The Demon Plagues (15 page)

All these technical items added up to a
limited ground footprint, a long oval that predicted where a firing
team could set up, and allowed Skull to take his position
overlooking that footprint, hopefully to interfere.

That is, if his long and delicate chain of
assumptions was correct. If he heard on the news tomorrow that
Markis had been blown to bits by a car bomb in downtown Geneva, he
was going to feel very, very embarrassed. On the other hand, then
he could take a couple weeks off in Switzerland, get in some
skiing, maybe some mountain climbing.

He kept up his routine throughout the day;
once night fell he switched to a night scope and fitted a low-light
vision attachment to the camcorder, and changed the batteries from
his many spares. By midnight he decided that it was very unlikely
that Markis would be taking off for the rest of the hours of
darkness. He did leave the computer running, his silent watcher.
Sleep claimed him for a time, light but refreshing.

“Colonel Nguyen, you’re insane.” Alkina put
as much contempt and derision into her voice as she could. “A
nuclear first strike would cause massive retaliation. It would ruin
all of our lives. You’d be court-martialed. No one is that
crazy.”

Major Muzik looked over at Nguyen with wide
eyes. “Colonel…as second in command I’d appreciate an explanation
of what you just said.” He licked his lips. “You know I’ll follow
all lawful orders…”

Colonel Nguyen smiled. “Of course, Major. I
would not expect otherwise. Forgive my precise but dramatic
language. I said ‘launch those missiles,’ I never said ‘nuclear
first strike.’ At least, not on people. But there are unmanned
assets that are critical to our enemies’ efforts, assets that keep
the Free Communities under continual threat of strategic violence.
We need to be able to get our space and missile program going
without having every facility destroyed on detection. While the Big
Three have heeded the Neutral States’ warnings about nuclear
strikes, they have ignored all pressure to cease their non-nuclear
kinetic and cruise missile strikes that they claim are ‘surgical’
and ‘proportional’ and ‘warranted’.”

“So we are going to hit…what? Please explain
it to a stupid grunt.”

Alkina spoke instead, realization in her
eyes. “Their satellites. You’re going to EMP them.”

“Correct, Miss Alkina.
We
are.
Vulnerability to electromagnetic pulse is the Achilles heel of
strategic warfighting. Short of a doomsday exchange, every possible
use of nuclear weapons takes EMP into account, because it can
disrupt or destroy everyone’s electronics. That’s what drives the
concept of launch-on-warning. No one can afford to wait for a
detonation before launching their arsenal or they may lose the
ability to use it. It’s just updated Mutual Assured Destruction
from the First Cold War.”

Spooky went on, “But a few high-yield weapons
in the stratosphere and in certain orbital locations will knock out
most of their advanced detection, their satellite observation and
some of their command and control capability. I say ‘most’ because
many satellites are shielded to a certain degree. Yield, distance
and shielding calculations have already been done by the experts.
Our technicians will program them.”

“Yes!” Muzik’s enthusiasm was in stark
contrast to the two others in the room. “That will level the
playing field for the first time since it all started.”

Alkina’s eyes glittered. Her lips pressed
together in something like satisfaction, and she nodded once,
sharply. “I will be honored to support this plan. But I would
appreciate access to the communication equipment to contact my
government.”

“No.” Nguyen’s tone was final. “To do so we
would have to rise nearer the surface, extend the ultra-long-wave
antenna cable, and risk detection. We will communicate only after
firing the missiles.”

The Australian clenched her fists and turned
away, brow furrowed with suppressed frustration, to march out the
door and down the passageway.

“She doesn’t like you much, sir,” commented
Muzik.

“The feeling is mutual.” Spooky sat down next
to the Major, leaning in close, his voice low. “But my feeling is
based on fact – or at least evidence. Did you ever wonder how the
Australians have been able to kill, to be ruthless at need, yet be
governed by Plague carriers and part of the FC?”

“That’s putting it pretty strongly, sir. I
mean, there have been incidents, but…”

“But nothing. They have devised some method
of circumventing their own consciences. How do ordinary uninfected
people do that?”

