“You’re suggesting Camp David?”
“No, sir. Since the terrorists may assume you’re leaving for Camp David, and that Camp David is listed as a top-ten targeted site, I suggest Raven Rock.”
The Raven Rock Mountain Complex, also known as the RRMC or Site R, is a nuclear presidential bunker located on a mountain in Pennsylvania. After the Soviet Union detonated its first nuclear device in 1949, a high priority was created for the Joint Command Post to be placed in a protected shelter near Washington, D.C., for the speedy relocation of the National Command Authorities and the Joint Communications Service. It was also frequented by Vice President Cheney following the 9/11 attacks.
“Then we’ll leave tonight,” he said. “By morning I want a complete base camp and Comm Center set up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And may God have mercy on the souls of the American people.”
CHAPTER NINE
The room was encapsulated by concrete walls with a viewing window that ran the entire length of an entire wall, the glass six inches thick. Electronic wizardry such as vacuum systems, vibration-isolating optical tables, a large collection of optomechanics such as Ti sapphire and diode lasers geared for atom manipulation filled the lab — the oft pulsating laser eyes of the tubular equipment shut off, the mechanical arms still.
In a room connecting this lab was a sequestered chamber strictly used for the study of atomic emissions and absorption. Today, however, inside this room sat the nuclear suitcase on a table beneath a recessed lighting fixture, with its aluminum shell shining with the aura of a sacred chalice.
Dr. Ray Simone — chief nuclear engineer and leading principal of the president’s Nuclear Management Team — was Lincolnesque with a balding pate and manicured goatee. His eyes were forever studious as they embraced the celebrated intelligence of a man who excelled in the field of nuclear science. And his quirks could only be considered as a reflection of his natural state of mind, that of a man who was socially hindered and lived solely in the world of academia.
Wearing a white lab coat with a radiation monitor attached to his lapel, Ray Simone stood at the viewing window dabbing his stylus against the screen of an electronic notebook.
The unit was brought in hours ago and tests were run. What was learned by preliminary discoveries was that the unit was functional with a three kiloton yield. Worse, it had a highly sophisticated and sensitive built-in safety feature. And methods to find a way to disable it proved difficult. Dozens of laser lines crisscrossed all around the triggering mechanism with hundreds more along the PC boards, the lines tracking up and down, back and forth, left to right — making it impossible to breach the laser grid and get at the unit’s core. If a single line was broken or nicked by an intruding implement attempting to disarm the unit, then the unit would quickly arm itself.
While dotting the screen of his electronic notepad with quick pecks of the stylus, Simone entered the chamber and stood beyond the case’s periphery, and circled it with careful study. There was a Bluetooth-like attachment connected to his ear.
Putting on the headgear of a monocular optical lens capable of seeing light not visible to the naked eye, Simone was clearly able to see the crisscrossing patterns of laser light moving in intricate patterns — up and down, back and forth, the roving laser eyes making it impossible for a steady hand to go in to disengage the connecting pins. To do so would set off the unit in a three-kiloton, white-hot explosion.
“Genius is definitely in simplicity,” he murmured.
There were no wires or decoy devices that he could determine. And should an attempt be made and a laser line nicked by a foreign object, such as the point of a breaching screwdriver, it would initiate the unit’s countdown process.
This is absolute genius. Simone began tapping the screen of his notebook with his stylus, memorializing his findings.
“Dr. Simone?”
The engineer placed a finger on his Bluetooth. “Yeah, Mitch.”
“President Burroughs would like to be piped through. He wants to know of your findings.”
“Go ahead and send him through.”
Removing his special goggles and Bluetooth, Simone traced his finger along the Plexiglas cover that gave view of the burnished spheres.
“Dr. Simone.” The president’s voice was lacking the normal cheer of salutation. It was more like the man was having a really bad day, but didn’t care if anyone knew about it as his voice was being channeled through the chamber’s advanced vocal system.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“What have you found?”
“Well, I will say this,” he began. “It’s quite a marvel of engineering. The unit is totally computerized and the decoy system well masked, making it nearly impossible to disarm.”
“But is it doable? Can it be disarmed?”
Simone looked unemotional. “I said nearly impossible, Mr. President.”
“Nearly or not, Ray, impossible to me means there is a high degree that something cannot be done.”
Simone leaned over the unit and examined the spheres closely. “Actually, Mr. President, the word impossible doesn’t mean that something cannot be done. It just implies the degree of difficulty involved in the situation.”
“Ray, can you disarm the damn thing or not?”
“Impossible or not, Mr. President, and although challenging, everything is achievable and attainable. I will find a way to disarm this unit.”
“How long will that take?”
“That, I cannot give an answer to.”
“Ray, this is imperative.”
“I understand that. But this is something none of us has ever seen before. The engineering by the Russians makes me ashamed that we haven’t come up with this marvel sooner.”
“You talk as if you admire the damn thing.”
Simone was enamored in a scientific way.
“It’s a bomb, Ray. Find out what makes it tick, then disarm it. And I mean yesterday.”
“I’ll do what can,” he offered.
“Do it quickly. There’s a possibility that there may be more units floating around on American soil.”
“Again, Mr. President, I’ll do what I can. A unit such as this will need to be approached with considerable caution.”
“Ray, we don’t have much time.”
“Mr. President, if we make a mistake — even a single and minute miscalculation — Area Four will be nothing more than a dead landscape for thousands of years and whatever answers you are seeking will never be learned. We have no choice in the matter.”
Over the speakers Ray Simone could hear President Burroughs force a sigh of frustration.
And then: “I’ll need your engineers on this twenty-four-seven,” he said flatly.
“Of course.”
“And, Ray?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Keep in mind that you’re on the clock. If a unit goes off on American soil, then your answers won’t matter much. It’ll be too late.”
“I understand.”
And then a loud click sounded over the speakers, something that was definite and audible as a flip of a switch, and then the sound of white noise transitioned cleanly over to dead air.
The president had made his statement.
The clock was ticking.
CHAPTER TEN
Marine One is the presidential helicopter transport to locations of close proximities with minimized landing areas. The current version is the VH-71 Kestral, a state-of-the-line mobile air unit that has a service ceiling of 15,000 feet, and travels at a speed of 192 miles per hour to a maximum distance of 863 miles.