The Krone Experiment (42 page)
“All right,” said Baris, rising to leave.
“I’ll get on it.” He strode quickly across the room and out the
door.
“Kate?” Isaacs called, and she appeared in
the doorway, attuned to the emergency atmosphere.
“Tell the DCI I’m on my way to see him. Top
priority. Order a helicopter to Andrews Air Force Base. Forty-five
minutes from now, maximum. Half hour better. Arrange for a flight
out of Andrews for me and two agents. Call Boswank and get him to
assign me two of his people. Call Danielson and Runyan in Arizona
and arrange for a flight for them. Destination for all of us is
Holloman Air Force Base near White Sands, New Mexico. Arrange
ground transportation there. We’re headed for a laboratory about
forty miles away, up in the mountains. Better yet, see if you can
get another chopper to take us from Holloman to the lab. Here’s the
name of the lab and of the guy in charge.” He scribbled on a memo
pad and handed it to her. “I’ll want to talk to him when I get back
from seeing the DCI. And call Phillips in La Jolla and talk to
Gantt while you’re on the line to Arizona. I want Phillips here
this evening prepared for an NSC meeting. They may want to get
together in Pasadena to assemble the relevant information.”
“Yes, sir.” Kathleen finished making
notations on her pad and bustled back into her office.
Isaacs steeled himself and then headed off to
hand his boss the second shocking revelation in less than twelve
hours.
Danielson awoke in her tent in the waxing
Arizona heat with the smell of Runyan about her. Over breakfast she
felt as if she were two people. One of her talked business with
Gantt as if nothing had happened. Her other self was full of Runyan
and jolted every time he seemed to give her a special knowing
glance. Gantt displayed no reaction, just smiled discretely to
himself.
The call from headquarters came as they were
finishing breakfast and galvanized them into action. They barely
had time to throw their things together before the whupping of the
Marine helicopter from Yuma broke the desert stillness. At the Yuma
Air Station Danielson chatted casually with Runyan for the benefit
of the strangers around them and continued to shout her secret
messages until the transport was warmed up, ready to ferry them
east to New Mexico.
Back in the desert, the camp settled into
busy routine. Late that morning, one of the Marines relaxed in
front of his tent, waiting for lunch. He didn’t understand the
technical functions of the camp and didn’t expect to. He was
assigned his job and did it. Nevertheless, he thought it strange
that the chief of the operation would take time out to squat,
motionless, at the edge of the camp with his index finger thrust
past the second knuckle into a small hole in the ground.
*****
A faint rush of electromagnetic waves carried
the orders from a Soviet ground station on the Kamchatka Peninsula.
On the hunter-killer satellite a switch popped shut, releasing the
latent energy in a battery and generating a healthy blue spark
elsewhere in the circuit. The spark jostled and heated the fragile
molecules of a volatile material. The heated matter expanded
violently, its force focused by a tough surrounding casing. A
detonation wave raced outward in a fury that shot in a narrow arc
into space.
A few hundred yards away, a sleek white
cylinder decorated with a small red, white, and blue emblem floated
with deadly grace. It was directly in the path of the onrushing
explosion. Then the onslaught was full upon it, the pressure
soaring ferociously, the outer wall crumpling, the shock wave
engulfing everything within. With the shock came heat, heat that
triggered circuits in the cylinder.
In a repeat of the pattern played out only
instants before, switches tripped, power surged, tiny sparks
crackled and carefully designed chemical explosives imploded upon a
finely machined, slightly warm sphere of metal, violently squeezing
it.
The shock from the first explosion arrived at
the same instant. The sphere was warped; the focus of its
compression altered. It existed for a brief moment, teetering on
the edge of consummation. Each part of it fed neutrons into the
others. Deep in the dense nuclei of its atoms, reactions were
triggered splitting the nuclei apart, releasing vastly more energy
than the penetrating neutrons possessed and more of the catalyzing
neutrons as well.
