Cyclops One - Страница 19

“What we really want to do,” he said over the headset they’d given him, “is head up north, to the point where they found that plane part, and work up from there. I want to look at this wedge here, these lakes especially.”

“That’s not our flight plan,” said the pilot.

“Yeah, I know. You allowed to smoke in here?”

“Not really.”

“Even if I open the windows?”

A half hour later the helicopter passed over the plateau where the 767’s part had been found. The area was marked out with small triangular flags but was no longer guarded.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” asked the pilot as they flew along the western leg of the triangle Fisher had marked out.

“Damned if I know,” said Fisher over the interphone circuit. “But I’ll tell you if I see it.”

“Pretty country,” said the crew chief, standing near him at the side door.

“Yeah,” said Fisher.

“You know, some of this area has been gone over quite a bit,” said the crew chief. “We went over it ourselves.”

“Yeah,” repeated Fisher. “I want to get further north, though. How deep you think that lake is?”

“Couple hundred feet, I bet. Real deep.”

“What I think I’m looking for is something very deep with a deserted road nearby for access.”

“You looking for a hunting lodge?”

“Maybe,” said Fisher. “Actually, an abandoned place would be perfect. Road doesn’t have to be much. Enough to get a couple of trucks in.”

“Hmmm,” said the chief.

“That mean you remember something like that?”

“Means I could use a smoke too.”

* * *

There were two reasonable candidates, both at least fifty miles farther north than the search grid, but both on line with where the part had been found. One sat in a crevice between two rocky peaks and had a paved road around the bottom quarter. But there were cabins a few miles south with a view of the road, so Fisher opted for the other site. A flat area emptied out of a road and on the lake at the southeast; they put the helicopter down there.

Fisher got out of the chopper and walked up the road, which looked like a logging trail cut through the woods. There were a few stacks of brush alongside it; the cuts looked weathered, though none of the people in the helicopter had been Boy Scouts and so they couldn’t tell how old they were. The trail ran a hundred yards to a macadam road.

Fisher stood at the turnoff, smoking a Camel pensively. There were tire tracks at the edge of the road. He paced off the width, deciding the trail was roughly twenty feet wide — more than enough to get a flatbed down.

But if there was anything in the water, it was fairly deep. And there was no debris on the shoreline.

Back by the lake, the crew members were sitting on the rocks, dangling their feet in the water. The pilot stood gazing over the surface.

“So?” he asked Fisher when he returned.

“Could be,” said Fisher.

“Could be what?”

“Nothing or something. Hard to tell.”

“If the plane crashed in the lake, wouldn’t there be debris on the surface?” asked the chief.

“I did see a candy wrapper,” said Fisher. “But then again, Canada’s always coddled litterbugs.”

Chapter 10

Dr. Blitz had nearly reached his office in the West Wing when one of his secure cell phones rang. Glancing at the number, he saw it was McIntyre. He took the phone out and stood against the wall, deciding he would go straight to the President’s office when he finished the call.

“Blitz.”

“McIntyre. Something’s definitely up.”

It took considerable fortitude not to use any of the dozen or so sarcastic responses that occurred to the national security advisor. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. I wangled an invitation to some bases up in Kashmir. I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

“Good,” said Blitz.

“The army’s on high alert. Everybody’s antsy. You want a rundown from the embassy people?”

“What I want is more information than I can get from CNN,” said Blitz.

McIntyre started to protest.

“I understand it’s a difficult situation. I have to go,” said Blitz as someone came down the hall. He snapped off the phone, then smiled at Wordsworth Cook, the secretary of state. A small horde of Cook’s aides clogged the hallway, going over some last-minute items with the secretary as Blitz slipped into the Oval Office.

Jack D’Amici was standing at one side of the desk, hitting small golf balls into a practice putting device. The balls snapped into one side of the chute and then were spit back across the thick, regal carpet. His chief of staff stood nearby, watching.

“Professor.”

“Mr. President.”

