Medusa's Child

FIFTEEN

The President of the United States swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for the wall-mounted handset that connected him to the cockpit of Air Force One some one hundred feet away. Sleeping was impossible now, though the First Lady had pulled a pillow over her head and gone back to sleep when the crisis calls began coming in ten-minute intervals.

The colonel in command of the 747 answered almost instantly.

"Jim, we're going to have to turn around. Get us back to Washington as fast as you can."

"Yes, sir. We'll need an in-flight refueling north of Juneau."

"Whatever it takes. How long to get home?"

"Over, ah, nine and a half hours, sir, approximately. We're over the western end of the Aleutian chain."

"This is going to reach a climax long before then, Jim. You've been briefed on what's happening with that 727?"

"Yes, sir."

The President replaced the interphone and glanced up at the monitor showing their current position. The small computer-generated image of the aircraft was already in a left turn back to the east.

He picked up the telephone handset again and brushed back his hair before punching the appropriate satellite line.

"Okay, Stanley. We're on the way home. Get everyone in the Starsuite and I'll meet you there in ten minutes. I've got to get dressed."

"Yes, sir."

Eight minutes later the unshaven fifty-five-year-old President entered the state-of-the-art Standard Teleconferencing Array Room, a fifteen-by-eighteen-foot walnut-paneled conference chamber designed into the lower deck of the 747, where the Secretary of State, the U.S. Ambassador to Japan, and several aides were waiting. On the other side of the polished walnut table, which bisected the room lengthwise, the National Security Advisor, his deputy, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and four others had gathered. They turned and nodded as the President walked in.

The table appeared to be whole. In fact, only half of the table was actually aboard Air Force One. The other half— along with the other half of the room and the occupants— consisted of semiholographic projections produced by a massive data stream connecting Air Force One through communication satellites to an identical suite recently built next to the Situation Room in the basement of the White House over five thousand miles away.

The President looked his National Security Advisor in the eye and shook his head slightly.

"Amazing technology, Stanley. I always have to suppress the urge to shake your hand again through the screen, or wall, or whatever we call it."

Stanley nodded. "Agreed. I'd almost swear we were in the same room."

"I'm damn glad we have it at times like these. Okay, folks," the President said, looking around and indicating the various chairs, "let's get to it. What do we know, what are we doing, and where are the decision points?"

Everyone took a seat except the general, who picked up a sheaf of papers and gave a rundown of the Medusa Wave theory, the loss of the nuclear threat reaction team at Pax River, the discovery of trace plutonium in Rogers Henry's Miami garage, the FBI's conclusions that Vivian Henry was the perpetrator, and the plan for capturing Mrs. Henry and defusing the bomb in North Carolina. When the general had finished, he found the President's eyes bore-sighted on his.

"John," the President began, "why the hell North Carolina? Can't we find someplace more remote? We've managed to get them away from Washington, but we shouldn't be imperiling any population center."

"Hurricane Sigrid's even affecting Seymour-Johnson Air Force Base, sir, but the more remote locations are either too much in the grip of the storm or too far west to reach safely in the time remaining. Remember, we're severely limited by the time-to-detonation countdown the crew reports the bomb is showing."

"How much time do we have?"

The general consulted his digital watch. "One hour, forty-six minutes."

"And the time to landing at Seymour-Johnson?" the President asked.

"Around thirty minutes, sir."

"And… the time to defuse the damn thing?"

The general hesitated a moment too long before answering, a telltale eternity to the Chief Executive.

"You're not sure you can defuse it, are you, John?"

"Well, of course not, sir. This is apparently a home-built device. We have no idea until we see it, you know, whether it can be done."

"And you've lost your best people in that Pax River crash, right?"

The general shrugged. "We've lost those who were specifically trained for this sort of thing, yes. But we've found several others who know what they're doing."

"What are the risks they might accidentally set it off while poking around?"

"None, sir, in our opinion. They're being briefed to use extreme caution. They're also being briefed about Dr. Henry's expertise, and that of his wife, who's apparently carrying out his wishes and pretending to be a victim."

"And if you can't defuse it, the plan now is to blow it up in place, along with the aircraft?"

