Executive Intent

TWO

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

JANUARY 2012

“You have the mind of a twenty-year-old, the bod of a thirty-year-old-but the eyes of an eighty-year-old?” Air Force Colonel Gia “Boxer” Cazzotto said, giving Patrick McLanahan a kiss on the cheek. Gia was tall, with straight dark hair, mischievous brown eyes, and a disarmingly shy smile-all of which disguised a woman who commanded one of America ’s few remaining heavy bomber wings. “Cataract surgery, intraocular implants-you?”

“’Fraid so, babe,” Patrick said. Patrick was a retired three-star Air Force general and one of the most highly regarded and popular military men in American history, having led mostly secret bombing missions all over the world for almost two decades, as well as the man responsible for starting America’s military Space Defense Force. But today, he was sitting up on a hospital bed in street clothes, being prepped for surgery. “I guess they’re common for astronauts, high-altitude pilots, and anyone who works where ultraviolet rays are stronger.”

“No, it’s common for old guys,” quipped Jonathan Colin Masters, who was also waiting with his friend. “Nervous, buddy?”

“A little,” Patrick admitted.

“You are the first guy to get the newest version of the e-lenses,” Jon said. “But the other versions have worked out very well, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“I don’t like anyone messing with my eyes.”

“Your eyes will still be blue and gorgeous,” Gia said, giving Patrick another kiss. “Heck, I might get my lenses replaced-if Jon lowers the price.”

“No military discounts-yet,” Jon said. “But in a few years, everyone will have them.” In the hour Patrick had been in pre-op, nurses had been putting various drops in his eyes every few minutes, and his pupils were fully dilated, so even tiny bits of light were bothersome. He had an intravenous line put in, but the anesthesiologist hadn’t put anything in the saline bag just yet. Patrick’s blood pressure was slightly elevated, but he appeared calm and relaxed.

Since leaving the U.S. Air Force two years earlier, he had let his hair grow a bit longer, and despite almost-daily workouts, he couldn’t keep a little “executive spread” from setting in. He still bore some scars from his time in Iraq on the ground evading Republic of Turkey fighter-bombers; the blond hair was gone, replaced by middle-age brown with a slowly rising forehead and rapidly spreading temples of gray; and the bright blue eyes were slowly being clouded by ultraviolet radiation. But otherwise he was looking good for a man approaching his midfifties.

For the umpteenth time he was asked if he had any allergies, that it was indeed his left eye they were going to operate on, and if he had anything to eat or drink in the preceding twelve hours-and finally it was time to go. Gia and Jon said their good-byes and headed for a nearby laboratory to watch the procedure on a closed-circuit monitor while Patrick was wheeled into the operating room.

The entire procedure took less than thirty minutes. After immobilizing his head and face, an eye surgeon made a tiny incision in Patrick’s left cornea, and he inserted an ultrasonic probe that dissolved the clouded left eye lens so it could be flushed away. Another tiny probe inserted the new artificial lens and positioned it in place. After several checks and measurements, Patrick was wheeled into the recovery room, where Gia was waiting for him and Jon and two other engineers from Sky Masters Inc. worked on a laptop computer set up on a desk in the recovery room. Gia kissed his forehead. “Yep, they’re still blue,” she said. “Feel okay?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “It’s still a little shimmery and distorted, but I can already see in 3-D rather than just 2-D. I never realized how bad my vision had gotten.” He turned to Jon. “And no more glasses?”

“Glasses are so twentieth century, Muck,” Jon said. “It’ll take a while for your eye muscles to adapt to the new lens, but in a couple weeks your eye muscles will be able to flex it just like a natural lens to focus on distant, mid, and close ranges. Plus it corrects astigmatism, and it’ll last four lifetimes-you can will it to your grandkids if you want. And it can do a lot more stuff, too.” He swiveled an examination lamp around and aimed it at Patrick…

…and to his amazement, the glare in his left eye quickly dimmed. “Wow, the sunglass feature works great,” Patrick exclaimed. “No more sunglasses either!” He concentrated for a moment, and the glare returned as the electronic darkening feature deactivated. “And it’s easy to shut it off, too.”

“Same haptic interface we use in the Cybernetic Infantry Devices-you think about doing something like removing sunglasses, and it happens,” Jon said.

“No telescopic vision, like the Six Million Dollar Man?”

“That’s a few versions in the future, but we’re working on it,” Jon said. He typed commands on his keyboard. “But try out the datalink next, Muck.”

“Here goes. Maddie, status report, Armstrong Space Station.”

“Yes, General McLanahan, please stand by,” responded the computerized voice of “Maddie,” or Multifunctional Advanced Data Delivery and Information Exchange. Maddie was the Sky Masters Inc. civilian version of the “Duty Officer,” the computerized virtual assistant that listened in on all conversations and could respond to requests and questions, retrieve information, remotely unlock doors, and thousands of other functions. “Data ready, General,” Maddie said a few moments later.

“Maddie, display data.” Patrick spoke, and moments later a chart showing the military space station’s position over Earth in its orbit appeared, along with readouts of altitude, velocity, orbital period, number of personnel, and status of its major systems…right before Patrick’s eyes! “I can see it!” Patrick said. “Holy cow! This is incredible, Jon!”

“The new lens is really a microthin liquid crystal display and datalink receiver, powered by your eye muscles,” Jon said. A mirror copy of the display was playing on Jon’s laptop. “Right now you can access information only through Maddie, so it’s limited to Sky Masters facilities, but we’re working on a way to link into any wireless data source. Pretty soon you’ll be able to tap into any sensor, radar, satellite download, any computer, the Internet, or any video broadcast, and watch it as if you were sitting right at the console. We’re working on ways to be able to control computers and other systems that you are seeing as well.”

“Maddie, close the display.” Patrick spoke, and the image went away. “Pretty cool, Jon. But I am starting to feel like the Six Million Dollar Man, though-new implantable cardioverter defibrillator, new implanted telecommunications device, and now an electronic eye.”

“I appreciate you offering to be a Sky Masters guinea pig, Muck,” Jon said. “We’re getting approvals for the new stuff that much faster because you’re a famous guy and you’re already so wired for sound that we can collect gobs of data on how the new gadgets are working. Speaking of which, how about we run through a few of the display functions so we can-”

“I’ve got a better idea, Jon-how about I take Patrick home, make him lunch, and let me visit for a while before I have to get back to my unit?” Gia interjected. “Tomorrow you can fine-tune him all you want.”

Jon rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Another woman standing in the path of scientific advancement,” he deadpanned. Gia stood, towering over him, and gave him a friendly smile but a very direct glance. Jon held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, but first thing tomorrow, we run your new eyeball through its paces, Muck. See ya.”

Gia wheeled Patrick through the Sky Masters laboratory and out to his waiting car, then drove them to his home in Henderson, just southeast of Las Vegas. The air was a little cool, but Gia and Patrick still enjoyed sitting outside, so they turned on gas patio heaters, snuggled under a comforter, and sipped hot tea while looking out at the view past their tiny yard with its swim-spa and out through the wrought-iron fence across to the golf course, with Henderson Airport beyond it. “I can actually see airplanes out there now,” he commented. “So you’re off to RIMPAC tonight?”

“RIMPAC’s not until June, but the participants are meeting in Hawaii to start the final planning,” Gia said. RIMPAC, or Rim of the Pacific, was a large-scale naval warfare exercise involving Western allied navies and other invited participants and observers. “This is the first time since the American Holocaust that the U.S. Air Force will be involved.”

“About time,” Patrick commented. “They should get Armstrong Space Station and the Space Defense Force involved, too.”

“They should, but they’re not,” Gia said. “Secretary Page met with Pacific Command several times and offered services, but they were turned down every time.”

“They’re afraid that Armstrong will smoke them-all of those carriers are vulnerable to Armstrong and its weapon garages,” Patrick said.