Then the moment passed. The wracking shock
and the partial release of nuclear energy amplified the distortions
of the sphere. The chain reaction damped, and the sphere of
radioactive metal dissolved into harmless shards. In a heartbeat,
the cylinder was gone.
Nearby, another cylinder, larger, ungainly,
stirred into menacing wakefulness. Ports slid open in its sides. It
rotated and slurred. Taking aim. Awaiting instructions.
By shading his eyes from the midday Sun,
Isaacs could make out the town of Alamagordo as the military
transport continued its descent toward Holloman Air Force Base. He
glanced around at his companions, Pat Danielson and Alex Runyan
whom they had picked up on a quick stop at Kirtland Air Force Base
in Albuquerque, and the two Agency men. Although the need was
remote, they could provide security backup. The hollow feeling in
his gut reflected his anticipation of the significance of this
venture. They were headed for the source, the key to the myriad
tangled events. He thought back to the simple anomalous seismic
signal he had toyed with while on leave last March, over four
months ago. His thoughts strayed to Runyan’s voracious beast
rifling through the Earth and to the paranoiac escalation
threatened by the note from Korolev.
Maybe not so paranoid. He played a game of
role reversal he had often found useful. How would the President of
the United States and his military and civilian advisors react to
being informed that the Russians, deliberately or otherwise, had
created a menace so hideous that it would eat away the substance of
the Earth? Even with the damage done, the urge to retaliate, fed by
hatred and fear, would be strong, visceral. An image of a battered
child who finally takes an ax to his tormentor slipped into his
mind. He knew there were Americans who would argue that if the
Russians had been the perpetrators, the time would have come to rid
the world of them, before going on to face the ultimate menace.
Could this development be the final straw for the Soviets, the one
that pushed them over the brink in an attempt to eliminate their
prime antagonist, despite the consequences? And role reversal,
hell, he thought. How will the President react when he’s informed
this evening that his own team has committed this inconceivable
atrocity?
The reality was overwhelming. They had a few
scant hours to find the keys to defuse the crisis. They needed
incontrovertible proof that the incredible event had actually
occurred, that a small black hole had been forged on the
mountaintop forty miles away. They must discover how and why and
then hope the President could use that evidence to convince the
Russians that the affair was not an overt act against them. They
would also look for any dim shred of evidence that what had been
done could be undone.
Already there was a hitch, an aggravating
note of uncertainty amplified by the tension surrounding their
mission. Where in the hell was Krone? Their flurry of phone calls
had only succeeded in contacting some administrative head at the
lab. Isaacs had worried about a confrontation with Krone. He might
bluster, cover up, delay them. Worse, he might destroy evidence.
Isaacs had dissembled with the administrator, told him that they
were an inspection team under the auspices of the executive branch.
Only a small lie. It would be presidential business soon enough. In
any case, Isaacs knew the power of the vague reference to the Oval
Office and he had invoked it unashamedly; there was no time for
more complex explanations.
Isaacs looked over once more at Danielson,
her face in profile as she stared out the small window. She and
Runyan had been in good spirits when they met. Was there something
between them? Would they both be at top efficiency as matters
reached their crux? Isaacs was not sure he should have succumbed to
Runyan’s pleadings to go to Arizona.
For the second time in as many days, Alex
Runyan had found himself catching a military plane on short notice
and heading for a remote corner of the southwest. He and Danielson
had taken a military flight to Kirtland and then had transferred to
the plane Isaacs had commandeered out of Andrews. Isaacs had filled
them in on the progress the Russians had made in duplicating their
efforts that gave special urgency to their mission. That had
surprised him, but the general chain of events was proceeding as he
had foreseen.
Having convinced himself that a black hole
was running rampant in the Earth, Runyan had found a man-made
origin more plausible than other preposterous possibilities. Still,
a stunning technological feat was demanded, and he was keenly
interested in discovering the details that this trip promised to
reveal. His instinct told him that their only hope for salvation
lay in fathoming the secrets of creation. Paul Krone. Runyan shook
his head. He’d done it this time.
