Target America

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The UAV did not follow the helo out to sea. It remained on station over San Diego Bay, with its powerful lens keeping the SAR helo in view as it picked up speed over the ocean less than two hundred feet off the surface.

“I don’t understand,” Hagen said, staring at the screen. “Why did those EOD men get on the chopper if there’s nothing they can do?”

General Couture gave him a cutting glance, holding his elbow in one hand and resting his chin on his fist as he watched the helo drawing out across the ocean. He turned to the naval liaison, asking in a low voice, “It’s a little late for me to be asking this, Ken, but have your coastal vessels been alerted?”

“Yes, sir,” the navy captain replied, “but it looks like we may lose the Coronado. We don’t know what happened, but she didn’t get the message to leave the area until a few minutes ago.”

The president turned around. “We’re going to lose a war ship?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. President, it looks that way. We don’t know if she misinterpreted the initial message to evacuate the area or if it was something else, but she was steaming directly toward the bay until a few minutes ago. If I had to speculate, sir, I’d guess she misinterpreted the initial message as a request for evac assistance back at NASNI. She does have a pair of Sea Stallions on deck.”

“How many crew?”

“Seventy, Mr. President — give or take.”

The president turned back around just in time to see a brilliant flash of light on the screen. Most everyone in the room let out a startled “Oh, my God!” The video feed briefly broke apart into fragmented pixels, but the interference quickly passed, and the growing mushroom cloud drew into focus just shy of the horizon from the UAV’s elevated point of view.

From sea level, the explosion had taken place four miles beyond the visible horizon, which was approximately three miles out to sea.

The president turned to the acting director of Homeland Security. “Are your people converging on San Diego?”

“As we speak, Mr. President. Every single available plane, helicopter, truck, and rail car. We won’t arrive organized, but we’ll arrive more quickly than we did for Katrina. We’re going to sort it out on the scene, just like they did at Normandy, Mr. President.”

“Well, goddamnit, it’s about time somebody gets it!” the president declared. He turned to Couture. “Please kill the feed, General. I don’t want any distractions while I’m talking.”

Couture signaled for the air force lieutenant to turn off the monitor.

“Listen up now,” the president announced, more to his cabinet than to anyone else. “By the grace of God and through the self-sacrifice of some very brave men, we have managed to save a city from devastation, but the people of San Diego are going to be terrified of nuclear fallout. They are going to need our hands-on assistance and moral support. So get on the phones to your respective offices and make sure your people are ready to move on this in every way possible. If your particular office doesn’t have a prescribed way of assisting in a crisis of this nature, I want you to invent one! Also… be advised you will all be joining me in San Diego just as soon as it’s deemed safe by the NRC.” Nuclear Regulatory Commission.

He turned to Couture. “A word in private, General.”

The two men stepped off to the side, with Hagen tagging along to stand just off the president’s elbow.

“Mr. President,” Couture said, “allow me to apologize for my outburst before. There’s no excuse. I’ll tender my resignation forthwith.”

The president shook his head. “That’s forgotten.” He put his hand on the general’s shoulder, obviously deep in thought about something. “General, I want you to draw up plans for another SMU as soon as possible, a Special Mission Unit purpose-built for domestic operations… something like ST6/Black, but more specialized. You’ll work out the details with your people, but the unit’s sole purpose will be dealing with nuclear weapons smuggled onto US soil. They should all be spec ops people, and there should be multiple teams on both coasts, able to respond to multiple threats at once. Also, they should be a classified unit — at least in theory. Understood?”

Couture hid his surprise well. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“Now for the crazy part,” the president continued. “Bob Pope will run the SMU, and he will answer directly to the Office of the President. As far as I’m concerned, if there’s no gap between the president and the launching of a nuclear weapon, there shouldn’t be any gap between him and the team that hunts them down. I know Pope’s a pain in the ass, but he’s obviously the most qualified man we’ve got for the job right now.”

Tim Hagen stepped close to the president. “Sir, now may not be the best time to start invoking new policies. Perhaps we should talk about this after—”

The president looked at him with an expression of annoyance. “Tim, I’d like your resignation by the end of the week.”

Hagen’s mouth fell open as the president led Couture away, continuing to verbalize his train of thought.

“This isn’t the last nuke we’re going to have to deal with, General. These people are going to try and try and try until they get us. I’m convinced of it now. Do you agree?”

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid I do,” Couture replied. “It’s the emerging threat of our time. What about Master Chief Shannon? Should I suggest to Pope that he be placed in charge of training this new SMU?”

The president nodded. “Yes. If you think Shannon will agree to it. Though, by now I believe he’s likely to say to hell with us all.”

Couture smiled. “Despite what we’d like to believe, Mr. President, men like Shannon and Pope don’t work for us. They serve a higher power — an ideal. It’s just our job to keep them in check. They’re valuable assets, no doubt about it. But we’re lucky they’re as rare as they are.”