“May we deduce then,” an abrupt voice broke in, “that the Soviets have the same information that was available to our Navy?” The forceful baritone belonged to the Secretary of State, a diminutive man whose tone belied his physical stature. “But they have gone ahead to reach the conclusion that this thing is a great danger?”
“I believe that is a fair statement,” Drefke replied. In his peripheral vision he could see the jaw muscles of the naval intelligence officer clinch and bunch.
“And they have concluded as you have,” the Secretary of State continued, “that it is a black hole and have further concluded that we are responsible?”
“That seems to be the best guess,” answered Drefke. “They have individuals with the necessary insight and imagination. Often their highly compartmentalized system keeps the people with the data from the people with the insight. In this case, however, one of their very best scientists has been in on it from the beginning, starting with the analysis of the events on the Novorossiisk. Academician Viktor Korolev.”
There were several nods of recognition around the table. Korolev’s defense-related work was known to many of them.
“We think,” Drefke continued, “that it is very likely that, faced with the same data, Korolev would come to the same conclusions that we have.”
“Where did this thing come from then?” the chairman of the National Security Council demanded. “Outer space?” He glanced at the Secretary of State. “Why do they think we had anything to do with it?”
“Those questions are closely related,” Drefke said. “I want you to follow the logic so that you can see that the Russians, Korolev, have probably done the same thing. I would like Bob Isaacs to lay that out for you and report what he found today.”
“Very well,” said the President, “Mr. Isaacs, why don’t you proceed?”
Isaacs stood, fighting the fatigue of his hectic day, images flashing: the discovery of Krone’s lab, the race to New Mexico, the machine, the encounter with Krone and the woman, Latvin, the flight back. He had to admire Drefke’s presentation, a politician who’d scarcely heard of the phrase black hole a day earlier. He moved behind Drefke to the projector, switched it on, and picked up a laser pointer, as the officials swiveled in their chairs toward the screen.
“I’m going to leave out some of the background details for now,” he said, pushing a button to advance through a number of the slides Gantt and Phillips had prepared, until he came to the one he wanted.
“This,” he said, “is an illustration of the path the black hole takes when it comes out of the Earth, rises to a peak, and falls back in. It will then go through the Earth and come out the other side. For now, I want you to concentrate on the fact that it rises to a fixed height each time. We can determine the amount of time it is above the Earth’s surface, and that tells us how far up it goes. The answer is fifty-seven hundred feet. The simplest hypothesis is that it was formed somewhere at that altitude and always returns to that height as it swings in orbit through the Earth.”
He pushed the button and advanced the projector to a map of the Earth centered on the western hemisphere. He used the laser pointer to mark twin red horizontal lines.
“Here you see the path where the orbit intersects the Earth’s surface, one line in the north through Dallas and Nagasaki, another in the south. As you have heard, we obtained hard evidence that we were dealing with a black hole only yesterday. We immediately did an orbital survey of every point on those two red lines that was at an altitude of fifty-seven hundred feet. You can see there are not many, because of the broad expanses of ocean and low terrain, but it still took some time. You can appreciate that with the orbital path and timing data, the Russians can follow the same procedure. All the locations of interest were empty save one.”
Isaacs paused and looked at the floor as he gently cleared his throat. He looked up and found, not to his surprise, that he was the center of undivided attention. He pointed to the map.
“That exception is here in New Mexico, east of the White Sands proving grounds and just south of the Mescalero Apache reservation in the Sacramento Mountain Range.”
“Wait a minute now,” the President said excitedly. “New Mexico? You’re claiming this thing was made in New Mexico?”
Isaacs flipped through several more slides to reveal a blown-up photograph.
“This is a satellite photograph of the point of interest taken late yesterday afternoon,” he explained.
All around the table the members of the council peered intently at the complex of buildings perched on top of a mountain range.
“We found out this morning that it’s a private research laboratory, subcontracted to the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory, two hundred miles to the north. The man who runs it is Paul Krone.”
“Krone? Of Krone Industries?” the President inquired.
“Yes, sir,” answered Isaacs.
The President exchanged a glance with Drefke. They both knew that Krone had heavily financed his opponent in the last election.
“And now you’re going to tell me he made a black hole? There?” The President extended a pin-striped arm and pointed a finger at the slide without removing his eyes from Isaacs. “At a government sponsored laboratory? Right in our own backyard? Without our knowledge? Without my knowledge?”
“Yes, sir, that seems to be the case. When we discovered the site this morning, I took a team for an emergency visit to confirm our suspicions.
“There is a machine in this building,” Isaacs said, using the pointer on the screen, “the details of which we do not understand. But it is of gigantic proportions and appears to have consumed the rock missing from this ridge.” He pointed to the bare patch of mountain top bordering the lab. “That’s about a hundred million tons of rock, and the strong circumstantial evidence is that it was compressed by this machine to produce the black hole.
“We then proceeded to a home that Krone maintains near the lab. We found him in a semi-catatonic state. He attempted to commit suicide about four months ago and has some brain damage. We recovered from his study a set of laboratory notebooks, of which this is one.”
Isaacs stepped around behind Drefke, picked up the lab book from his place and walked half the length of the table to set it by the President’s elbow.
“We haven’t had time to study them, but they seem to contain a complete record of Krone’s experiments that led to the creation of the black hole. There may also be important computer files.”
“It’s burned!” exclaimed the President.
“Yes, unfortunately. A woman who lived with Krone attempted to burn them. It was a ruse on her part to distract us while she smuggled Krone out the back door. Some were badly damaged before we could stop her.”
“She smuggled him out? While you were there?” The President was incredulous. “Where are they now?”
“The woman got away with him, at least temporarily. They’re somewhere in the mountains. We have air and ground search parties after them.”
“Who is this woman?” the Chairman of the NSC inquired.
“Her name is Maria Latvin. She’s apparently a refugee,” Isaacs explained. “From Lithuania. Krone met her in Vienna after she escaped, and she’s been living with him ever since.”