Runyan, too, glanced over at Pat Danielson.
This trip promised no chance to renew the relationship started in
the warm Arizona night. On the contrary, she seemed to be getting a
little withdrawn. When they lay on the mattress, comfortable,
chatting, she had confessed to having no close male relations for
some time. Could she keep an affair casual, friendly, the way he
wanted? Was she the type to suffer second thoughts if no permanent
relation was in the offing? Now he’d have to watch his step.
Pat Danielson’s mind was in a turmoil. On the
noisy flight from Yuma she nearly forgot their mission, as she
repeatedly thought of Runyan, buckled into the hard utilitarian
seat next to her. She relived their undressing in the Moonlight
that bathed the tent, their tender precarious coupling on the
narrow mattress, his successful, unhurried manner, the quiet
conversation after, cramped cooperative attempts at sleep and his
half-comical departure at dawn as the camp came to life.
Then in Albuquerque when they met up with
Isaacs the enormity of the situation rushed back upon her. To all
the fear and fascination she felt toward the object of their quest,
now the burden of keeping the Russians at bay was added.
In Isaacs’ presence, all business, she felt
pangs of guilt for allowing her personal urges to come to the fore.
With guilt came questions. Was it a one shot affair? Had he gotten
what he wanted? Did he really care? He had spoken briefly of a wife
and described, honestly it seemed, his estrangement. But was he
honest? And even if he was, had he really said anything that
implied a commitment to her, to Pat? The more she thought, the
deeper became her guilt and embarrassment.
She looked out of her portside window now as
the plane flew west, parallel to the main runway below. She made
out a sprawling complex of runways, hangars, and military aircraft.
That disappeared behind them until the plane went into a left bank
that took them perpendicular to the runway, affording a clear view
of the base and the Sacramento Mountains rising in the east. She
thought she caught a glimpse of their ultimate destination on one
of the far ridge tops. Again the plane banked for its final
approach, and the only view was the desert plain and bounding
mountains stretching endlessly to the north.
The aircraft bumped and twisted slightly in
the mild cross-wind at landing. They taxied up to a hangar, the
engines were cut, the hatch thrown open, and they scrambled out.
They were met by a young lieutenant who handed Isaacs a message.
Isaacs read it, crumpled the paper angrily in his fist and then
hustled Runyan and Danielson aside. He spoke to them in an intense
whisper.
“The Russians have moved already. They
triggered one of the hunter-killers a half hour ago and took out
our nuclear satellite that was on station with their laser.”
Danielson felt as if she had been shocked out
of a state of half-trance.
“It didn’t detonate? The nuke?”
“No,” Isaacs seethed. “They took the chance
and pulled it off cleanly. The laser is free to operate with
impunity.”
“And what does that mean?” Runyan inquired,
leaning over to catch Isaacs’ words.
“It means,” Isaacs spat, “that they can pick
off all our early warning and military communications satellites.
We’ve evolved to the point where we are absolutely dependent on
that technology. We’d be blind to a first strike!”
“I thought we had backups stored in high
orbit.”
“Yes, but there’s a good chance they could
knock them off as they’re brought down. Besides, if they go for a
first strike, they could pull it off before we could adjust for our
losses.”
“Would they go for a first strike, risk
retaliation?” Danielson asked, her eyes searching Isaacs.’ “Maybe
they just want to assert their authority to have the laser up
there.”
“Maybe. But now they have every reason to
think we deliberately manufactured and released a black hole and
then lied to them about it. A whole new level of escalation.”
“Escalation of what?” Runyan demanded.
“Surely they know we’re as imperiled as they are.”
“The cool heads, yes. It’s the hot ones I’m
worried about,” Isaacs replied. “Theirs and ours!”
“In any case we have no choice but to push
on,” Danielson said. “If they pause now to assess our reaction, we
can get to the lab and back to the President so he has all the
facts to negotiate with. If they choose the insane path, well,
those mountains will be as good a place as any to be.” She gestured
to the slopes rising to the east.