Memorial Day

Ninety-Three

The rope that held the cooler in place was cut, and with Lieutenant Mathews supervising, a lead blanket was draped over the cooler and it was carried up the boat ramp and placed in the back of the Bell 430 helicopter. Two older members of the Blue Team as well as one of the Search Response Team members climbed in the back of the chopper and studied the device. Then one-by-one the three of them exited the helicopter, shaking their heads.

Rapp watched all this while he stood in front of the helicopter, his phone stuck to his ear. He guessed correctly that the two older members of the Blue Team were both master chiefs. Master chiefs were the backbone of the SEAL Teams, and when it came to explosives they were some of the most knowledgeable people in the world.

Rapp looked at the two pilots who were still in the cockpit of the CIA helicopter. He held up his right index finger and began twirling it in the air. The pilots nodded and started flipping switches and checking displays. Rapp's mind was already made up. Every second was going to count, and he wasn't going to sit around wasting a single one of them.

He began walking toward the helicopter and said into the phone, "So one of your scientists thought this up?"

"Yes," answered Reimer.

"And you think it'll work?"

"I know it'll work. We've run all the calculations."

The engines on the helicopter fired up and a second later the rotors began turning. "Paul, you get all the facts you need to convince the president. I'll call you back in a minute when I'm in the air."

Rapp didn't have to go find Lieutenant Mathews because he was already on his way over. "I need an answer. Can you do it or not?"

"My chiefs say we've got a fifty-fifty shot at best."

"Not good enough," said Rapp, who immediately turned away from the lieutenant and toward the helicopter.

"What did the president say?"

"He said if you can't guarantee success, he wants this device as far away from the capital as possible." Rapp hadn't spoken to the president, but he was sure that at least on this, they would share the same opinion.

Mathews followed Rapp, "Where are you taking it?"

"I'm not sure just yet," Rapp lied. He got in the back of the helicopter, closed the door, and asked the pilots, "What's the top speed of this baby?"

"She's rated for one hundred and sixty miles per hour, but at that speed we can only stay up for approximately one hundred miles, depending on wind conditions."

"We're not going that far. Okay, let's get the hell out of here. Head due west as fast as you can and as low as you dare. Once we clear the city by at least ten miles we'll start heading north. I'll give you an exact heading in a few minutes."

Rapp sat down, and as the helicopter lifted off the ground, he did the math in his head. They had to go approximately sixty miles. At top speed the helicopter would cover 2.66 miles every minute. That meant it would take less than thirty minutes, not counting takeoff and landing, to get there. He rounded it up to thirty-five just to be safe, and then moved the heavy lead blanket and lifted the lid to the cooler. The closest LED told him the bomb would detonate in forty-six minutes. That wouldn't give him much time to handle the rest but it was doable. Rapp set the timer on his watch and covered the cooler back up with the blanket.

His phone rang and he answered it instantly. "Yep."

"Are you ready?" It was Reimer.

"Yeah, we're already in the air."

"I'll patch us through."

There were a couple of clicks on the line and then Rapp heard the president's voice. "Mitch?"

Rapp leaned his head against the leather headrest. "Yes, Mr. President."

"Good work today."

Rapp was caught slightly off guard. For some reason he was expecting to get his ass chewed out. "Thank you, sir."

"Paul tells me that our technical people aren't sure they can stop this thing from going off. Is that what you're hearing?"

"Yes, sir. I was told defusing it was a fifty-fifty proposition at best."

"How much time do we have?"

Rapp looked at his watch. "Forty-five minutes, sir."

Reimer quickly interjected, "That's not enough time to take it out to sea, Mr. President."

"Then what do you propose we do?"

"We have two options, sir. We can dump it in the Chesapeake, in which case the immediate fatalities will be limited to the number of boaters in the area, though due to the fact that the bay is not very deep the fallout will be significant. We'd end up with a sizable cloud of radioactive vapor that would spread for hundreds of miles, and since the wind is coming from the east, it would move toward the more populated areas."

"Could it reach Washington?"

"Possibly."

"How many fatalities?"

"Initially...probably somewhere around a hundred, but the fallout could drive that number easily above a thousand as cancer rates would skyrocket. It would also take decades for the Chesapeake to rebound, as well as the contaminated surrounding areas that take the brunt of the fallout."

There was silence. "What's the second option?"

"The second option, sir, is a bit controversial, but it is also the one that would result in the fewest casualties, and do the least harm to the environment."

"Let's hear it, then."

