanently eradicate.” But that stopped. Troops had no confidence in a leader who couldn’t give a direct order. There were no euphemisms used in the middle of a firefight. A soldier killed the enemy. Period. End of discussion.

“Alert,” the communications officer announced, looking up from a laptop. “Message from PACOM for you, sir. Admiral Fallon at Camp Smith reports the nuclear destruction of the USS Persing missile frigate in the north Pacific Ocean. No survivors. The cause seems to be a tactical nuclear explosion. Navy Special Intelligence and the NSA are analyzing the Watchdog photographs for known radiation signatures.”

“Understood,” the President said. “Keep me informed of any further developments.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better move fast, old friend,” the President said. “The numbers are falling and time is against us.”

Nodding in agreement, Brognola turned and headed for the door. America had the most powerful army in the world, along with a host of covert agencies, but to use any of them could reveal a fatal weakness and cause untold deaths.

Which left the deadly matter entirely in the hands of Stony Man Farm.

Yig-Ta Valley, China

Reaching the middle of the lake, the old man in the wooden boat back-rowed a little until the forward momentum was canceled and the boat was relatively still, rocking slightly in the gentle chop.

Whistling happily to himself, he opened a plastic box and carefully pulled out a large fishing net. It was discolored in several areas from numerous repairs done over the years with whatever was available, but the net was still strong and highly serviceable in his capable hands.