“Ann Page needs a strong voice to help sell the Space Defense Force to Congress and the American people, Patrick,” Gia said. “The defense contracting business has been slowing down since the drawdowns in Iraq and Afghanistan -maybe it’s time for you to get into the defense lobbying business.”

“Me? A lobbyist?”

“Who better to do it?” Gia asked. “People will listen to you, and you know all about technology, geopolitics, the military, foreign policy, and even how Congress operates.”

“Go back to Washington? Prowl around Capitol Hill again?”

“You won’t be a presidential special adviser, but you’ll still be Patrick McLanahan, and everyone in Congress will want to meet you, get their pictures taken with you, and listen to what you have to say,” Gia said. “You can make a difference. I’m sure former president Martindale can put you in contact with the right people, get you registered, and grease the skids for you. After that, you just tell them what you know. Give them a glimpse into the future.”

“Be a salesman for a bunch of defense contractors?”

“Not a salesman-you’d be an advocate, a spokesperson for the future U.S. military,” Gia corrected him. “You already are-you might as well get paid to do it.”

“That would mean pulling Bradley out of middle school again.”

Gia shrugged. “I’ve spent more time with him now, Patrick, and I think you’re doting on him a little too much,” she said frankly. “He’s a tough, smart, resilient kid. He’s an egghead like his old man, but I see a lot of things in him that I don’t see in you, stuff he probably got from Wendy-a thick skin, a lot more outer energy, a little attitude with folks that get in his way. But most of all, he wants to be near you-not right beside you every day; what kid wants that?-but close enough to check in on you, be a little part of whatever you’re doing. And honestly, I love Vegas, but it’s no place to raise a teenager. Washington will be much better for him.”

Patrick frowned. “Me…a lobbyist,” he muttered. “My dad will be rolling in his grave.”

“Maybe, but he won’t be one bit less proud of you,” Gia said. She snuggled closer to him. “So, Mr. Bionic Eyeball, my flight leaves in a few hours. How about you and me grab an early dinner before you drop me off at the airport?”

“Sounds good.”

At that moment Patrick’s cell phone rang-caller ID said it was his son, Bradley. “Hey, big guy.”

“Hi, Dad. How did that eye thing go?”

“No problems. I can see great. I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

“Cool. Hey, football team’s going to meet after workouts, and Coach offered to take us out for pizza afterward. I know Colonel Cazzotto is leaving today. You going to be okay?”

“No worries. My eye is better than new.” That wasn’t quite true, yet, but he really wanted the time alone with Gia. “Be home by nine.”

“Cool. Thanks. Later.”

Patrick hung up and put away his phone, then snuggled closer to Gia. “Are they going to feed you on the plane to Hawaii?”

“Ten bucks for plastic chicken in coach? No thanks. I usually bring a sandwich. Why?”

“Because we suddenly have the house all to ourselves this afternoon,” Patrick said, nuzzling her neck, “and I know of a better way to kill a few hours.”

“A few hours?” she asked with mock disbelief. “Look at you-give a guy a fancy high-tech eye and a nanotechnology pacemaker, and he starts to believe he is the Bionic Man!” But despite her kidding, he didn’t stop his ministrations, and she quickly agreed to his change in plans.

THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM, WASHINGTON, D.C.

THE NEXT DAY

President Joseph Gardner somehow always seemed to look polished and alert, even after being awakened in the middle of the night by a phone that did not stop ringing until he picked it up-the real emergency phone, what they called the “Batphone.” He strode into the Situation Room in the West Wing of the White House just minutes after the call; the only evidence that this was not business as usual was the slightly loosened knot in his tie. “Seats, everyone,” he said. The men and women arrayed around the large conference table quickly sat. “Something about Pakistan? Talk to me.”

“We detected a sudden deployment of a flight of Pakistani mobile ballistic missiles, sir,” Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Admiral Benjamin Kelly said. “No movements of any missiles have been announced by Islamabad.”

“Show me,” the president said.

“Yes, sir.” Kelly motioned to the Situation Room operations officer; the lights dimmed slightly…

…and in moments the conference table transformed into a huge holographic computer-generated map of Pakistan. The men and women around the conference table stood to get a better look at the incredible imagery. As they watched, mountains and valleys appeared out of the tabletop in three dimensions; rivers and cities appeared, with floating names near them. Some details were mere computer wire structures, while others were in stunning full-color photographic detail. The map slowly zoomed in to a place in western Pakistan east of the city of Quetta.

“This damn thing always gives me vertigo,” the president muttered to Conrad Carlyle, his longtime friend and national security adviser. “I feel like I’m skydiving from space. Incredible detail, though.”

“The system stitches together dozens of different sources of data-satellite and photoreconnaissance all the way to simple drawings-chooses the best and most recent info, and fuses it together into one image,” Carlyle said. “But we can go back to old maps and slides if you’d prefer.”

“After what we just paid for this thing? Not on your life.”

“ Quetta, capital of Balochistan province,” General Kelly said, pointing to the laser-projection map. “Three Shaheen-2 mobile intermediate-range ballistic missiles belonging to the Pakistan army’s Fourteenth Strategic Rocket Brigade have been deployed to presurveyed launch points east of the city.”

“What’s going on?” the president asked. “What’s the Pakistani army up to?”

“We’re not sure it is the Pak army, sir-we haven’t detected any other military units on the move,” Kelly replied.

“We’re afraid of the worst here, sir,” Gerald Vista, the director of national intelligence, interjected. “ Quetta has been largely occupied by Taliban and al-Qaeda forces since 2009, and it’s only been a matter of time before they got their hands on a missile capable of carrying weapons of mass destruction. It could also be rogue elements of the military.”

“No other deployments?”

“Standard military deployments only, sir, mostly on the Afghan and Indian borders. No other rocket deployments or alerts.”

“This is not an exercise, correct?” the president asked.

“Correct, sir. If it’s a Pakistani exercise, they didn’t announce it to us.”

“Damn,” Gardner muttered. “Do we think India has detected these rockets?”

“No sign of any Indian responses, sir,” Kelly answered.

“Let’s hope they don’t get spooked,” Gardner said. “Alert our embassies, consulates, and military units in Pakistan, India, and Afghanistan -wake them up, but don’t let them know what’s happening, yet, in case our alerts are intercepted. Get President Mazar on the phone.” Within the next few minutes, the vice president, Kenneth Phoenix, and the president’s secretary of defense, Miller Turner, hurried into the Situation Room, followed shortly thereafter by the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Taylor J. Bain, and the White House chief of staff, Walter Kordus, and they were quickly brought up to speed. “Well?” the president thundered over his shoulder to no one in particular. “Where’s Mazar?”

“An aide told us that Mazar is aware of the developments in Balochistan and he is busy getting it under control,” a communications officer said.

“Shit,” the president murmured. “He’s either lying and doesn’t know, or he knows but can’t do anything about it. What are those rockets?”

“Shaheen-2 is an intermediate-range ballistic missile, sir,” Admiral Kelly said. “It could have a conventional or nonconventional warhead-they’ve even tested a model with multiple reentry warheads.”

“‘Nonconventional warhead’?”

“ Pakistan does have weaponized chemical and biological warheads for their tactical missiles, and they are known to have as many as two hundred and forty nuclear warheads, ranging from one-to two-hundred-kiloton yields.”

“Shit. What range?”

“They can easily reach New Delhi, sir,” Kelly said. “Solid-propellant motors, so once in launch position and aligned, they could fire at any time. India has an array of Russian air defense systems, but no true antiballistic-missile weapons to our knowledge.”

“Christ. What do we have out there? Where are the carriers?”

“The Stennis battle group is in the Arabian Sea right now,” Carlyle said, referring to his notes. “There is a guided-missile cruiser, the Decatur, making a port call in Karachi. It has the SM-3 antiballistic-missile system aboard.”