The general nodded. "We'll be wiring high explosives to it the second we secure the airplane. You understand, sir, that nuclear weapons can't be detonated accidentally. They…"

The President raised his hand to stop the lecture. "I was an Air Force pilot, an aircraft commander in C-141's both on active duty and in the Reserves, remember, John? I've flown nukes around for many years. I've had the briefing about emergency disposal probably fifteen times."

"Sorry, sir, I forgot."

"Go on, please."

"The base and surrounding community are already being evacuated, but if we have to blow it, all we'd get is the equivalent of a thousand-pound conventional bomb. Policing up the scattered nuclear material will take several days, though."

"What about Mrs. Henry? I was told the bomb could sense if she were more than fifteen feet away?"

"The FBI believes that's a hoax, sir, to give her leverage. In any event, we're prepared to substitute another radio to mimic whatever weak signal might be coming from her pacemaker, if, by any chance, her statements are correct."

"John, do you really believe this woman could pull off a stunt like this? I mean, do you believe she could've built a Medusa Weapon by herself?"

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs looked around and stared at the President for a few seconds before responding. He began shaking his head. "We've formed no opinion about Mrs. Henry. We simply think we'd better treat this bomb as real."

"Spoken like a good turf player, John, but I want your personal feeling about Mrs. Henry. I didn't ask 'we,' I asked you."

"I don't have one," the general shot back.

"Then get one! You know how I feel about taking personal responsibility and hating bureaucratic bullshit, right? Anyone here think I was just blowing smoke?" The President looked around in all directions as the assembled group on both sides of the screen shook their heads and looked uncomfortable. His eyes returned to the general.

"Okay. Now, John, I want your personal assessment. I approved your taking over control of this crisis from the FBI, so you may end up having to decide this woman's fate if you can't separate her safely from her bomb. Do you really think she could pull off a stunt like this with the intention of holding the government of the United States hostage? I know she lost a pension and threatened someone at OPM. I got the whole briefing ten minutes ago from the FBI by phone. But this…?" He let his voice trail off, his skepticism apparent.

"I do find it hard to believe, sir," the general answered.

The President nodded. "So do I. To me, the way the dead husband has programmed the thing to terrorize his wife sounds very strange. Is there something else going on here?"

The general cocked his head slightly. "Mr. President, I guess I'm not following you."

The President stood up suddenly and began pacing behind the other chairs on the Air Force One side of the table.

"I'm trying to anticipate the boxes we may find ourselves in within the next two hours. There are two vastly different pictures of this Mrs. Henry. One, an angry, vengeful ex-wife threatening the nation and the U.S. government, a picture that could, conceivably, include a monstrous suicide plan. The other picture, however, is of an abused former spouse conned by her dying husband into innocently taking a nuclear weapon to the Pentagon after his death, a weapon programmed to at least terrorize her if not kill her in the end.

"The Bureau thinks the woman in the first scenario is masquerading as the woman in the second scenario. Perpetrator playacting the victim. If that's true, we'll have to handle things very carefully at Seymour-Johnson. She could, for instance, drop the facade and claim she has her finger on the trigger, and if our forces don't back off or do whatever, she'll push the button long before we could get the thing neutralized. But if it's not true and we. make a mistake in our assumption, we may waste a lot of time trying to get around her when all we have to do is ask the crew to open the doors. We're dealing with a massive, historic threat here. I don't want to lose any time because of assumptions. That's why I'm belaboring this. I think we've jumped to a conclusion." He sat back down with a thud.

The National Security Advisor had been conferring with the Press Secretary in the background. He stood suddenly.

"Ah, Mr. President…"

The President gestured for him to wait.

"One thing I need to know from you, General. We originally had a plan, I'm told, to pull the crew off, put our own pilots on board with parachutes, fly this thing offshore, let it go on autopilot, and bail out while it flies off to explode. Now we're going to try to defuse it. Do we really need that bomb's technology badly enough to risk a detonation? Is it worth that level of risk, for God's sake?"

The general was shaking his head. "We don't believe we're taking any risks of accidental detonation by trying to defuse it, but it's a Catch-22, Mr. President. If that really is a Medusa Weapon, we must get the technology first. If it's not a Medusa, we could easily dump it at sea with no impact on national security."

