Dark Zone

101

Rubens hovered over Chafetz’s shoulder, staring at her screen. The Eurostars received signal information through a special system that used the train tracks. The NSA had just been given access to the system and was looking at what had been recorded since the train had entered the Chunnel. There was a burst of gibberish, followed by a clearing signal that indicated there was no problem and then a series of what were being interpreted as shorts in the system.

The French and British engineers in charge of the signals had never seen such a sequence before. They believed at least part of the train was moving forward at a much reduced speed. They did not have direct communications with the train’s engineer.

“Tell them to get out if you can,” said Rubens. “Find a way to get them out.”

Special military response teams assigned to the Chunnel had been activated on both shores. They would be ready to enter the tunnel in a few minutes. Traffic through the other tube had been stopped and the few workers in the service tunnel between the train lines were being evacuated. Emergency procedures were being started in the coastal areas, though Rubens doubted there would be time to even get out an alert, let alone do anything constructive to deal with the danger.

People were scurrying. But it was too late, wasn’t it? His people, unaware of the plot, were probably already gone.

As originally composed, the NSA did not have an “action” side. Jobs such as planting bugs were farmed out, generally to the CIA, though the military services were also used. They were contractors in a way, specialists in their tasks and removed from the NSA hierarchy. It made it easier when something went wrong.

The General had pointed that out to Rubens long ago. He had chafed at the lack of an “action side,” but there was that plus.

Rubens knew he had made the right decisions. While he regretted that the analysts hadn’t been able to come up with the information more expeditiously, he did not regret the decisions that had placed his people in jeopardy and, in all likelihood, cost them their lives; these were the decisions he had to make. But he did feel the loss. It pressed its fingers against his skull. And the ache was amplified by the fact that they were impotent, observers only.

Do something, rather than nothing. That had been the General’s motto.

Ruben turned to Telach. “Have we prepared a plan to disable the weapon?”

“We don’t have information on how it might be armed or configured or anything,” said Telach.

“Let’s at least have theories ready,” said Rubens. “And bring Johnny Bib down here. As crazy as he is, he’s bound to have an inspiration.”