“Excellent,” Gardner said. But he looked at the electronic chart and frowned. “Can those SM-3s fly that far if the Shaheens are launched toward New Delhi?” He looked at Admiral Kelly and instantly knew that he had thought the same question and had come up with a bad result. “Dammit. Contact the Decatur and tell them to give it a try anyway. Maybe they’ll get lucky.”

“Mr. President,” Vice President Phoenix said, “I recommend authorizing Armstrong to respond if the rockets launch.”

President Gardner looked confused. “Authorize who?”

“Armstrong Space Station, sir,” Phoenix said. He pointed at the electronic laser-generated chart. “Most of this video and intel is coming from the space station’s satellite networks-they have almost constant watch over almost every part of the globe. They were the ones who initiated the alert.” He touched controls on the edge of the table, and the image zoomed in to the Pakistani rockets themselves. Touching the screen, he turned the image until they were looking at the rockets as if hovering just over them on a helicopter. “Look at the detail-you can see the wheels on those transporter-erector-launchers.” The fine detail disappeared, but only for a few moments. “The image changes when one satellite goes out of sight until another one comes in again.” He returned the image to the area around the launch site. “Armstrong controls a network of space-based antiballistic-missile interceptors. I recommend authorizing a shoot-down.”

“Space-based ABMs? I thought they were just experimental.”

“I understand they are not fully operational, but they might have enough ready to do the job.”

The president frowned at Phoenix, surprised and a little annoyed that he knew so much about the space station. He turned to General Bain. “I want to talk with someone on that space station, now.”

“Yes, sir.” Bain picked up a telephone. “Get me Armstrong Space Station.” A few moments later, Bain pressed the speakerphone button on the phone: “General Raydon, this is General Bain in the Situation Room. Report.”

“Armstrong has been monitoring a number of known or suspected missile launch points in Pakistan, India, and several other countries, and we came across these three in Pakistan, sir,” Raydon said. “It could be an exercise or a training session, but we’re not seeing the usual deployments of security personnel around the area-anytime they take one of those things out of the garage, even for an exercise, they normally set up a lot of security. We’ve been looking, and we don’t see any. That’s why we issued the alert.”

“We tried calling Islamabad -they said they’re aware of the situation and are working on it.”

“That doesn’t sound good, sir. We’re standing by.”

“This is President Gardner, General Raydon,” Gardner interjected. “What exactly do you propose to do?”

“The Shaheen-2 ballistic missile flies to an altitude of between sixty and one hundred fifty miles, sir,” Raydon said. “That’s well within the Trinity’s engagement envelope. The problem is, we don’t have a complete constellation of OMVs to-”

“OMVs? What the hell is that?”

“Orbital Maneuvering Vehicles-interceptors, sir,” Raydon said.

“Then just say ‘interceptor’ and let’s cut the crap,” Gardner said hotly. “So can you take those things out, yes or no?”

“If we have a Kingfisher-a weapon platform-within range at the time the missiles reach apogee, we can nail them. Our constellation is incomplete, so there’s just a fifty percent chance we’ll have a platform in range. Am I authorized to engage, sir?”

“Stand by, General,” Gardner said. He hit the “HOLD” button on the phone. “Get Mazar on the phone again, and this time I want to talk with him directly.”

“All embassies and consulates have acknowledged our warning message and are standing by,” Kordus said.

Gardner nodded, scanning the map, thinking hard. “Can the Decatur launch cruise missiles and take those things out?” he asked finally.

Bain measured the distances with his eyes. “About three hundred miles…it would take the TLAMs over a half hour to hit their targets after launch,” he replied.

“Half an hour…?”

“The Paks would certainly see or detect the launch,” Vice President Phoenix said, “and they might respond against the Decatur or against India.”

“ India would certainly retaliate,” Bain added, “probably with WMDs.”

“Mr. President, President Mazar’s office says he will call you immediately when the current situation has terminated,” the communications officer said.

“Dammit,” Gardner swore. He looked at his advisers around the huge electronic map. “All right, folks, let me hear options.”

“No choice, Mr. President-we have to take those missiles out,” Secretary of Defense Turner said. “Mazar won’t say if he ordered those missiles to deploy or not, or if he’s planning on launching them, or if some Taliban gang got hold of them. A cruise-missile attack is the only way.”

“I agree, sir,” National Security Adviser Carlyle said. “We should launch immediately.”

“General?”

“Agreed,” Bain said.

“Ken?”

“Notify New Delhi and Islamabad first,” the vice president said.

“But I think we might have another option. General Raydon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You and Undersecretary Page briefed the National Security Council last year on these weapon platforms of yours,” Phoenix said. “You said they were being armed with self-defense and antiballistic-missile weapons, but you also mentioned as a footnote the space attack weapon. I seem to remember you had a successful test of that weapon back then, so I assume you are still testing it.”

“Yes, sir. It’s called ‘Mjollnir’-‘Thor’s Hammer.’” Several of the president’s advisers raised their eyebrows, just now remembering; President Gardner still looked confused.

“What’s its status?”

“Still in research and development, sir,” Raydon said.

“Undersecretary Page and Secretary Banderas seemed to indicate it was well beyond that stage, General,” Phoenix said. “What’s the real status?”

There was a slight, uncomfortable pause; then: “Mjollnir has been deployed on all of the weapon platforms for mate, stability, and connectivity tests, sir.”

“What’s this all about, Ken?” the president asked.

“There’s a weapon on those orbiting garages that can take out those missiles…in seconds, not minutes.”

“What?”

“If a garage is in position, it can fire a precision-guided penetrator that can take out those missiles,” Phoenix said. “General Raydon, when do you have a garage in position?”

“Stand by, sir.” A moment later: “One Trinity vehicle carrying a Mjollnir reentry weapon with three penetrator sabots will be over the target’s horizon in about two minutes, and will be in optimum launch position for about ninety seconds. The next one won’t be in position for twenty-seven minutes.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a damn minute,” Gardner said. “What are these penetrators? Are they nuclear?”

“They are simply titanium shapes, like a big antitank sabot round, sir,” Raydon said. “They have no explosive warhead of any kind-they’re designed to destroy with sheer velocity and mass. They reenter Earth’s atmosphere at greater than orbital speed: thousands of miles an hour, like a meteor.”

“A meteor?”

“Ninety seconds to go, sir,” Raydon said. “Yes, Mr. President, the reentry vehicle carries three sabots through the atmosphere and then uses sensors to get a precise fix on the target before releasing the sabots at hypersonic speed. Shall I engage?”

“Just shut the hell up, all of you,” the president said. He stared at the holographic map in front of him, uncertainty evident in his face.

“Mr. President, Prime Minister Pawar of India is on the line.”

The president snatched up the phone. “Mr. Prime Minister, this is Joseph Gardner…yes, sir, this is indeed an emergency. We have detected three Pakistani rockets that appear to be in launch position. We have attempted to contact President Mazar but he won’t talk to me. He-yes, sir, I’m told they appear to be Shaheen-2 intermediate-range ballistic missiles.”

“Thirty seconds, Mr. President,” Raydon said.

“Mr. Prime Minister, I don’t have much time,” Gardner said. “I am advising you that I intend on attacking these rockets…using cruise missiles fired from sea.” Most of the president’s advisers looked relieved; Phoenix looked confused. “I’m doing this because…yes, from a U.S. warship visiting Karachi. I don’t want you to mistake it for an attack against India. I don’t know who is in control of those rockets, and for the safety of the entire region I…they are positioned east of Quetta, at a town called-”

“Platform’s over the horizon, sir,” Raydon said. “Ninety seconds before we lose it.”