The President was shaking his head. "General, you're talking about the Wave. I'm talking about killing American men, women, and children, devastating the economy of North Carolina, blinding people, giving them cancer, and traumatizing an entire nation. I know the Medusa Wave is a far worse societal threat, but I hope you haven't forgotten the human cost if you're wrong and this damn thing detonates."

"I wasn't implying, sir…"

The President held up his hand. "You say our national interests demand that we try to get the technology. I hope and pray you're right, but I want you to keep the other option open as well. I want you to have a C-141 or a C-5 or a C-17 standing by, ready to go. Instead of blowing it up at Seymour, if you can't turn it off, take it out and dump it." He looked closely at the civilians in the Situation Room, five thousand miles away. "Any of those transports, as you know, can open their rear cargo doors and dump cargo in flight. If our experts decide they can't defuse it, or defusing is improbable, stop right there and fly it offshore. If there's real promise, okay, keep working with the explosives backing you up, but I'd rather dump it than run any real risk of detonation on American soil." His gaze shifted from the National Security Advisor back to the general. "John, can we get a transport aircraft in place in time?"

The general nodded. "Yes, sir. We'll scramble a C-141 out of Charleston right now. It's not far. But there's another problem."

"Yes?"

"If we blow it up at Seymour, we get no Medusa Wave. If we detonate it at sea by dumping it, we could easily get the full force of the Wave it's designed to generate."

The President sat examining the general's face in silence for a few seconds before turning to Shapiro.

"Okay, Stanley, what else?"

"Sir, we've got a public panic developing. The media is reporting an armed nuclear bomb flying around. We're going to have to say something."

"We've denied everything to this point, I take it?" the President asked, turning to the Press Secretary, who nodded.

"Yes, but they've got the Medusa Effect nailed, as well as the effects of a nuclear burst over a populated area. That's what the panic's about. Naturally the facts are becoming confused. But the switchboards are also heating up with some pretty important corporate heads demanding help on protecting their data-processing systems."

"What are we telling them?"

"I… well, not much. Officially, we haven't acknowledged there's a problem."

"Okay, that changes as of now. Do we have anyone with the expertise to advise what to do to protect computer systems?" The President looked around at the array of blank faces. "That's our main vulnerability, right?"

A young man in a bow tie on the Washington side of the table cleared his throat and the National Security Advisor gestured toward him. "Mr. President, I invited Dr. Ralph Jensen over here from the Office of Technology Assessment. He's an expert on EMP's." He turned toward Jensen, who looked marginally terrified. "Doctor?"

"Welcome, Dr. Jensen. Please help us out here," the President prompted. "If this thing should cause a Medusa Wave, what will we lose, and what can we advise people to do ahead of time?"

Dr. Jensen surveyed the faces on both sides of the screen and cleared his throat several times before answering in a surprisingly strong voice.

"Sir, in a nutshell, there's almost nothing that can be done if we get a true continent-wide Medusa Wave. You'd need heavy metal shielding around every computer-based device, and no one has time to do that. The silicon chips themselves in most systems will have their internal switching gates melted. If the systems are shut down, though, and no data streams are being processed, the computer tapes will, for the most part, be unaffected. You should advise anyone with a critical or big system, like a bank or stock exchange, to shut it down immediately and store the data tapes and disks as deeply as they can. All disks, tapes, and other storage media will probably survive if not being used at the moment it occurs. But all the computer hardware will have to be replaced."

"When you say 'all,' Doctor, what exactly do you mean?"

The young scientist shook his head. "I mean that virtually every silicon-based processor a Medusa Wave hits will be permanently ruined. I'm talking about each and every silicon processing circuit. You… also should know that late-model airliners may lose all engine power and have to make forced landings. I'd recommend all air traffic involving aircraft with computer engine controls be grounded immediately nationwide, including Air Force One, since I understand it's got computer engine controls, or FEDACs." He paused, watching the Chief Executive, who leaned forward immediately.

"Go on, please, with whatever list you have. You have the floor. We need everything you've got."

