The identity of the suicidal terrorist was uncertain. The Middle Eastern man had no ID, but given the fact that so many Russian-made military items were turning up in Iran and Iraq, there was a good chance he was from one or the other country. It made no difference; all countries that hosted terrorists were going to pay for the attack.
A tattered wet suit, dive mask, snorkel, and the plastic container for the SAM were buried a few feet away from the slant hole the man had dug with a compact entrenching tool. He also had a tan-colored sixteen-inch-long, two-inch-diameter plastic pipe he used to get fresh air when he was completely covered with sand.
From the two empty canteens and the seven energy bar wrappers, security personnel figured the terrorist must have come ashore at least three nights before the launch date. Many of the searchers wondered if there were other terrorists hidden under the sand. Armed ground parties soon began combing the beach in both directions.
Three boats and a group of divers searching offshore from where the terrorist hid found a Diver Propulsion Vehicle. The DPV was anchored to the bottom in seven feet of water. The tow vehicle was a battery-powered propeller-driven scuba diving accessory that eliminates exertion on the part of the diver or swimmer. The discovery explained how the terrorist had managed to bring so many items ashore. Where he launched from was anyone's guess.
The terrorist had almost destroyed the orbiter. It would take time to refurbish Atlantis, but she would fly again. Security at the space center would increase even more, especially when Congress got involved and the television cameras permitted unlimited face time.
Chapter 31
President Macklin was playing golf at Burning Tree when he was informed of the attack on the spacc shuttle. With exasperation showing in his eyes, he returned to the White House, showered, changed into a suit, and went to meet with Timkey, Prost, Adair, and Chalmers in the Oval Office. The men had already seen replays of the shutde incident several times.
"Gentlemen, keep your seats," the president said, as he walked briskly into the office and sat down at his desk. The atmosphere was oppressive: no smiles, no pleasantries, all business.
Macklin shook his head in disbelief. "As weve learned the hard way, Cold War thinking doesn t apply when we re up against fanatical terrorists. During the Cold War, the logic of mutual assured destruction taught us that rational people would not commit suicide."
The president glanced at his colleagues. "Painfully obvious to the entire world, that assumption does not apply with this enemy They still dont get the message. We're going to have to strike at terrorist targets by any means available to us. First strikes with everything in our inventory — including nukes, if we have to."
The comment raised a few eyebrows.
"Pete, I want you and Les to choose at least eight sites where we know bunkers exist, more than eight if you think they're worthwhile. Our space-based assets, along with Predator, Dragon Eye, and Global Hawk, have cataloged over twenty sites built since the Gulf War in ninety-one. Choose a variety: bunkers where they're hiding command and control centers, and weapons labs."
Pete Adair's face was without expression, emotions tightly controlled by years of military training. Tm assuming you want to go with our newest bunker buster?"
"Absolutely. Make a loud statement."
The weapon was a long thin bomb designed to burrow through forty to fifty feet of earth and concrete before detonating. The resulting explosion would destroy everything in the bunker, and the ground above it would collapse.
"When do you want to deploy them?" Adair asked.
"As soon as you have them ready No rushing; keep it safe."
Adair was about to reply when a military aide opened the door and profusely apologized for interrupting. "Mr. President, Secretary Austin is on the phone, insists on talking with you, sir."
"Thank you, 111 take it." Sensing more bad news, Macklin picked up the phone. "Hi, Brad."
While the president listened, his head slumped forward and he closed his eyes for a few moments. When he looked up, Macklin caught the attention of Hartwell Prost and then thanked Austin. After placing the receiver down, he swore to himself.
"President Cardenas is dead," Macklin announced, in a steely quiet voice. "Died about thirty-five minutes ago."
"Died?" Prost was in disbelief. "From what?"
"They arent sure."
The evasive answer did not fool Prost.
The president rose from his chair and walked around the end of his desk, signaling the end of the meeting. "Hartwell, if you don't mind, Fd like to discuss another matter with you."
"Yes, sir."
Macklin thanked Timkey, Adair, and Chalmers for dropping their dinner plans and rushing to the White House, ushered them pleasantly out of the office, and sat down across from Prost.
"You may want a drink," the president suggested, walking to the enclosed bar.
"I'll take you up on the offer." Prost watched the president's demeanor.
Macklin fixed two straight scotches and sat down. "Brad said the word from Mexico City, actually Los Pinos, is that Cirdenas was taking his usual afternoon nap before dinner and passed away in his sleep."
The normally calm Prost was incensed. "That's a hald-faced he," he snapped. "He was murdered. Thane were only five of us in the conference room, and it had been sanitized before we arrived "
"That's exactly right." Macklins patience was whipped raw. "Antonio Ferreira, the secretary of foreign affairs, was the informer. He is in collusion with the Mexican generals."
"And now the generals know what we intended to do."
The president remained quiet, contemplating the situation. "If you think about it, that's not bad. We can keep them looking over their shoulders, always wondering what might happen… and when it might happen."
"Right," Prost said as he sampled his drink. "Has the Mexican Congress designated an interim president?"
Macklin nodded. "Yes, Marco Garcia Fernandez, Cardenas former commissioner for northern border affairs."
"Can he be trusted?"
"Austin says he can, but hell have to eliminate Ferreira." Macklin took a slug of scotch. "I'll ask Brad to see if the new president needs any assistance with that task."
After a morning of shopping for supplies, Jackie and Scott were in the hangar stockpiling their Gulfstream 100 for the long flight to Geneva, Switzerland. They had no idea where their quest to locate Saeed Shayhidi would take them, but they wanted to be well prepared for any contingency. Geneva might be the first of many stops during the hunt for the elusive terrorist supporter.
Because of the complexities of international rules and regulations, they were not going to carry any firearms except their personal 9mm handguns. The CIA and FBI identification they carried would take care of most questions or problems with foreign customs.
Although their new jet had tremendous range, they were going to take a conservative approach to their first Atlantic Ocean crossing. After departing Dulles International, they would stop for fuel at Gander International Airport in Newfoundland, Canada. The next stop would be London-Luton Airport, Bedfordshire, England, and then on to Geneva.
While unloading Jackie's packed Ford Explorer, they were catching snippets of the morning news reports on their portable television in the hangar. A huge barge with an attached crane was on its way to retrieve the space shuttle Atlantis, and the chaotic situation on the U. S-Mexican border was finally under control.