“Mr. Prime Minister, I didn’t call you so you could attack those rockets yourself,” Gardner said. “I think that would spark a wider exchange between India and Pakistan. I called to advise you of our actions so you wouldn’t try to attack. I’m urging you to let us take action and asking you to be on extra alert but do not take offensive action. I am asking that you-” The president’s expression turned blank, then to disbelief, then to red-hot anger. “Shit, he hung up!” He slammed the phone onto its cradle so hard the holographic images on the Situation Room’s conference table shimmered. “Get him on the line again, and then-”

“Scud, scud, scud!” a female voice shouted. “All stations, this is Armstrong, single ground missile launch detected from location sierra-alpha one-three.” As the stunned presidential advisers watched, one of the holographic images of the Shaheen-2 rockets they were watching lifted off and began to fly above the conference table. “Armstrong is tracking a single ground-launched missile. Preliminary trajectory appears to be suborbital ballistic, flight time estimate nine minutes.”

Ken Phoenix adjusted the display so they could see the computed flight path of the rocket-and sure enough, it was headed directly toward New Delhi, India. “Mr. President, order Armstrong to attack both the missile and the ones on the ground! The platform is in position now-”

“Attack an ally with a hypersonic meteor from space? Are you crazy, Ken…?”

“Sir, if they launch all those missiles and they have WMDs on them, they could kill millions of people,” Phoenix argued. “Even if the Taliban or rogue forces were involved, and not the Pakistani government, it would certainly start a war.”

“I don’t believe the Paks would allow missiles with WMDs to fall into the hands of the Taliban,” Gardner said. “This is a provocation, nothing more. Someone wants to start a shooting war. We tell New Delhi to stay calm and not overreact, and we’ll come through this.”

“But what if you’re wrong, sir?” Phoenix insisted. “What if they’re armed with WMDs? We have a way to stop them. Order the space station to attack.”

“The world will think I’m nuts, firing those meteor things-”

“You can’t just sit back and do nothing, sir-”

“Hey, Phoenix, shut the hell up and remember who you’re talking to!” the president snapped, jabbing a finger at his vice president. The room fell silent except for the reports of the missile’s flight path being relayed from Armstrong Space Station. Gardner looked at the holographic 3-D map for a few moments, his eyes darting here and there; then, his head still lowered, he said in a low voice, “Order the space station to attack those other rockets and nail that one that lifted off.”

“Armstrong, this is General Bain, immediate attack commit authorized by the president,” Bain ordered.

“Armstrong copies, attack authorized,” Kai Raydon responded.

“All stations, all stations, this is Armstrong, attack-commit authorization received,” the voice of Senior Master Sergeant Valerie “Seeker” Lukas said. She was at her monitor and tracking console in Armstrong Space Station’s command module. “All personnel, stand by.” To Kai Raydon beside her, she said, “All combat stations reporting manned and ready, sir.”

“Okay, kids, this is for real this time, but we do it just like we’ve rehearsed,” Kai said on the stationwide intercom. “Line it up, Seeker.”

“Roger, sir,” Lukas said. “Kingfisher Zero-Niner is responding to telemetry and reports ready, sir.” She turned to Raydon. “This will be a Mjollnir and ABM attack from the same platform at almost the same time, sir-I don’t think we’ve ever practiced that before.”

“Now’s a good time, Seeker,” Kai said. “I want to concentrate on the rocket. Have they launched any other Shaheens yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you can use more than one Trinity on the one in flight,” Kai said. “Hopefully we’ll nail the others before they launch. One Hammer should be more than enough for the ones still on the ground, but use another if you need to.”

“Yes, sir. Trinity One is counting down, twenty seconds to release. Hammer One is counting down, twenty-six seconds to release.”

As the Pakistani ballistic missile rose through the atmosphere, four hundred miles above it and six hundred miles behind it, the weapon garage named Kingfisher-9 emitted short thruster pulses in response to steering commands from its tracking and targeting computers. The cylindrical spacecraft had its own radar, electro-optical, and infrared sensors trained on the rocket, but the muzzle of the spacecraft was aimed well beyond it, along the computed flight path.

At the proper instant, the fire control computers launched the first Trinity interceptor vehicle. The kill vehicle used steering instructions broadcast from the weapon garage to insert itself into its own orbit that intersected the missile’s flight path. By this time the rocket motor on the Shaheen-2 ballistic missile had already burned out, and it was approaching its coasting phase at the top of its ballistic flight path. Even though it was a “tail-chase,” Trinity was traveling at orbital velocity of almost five miles per second and closed the distance to the vastly slower Pakistani missile in just eighty seconds. With ten seconds to intercept, the Trinity weapon activated its own millimeter-wave terminal guidance radar, refined its aiming with ultrashort bursts of thruster fire, and zeroed in for a direct hit.

Back on Kingfisher-9, immediately after launching the first Trinity vehicle, thrusters were already turning the weapon garage in a different direction, and as soon as the spacecraft was pointed properly, a Mjollnir vehicle fired-this one aimed toward Earth. Thrusters directed the payload on course. Specially shielded to withstand the extreme two-thousand-degree heat of reentry, slowing but still traveling more than four miles per second, the weapon package pierced the upper atmosphere in just over ten seconds.

As the superheated ionized air around the heat shield subsided, the shield was ejected, exposing the millimeter-wave terminal guidance radar aboard the payload guidance bus. The radar took digital pictures of the target area, comparing terrain features to its internal database for fine course corrections, then zeroed in on the target itself. In thousandths of a second it identified the target, measured the total target area, and computed the precise instant to release the titanium sabots. Small maneuvering vanes allowed some small course corrections, but the weapon was traveling too fast for the vanes to have much effect.

Seconds before impact, the sabots separated from the guidance bus, creating a radius of destruction precisely equal to the target area. The sabots hit the Earth traveling almost two miles per second, each with the force of a two-thousand-pound high-explosive bomb, creating a crater large enough to fit a jumbo jet within it…

…but missing the target area by over a mile, completely destroying a grain-processing facility on the outskirts of a village instead. Panicked by the massive explosion that erupted so close by, the terrorists abandoned the remaining two missiles and fled.

“It missed!” Bain shouted. “The other missiles are still alive.”

“But we got the one they launched,” Phoenix said happily. “We won’t have an interceptor to get the other ones if they launch, but-”

“What…just…happened…here?” President Gardner asked in a low, completely stupefied voice. His eyes looked up from the holographic imagery of the two nearly simultaneous attacks to the faces of the advisers around him. “Was that real?”

“Sir,” General Bain said, grinning like a kid at a circus, “it looks like we just took out a ballistic missile…with a weapon fired from space.” He pumped a fist in the air. “I don’t believe it myself, but they did it. They shot down a ballistic missile from space.”

The president looked at the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in utter disbelief, then with exasperation at his senior uniformed military adviser celebrating like a kid at a Little League game. “As you were, General,” he growled. “Who knows what we hit with those meteor things. This thing’s not over.” Bain lowered his eyes contritely, but not convincingly so. Gardner glared at Phoenix angrily. “I never should have fired those meteor things at Pakistan. That was wrong advice, and I shouldn’t have had to have it shoved in my face by you.” Phoenix said nothing, but returned Gardner ’s glare with a steady gaze.

“Mr. President, it appears the terrorists are abandoning those remaining missiles,” Kai Raydon reported from Armstrong Space Station. “They’re bugging out.”

“General Bain, make sure that space station stands down and doesn’t fire any more meteors at anybody!” the president said, drawing a finger across his throat to order the link cut off. To the State Department representative: “Send an immediate message to New Delhi, tell them the missiles have been abandoned and will soon be recovered, and urge them not to retaliate,” the president said. “Tell them the emergency is over. Get Mazar on the phone-call his office every ten seconds if you have to, but I want to talk to him immediately.”

He took a breath, swallowed hard, then added, “And I want to see Page and that general on the space station, Raydon, in the Oval Office as soon as possible. I want to know everything about those weapons. Then I want to meet with Secretary Barbeau and figure out what we’re going to say to the rest of the world when the news of what we’ve just done gets out. And someone shut this damned table off.”