“Do what?”

“Circumvent conscience. Do bad things and
avoid feeling bad about them?”

“Uh…I suppose by not taking responsibility.
By letting someone else decide and saying ‘it wasn’t me’. Put the
power into someone else’s hands.”

“Very good, Major, you’re not as dumb as you
look.” Spooky smiled warmly to take the sting out of his words.

Muzik laughed. “I’m teachable, sir. It’s an
Army thing.”

“So to whom could the Australians give up
this responsibility?”

“The rumor about Samoa is they turned it over
to their fleet computer system.”

“That’s one possibility. But what about the
PsychoMax initiative?”

Muzik’s brow furrowed. “You mean the prisons
for FC Psychos?”

“Yes. Australia gladly volunteered to intern
them all in the middle of the trackless Outback. What if they
turned a liability into an opportunity?”

The major grunted as if gut-punched. “You
mean they are using Psychos to do their dirty work?”

Nguyen shrugged. “It fits.”

Major Muzik sat back, letting his breath out
in a long low whistle. “Holy shit. They’re playing with fire.”

“Yes.” Nguyen stared at Muzik, silently
waiting.

“What?”

“Connect the dots, Major. Prove me right
about what I said regarding your looks.”

Muzik’s brow furrowed again in thought, then
his face cleared with shock and horror. “Alkina,” he breathed.

“Perhaps. She certainly doesn’t seem
very…virtuous. Did you notice how she didn't object to the loss of
life when she thought I wanted to strike cities, only the
inconvenience or illogic of doing so?”

“Oh.” Major Muzik thought back over the
conversation. “You're right. Not a normal reaction at all.”

“Certainly not an Eden reaction. She also
tried to get control of both missile launch keys.”

“Damn. Tried?”

“Yes, I have one. No single person should
have control of both keys in any circumstance, Eden or not. It is
too much power for one person alone.”

Muzik nodded vigorously.

“What are you agreeing with so
enthusiastically, Major?” Jill Repeth stood in the mess
doorway.

“Hey, Reaper. Ah, just talking about
principles of command and control.”

“Well, sir, I’m sure one of those principles
is to relieve me and stand your watch on time.” Her eye might have
twitched in a wink. Or not.

“Yes Gunny; on my way, Gunny; whatever you
say, Gunny. Hut, two, three, four.” Muzik nodded to the Colonel and
proceeded down the corridor to the control room at a mock
double-time.

Once he was out of earshot Repeth snorted in
amusement. The more she needled him, the more cheerful he became.
She was starting to think he had a thing for her.
Might be fun
for a while, but not my type for the long haul. Still…those
abs…

“What was that all about?” She went into the
small galley to find herself a meal.

“I’m glad you asked. When you get your food,
sit down and I’ll tell you something about our ‘liaison
officer’.”

***

Four more days passed in the sub, a curious
mixture of hard work, tension and relaxation. There was always more
to be done; the modification of the missiles was painstakingly
slow. The delicate work on the warheads took even longer –
bypassing or fooling their lockout codes and reprogramming. Even
with perfectly fit, perfectly healthy, perfectly young minds and
bodies kept in optimal balance by the Eden Plague, they could only
maintain concentration for a while before crushing fatigue set in
and they had to sleep.

The team set up a jogging course through the
submarine, up and down ladders, through passageways, one direction
fore, one direction aft. Normally they would have used the large
missile access room, running laps around the tall weapons
containers, but that would have disturbed the technicians.

There were cardio machines – stationary
bikes, rowing machines, step machines – packed into the oddest
spaces, and without the crew on board they could all be set up for
use at once. There were video players and there was endless fresh
hot water for showers and washing clothing, powered by the
inexhaustible energy of the ship’s nuclear plant and its processing
systems. Eight people put very little load on the machinery.

Alkina noticed the covert glances, the
careful watching of the rest of the team. She was acutely aware
that these were not her people. They were a picked crew enlisted in
the small but elite Free Communities common military, ostensibly an
FC Council asset but rumored to be under the direct control of the
Chairman. Certainly they didn’t act like they owed allegiance to
any particular nation; in fact, they didn’t talk much about nations
at all. She didn’t understand them.

