Blade took a stride toward the table. “He knew about the missing Hurricane?”
“The smuggler claimed he’d been in Russian territory several weeks ago, and while he was there he’d heard an interesting story. There was a rumor going around that the Reds had shot down a Federation jet and retrieved it,” Toland said.
“How?” Blade inquired. “The Russians don’t have any functional fighters left, and the VTOLs fly at a high altitude when passing over the Russian region, too high for the Soviets to employ anti-aircraft weaponry.”
Toland scowled in self-reproach. “Here’s the rub. The smuggler told us the Russians have developed a new weapon, a means of downing an aircraft at any altitude and at any range.”
“And you think the Russians used the same weapon on the 757?” Eudora Macquarie interjected.
“Possibly,” Toland said.
“What type of weapon is it?” Eudora questioned.
“We have no idea.”
“When was it constructed?” she pressed him.
“We don’t know if it really was,” Toland replied, then corrected himself.
“At least we didn’t, until today.”
“A new Soviet weapon would account for the peculiar explosion we witnessed,” Plato commented, and suddenly he was the focus of every eye in the room. He deliberated for a minute before continuing, well aware of the influence he brought to bear at Federation Council meetings. Although the Family was the smallest Federation faction numerically and geographically, with approximately a hundred Family members residing in a walled 30-acre compound, the Family Elders, and especially Plato, were widely respected for their wisdom. When Plato spoke, the other Federation leaders listened attentively. “Every system on the 757 was tested repeatedly before today’s takeoff. Practice flights were conducted to insure the aircraft was airworthy. There was no logical reason for the airliner to explode, and yet it did.” He scratched at his beard.
“An engine malfunction could account for the explosion,” Eudora noted.
“True,” Plato agreed, “except for a few disturbing details. An engine malfunction would not account for the red light we saw. I’m positive a streak of crimson light struck the 757 shortly before the blast.”
“All of us saw the red light,” Kilrane said.
“There was another unusual aspect to the explosion,” Plato informed them. “There wasn’t any debris.”
“Debris?” White Eagle repeated, puzzled.
“If an engine had malfunctioned and the aircraft simply blew up, then there should have been debris. Pieces of the jet should have fallen to earth in the city,” Plato detailed, and looked at General Reese. “Have you received any reports of falling parts yet?”
“None,” General Reese replied. “No wings, no fuselage, no bodies, nothing.”
“I don’t understand,” Crofton said. “Where did the bits and pieces go?”
“Therein lies the key to this mystery,” Plato stated. “There should have been debris. Gravity will not be denied. Since there wasn’t any debris, then the 757 must have been totally obliterated in the air.”
“No known weapon could do that,” Zahner declared. “No explosion either.”
“True,” Plato concurred. “Which indicates we witnessed an implosion, not an explosion.”
“What the hell is the difference?” Crofton queried.
“There’s a great deal of difference,” Plato elaborated. “An explosion is a violent expansion of an object invariably produced by a chemical agent or a mechanical means. An implosion, however, is the opposite. An implosion occurs when an object bursts inward.”
“I don’t get it,” Crofton said.
“Have you ever eaten an orange?” Plato asked him.
The Mole blinked a few times. “Yeah. So?”
“What would happen if you threw an orange against a boulder? Would the fruit explode?”
“Yeah,” Crofton replied.
“But if you held the orange in your hand and made a fist, what would happen?”
“I’d crush it.”
“Precisely my point. The force applied by your hand would cause the orange to turn inward upon itself. This is a crude illustration, granted. But perhaps, just perhaps, an external force was applied to the 757, a force that caused the aircraft to burst inward, a force that created an implosion and simultaneously consumed every particle of the airliner.”
“The red light?” Kilrane questioned.
“That would be my conclusion,” Plato said. “The red light completely enveloped the aircraft, even while the implosion was transpiring. I believe the 757 and the bodies of those poor people were somehow reduced to mere dust.”
“What kind of weapon could do such a thing?” Zahner asked.
“I lack sufficient data to extrapolate,” Plato responded.
“Which brings us back to square one,” Eudora Macquarie said. “We suspect the Russians have developed a new weapon, but we don’t have concrete evidence supporting our suspicion. We don’t know what type of weapon it is, and we don’t know where this weapon is based, whether it’s mobile or stationary.”
President Toland cleared his throat. “I might be able to help there.”
Everyone turned toward the head of the table.
“The smuggler claimed he’d heard through the black-market grapevine that the Reds have based this weapon at a military facility in Ohio,” Toland disclosed.
“Did he supply the name of this facility?” Eudora inquired.
Toland shook his head. “No, but he did give us the name of the city where the facility is supposedly located.”
“Which city?” Zahner probed.
“Cincinnati.”
The leaders and delegates shifted in their seats and eyed one another, their features registering skepticism.
“Are you trying to tell us that a 757 flying over Denver was shot down by a weapon based in Cincinnati, Ohio?” Kilrane said, voicing the thought uppermost on their minds.
President Toland shrugged. “I can only relay the information we received from the smuggler. But now you can appreciate why we didn’t believe him, why I decided to hold the inaugural flight as scheduled.” His head drooped, his mouth curling downward. “If I’d only given him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Maybe the lousy commies have come up with a new weapon,” Crofton said. “But there’s no way in hell they can shoot a plane down from hundreds of miles away.” He paused and looked at Plato. “Is there?”
Plato was deep in contemplation, absently chewing on his lower lip. He roused himself and gazed at the Mole. “Possibly. I’ve read a number of books in the Family library dealing with the prewar technology. Their accomplishments were astounding. There were trains capable of traveling over one hundred miles an hour. There were boats that rode over the water on cushions of air. And we’ve all heard the stories about the space flights, about the trips made to the moon and Mars.”
Crofton snickered. “Yeah. We’ve all heard the tales about the good old days, when men and women could do anything. It’s all a crock.”
“You don’t believe our ancestors traveled to other planets?” Plato queried.
“No way, man,” Crofton said.
“Why not, may I ask?”
“If I haven’t seen something with my own eyes, I find it hard to believe,” Crofton explained.
“But we all saw the 757 destroyed,” Plato noted.
There was a moment of silence.
“Okay,” Zahner said. “Let’s assume the Russians have a new weapon.
Let’s assume the smuggler told the truth. What are we going to do about it?”