The room began to clear out, but just as the vice president was leaving, Gardner said, “Mr. Phoenix, a word with you.” Ken Phoenix turned and returned to the Situation Room, along with Chief of Staff Kordus; the others wore expressions signifying they were happy to be leaving. “I’ll meet you in the Oval Office in a few, Walter,” the president said. Kordus glanced warily at the president, but nodded and departed, closing the door behind him.

“What was that, Phoenix?” Gardner exclaimed after the door was closed. “What the hell do you think you were doing?”

“My job, Mr. President,” Phoenix replied flatly.

“Your job is to take over for the president if he is unable to serve and to preside over the Senate, not to call up whatever military units you feel like and issue orders to the president of the United States! And you did it in the middle of a damned crisis, in front of my entire national security team. You undermined my authority and far overstepped yours.”

“I thought part of my job was to offer advice, sir.”

“Advice, yes-then shut up and let me make the decisions, not pop off at me!” Gardner snapped. He looked at Phoenix inquisitively. “You did seem to know an awful lot about that space station and those weapons. Why is that?”

“I get the same briefings as you, Mr. President.”

“Been keeping up on the so-called Space Defense Force? Your friend McLanahan’s old wet dream, before he retired, joined up with Martindale in that illegal mercenary outfit, and screwed the pooch in Iraq?”

“I keep up on a lot of things, sir. That’s my job as well, isn’t it?”

“I see. You seem to have a lot of lofty ideas about what your job is.” Gardner sat back against the conference table, looking Phoenix up and down, studying him. “You know, Ken, I keep hearing these rumors that you intend to resign as vice president and run for the White House. Any truth to that?”

“This isn’t Paraguay, sir,” Phoenix said. “No U.S. vice president has ever resigned his office to run for president. It would be political suicide.”

“That wasn’t a yes-or-no answer, Ken,” Gardner observed. “You would at least have the decency of talking to me beforehand, open and honestly?”

“Sir, the election is in ten months. You’ve been campaigning for reelection since last September-”

“But there’s supposed to be a supersecret campaign organization in place that can get you up and running in an instant, right? That’s what I heard.” Gardner couldn’t tell if Phoenix ’s silence was an admission, a denial, confusion, uncertainty-or hopefulness.

“Listen, Ken, you’re a good guy. I’ve never said it outright, but I’m sure you’ve known this already: You’re a formidable politician. You’re very bright, folks like and respect you, your background and public record are exemplary, and you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, like what you did in Iraq. I picked you to help unite the country after the partisan mess Martindale left it in.”

“And so I wouldn’t run against you in the last election.”

“That didn’t matter, Ken,” the president said earnestly-whether it was real or not, Phoenix couldn’t tell, which was one of the things that made Gardner such a formidable political figure.

“You’re a young guy. If you want to run for office in 2016, you’ll still be a young guy, in your midfifties, and with eight years of experience in the veep’s office. But let me give you some advice: If you resigned to run for office, you’d be committing political suicide, like you said, public and bloody. No one respects a quitter, especially a political quitter. You’d have less than one term in office, running against your former running mate, and you’d be forgotten in the dustbin of history except as the only guy to resign as vice president to run for president. Do you really want that?”

“I never said I wanted it, sir.”

“No, but you’ve never denied it either,” Gardner said. He affixed Phoenix with a direct gaze. “Start denying it. Forcefully. Or you’ll be spending a lot of time sequestered away in some undisclosed location. Understand?”

“Understood, sir.”

“And remember, there’s only one president in this country. Keep your opinions and directives to yourself unless I ask you a direct question or until you raise your right hand and say ‘So help me God’ with me either standing in the background at your inauguration or in a flag-draped box in the cargo hold of Air Force One. Don’t interfere with my Situation Room again. Clear?”

“Clear, sir.”

President Gardner shook his head and smiled. “‘Blast ’em from space,’ he says. ‘Don’t just sit there and do nothing,’ he says. We’re going to catch some shit for that, for sure,” and he departed the Situation Room and headed back to the Oval Office.

“Had your heart-to-heart with Phoenix, Joe?” Chief of Staff Kordus asked after the president entered his office. “I know you’ve been looking for just the right opportunity to tell him the score, and he sure delivered.”

“He came back from that nightmare in Iraq with a big head, and it needed to be shrunk down a few,” the president said. He longed for a cigarette and a glass of rum, but it was way too early in the day, even for him.

“What did he say about running for president?”

“Neither confirmed nor denied it,” Gardner replied. “But we know there’s an exploratory committee set up. I don’t know what he’s waiting for.”

“He’s not sure,” Kordus offered. “If you dropped him from the ticket, he’d go for it in a heartbeat.”

“I’m not about to do that, unless he does something really, really dumb and there’s such a loud hue and cry against him from the party or the public that I’m forced to drop him,” the president said. “And with what he went through in Iraq, he’s an action hero and rock star rolled into one.”

“Well, we’ve leaked so many hints about a rift between you and him that today’s outburst will put more pressure on him to shit or get off the pot,” Kordus said. “His speeches on your behalf are less and less about you and more toward your policies-rather, his take on your policies. Everyone is guessing he’ll leave. What’s Stacy Anne saying?”

“She’s getting real impatient,” Gardner admitted. “Her campaign speeches are packin’ ’em in like crazy-she’s a natural, and the public loves her sass. With her actions in Iraq and Turkey, the public really got a good look at her diplomatic experience in the face of hostile action-not at the same level as Phoenix, but pretty damned close. She keeps on saying that she wished it was her that got shot down over Iraq.”

“I heard that-and I don’t think she was kidding.”

“Me neither. But she wants in the West Wing in the worst way.”

“So like you said, Phoenix has to be forced to resign, or do something Agnew-like to voluntarily resign, or something completely egregious that you have no choice but to drop him from your ticket,” Kordus said.

“Too bad I can’t fire him.”

“Unfortunately he was elected, same as you, so he can only resign, be impeached, or die,” Kordus said. “But if he keeps on popping off at you in cabinet or NSC meetings, the others might force him to resign for the good of the country.”

The president waved a hand. “Enough about Phoenix -he’ll wait four more years, and then he’ll probably just waltz into the White House,” he said. “I won’t give a shit then-I’ll be at my beach house in Florida in between seven-figure speaking engagements. My bigger problem is how to explain what in hell we just did today.”

“Give it a week or two for things in South Asia to calm down,” Kordus said, “and then we’ll leak the existence of those Pakistani missiles-if it hasn’t already been leaked by India or Russia. You’ll look like a hero for taking them out. You can just tell everyone that you’re not at liberty to discuss how it was done. Then you’ll have to decide if you want to keep those space interceptors up there, or take them down.” He saw the president’s upticked eyebrows, indicating the silent question, and replied, “They sure as hell did the job, even if they missed the target.”

“They sure as hell did…and that’s what concerns me,” the president said. “If people start believing in space weapons, they may not want aircraft carriers.”

“There’s no comparison,” Kordus said. “It’s apples and oranges. I remember when the so-called experts were saying carriers were obsolete because of the cruise missile and the stealth bomber. It’s not true. Eventually we’ll have hypersonic flying ships and laser guns and then maybe the aircraft carrier will go away, but it won’t happen in our kids’ lifetimes.”

The president looked uneasily at his friend, chief political adviser, and idea machine. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “I’m not afraid to say I was impressed. That Kingfisher thing is a game changer. But we’ve got a lot invested in building up the fleet again, and I don’t want some new cool technology to derail our plans.”

“If it looks that way, we’ll pull the plug on Kingfisher,” Kordus said. “It did miss, after all, and killed a lot of innocent people in the process. It may not be ready for prime time yet.”