Blitz took a spot next to the putting range, careful to position his feet in the rough.

Ordinarily, D’Amici would chat as he putted, but today he concentrated on his shots.

A very bad sign, Blitz thought.

The chief of staff excused himself as Cook came in. The two men, one blue-collar striver and the other drenched in old money, couldn’t stand each other and barely exchanged nods.

The President continued to work on his golf after the door was closed.

“India is going to strike Pakistan,” said D’Amici finally, sinking the last ball in his line in the hole, “because they’re convinced Pakistan will hit them. How do we stop them?”

“Bump their heads together,” said Blitz.

Neither the President nor the secretary of state laughed.

“I think if we permit a nuclear war to proceed, we’ll have committed almost as grave a sin as those who start it,” said the President. “And I use the words in on purpose.”

D’Amici put up his hand to keep Blitz from interrupting. “I think that we have to do everything we can to prevent India from attacking Pakistan,” he continued. “Clearly, if they strike the missiles, the Pakistanis will have no option but to respond.”

“Nothing we can do will prevent them from attacking,” said Blitz. “Even if we shared intelligence, they’d simply change their plans.”

“We could also tell the Pakistanis they’re coming,” suggested Cook.

“Then how do we guarantee they wouldn’t launch a preemptive strike?” said Blitz. “If we were in that position, I would.”

“As would I,” said D’Amici.

No one said anything as the President lined up his golf balls for a fresh round. Blitz couldn’t help but think about the augmented ABM system; what would this conversation be like ten years from now? Would the President simply call both sides and tell them they wouldn’t be allowed to fight?

It would be more complicated, surely, but at a minimum they could prevent a nuclear exchange.

Ten years from now. Not now.

Maybe simple rhetoric would scare them off now. Hints, rather than hard facts — get them to realize what was at stake.

“I spoke to Howard McIntyre earlier,” said Blitz, trying to move the conversation forward. “He’s sure they’re close to action. Maybe a strongly worded speech on national television, getting the entire world’s attention; it might get them to pause.”

“If this was simply the government, that might work,” said Cook. “But this is clearly a splinter group. And as for Pakistani reaction…”

He let his voice trail off. Blitz generally had a hard time reading the secretary of state; he seemed to be something of a pacifist, yet had served in the Defense Department and came from a family that had contributed a number of generals to the Army. A onetime senator, before returning to government he had been on the board of several defense contractors.

“Assuming I appeal to both sides and that doesn’t work,” said D’Amici, “what do we do next?”

Blitz glanced at Cook, who glanced at him.

“Can we stop the Indian attack on the radar site?” asked D’Amici. He smacked his golf ball so hard it scooted nearly to the opposite wall. He walked over and retrieved it.

“That would be quite an operation,” said Blitz. “To get aircraft that deep in Pakistan-we can do it, but the Pakistanis, and probably the Indians, would see us.”

“What if we used Cyclops?” asked the President.

Blitz thought many things at once. Striking a helicopter would be fairly easy for the weapon, which had already proven it could do so in trials. It could operate out of Afghanistan and fly either over that country or just over the border. And, if successful, it would have a tremendous impact on both countries, impressing them with American resolve to prevent nuclear war.

On the other hand, it was filled with risk. American lives would be at stake; worse, if it failed and word got out about the attempt, American prestige would suffer.

What was prestige next to millions of lives? If they stopped this war, wouldn’t that prevent others? Wouldn’t it help deter attacks against America itself?

“The laser system itself may work,” said Cook. “But the plane crashed, didn’t it?”

“We have another one,” said D’Amici. “What do you think, Professor?”

“How can we trust it when the other malfunctioned?” interrupted Cook.

“There have been new developments,” Blitz said. The report on Gorman’s latest findings — and, just as important, what she wanted to do about them — would come over from the JCS. But, given the circumstances, the President would not be happy if Blitz didn’t tell him about it now. D’Amici stopped putting and stood with his golf club in his arms as Blitz summarized the latest theory and recommendations.