"What is the countdown, General?" asked the President.
"One hour and forty-two minutes, sir," General Amos South, head of the joint Chiefs, answered. "That is the time our scientists tell us when tidal currents are at their height to separate the ice shelf and carry it out to sea."
"Just how accurate is this intelligence?"
"You might say it comes from the horse's mouth," Loren replied. "The timetable was revealed by Karl Wolf himself and was confirmed by the nation's top glaciologists and experts on nanotechnology."
"Since Admiral Sandecker's people penetrated Wolf's organization," explained Ron Little, "we have accumulated considerably more intelligence on what the Wolfs call the Valhalla Project. It all adds up to them doing exactly what they threaten, cutting off the Ross Ice Shelf and upsetting Earth's rotational balance in order to cause a polar shift."
"Triggering a cataclysm of unimaginable destruction," added Loren.
"We've come to the same conclusion at the FBI," said Helm, backing up Little. "We've asked experts in the field of nanotechnology to study the facts, and all agree. The Wolfs have the scientific and engineering capability to execute such an unthinkable act."
The President stared into the monitor at General South. "I still say, send in a missile and stop this insanity before it can get off the ground."
"Only as a last resort, Mr. President. The Joint Chiefs and I strongly agree that it is too risky."
Admiral Morton Eldridge, Chief of the Navy, entered the discussion. "One of our aircraft equipped with radar intercept systems has arrived on site. They've already reported that the Wolf mining facility has superior radar equipment that could detect an incoming missile from an aircraft or nearby submarine with a warning time of three minutes. That's more than enough time to alert and panic them into throwing the doomsday switch early, a situation that may or may not break off the ice shelf. Again, a risk that is a poor gamble at best."
"If, as you say," said Wallace, "their radar equipment is rated as superior, haven't they already been alerted by your aircraft and the signals it sends out?"
Admiral Eldridge and General Coburn exchanged bemused glances before Eldridge replied. "Because it is highly classified, it is known only by a select few that our new radar warning systems are virtually undetectable. Our radar interception aircraft is below the horizon. We can bend our signals to read theirs, but they cannot find or read ours."
"Should our ground force be unable to penetrate the Wolf security defenses," said South, "then, of course, as a last resort, we'll send in a missile from our nuclear attack sub Tucson."
"She's already on station in the Antarctic?" asked Wallace incredulously.
"Yes, sir," answered Eldridge. "A fortunate coincidence. She was on an ice data-gathering patrol when she successfully destroyed the Wolfs' U-boat that was firing on the NUMA research ship Polar Storm. Admiral Sandecker alerted me in time to send her to Okuma Bay before the final countdown."
"What about aircraft?"
"Two Stealth bombers are in the air and will begin a holding pattern ninety miles from the facility in another hour and ten minutes," answered Coburn.
"So we're covered from air and sea," said Wallace.
"That is correct," General South acknowledged.
"How soon before Major Cleary and his force begin their assault?"
South glanced up at a huge digital clock on one wall. "Depending on wind and overcast conditions, they should be gliding toward their target and landing in a few minutes."
"Will we receive a blow-by-blow account of the assault?"
"We have a direct link to Major Cleary's ground communications through the satellite that's servicing our ice stations at the Pole and McMurdo Sound. But since he and his men will be extremely busy for the next hour, and possibly coming under hostile fire, we do not think it wise to interfere or interrupt their field communications."
"Then we have nothing to do but wait and listen." Wallace spoke mechanically.
Silence greeted his words. No one in either war room offered him a reply.
After a long moment, he murmured, "God, how did we ever get in this mess?"
40
Hurtling more than 120 miles an hour through the thickly layered cloud mist from 35,000 feet, Cleary spread his arms apart and faced what he could only assume was the ground, since the cloud cover hid all evidence of a horizon. His mind boycotted the frigid blast of air that engulfed him, and he concentrated on maintaining a stable body position. He mentally reminded himself to personally thank Stafford someday for slowing the aircraft. It was a gesture that had provided the assault team with near-perfect conditions for exiting in a tightly knit group and enabled them to achieve a stable attitude without tumbling uncontrollably for several thousand feet. That situation would have scattered the teams over several miles, making the infiltration of a cohesive, intact fighting element nearly impossible.
He moved his left wrist within a few inches of his goggles, bringing the face of the MA2-30 altimeter within easy view. He was rapidly descending past 33,000 feet. Given the low air density at this altitude, he expected to speed up considerably.
Cleary concentrated on preserving his heading, 180 degrees from the C-17's course at exit time, and he scanned the air immediately around him for signs of the other men in free fall. He passed through a heavy layer of moisture and felt the stinging pellets of hail stab the front of his body, mask, and goggles. Off to his right, about forty feet, he could barely see the flashing of several high-intensity firefly lights in the gray emptiness.
The lights were attached to the top of each man's Gentex helmet with the beam facing backward. They were set in that direction as a preventive measure to warn a man falling directly on top of another at the moment of canopy pull.
He briefly wondered if they might have exited over the incorrect grid. It hardly made any difference now. They were committed. They were either upwind of the target landing zone or not. It was a fifty-fifty chance. Only his faith in Stafford's flying ability gave him a healthy measure of optimism.
In the seconds between the time that Captain Sharpsburg had dived from the ramp and Cleary followed, the point of no return had passed into oblivion. He looked down at the airspace directly beneath him and saw no one. Next he checked his altitude. He was approaching 28,000 feet.
The plans called for the men to free-fall to 25,000 feet, open their canopies, assemble in the air, and glide to the target landing zone. Slightly before reaching that altitude, each man would have to initiate his pull sequence. That meant clearing his airspace and arching his body as perfectly as possible, then locating and maintaining eye contact with his main rip cord on the right, outboard side of his parachute harness. The next step was to grasp and pull the rip cord and check over his right shoulder to be sure that his canopy was deploying properly. He would need a thousand feet of working altitude in order for his main canopy to open at 25,000 feet on the mark.
Off in the distance, he could now see more firefly lights, ten, perhaps twelve. The cloud layer was thinning and visibility was increasing as they penetrated the lower altitudes. Cleary's altimeter read 26,000 feet. Rational thoughts ceased and years of training took over. With no hesitation, Cleary reacted decisively, silently repeating the commands as he executed the action sequence. Arch, look, reach, pull, check, check, and check.