SOUTH OF HAINAN ISLAND, PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

DAYS LATER

The sea-launched ballistic-missile tube door opened on the spine of the USS Wyoming, the seventeenth Ohio-class ballistic-missile submarine, but instead of launching a Trident ballistic missile, a missile-shaped vehicle called a Grebe slowly eased out of the missile tube and began floating to the surface as the submarine moved away. It listened for any sign of collision or interference using passive sonars, even halting its ascent at one point when it detected a nearby fishing vessel.

After reaching the surface, it assumed a semisubmerged tail-low stance while it updated its navigation system using GPS signals and continued to listen for threats. Once it determined the coast was clear, wings and skis popped out of the Grebe’s body, two rocket engines fired to lift the vehicle out of the water, and a small turbojet engine started when the vehicle reached a thousand-feet altitude. It climbed slowly, using a spiral flight course to avoid flying too close to Hainan Island before it reached its cruising altitude. Once reaching twelve thousand feet, it activated its low-light television and imaging infrared sensors and set a course for the Chinese naval base on Hainan Island. The Grebe’s composite structure and small size kept it from being detected by air defense radars on the heavily fortified island.

The objective of the mission was the Wenchang Spaceport, the southernmost and newest of China ’s four satellite-launch facilities. Because Wenchang was closest to the equator and could therefore use the Earth’s spin to help shove bigger rockets into orbit, the launch facilities, seaport, and rail lines had been greatly expanded to allow launches of China’s biggest boosters, including the new Long March-5 heavy booster intended for manned lunar missions, and lifting larger parts of Tiangong-1, China’s growing military space station, into orbit.

There were four launchpads at Wenchang, and the Grebe got busy photographing them in detail. It was risky using the Grebe to photograph the base at such a low altitude, but even advanced satellites could not provide the extreme detail that the large drone could; also, satellites were too easy to detect and predict when they flew over the base, making it simple for the Chinese to hide a classified project from sight.

Along with optical and infrared sensors, the Grebe also collected electromagnetic signals such as radar, radio, microwave, and cellular telephone. It would avoid any areas of greater radar-signal activity, especially the naval port on the south side of the island, to avoid being detected. When it encountered a suspected air defense radar lock, the Grebe would automatically stow the electro-optical and infrared sensor domes to reduce its radar signature, then redeploy them when the signals subsided.

The Hainan Island military complex was actually three bases in one: the naval airfield that housed long-range maritime patrol planes, air defense fighter interceptors, and the Chinese aircraft carrier’s air wing; the port facilities for the six ships in China’s first aircraft-carrier battle group; and an underground submarine base actually carved into the island, which hosted a dozen hunter-killer and ballistic-missile submarines. Although Wenchang was the main target of this mission, the Grebe drone also snapped a few pictures of the rest of the island superfortress when its sensors detected that any radars were no longer tracking it. The Chinese aircraft-carrier group had returned from its encounter with the USS George H. W. Bush, and its aircraft were safely on shore.

As the Grebe swept back to the north to take one last pass at Wenchang before returning for its rendezvous with the Wyoming, some new details began to emerge. Three of the four main launchpads were vacant. The fourth main launchpad held a very large rocket with an incredible twelve rocket motors strapped onto the lower section and an enormous cargo fairing atop the rocket.

A new development was the presence of two smaller launchpads situated away from the main launch complex and serviced by roads, not rail lines. These were occupied by large rockets on mobile transporter-erector-launchers, with six concrete shelters large enough to house them built nearby. That was certainly a new development-they hadn’t been spotted by any satellite surveillance passes as soon as a day earlier.

Mission complete, the Grebe stowed its sensor turrets and headed northeast. It would take a wide sweeping course away from the island, turn on its transponders so Chinese air defense would spot it heading away, then go back into stealth mode, descend, and turn south for its rendezvous with the Wyoming, hopefully sending any pursuers off in the wrong direction. Once at the preplanned rendezvous point, it would ski-land on the South China Sea, sink itself to a safe level, and await retrieval by divers from the Wyoming. Although in service for only a few months, the Grebe was proving to be a very valuable intelligence-gathering tool, giving the Navy yet another over-the-horizon asset that allowed…

…and at that moment, less than two miles off the northeast coast of Hainan Island, a Type P793 mobile twin thirty-seven-millimeter antiaircraft cannon, guided by passive electro-optical and infrared sensors and therefore undetected by the Grebe’s electromagnetic sensors, opened fire. The drone was cut to pieces in seconds, scattering pieces of itself across an entire square mile of the South China Sea.

THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM

THE NEXT MORNING

“They are Dong Feng-21 missiles, sir,” Gerald Vista, the director of national intelligence, said. President Gardner peered with close attention at the images on the large-screen computer monitor at the front of the room. It was an amazingly clear image of the launchpads at Wenchang Spaceport on Hainan Island, China, transmitted via satellite from the Grebe sub-launched unmanned aerial vehicle-they looked as if they were taken from a platform just above the weapons. “In my opinion they represent a major escalation of weapons in the South China Sea.”

Vista used a remote control to zoom in on two of the launchpads. “Note the differences in the nose section of the missiles between pad number five and six, and the extra set of fins near the top of the missile on the ones on pad five,” he said. “The extra fins allow more maneuvering in the atmosphere. We believe the missiles on pad five are maneuvering ballistic antiship missiles.”

“So the rumors are true, eh?” the president remarked. “I remember they were supposedly experimenting with them when I was at the Pentagon. Any chance they might be fakes set up out there for us to take pictures of them?”

“Of course, sir,” Vista said. “We’d need a clandestine operative, an informant, or a special ops mission to be sure. Until then, we shouldn’t take the chance.”

“I know that, Gerald,” the president said perturbedly. “So they finally rolled the big antiship missiles out. Because of the Bush incident, I presume?”

“That, and I’m sure the Pakistan strike as well,” National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle said. He turned to Vista. “The missiles on pad six are the antisatellite missiles?”

“Yes. Officially called the KT-3, but still a modified DF-21 missile like the others. We estimate it can hit satellites as high as six hundred miles-plenty to reach Armstrong and the interceptor garages. It was the same missile that shot down their weather satellite a few years ago.”

“You think they want to attack the space station, Gerald?” the president asked. He turned to Secretary of State Barbeau and National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle. “That make sense to you, Stacy? Conrad?”

“I think we’re seeing the beginnings of the Chinese response to our naval buildup program, sir,” Carlyle said. “They know they or the Russians can’t build space weapons or aircraft carriers or train experienced carrier crews fast enough to match us. So while they get up to speed on carriers and space, they bring out the antiship ballistic missiles and ASATs.”

“The Chinese don’t want to challenge us, Mr. President, but they don’t want to be seen as being restricted at all by the U.S. Navy,” Barbeau said. “We don’t want to restrict free access to the world’s oceans-”

“We just want the ability to do so if we choose,” the president said. “So what about these damned Dong Feng missiles? Are they something we need to worry about?”

“The DF-21 and KT-3 are mobile solid-fuel missiles with good accuracy even with just an inertial guidance system-they get near zero-zero accuracy with a precision system such as electro-optical, satellite, or laser guidance,” Vista said. “They’re easy to hide, easy to set up, can be fired and reloaded quickly, and are hypersonic, which makes intercepting them more difficult. Even without a high-explosive or nuclear warhead, just one could probably severely damage an aircraft carrier enough to take it out of action just by sheer impact force.”

“But it does have a nuclear warhead, right?”

“Yes, sir, it does,” Vista said. “They can also carry a one-thousand-pound high-explosive warhead, but it has a much shorter range. The ASAT missile is kinetic-kill only-no warhead, hit-to-kill.”

“The nukes are a problem, Mr. President-a very big one,” Vice President Ken Phoenix said. Gardner gave him a fleeting warning glance but let him speak. “ China is deploying nuclear-capable antiship missiles? What if they start deploying them in large numbers? Are they trying to restrict our movements or exclude us from certain areas?”

