The reality was overwhelming. They had a few scant hours to find the keys to defuse the crisis. They needed incontrovertible proof that the incredible event had actually occurred, that a small black hole had been forged on the mountaintop forty miles away. They must discover how and why and then hope the President could use that evidence to convince the Russians that the affair was not an overt act against them. They would also look for any dim shred of evidence that what had been done could be undone.
Already there was a hitch, an aggravating note of uncertainty amplified by the tension surrounding their mission. Where in the hell was Krone? Their flurry of phone calls had only succeeded in contacting some administrative head at the lab. Isaacs had worried about a confrontation with Krone. He might bluster, cover up, delay them. Worse, he might destroy evidence. Isaacs had dissembled with the administrator, told him that they were an inspection team under the auspices of the executive branch. Only a small lie. It would be presidential business soon enough. In any case, Isaacs knew the power of the vague reference to the Oval Office and he had invoked it unashamedly; there was no time for more complex explanations.
Isaacs looked over once more at Danielson, her face in profile as she stared out the small window. She and Runyan had been in good spirits when they met. Was there something between them? Would they both be at top efficiency as matters reached their crux? Isaacs was not sure he should have succumbed to Runyan’s pleadings to go to Arizona.
For the second time in as many days, Alex Runyan had found himself catching a military plane on short notice and heading for a remote corner of the southwest. He and Danielson had taken a military flight to Kirtland and then had transferred to the plane Isaacs had commandeered out of Andrews. Isaacs had filled them in on the progress the Russians had made in duplicating their efforts that gave special urgency to their mission. That had surprised him, but the general chain of events was proceeding as he had foreseen.
Having convinced himself that a black hole was running rampant in the Earth, Runyan had found a man-made origin more plausible than other preposterous possibilities. Still, a stunning technological feat was demanded, and he was keenly interested in discovering the details that this trip promised to reveal. His instinct told him that their only hope for salvation lay in fathoming the secrets of creation. Paul Krone. Runyan shook his head. He’d done it this time.
Runyan, too, glanced over at Pat Danielson. This trip promised no chance to renew the relationship started in the warm Arizona night. On the contrary, she seemed to be getting a little withdrawn. When they lay on the mattress, comfortable, chatting, she had confessed to having no close male relations for some time. Could she keep an affair casual, friendly, the way he wanted? Was she the type to suffer second thoughts if no permanent relation was in the offing? Now he’d have to watch his step.
Pat Danielson’s mind was in a turmoil. On the noisy flight from Yuma she nearly forgot their mission, as she repeatedly thought of Runyan, buckled into the hard utilitarian seat next to her. She relived their undressing in the Moonlight that bathed the tent, their tender precarious coupling on the narrow mattress, his successful, unhurried manner, the quiet conversation after, cramped cooperative attempts at sleep and his half-comical departure at dawn as the camp came to life.
Then in Albuquerque when they met up with Isaacs the enormity of the situation rushed back upon her. To all the fear and fascination she felt toward the object of their quest, now the burden of keeping the Russians at bay was added.
In Isaacs’ presence, all business, she felt pangs of guilt for allowing her personal urges to come to the fore. With guilt came questions. Was it a one shot affair? Had he gotten what he wanted? Did he really care? He had spoken briefly of a wife and described, honestly it seemed, his estrangement. But was he honest? And even if he was, had he really said anything that implied a commitment to her, to Pat? The more she thought, the deeper became her guilt and embarrassment.
She looked out of her portside window now as the plane flew west, parallel to the main runway below. She made out a sprawling complex of runways, hangars, and military aircraft. That disappeared behind them until the plane went into a left bank that took them perpendicular to the runway, affording a clear view of the base and the Sacramento Mountains rising in the east. She thought she caught a glimpse of their ultimate destination on one of the far ridge tops. Again the plane banked for its final approach, and the only view was the desert plain and bounding mountains stretching endlessly to the north.
The aircraft bumped and twisted slightly in the mild cross-wind at landing. They taxied up to a hangar, the engines were cut, the hatch thrown open, and they scrambled out. They were met by a young lieutenant who handed Isaacs a message. Isaacs read it, crumpled the paper angrily in his fist and then hustled Runyan and Danielson aside. He spoke to them in an intense whisper.
“The Russians have moved already. They triggered one of the hunter-killers a half hour ago and took out our nuclear satellite that was on station with their laser.”
Danielson felt as if she had been shocked out of a state of half-trance.
“It didn’t detonate? The nuke?”
“No,” Isaacs seethed. “They took the chance and pulled it off cleanly. The laser is free to operate with impunity.”
“And what does that mean?” Runyan inquired, leaning over to catch Isaacs’ words.
“It means,” Isaacs spat, “that they can pick off all our early warning and military communications satellites. We’ve evolved to the point where we are absolutely dependent on that technology. We’d be blind to a first strike!”
“I thought we had backups stored in high orbit.”
“Yes, but there’s a good chance they could knock them off as they’re brought down. Besides, if they go for a first strike, they could pull it off before we could adjust for our losses.”
“Would they go for a first strike, risk retaliation?” Danielson asked, her eyes searching Isaacs.’ “Maybe they just want to assert their authority to have the laser up there.”
“Maybe. But now they have every reason to think we deliberately manufactured and released a black hole and then lied to them about it. A whole new level of escalation.”
“Escalation of what?” Runyan demanded. “Surely they know we’re as imperiled as they are.”
“The cool heads, yes. It’s the hot ones I’m worried about,” Isaacs replied. “Theirs and ours!”
“In any case we have no choice but to push on,” Danielson said. “If they pause now to assess our reaction, we can get to the lab and back to the President so he has all the facts to negotiate with. If they choose the insane path, well, those mountains will be as good a place as any to be.” She gestured to the slopes rising to the east.
Isaacs was pleased that her common sense, though grim, was asserting itself again.
“Okay, let’s go.” He gave her upper arm a squeeze as he guided her toward the waiting helicopter. Runyan hurried forward to help her climb in. Danielson noticed him and paused. With her mind freshly cleared by the heightened air of crisis, she decided a show of independence would be healthy for both of them. She turned to the lieutenant who had delivered the message, smiled at him and offered her arm. The young man leapt quickly to her side and helped her to clamber in, leaving Runyan standing nonplussed on the tarmac. Isaacs watched this quick tableau and then climbed in himself, jaw muscles knotting as he clenched his teeth.
The flight up to the research complex headed by Paul Krone took only fifteen minutes. As they approached they could tell that Krone commanded a huge authority. There were six or seven large buildings linked by a maze of roadways. They landed on a pad in front of one of the buildings and were met by a small, jaunty man of about sixty. He wore a plain white shirt, green and white checked pants, and white patent leather shoes. The shirt was anchored at the neck with a large silver and turquoise string tie that clashed with his nineteenth hole outfit.