Elliott was wearing short-sleeved olivedrab fatigues and a blue flight cap. Curtis was wearing a conservative gray suit and tie, even in the dry desert warmth of the early evening. The sun had set a few minutes earlier beyond the beautiful mountain ranges of the high Nevada desert.
"It's incredible," Elliott said, closing the top secret file he held in his hand. "Absolutely incredible."
"And those are the things we're sure of," Curtis said.
"Those are the things that'll be presented in the United Nations. I believe-and I'm alone on this so far-that the Russians have an extremely advanced, fully operational laser defense system in place, right now. As a matter of fact, I believe it's been operational for months, ever since the Iceland summit."
"This is amazing. The Russians are further ahead of us in beam defense than anyone ever imagined. So what do we do?
Go to the United Nations?Ask them to shut the thing down?"
"That's one option we're pursuing," Curtis replied, loosening his tie against the lingering heat. "But I've been authorized to explore two other possible responses. "He paused. "Ice Fortress is one of them."
Elliott looked surprised, but nodded thoughtfully."seat SWI certainly will get people's attention," he asked. "But it's a sitting duck, if that laser is as capable as you say it is."
"They wouldn't dare shoot down a manned space platform," Curtis declared.
Elliott shook his head. "Tell that to the widows and widowers of that downed RC-135, sir."
Curtis glared at Elliott, but said, "Ice Fortress is different."
"You bet, sir," Elliott replied. "It's worse. "They rode on in silence. Elliott added: "Besides, wasn't Ice Fortress cancelled?I know the Vandenburg control center is closed."
"It was cancelled," Curtis said, "but not because it wasn't feasible.
We had to cancel it because of that damned treaty we signed. It's frustrating. The Russians can shoot down one of our RC- 135s, but we can't violate a treaty. We come out losers both ways. "His angry voice seemed loud enough to be heard by the sentries at the guard shack a hundred yards ahead of them.
"I haven't heard anything about the incident," Elliott remarked.
"Everything seems very quiet."
"The situation politically has stabilized somewhat," Curtis asked. "The White House is hoping this whole thing will just fade away. I'm sure the President will be more than happy to let the matter fizzle out, take the Russians' excuses and minimal reparations. The President is really counting on Secretary of State Brent to defuse the whole affair."
"But the Russians aren't offering excuses or reparations, are they?"
Elliott asked, stretching his aching muscles.
"Hell, why should they?" Curtis asked. "They're holding all the damn cards. We, the military, whine and bitch that the Russians are shooting down our spy satellites. Half the White House doesn't believe us-and the other half doesn't want to believe us. "He paused for a moment, then added, "I'm sorry about the RC- 135 crew, Brad. I know you worked with them in the past. I'm sorry those crewmembers died.
"I'm sorry, too, Curtis," Elliott asked. "Those men and women were doing their job, their duty, something they trained hard to perfect.
Their murder was senseless-premeditated, cruel, and senseless."
Elliott shook his head and tried not to think of the friends he had lost. "So," he said finally, "Ice Fortress is one option. And you're out here to see what else we have up our sleeves."
"Putting you in charge out here was the best move the Defense Department ever made, Brad," Curtis asked. "What we needed was a guy who never said it can't be done. A guy happy to lock horns with Congress or anyone else who stood in the way of developing new ideas.
Now, I need you to find some for me. I want-" "To take out this… this site," Elliott said quickly, glancing sideways at the driver.
"Attack it."
Curtis was somewhat taken aback. "No one said anything about 'taking out' anything, especially in goddamned Russia."
He smiled. "Jesus, Brad, you're a sonofabitch."
General Elliott smiled back at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, then leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.
"We'll walk from here, Hal. Meet us back at the guard shack in an hour.
The truck ground to a halt, and the driver, a young second lieutenant wearing fatigues and carrying a small Uzi submachine gun, trotted around to General Curtis' door and held it open for him. Both men stepped out.
"You won't get lost from here, will you, General?" the lieutenant asked Elliott in a low enough voice to keep Curtis from hearing.
"Straight down the road, about four hundred "This is my desert, Hal," Elliott growled. With a smile he said, "Get out of here. Make sure they have fresh coffee at the guard shack, and don't drink it all." The young officer saluted, trotted back to the driver's seat, and drove off.
"This, sir, is Dreamland," Elliott said, beaming. He spread his hands out across the desert as he spoke. "Ideas become reality here.
Theories become machines. Men like you don't come here just to visit-you come here to get answers."
Elliott's mind was racing-it was exhilarating for Curtis just to watch.
"Kavaznya. Heavily defended, I'd say, according to your intel.
"That would be an understatement," General Curtis replied.
"They converted their small supply airfield into a full-scale year-round base.
"Rule out a carrier task force, then," Elliott said, nodding.
"They'd be blown out of the water thirteen hundred miles north of Japan. The Russians would see a flight of F-15s and their tankers long before they reached Kavaznya, and you might need two squadrons to beat past the defense and take that complex out. "He looked at Curtis.
"Bombers. Heavy bombers. B-1s, perhaps?"
"What else would I get from an old SAC warhorse?" Curtis said, smiling.
Elliott went on: "We don't want the Russians to think we just declared war on them. One bomber, launch three, but pick the best for the attack. One lone penetrator, even against heavy defenses, has a chance. Especially a B- L" "My thoughts exactly."
It was Elliott's turn to smile. "You didn't come here to shop, did you, sir?You came to buy. Cash and carry. Price is no object. All that stuff."
"I wanted to see your little playland here, too," Curtis said, "but I knew you'd have what I'm looking for."
"I don't have a B-1 here," Elliott said as they approached the guard shack. "But I've got something… you won't believe.
"I knew you'd put on a show for me," Curtis asked. "But where the hell are we?"
"We're in Nevada, sir," Elliott said, scanning the horizon with the corners of his eyes. It was an old Navy seadog trick taught to him by his father: the corners of the eyes can detect motion easier than the center, because of the lesser concentration of light receptors at the edges."in the middle of nowhere.
That's the Groom Mountain range over there," Elliott said, pointing to the twilight-streaked horizon. "You can just barely see Bald Mountain over there. Papoose Range is over there to the south. We are on the northwest corner of Groom Lake."
"Lake?" Curtis said, kicking up a cloud of hard-packed sand and dust.
"Dry lake," Elliott explained. "Properly tested and reinforced. It makes a natural and easily concealed three-mile-long runway. "Elliott scanned the horizon, breathing in the fresh, clean, slightly chilling air. "Dreamland. They walked for a while longer. Suddenly, two streaks of light could be seen several miles in the distance, diving and turning over the nap of the rugged mountains. A moment later, two ear-shattering sonic booms rolled across the desert floor and echoed up and down the valley.
"What the hell was that?" Curtis asked.