She ate her food alone; she exercised alone;
she did not try to socialize, but limited her conversation to
factual questions and observations designed to influence the crew
toward her way of thinking. Despite her psychological training, she
made little headway, and she was always,
always
careful to
keep her thoughts and attempts away from Colonel Nguyen. He would
show up at the strangest times, watching her from behind, she never
knew for how long. It was uncanny.

She had always felt superior to the people
around her, and becoming infected had not changed that assessment
of her own capabilities. She had never met her match at this kind
of covert work…until now. Each of the team members was her superior
in one or more disciplines. This she could accept; these people
were hand-selected for the mission, the best that could be had. But
several of them frightened her on a more personal level, beginning
with the Colonel they called ‘Spooky.’ She would never dare to call
him that, but the easy manner the others did caused her something
like…envy. She had always been a loner; for the first time in her
life she wondered what it would be like to be part of a functioning
team instead of always a solo operative. In her imagination it
would be a tremendous relief to trust someone, to depend on someone
other than herself.

Then she thought about Nguyen’s eyes as he
had made his threats, and she banished such weakness from her mind.
Her job, her only job, was to do what her government had asked of
her and to preserve herself for that purpose. Anything else could
destroy her. She walked the razor’s edge, biding her time.

At the end of the fourth day the timbre of
the vibrations in the boat changed, bringing Alkina out of the
cabin where she spent most of her time. She stalked into the
control room.

“What is the situation, Chief?” she
asked.

“We’re here, more or less. The Ross Sea near
Antarctica. We have to slow down because the circular error of the
inertial guidance system hasn’t been updated by a GPS reading for
four thousand miles. We have to come up to the surface to pinpoint
our position.”

“That’s right,” agreed Nguyen, entering the
control room with his ever-present P90 slung under his arm. “Chief,
make your depth fifty feet.” His mouth quirked in a smile. “Did I
get that right?”

“Almost, sor. Aye aye, sor. Five-zero feet it
is. Five degrees up angle on the planes. Up we go.”

“Once we’re at fifty feet we can get a good
reading? Why does that matter?” asked Alkina.

“First, for navigation close to the Antarctic
shelf. Running into the sea floor would be a Bad Thing. Also, a
sub-launched ballistic missile has to know where it is before it
can go where it wants to with any accuracy. That means getting the
computers all synched up and correct.”

“Four zero zero, sor.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

“How soon are we launching?” Alkina
asked.

“About five hours from now, according to the
techs.”

“And how do I know these missiles will be
exploding – or landing – where you say they will?”

“You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“And if I don’t…you’ll just take the key from
me and do it anyway.”

“Of course.” He smiled. “Let’s not have a
problem at this late stage, Miss Alkina. As I said, as soon as we
launch, you may transmit to your government. Assuming we survive
the retaliation, we will be off Garden Island within the week. And
if we don’t survive…” He spread his hands as if to say,
it won’t
matter
.

“Since we’re exchanging veiled threats,
Colonel, just remember that my report will have a lot to do with
what happens when we do get there.”

Spooky laughed. “Nothing your government is
likely to do to us frightens me, Miss Alkina. I left Vietnam
decades ago to cross a thousand miles of ocean in a leaky boat.
After I survived that, I decided that nothing would stop me from
doing what I believed in.
Ever
. Give it up. You’re
outnumbered and outmatched. Accept that you’re a passenger and
observer. If I don’t change my mind, I’ll still allow you the honor
of turning that key and changing the world once again.”

She pressed her lips together, looking at the
Chief, and at Major Muzik and Gunnery Sergeant Repeth, who had
quietly slipped into the control room as they conversed. She met
each set of eyes in turn, looking for any sign they saw that their
Colonel was slipping over the edge. She thought she caught a
flicker of sympathy from Muzik. She narrowed her eyes at him,
willing a connection, a signal; then she turned and stalked out of
the room, to wait in her cabin with the door ajar.