"Yes, sir. Well, I've prepared a long list here of what needs t0 be shut down, just in case. It's… rather amazing how much of our society runs on computer chips. For instance, all railroads and subways…" He looked up again. "Uh, let me explain that if a vehicle is under computer control when the computer microprocessors—the chips—are hit with an EMP, for a millisecond the wrong orders may be given by the dying computers, which could cause railroad switches to be thrown physically, signal lights to show the wrong thing, port facilities to go berserk, cranes to rumble off on their own or drop loads, and so on. Anything involving computers and heavy equipment has to be stopped. Ships or ferries with computer-controlled engines could get locked in full speed without the ability to shut them down or communicate with the engine room. Bridges, locks, major dams nationwide and their hydroelectric grids—nuclear power plants are especially critical, since all cooling controls could be disabled. Elevators in buildings will stop, most of them between floors.

Sewer processing facilities could create tremendous public health problems with effluent spills, and pumps could either shut down or run backward, with valves opening and closing unpredictably. Nuclear naval ships are an exception, since I believe everything there has been completely hardened."

"That's the only bright spot?" the President asked with an amazed expression.

"Yes, sir. All critical hospital functions nationwide should be switched to manual backups. No medical procedures should be in progress, unless it's an unavoidable emergency. Complete loss of the nation's electric distribution grid is possible, not because of direct failure, but because of the contemporary dependency on computerized switching gear and associated relays." He turned another page on a heavily inscribed yellow legal pad. "Ah, I would recommend all heavy manufacturing facilities here and in Canada be shut down, and especially anything with critical computer-based containment controls for hazardous materials, such as refineries or facilities producing dangerous gas and liquid products. Certainly all heavy industry should be stopped immediately, because so many containment and safety controls are computer-based. Steelmaking, car assembly, food processing, and, well, the list is almost endless. Anything with industrial robots, the same. They could do great damage to personnel as their host computers die. Even pipelines should probably suspend operations, especially natural gas pipelines."

The President had slowly leaned back in his chair.

"Good Lord, Doctor. We're talking about shutting down the entire country here, and within two hours?"

"Or sooner, sir. I'd recommend that all information-based systems be shut down immediately, and especially the financial market computers. And I need to talk about communications."

"And if this should go off, how long would it take to restart things?"

"Some facilities which can be run manually could get back up and running within hours. Anything dependent on computers would take weeks, months, maybe as much as six months, because until their computers have been rebuilt and rebooted and tested, you couldn't take the chance. Mr. President, we're talking about the instant destruction of nearly all the silicon-based processors in North America, if this is a true Medusa Wave. Even if it's only a standard nuclear-created EMP, everything on the upper East Coast will be affected the same way, if not hardened. You can't replace these chips overnight. I doubt there are enough computer chips in stock in the world to replace, inside six months, what we may lose. And that doesn't even address the cost."

"You have more, I take it?" the President asked, sounding stunned.

"Yes, sir. Communications are critical. Most military communications systems are hardened, but virtually all the geostationary communications satellites are vulnerable, as are all broadcasting facilities, all uplinks and downlinks, most telephone systems based on satellite longlines and high-speed multiplexing switches, broadcast systems, and…"

The President raised his hand in a stop gesture. "You're way over my head, Doctor. Tell me the end result."

"Yes, sir. Almost all telephone service, cellular service, business radio, telemetry radio systems, security monitoring systems, and other forms of telecommunication will cease. Bottom line? We go stone-deaf for many weeks, except for military command and control channels."

"My God!" the President said. He hesitated a few seconds, his index finger tapping his chin, before leaning forward suddenly.

"Okay, let's summarize the options. Stanley, you first."

Stanley Shapiro cleared his throat and held a hand out, palm up.

"First, I think we have to assume this thing is the real McCoy. If it is, I agree with the general that we do need the technology, because if it can be built, someone else is already working on it and will eventually succeed. So if we proceed from the assumption that it exists and we need it, we have to ask if it's a reasonable gamble to try to defuse the bomb to get the technology. The general tells us there is no risk. If his people can't turn it off, they can either blow it up, like a conventional weapon, or take it offshore and dump it to explode at sea. I'm assuming there's time for either option. Problem is, exploding it at Seymour would probably not produce a Medusa Wave, but dropping it at sea might. Thus, even if we decide there is no possibility of accidental detonation in North Carolina, the chance of a Medusa Wave is very high if we take the offshore option. In addition, do we tell the public what's really going on and ask for assistance in trying to power down as many critical computers as possible, or do we lie and issue calming, soothing B.S. that it was all a false alarm—at the same time we're frantically looking for a way to turn it off?"

