The main feature of the control room were the two REACT consoles at the front of the room. Above those consoles, various screens showed scenes from the surface directly above, as well as the silos that this center controlled. Many of the screens had the brightly colored display that indicated thermal imagery.
A major, happy to be done with his twenty-four-hour shift, stood up and halfheartedly saluted Parker. "Omega Missile LCC is all yours. Nothing of note in the duty log. Status green."
He reached inside his flight suit and removed a set of two keys — one red, one blue — on a steel chain from around his neck and handed it to Parker. His partner did the same with Lewis.
Parker looked over at the large red digital clock overlooking both consoles. "You stand relieved as of zero-seven-zero-four."
She reached into a pocket of her flight suit and handed him a key attached to six-inch piece of wood.
The officer being relieved took the pickup truck key with a laugh. "I get a ten-thousand-dollar pickup truck; you get a half billion dollars' worth of computers and missiles and nuclear weapons. I'm not sure I got a good deal in the trade."
"You get to go home and take a shower," Parker said. "That's a good deal." She looked over at the main console. "How's REACT?"
On top of the main computer console there was a sign spelling out the acronym: Rapid Execution And Combat Targeting. The system was relatively new, having been brought on line in the past two years as part of an overall upgrade of the entire nuclear missile arsenal. The computer consolidated what six separate systems inside the LCC had previously controlled. Besides being linked back to 341st's Emergency Operations Center (EOC), at Barksdale, REACT was also tied in to the MILSTAR secure satellite communication system and all the other REACT computers at every nuclear weapon control location.
The officer being relieved pocketed the truck key. "She's running smooth. No glitches. Have a good shift."
He and the other officer walked to the elevator and got on board. The doors shut and they were gone. Parker and Lewis took the seats at their respective terminals. Parker watched the video screens, seeing the two crewmen get off the elevator in the upper facility. One screen showed the pure video feed, the other the thermal. On the thermal screen the two men were glowing red figures against a blue background. When they got in the truck the thermal sight picked up a perfect outline of their sitting forms. Then the engine started, showing up as a bright red glow in the front of the truck.
"Surface door secure," Lewis reported. "Hatch secure."
On the screen, the pickup truck pulled away. The gate in the fence closed behind it automatically.
"Fence secure," Lewis said. "LCC secure."
"Turn the sensors and automatic guns on," Parker ordered.
Lewis threw a switch activating the machine guns on the roof of the surface LCC building. They were connected to motion sensors and would fire at anything moving inside the perimeter.
There was a moment of quiet and in the background Parker could hear the rhythmic thump of the powerful pumps that drained the water flowing from the high water table in this part of Louisiana into the space outside of the LCC. They were only thirty miles from the coastal swamp that extended for sixty miles before hitting the Gulf of Mexico. Not the smartest place to build underground control centers and silos but pork-barrel politics had determined the location, not military practicalities.
Parker leaned back in her seat and tried to adjust to working silo duty again. Two years ago she had left this type of work when she was selected to be part of the elite Red Flyer nuclear weapons team. Not long after the exercise in Israel she had been transferred off the team and spent a couple of months doing nothing at Cheyenne Mountain until she had been reassigned to this posting. Although Omega Missile was the apex of missile duty, she felt a sense of failure.
She had filled the previous two weeks with training and study and now that her background knowledge of the Omega Missile system was up to speed, she would have to deal with the inevitable boredom of twenty-four-hour shifts.
Omega Missile was considered a good career move in the regular Air Force. There were eight officers assigned to man the Air Force's lone Omega Missile LCC and, given its mission, they were the elite of the Missile Corps. Parker had started in missiles upon graduation from the Air Force Academy. Personally, though, the thought of resuming a career in the field was numbing to her.
When she'd graduated, her eyesight had not been good enough for her to get flight training. Therefore, her options had been limited: she could get a job in support or missiles. At the time, the latter had offered excitement and career potential. After a few years of sitting in silos for twenty-four-hour shifts, though, the thrill had worn off. She'd searched for something more exciting and when the classified request for volunteers for the nuclear weapons Red Flyer team had come down, she'd volunteered. She'd been the only woman to make it through training — check that, she suddenly thought, as she realized she hadn't made it through training since they'd transferred her out. At least she hadn't ended up like Scanlon, she thought with a shudder.
Parker noted Lewis was taking a stack of books out of his backpack. "What have you got there?"
Lewis held up a book. "Stuff for my master's degree. Can't beat a Sunday morning in here for studying."
Parker pulled out a binder. "Let's run through our checklist on REACT and make sure we're running smoothly first. Then you can study."
She flipped open to the first page. "Cable link?"
Lewis looked at his console. "Cable link check."
"Satellite dish?"
"Satellite dish check."
Chapter Six
"I need you and Tommy," Thorpe said.
"I know you need us," Lisa said. "But I want you to want us."
Thorpe pulled a green drive-on rag out of the cargo pocket of his camouflage fatigues and wiped it across his face. They were standing on the edge of the flight line at Barksdale Air Force Base, eight miles from Parker's LCC. Thorpe wore a combat vest over his camouflage fatigues. He had a pistol strapped high on his right thigh in a special operations rig.
Thorpe reached out, taking Lisa's left hand in his. He nodded down at the matching rings. "Please come back."
Lisa was about to answer when a twelve-year-old boy came running around the corner of a hangar. Upon seeing Thorpe he broke into an all-out sprint. He wore a pair of jeans and a camouflage shirt with a bright set of captain's bars pinned on the collar. He had short blond hair and his wide smile at seeing his father exposed a set of teeth covered with braces.
The boy stopped just short of Thorpe and threw him a salute.
"Hey, Tommy," Thorpe returned, his hand automatically starting to go up in a salute, then pausing as he caught the look Lisa gave him.
Tommy squinted, looking up at his father. "You look tired, Dad."
Thorpe tried to smile, but couldn't quite succeed. "I am tired, Tommy." He was twenty pounds lighter than he'd been on the beach in Lebanon. His face was gaunt, circles under his eyes.
"I told you to stay by the car," Lisa said to Tommy. "It's dangerous here by the flight line."
Tommy scuffed the toe of his sneaker into the tar. "I'm sorry, Mom, but Uncle John taught me about the flight line and all the aircraft. We're safe here."
"How long are you going to be in the area?" Lisa switched her attention to her husband.
Thorpe glanced over his shoulder at a Blackhawk helicopter sitting empty about fifty yards away near another hangar. "Just today, then we move on."
There was a long, awkward silence.
"Uncle John is a lot of fun," Tommy finally said. "He took me to work. I got to sit in the cockpit of a C-141." He pointed at his feet. "I got new sneakers."