"Take the bomb by helicopter to Mount Weather and put it inside. Then close the blast doors to limit the fallout."

Mount Weather was a secure hardened facility built in the 1950s, located fifty-five miles from the White House. It was the main location in the Federal Relocation Arc, a system of just over a hundred shelters in five states designed to house key government employees in the case of a nuclear attack or other emergency.

"Mount Weather!" someone shouted. "I'm at Mount Weather! You can't bring the damn thing here!"

Rapp recognized the voice as belonging to the attorney general. Rapp pictured the look of panic in the man's face and smiled. Every cloud had a silver lining.

"Mr. President," said the Director of Homeland Security, "Mount Weather is the backbone of our emergency command-and-control system. The replacement cost would be staggering...it would be at least several billion dollars."

"We're a rich country," answered Valerie Jones. "We'll build a new one. Mr. President, you can't drop this thing in the Chesapeake Bay."

Rapp was slightly taken aback. He thought this was probably the first time he'd ever agreed with Jones on anything.

"FEMA has offices located on that mountain, sir," countered Secretary McClellan. He was referring to the Federal Emergency Management Agency. "And the Blue Ridge Mountains are as much a national treasure as the Chesapeake Bay. The Appalachian Trail runs within two miles of the place."

"I think the FEMA facilities will survive the blast, Mr. President," Reimer said. "Mount Weather is carved out of the most dense rock on the East Coast, and it has two sets of vaultlike blast doors that are each five feet thick."

Before Reimer could continue, the conference call broke out into a free-for-all with invective and opinions flying back and forth. All of the sudden Rapp felt really tired. The leather chair was comfortable, and the slight vibration from the helicopter was putting him in a trance. He let out a yawn and almost put his feet up on the cooler but he caught himself at the last second.

Rapp shook his head and looked at his watch. After another moment of listening to the arguing he said, "Mr. President." The free-for-all continued, so he repeated himself a little more loudly. Again, no one yielded so Rapp yelled, "Everybody shut up! Right now!"

The arguing trickled to a stop, and Rapp said, "Mr. President, you need to make a decision. I'm already in the air with the bomb headed west away from the city. Now, if you want me to dump it in the Chesapeake, then you'd better tell me quick, because I'm going to have turn around and haul ass back over the city, and hope I can get there in time."

"You're already on your way to Mount Weather?" asked a shocked Attorney General Stokes.

"Yes, and quit your whining, I'm the one whose been baby-sitting this thing for the last hour."

The president's voice was calm. "I don't want to hear anyone else speak unless I ask for their opinion. Mr. Reimer, how far away would we have to get the people at Mount Weather to protect them from the explosion and fallout?"

"Not far at all, sir. Our worst-case blast damage analysis indicates that as long as the main blast doors are closed, the facility will contain all of the blast. There is a slight chance of some venting but it will be minimal."

"How far?" The president sounded impatient.

"A mile would be sufficient."

"Mitch, how much time do we have left?"

Rapp looked at his watch. "We're down to thirty-eight minutes, Mr. President."

"How long will it take you to get to Mount Weather?"

"Approximately twenty-five minutes."

"General Flood...your thoughts on this?"

"We do have other facilities, sir, such as Site R, where you are right now."

"But," interrupted Secretary McClellan, "Mount Weather is the most important facility in the system."

"Kendall," the president snapped, "I'm talking to General Flood right now. When I want you opinion, I'll ask for it. Now, general, as you were saying."

"For starters NORAD is the most important facility in the system, and from the Pentagon's point of view Site R is of greater importance than Mount Weather. Even more appropriate, though, is that there's a shared opinion among the brass that these bunkers are good for command and control, but if we actually go to war with the Russians, or some day the Chinese, Mount Weather will be taken out in the first salvo with either multiple strikes or one of their big, deep underground megaton bombs."

"So you're saying it's obsolete."

"Sir, I think it was obsolete about a year after it was completed."

"How long would it take to evacuate the mountain?"

"I have no idea, but I do know it takes ten minutes to close the blast doors."

Ten seconds of silence ticked by and then the president said, "I want Mount Weather and the surrounding area evacuated immediately! And, General Flood, I want my cabinet members on the first helicopter out."

"Yes, sir."

"And make sure Mitch gets whatever he needs."

"Thank you, Mr. President," said Rapp. "General, I'll call you back in a minute with an exact ETA."

Rapp closed his phone and poked his head into the cockpit. "You guys know where Mount Weather is?" They both nodded. "Good. Get us there as fast as you can."