"That's the crystallization of the issue, Stanley, but what do you recommend?"

"I'd try to defuse it, and blow it up conventionally at Seymour if that doesn't work. We're really at risk if we dump it at sea."

"Should we order an electronic shutdown, though?"

"No, sir. I think a shutdown would cause more problems than it would solve, and, in fact, we don't even know it would do that much good if the worst-case explosion occurs."

"General? The Pentagon's view?" the President prompted.

"Sir, we're confident that this can be defused or disposed of without a Medusa Wave, as Mr. Shapiro says. With such confidence, it would seem imprudent to trigger a national shutdown panic."

"Is there anyone here besides Dr. Jensen," the President asked, "who thinks calling for a shutdown is appropriate?"

The President of the United States surveyed the room, looking each individual in the eye, then spent a few seconds in thought before speaking again.

"Okay, gentlemen. I'll accept the Pentagon's assessment that the plan has zero possibility of an accidental detonation, and that we can try to defuse it or then blow it up without causing a Medusa Wave. Therefore, we'll refrain from sounding a general alarm via the media. But if something changes, I may change my mind." He arched an index finger at the Press Secretary. "Okay, Joe, work with the doctor here on telling the media what we know, except for where the aircraft is going, and reassure everyone that the device, even if real, will be defused safely."

Chairs began moving backward as the various principals and aides stood up. The President raised an index finger.

"Ah, one more thing, John."

"Sir?" the general asked.

"If there is any reason whatsoever to believe that your plans to defuse have become dangerous, any suspicion at all that it might not be perfectly safe to try, then I want the weapon dumped at sea. The sooner you make such an election, the farther out you can get it."

"Yes, sir. You said to have the aircraft standing by. We will."

"And the split second that looks like a possibility, I want us to quietly order certain things shut down as a precaution. Get the trains stopped just before the time runs out and get all air traffic on the East Coast on the ground by twenty minutes prior. Let's find a way to directly alert hazardous material companies, electrical companies, and communications companies. We won't have a lot of time, so press into service whomever you can to make this a viable contingency plan which can be triggered by one call."

The Press Secretary almost leaped to his feet.

"Sir, have you considered our legal liability in this?"

All other murmured conversations suddenly ceased as the President locked his eyes on the Press Secretary across the almost imperceptible electronic gulf between Air Force One and the Situation Room.

"What did you ask, Joe?"

"I'm questioning the legal liability the government assumes if we put out such requests or directives, especially if we alert some and not others. We can't be held liable for doing something wrong if we don't assume the duty, unless, of course, there's already a legal requirement. But if we start issuing such recommendations and damage results and this thing doesn't blow or doesn't work…"

"Joe, are we a private corporation here?"

The Press Secretary looked shocked. "Well, of course not, but…"

"We're the government, right?"

"Yes."

"Then I can't believe you would even bring this up. The government has no business concerning itself with potential legal liability. None whatsoever! We'll do everything we can to act within the law, and if anyone wants to challenge the correctness of our actions in court, that's what the courts are for. Joe, I'm sorry to pick on you, but I want everyone to understand that that question will never be tolerated in this Administration as an impediment to action by any official in any agency. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, get the Canadian Prime Minister and his Transportation Minister and the head of Transport Canada on the horn, brief them, and I'll talk to them after that. We need them with us on this. Share everything we have. Same with the Mexican government. Now…"

The President looked around momentarily. "Does the media know where we're sending this aircraft?"

"We don't think so, sir. But they've found out almost everything else."

"Okay. Prepare a short statement for me to give within ten minutes and alert the networks. I'll do a live break-in from here on Air Force One. I want to reassure everyone that we're going to disarm this thing, but I don't want to mislead anyone. I want them to know we consider it real. And get the Transportation Department moving on contingency plans. If they want to start slowing the system as a precaution, tell them to go ahead."

"Air traffic, highways, trains?"

"Whatever takes the longest to wind down. If we suddenly find we have to dump it at sea, I don't want aircraft and trains vulnerable."

