The Ajax Protocol

CHAPTER 1

The underground bunker smelled of human stress and old concrete. Half a dozen technicians watched a bank of monitors ranged along one side of the room. The walls and ceiling were of gray concrete, unfinished, without decoration. The main feature of the room was a large wall monitor displaying a world map in green against a black background. Rows of fluorescent lights bathed the room in cold, soulless light.

A man in uniform stood contemplating the screen, hands clasped behind his back. The creases in his pants were as sharp as the points of the four silver stars gleaming on his shoulders. His eyes were dark and intense, under a prominent brow topped off with gray hair cropped close to his skull. He seemed to fill the room with his presence.

His name was Louis Westlake. General Westlake was in charge of the US Army's secret satellite weapons program.

Standing next to Westlake was the US Senate Majority Leader, Edward Martinez. Martinez was the picture of a successful politician. His carefully tailored hair was streaked through with silver. An American flag was pinned on his lapel.

Martinez had risen to power as the strident voice of the average American. His supporters called him "Eddie" and thought he was one of them, someone in Washington who believed in their ideals and values. They could not have been more mistaken.

Martinez and Westlake were the point of a spear aimed at the heart of America.

"Put the satellite image on the big screen," Westlake said. His voice was resonant, authoritative. It was one of his strengths. When Westlake spoke, people listened. They tended to believe him. They did what he ordered, whether they believed him or not.

One of the technicians entered a rapid series of commands on his console. "Coming up now, General."

The map on the wall monitor was replaced by a live satellite picture of Russia and the Siberian plains.

"Bring Ajax on line."

More keystrokes. The word ready began flashing in green on the lower part of the big screen.

"Enter the co-ordinates for Novosibirsk," Westlake said.

The technician's fingers played across the keys. A series of numbers appeared on his screen.

"Target acquired," he said. "Alaska standing by."

Martinez turned toward General Westlake. "This is it, General. What we've been waiting for."

"In the end, people will thank us," Westlake said. "It's for their own good. Someone has to take action. The President's policies are turning us into a third world country."

"Rice has been a real problem," Martinez said.

"He won't be a problem much longer."

"You seem certain of that."

"Trust me," Westlake said, "he won't."

"This test will give us valuable data," Martinez said. "The UK will let us refine it. Then we can start here."

"Are the detention facilities ready? Homeland Security is ready to move?" Westlake said.

"Of course." There was a hint of exasperation in Martinez's voice. They'd been over this before. "The legislation has already been drafted. Everything's on schedule, as we planned."

"I just wanted to hear you say it." Westlake turned to the technician. "Activate."

The man on the console pressed a key. The screen changed and displayed a rapid scroll of numbers. The ready message changed to transmit.

On the other side of the world, people went mad.