“The problem is targeting, sir-finding and tracking an aircraft carrier,” Carlyle said. “Oceans are big, especially the western Pacific and Indian oceans, which the Chinese would want to patrol, and carriers move pretty quickly and unpredictably. But if you spot one and pass the location to the launch site, the situation quickly turns critical.”

“Do the Chinese have that ability?” Phoenix asked.

“In certain regions, yes, sir,” Vista said. “The South China Sea, East China Sea, and Yellow Sea are quickly becoming Chinese lakes, like the Gulf of Mexico is to the United States -open to all, but definitely under our direct control. Straits of Malacca, Java Sea, eastern Indian Ocean, the most important sea-lanes from Asia to the Middle East and Europe-not so much yet, but building quickly. They have three satellites in circular equatorial orbits specifically tasked for surveillance of the Indian Ocean and South China Sea, and they operate large fleets of manned and unmanned patrol aircraft to monitor seas closer to the mainland.”

“Well, that’s an awful big chunk of the Far East, and nukes in open ocean can be pretty devastating even if you miss your target,” Phoenix offered. “It’s a serious situation. We should demand they remove the nuclear warheads from those missiles immediately and allow verification inspections.”

The president took a sip of orange juice and thought for a moment; then: “Putting nuclear warheads on missiles out in the open is a big deal, Ken, I agree,” he said, “but Stacy Anne is handling China right now, and I think she’s doing a good job. She closed the book on the Bush incident, so now we can turn to Hainan Island and those missiles.”

He thought for a while longer, then went on: “We let them know that we know they’re there, period. If China wants to put missiles there, let ’em; if they want to do some test launches, we’ll collect even more data on what they have. Now that we know they’re there, we’ll be keeping an eye on them even more closely, and at the first sign of any conflict, we’ll take ’ em out.” He noticed Phoenix wanted to say something, and gave him another warning glance. “I’m not going to do anything that will make the Chinese think we’re scared of their missiles.” He nodded toward the screen. “What about that big-ass rocket out there?”

“That’s their new heavy-lift booster, the Long March-5, sir,” Vista said. “It’s an enlarged Long March-3 rocket with four solid-fuel motors strapped to the outside. It can haul twenty-five tons into low Earth orbit, fifteen tons to geosynchronous orbit, or ten tons to the moon-not quite Saturn-5 class, but still impressive. The Chinese have already announced they’re going to use it to insert the new crew habitation module of their space station, Shenzhou-7. The launch is scheduled for May first. Their first lunar mission-orbit the moon, then return-is also scheduled for this year.”

“ China is really going full throttle on their space program, aren’t they?” Vice President Phoenix remarked.

“Let’s talk about our own space program-namely, Armstrong and those weapon garages,” the president interjected. “Get Page and that general in here.” A few moments later, Ann Page and Brigadier General Raydon were escorted into the Situation Room, along with Secretary of the Air Force Salazar Banderas. Stacy Barbeau did a double take when Kai Raydon entered the room-obviously she liked what she saw. “Take seats, folks, and let’s talk,” the president said. He waited until the newcomers had seated themselves, then said without preamble or pleasantries, “If I didn’t know any better, Secretary Banderas, I’d say you sneaked those Thor’s Hammer things on those space platforms, disguised as antiballistic-missile weapons or space experiments. Am I wrong?”

“Mr. President, I didn’t try to conceal anything,” Banderas said. “We revealed everything in our budgets and research plans.” He glanced at Secretary of Defense Turner. “I briefed SECDEF myself on every aspect of Kingfisher.”

“Miller?”

“I’d have to check my records, sir,” Turner said uneasily. “Kingfisher I recognize. I remember something last year about a successful test of a space-launched surface-attack weapon, but I didn’t know it had been deployed as part of the space-based antiballistic-missile system.”

“I recall getting a briefing, Mr. President,” Phoenix said. Gardner ignored the remark.

“Mr. President, it was a successful employment,” Ann said. “A crisis was averted. We should-”

“Dr. Page, I’ll get to you in a second,” the president said, holding up a hand. “Secretary Banderas, I feel as if I’ve been deceived. I’ve got to explain to the world what we did in Pakistan, and I don’t know enough about these space weapons to do that. That’s my fault and my problem. The question is: What do we do from here?”

“Mr. President, I recommend accelerating deployment of the full Kingfisher constellation,” Banderas said. “They proved they work. We were lucky we had a weapon platform in position to strike. Now that the world understands what we have, they can time their strikes to take advantage of coverage gaps. We need to fill those gaps as quickly as possible.”

“Do you read the papers, Mr. Secretary?” the president asked irritably. “Do you watch the news? Pakistan is accusing us of attacking them with a conventionally armed intercontinental ballistic missile! We killed dozens of civilians. Pictures of that crater are being shown on TV every hour of every day. And I can’t tell the world that we stopped a Pakistani missile attack- India and probably Russia would attack in a heartbeat.”

“Sir, all of the nations in the region are manipulating the events in this incident to suit their own political agenda,” Banderas said.

“ China has a space tracking facility in Karachi, and Pakistan has dozens of long-range radars; India and Russia have them, too, in India. They all know Pakistan launched a ballistic missile at India and that we intercepted it, but that hasn’t hit the news yet.”

“What’s your point, Mr. Secretary?”

“My point is, sir, that we can’t respond to international criticism and fear because people aren’t being told the whole truth,” Banderas went on. “The only thing we can do is make the system completely operational and respond to the next emergency as appropriate.”

“And you don’t feel this will cause a new arms race?”

“Sir, the race is already on,” Banderas said. He motioned to Kai Raydon, who opened a folder and dropped a photograph on the conference table before the president. “Does that look familiar, sir?”

President Gardner glanced at it, then nodded and slid the photo to his national security adviser. “They look like the missile shelters on Hainan Island in China,” he said.

“They are missile shelters for DF-21 missiles, sir-but they’re located in Karachi, Pakistan, not China,” Kai said. “We photographed them just a few hours ago. It looks like China is deploying DF-21s and probably KT-3 antisatellite missiles in Pakistan.”

“That’s ridiculous,” National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle said. “ China deploying missiles designed to attack American warships-in Pakistan, an American ally?”

“ China is a Pakistani ally, too, Mr. Director, as you know,” Banderas said. “We’ve been drifting apart from Pakistan for quite some time, since Predator drone sorties were stepped up in the Afghan-Pakistan border region, and at the same time China has been increasing economic and military aid to Pakistan.”

“We’re scanning other Chinese-allied nations looking for more of these DF-21 launch sites,” Kai said. “I’ll bet we’ll soon find them in Africa, the Pacific, South America, and Southeast Asia -everywhere they have military cooperation agreements or have bought basing rights.”

“Again, they can build all the launchpads they want-we’ll have to keep track of them and make a plan to take them out if necessary,” the president said. Kai noticed the uncomfortable set of the vice president’s jaw-obviously he didn’t agree with that tactic. “Making this situation even more complicated was the attack from space. Why should the Chinese give up their missiles while we have orbiting killer meteoroids?”

“Sir, it’s obvious China has been working on deploying these DF-21s and KT-3s around the world for quite some time-probably since we first started inserting the interceptor garages into orbit,” Banderas said. “Now those things are out in the open, possibly with nuclear warheads. And remember, sir, that the DF-21 is at first a surface-to-surface missile as well as an antiship and antisatellite one-from Hainan Island they can reach as far as Guam and Okinawa and hit all of the transit routes between the Pacific and Indian oceans. The only weapon system we have right now to hit those launchers in a timely manner is Mjollnir.”