The President glanced over at the general.

"John, where is the airplane right now?"

"They're currently south of Richmond, sir." The general touched a switch before him and a plot of the area and the 727's position appeared on a projected map that seemed to float in front of them. "They're beginning a descent for landing at Seymour-Johnson. The twenty-five-mile circle around the 727's symbol is the direct impact area of any blast. He's still a threat to populated areas, but he's dragging the threat area south with him."

The President seemed momentarily stunned. "John, you just got through reassuring me there was no chance of accidental detonation."

"Yes, sir, as a result of our trying to defuse it. But we still have to recognize it as a nuclear weapon. It could go off for other reasons."

The President stared at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and tapped a pen on the Air Force One side of the table. Several tense seconds passed before he cleared his throat and spoke. "So what about fallout, General, if that impossible occurrence should occur at Seymour?" the President asked.

"Thanks to the storm, it would rapidly sweep southeastward and out to sea. Charkston and some of northeastern Florida would be affected, but that's it for primary fallout."

"Okay," the President said, getting to his feet once again. "Keep this room hooked up, set up communications links to Seymour, including video from the tower if you can patch it through, and keep me informed. General? You have command of the situation at Seymour, but use the FBI's negotiators. Brief them on my concerns about Mrs. Henry."

"Yes, sir."

"And, John, we're all going to pray that your people know how to turn this thing off without setting it off. This is a direct order from your Commander in Chief, okay? If any doubts develop—and I mean any—I want it airborne again and headed east, offshore, instantly. I don't care how badly we want the technology, I'm only agreeing to this attempt based on your assurance that it's a completely risk-free operation. I already have my doubts. Tell your commanders, do not press the defusing attempt one inch beyond certainty, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

The President sat back in his chair and tried to imagine the bomb flying over Washington, and what would have happened if it had gone off. He had said nothing to anyone else, but it was an immense comfort to know his wife and two daughters were aboard Air Force One and safely away from Washington.

Once again Donna appeared at Tony's side with more reports.

"The rest of the crew?" She nodded. "The captain and the scientist." Tony leaned against a door frame. "Go."

"Okay, the scientist's name is Linda Ann McCoy, age thirty-three, born in Austin, Texas, father was a doctor, mother a university professor, she's a recognized world-class expert on atmospheric science and global warming with a long, long list of published credits, a Ph.D. in atmospheric science from the University of California at Irvine, and currently a senior research fellow at the National Center for Atmospheric Research in Boulder, Colorado, on loan to the NOAA research center also at Boulder. She's U.S. Government, in other words. McCoy is single, lives in Boulder, and was in charge of this year's NOAA atmospheric ozone research expedition to McMurdo Sound, Antarctica. She was on the way back from that when she boarded this flight in Miami a few hours ago."

"I trust she'll be suing her travel agent," Tony snorted.

Donna looked up and rolled her eyes. "I believe it comes under justifiable homicide." She dropped her eyes back to the pages in her hands. "Dr. McCoy has no criminal history, big surprise… no wants, no blemishes, except that she feels the need for speed a lot."

"Oh?"

"Four speeding tickets in Colorado over the last few years. The Colorado State Patrol knows her well."

"And the captain?"

"Name is Scott David McKay. Thirty-one years of age, only son of a family originally from Hutchinson, Kansas, born and raised there, U.S. naval officer through Annapolis, graduated number three in his class, highest rank he achieved was lieutenant commander, nine years active duty, last assignment, F-14 pilot assigned to the carrier Eisenhower. Left active duty just under two years ago, joined the Navy Reserve. Mother is deceased. Father was a corporate executive. Also deceased. No remarkable history on his family. Never married. Earned an M.B.A. while on active duty. Started his one-aircraft airline one year ago with money inherited from his father. Lives in Central City, Colorado. No FBI history. FAA record is spotless. No criminal history, no bankruptcies, no wants, no nothing. Solid citizen with a good military history, and his military security clearance is top secret and still active."

"And we already have Vivian Henry's history. Any conclusions, Donna?"

She shook her head and grimaced. "Good people, bad timing, Mrs. Henry excepted."

"There but for the grace of God, Donna…"

"Go any of us," she replied.