“I think a sea-launched cruise missile could do the job adequately as well, Sal-let’s not lose perspective here, okay?” the president said. “I know you’re an air-and space-power advocate, but let’s not forget the big picture.” He turned to Secretary of State Barbeau. “Stacy…”

She smiled and held up a hand. “I know, sir, I know…back to Beijing.”

“I need to learn more about what the Chinese intend to do with these DF-21s,” the president said. “I’m not going to force the issue or demand removal-yet-but I want to get a statement from them.”

“I think I know what they’ll say: It’s to protect vital Chinese shipping lanes and the free flow of commerce around the world,” Barbeau said. “They’ll openly cite Somali and Philippine pirates; less overtly, they’ll say that American domination of the world’s oceans is a threat.”

“Get it firsthand, and then we’ll hold their feet to the fire,” Gardner said.

“Yes, Mr. President,” she said, taking that opportunity to look Raydon up and down again. He did the same to her, but more discreetly.

The president turned to Ann Page. “Dr. Page, you have a long and distinguished career, but to me you seem to take great delight in shaking up the system. As an engineer and former member of Congress, that’s probably a good thing-but as a member of my administration, it most definitely is not.”

“Mr. President, it’s not my intention to shake anything up,” Ann said. “We had the technology to build an entirely new defensive and offensive weapon system and take the U.S. military to the next level. The technology may be immature and imperfect, but as we saw, it’s viable.”

“Viable? You missed the target and killed a lot of civilians, Dr. Page.”

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. President,” Ann said sincerely. “While I don’t believe that the ends justifies the means, we did stop the Pakistanis from launching any more rockets.”

The president closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll tell that to the United Nations: We put out a house fire by blowing up the dam and flooding the town,” he said. “So we have an immature and unreliable weapon system that is controversial to say the least, incomplete, and bound to cause a major outcry if not an outright global arms race. What do you propose I do about this?”

“Resolve to win the race, sir,” Ann said immediately. “With current funding, it will take another fifteen to twenty-four months to complete the Kingfisher constellation. We have a plan to draw on Air Force and Navy budget resources and complete the constellation in ten months or less, along with making improvements in detection capabilities, self-defense to counter the growing Russian and Chinese antisatellite threat, and weapon accuracy.”

“Navy budget resources, eh?” Secretary of Defense Turner asked. “Such as?”

Ann looked at Secretary Banderas. When he hesitated, she replied: “BAMS and ForceNet, Mr. Secretary, among others.”

“What?” Turner exclaimed. His astonished expression slowly turned into one of amusement. “You want to downsize two of the biggest and most cutting-edge naval surveillance and information networking systems?”

“We don’t want to downsize them, Mr. Secretary-we want to cancel them,” Banderas said.

“Cancel them?” Turner asked incredulously. “They’re not even fully implemented yet!”

“Exactly why they should be canceled, sir,” Banderas went on.

“The Broad Area Maritime Surveillance program is based around old technology-”

“Global Hawk may be old, but it’s proven technology.”

“Global Hawk is proven, but compared to emerging space technology, it’s slow, vulnerable, costly and difficult to sustain and support, limited by availability of shore facilities, and in its current configuration has no strike capability, sir,” Banderas went on.

“ForceNet is seven years in the making but is far over budget, is still not fully operational, and isn’t fully integrated into other services’ computer network systems. For network systems managed by major non-Navy commands such as U.S. Strategic Command, ForceNet will demand an upgrade of their network infrastructures to mesh, with the costs estimated in the tens of billions of dollars and another ten years. That means that ForceNet would probably never be tied into other networks as it was designed to be.”

“Once completed, Kingfisher can act as a global fleet communications-and-reconnaissance system,” Ann jumped in. “Our systems are already tied into several services’ reconnaissance and surveillance networks, including the Navy’s, along with Strategic Command, the National Reconnaissance Office, and even the CIA. Everyone in Washington has accessed our imagery, used our communications relays, and taken advantage of our global Internet access and secure data network-and the system is only half finished.”

“The Navy is never going to cancel two vital programs to invest in these orbital weapon garages,” Turner said.

“Nor should they,” the president said. “It’s not going to happen. I supported maritime Global Hawk and ForceNet from day one-I’m not about to kill them, especially for an unproven system.”

“It’s not unproven anymore, sir,” Kai said. Barbeau’s eyes fairly twinkled when he spoke.

“I’m not convinced the land-attack missile portion is ready, General,” the president said. “The missile defense part is impressive, but I’m not ready to cancel important programs for other services for a global missile defense shield. We spend a lot of money on missile defense for the United States already-defending India is not in our budget.”

He got to his feet, and everyone else followed suit. “Good to see you, Sal,” he said, shaking hands with the Air Force secretary. “We’ll discuss this and let you know how it’ll be.”

“I’ve got the entire proposal ready for your review, Mr. President,” Banderas said. “I know you’ll be surprised and pleased with the program.”

The president ignored the last-second sales pitch. “Dr. Page, good to see you again,” he said, shaking her hand next. “Deploying a new weapon system is a process, as I’m sure you are very aware. If you spring it on the world all at once like this, folks put up an immediate negative reaction to it-and that goes double for something this different.”

“I know very well, Mr. President, after all my work on Skybolt and in the Senate Armed Services Committee,” Ann said. “But Kingfisher is what’s needed now for global reconnaissance and a truly rapid-reaction ballistic-missile defense and global strike.”

The White House chief of staff, Walter Kordus, could see the president’s exasperation at the chatter and began herding the visitors out the door. Kai Raydon stuck out a hand before Kordus could reach him, and the president shook it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. President,” he said.

“Same, General,” Gardner responded curtly before Kordus finally corralled the visitors and led them outside, trailing them with a chorus of thank-yous.

“I’d be happy to talk to those people for you next time, Mr. President,” Secretary of Defense Turner said after all but he, Conrad Carlyle, and Stacy Anne Barbeau stayed behind. “They’re starting to sound like used-car salesmen. And I had no inkling they were going to propose killing BAMS and ForceNet for their space stuff. They must be breathing too much rare gas or something.”

“I’m not about to kill any Navy programs for this Thor’s Hammer thing,” the president said. “It is indeed impressive-just impressive enough to offer it up to the Russians, Chinese, North Koreans, or anyone else we need to make a deal with. Otherwise we threaten to start launching more weapon garages into space, and they’ll have to spend trillions to counter it.”

A phone rang, and Kordus answered it immediately-calls that came in to the Situation Room during meetings were always emergencies. He handed it over to Barbeau. “Barbeau…what’s up, Ben?…What?…Great Lord, what in God’s name?…Okay, Ben, call the senior staff together right away. I’ll be there shortly.” She hung up the phone. “ Islamabad has recalled its ambassador to Washington,” she said to the president, “and the ISI has arrested twenty-seven Pakistanis who work at our embassy, accusing them of spying for the United States. Further, the warship visiting Karachi is being barred from leaving port until the ISI inspects it.”

“Here it starts,” the president said wearily. “Walter, get Mazar on the phone for me. Stacy Anne, you talk to the Pakistani foreign minister. Ask them to reconsider those orders, or at least change the order to ‘return for consultations’ or something less flammable than ‘recall,’ and ask them to release the embassy staff. They don’t want to start a diplomatic squabble over an incident that everyone wants to keep hidden in the basement. We have pictures of those missiles and a full transcript of the launch and engagement-they wouldn’t want us to release those videos.” Barbeau hurried away to her office at the State Department. “Conrad…”

“I’ll see what I can do about getting that ship released,” the president’s national security adviser said. “We probably gave every Pakistani naval officer and local government official a tour of that ship already-they shouldn’t be demanding inspections.”

The president nodded. “And I want to get briefed on contingency plans in case we’re barred from Pakistani ports and airfields-how do we sustain Afghanistan operations if we can’t bring in supplies through Pakistan.” He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I almost wish we let the Paks fire off another missile. Let’s get busy.”