"A-" Eric did a double take. "Excuse me?"
"It's a political problem." James began walking again, more slowly this time. "We want to send them a message. They think they can play with us. They stole six nukes from the inactive inventory. The message we want to send is, 'if you play with us we will mess you up.' If I wasn't a man of faith I'd be using the f-word, Colonel. We want to send them a message and we want to underline don't f- with us in blood."
"In my experience," Eric commented, feeling light-headed, "messages signed in blood ought to be delivered in a way that ensures the recipients don't live long enough to read them. Anything else is asking for trouble."
"Spoken like a flyboy at heart. You're absolutely right. Nuke 'em 'til they glow, then shoot 'em in the dark." Eric stared at him until he nodded. "That's a direct quote from the vice president, son. Although he probably lifted it from someone else."
"That puts an interesting light on things," Eric agreed, slightly aghast. The Secret Service's code name for VPOTUS, DADDY WARBUCKS, was also a comment on his neoconservative leanings, but such bloodthirsty words coming from the executive branch were somewhat surprising, even post-9/11.
"So he's getting you a piece of paper on the White House blotter," Dr. James continued blandly, "ordering you to take control of the gadget retrieved from Government Center and to, ah, return it to the person or persons who so carelessly left it under the Blue Line platform with extreme prejudice."
But! Smith's tongue froze. "But!" He tried again. It came out as almost a squeak. "We don't have nuclear release authority, we're not in the chain of command, you can't do that-"
"Son." James's smile turned icy. "They stole six of them. The United States does not give in to nuclear blackmail. Never mind that it would be embarrassing to return it to inventory, on the record that it went walkies on our watch; they stole it so you are going to shove it up their, their behind, so hard they can taste it. It's the perfect solution. It's completely deniable: They stole it, it went off in their hands. And it sends the right message. Mess with us and we will hurt you. And besides-" He slid his spectacles down his nose and pulled out a cleaning cloth. "Daddy Warbucks is real keen to make sure the FADMs work as designed. And Major Alvarez knows how to use them. He is part of the chain, and he's seconded to us. He knows what the score is. Why do you think we've been recruiting so widely… and selectively?"
"Okay," Eric said thoughtfully. "I follow the logic." He paused. "But how are we going to deliver it? We've only got two mules." He left unspoken the corollary: Are you willing to let me strap an atomic device on a timer to a captured Clan courier who hates our guts? It would violate so many protocols that the stack of charges would be higher than the Washington Monument.
"Well now." James stopped smiling. "You remember your little visit out west? They got Preparation Fifteen working. I'm having one of them flown out here right now-this will be its first deployment."
"Wait." Eric raised a hand. "Preparation Fifteen? I only saw number twelve. The, the disappearing tissue." Tissue harvested from the brain of a captured Clan member-God only knew what had happened to them because Eric certainly didn't want to. "Is Fifteen what I think it is?"
"Yes." Dr. James looked smug. "Push the button, watch the black box vanish. Along with whatever it's bolted to, as long as it's in a conductive sack and is isolated from earth. It's single-use, unfortunately; it has to be assembled by hand and lasts for about sixteen hours. But during that time-"
"Have you tried bolting one to an airframe?" Eric asked. "Sorry."
"Good question. We'd need two-one for the return trip-and they're not that reliable yet, but it's on the road map. You can test fly the helicopter if you want." James noticed Eric's expression. "That was a joke, son, you're not expendable."
"I'm not licensed for choppers," Smith muttered, under his breath. Just in case you get any crazy ideas. "So how are we going to deliver the, the physics package?"
"The usual way." James started walking again; they were almost round the circumference of the big top, the awning just in view around the curve of its flank. "Written orders are coming down from the White House; it's WARBUCK's toy, but he's gotten BOY WONDER to sign off on it, and we're-well, certain of the Joint Chiefs have been briefed about the PINNACLE BROKEN ARROW and it's been made clear to them that this is necessary. I gather they've even gotten Chief Justice Bork on board. You'll use your man Rand and his crew to prepare the gadget, they're already cleared. They'll hand it and the timer controller to Major Alvarez and Captain Hu, who have orders to put a timer controller on it, set to detonate sixty seconds after activation. It's tamperproof; any attempt to disarm it other than by using the code-wheel to enter the locking key will make it detonate, but they'll have the key to hand just in case. You will bolt the Preparation Fifteen unit to the detonation sequencer and put the gadget on top of the siege tower. You and the major will start the sequencer, push the button on the transport unit to send it across. If the transport unit fails, you can enter the disarm code and try again later. If it succeeds… it's their problem. May they burn in hell for making us do this," he added quietly.
4
To a soldier in an army dependent on muscle power, there are few sights as grim as a fortress occupied by an enemy force standing directly in the line of advance.
The Hjalmar Palace was palatial only on the inside: Squatting behind ominous earthworks at the fork of a major river, the face it presented to the world at large was eyeless and intimidating, scarred by cannon and fire. The merchant clan barons who had reinforced and extended the revetments around the central keep over the past fifty years had not been as parochial as their backwoodsman cousins. They'd scoured the historical archives of the Boston Public Library, keeping a wary eye on the royal army's ironworks and the forging of their great siege bombards. Behind the outer wet moat and its fortified gatehouse, beyond the flat killing ground of the apron, the stone walls of the castle sank below ground level; backed by rammed earth to absorb the blows of any cannon balls that might make it over the rim, the walls rose harsh and steep before the deep dry moat.
It had taken treachery to get Otto's men into the palace the first time round, using a shortcut revealed under duress by one of the residents. He'd been in the process of preparing defenses against the inevitable attempt to retake the complex, but the Clan had struck back with astonishing speed and terrifying force-a far cry from their dilatory defensiveness when outlying estates and villages were picked off. They weren't really exerting themselves until we threatened their fortresses instead of their farms, Otto mused. It was an unpleasant realization. His defenses hadn't been ready; they'd driven him out and he still didn't know for sure precisely where they'd flooded back into the building from. But if nothing else, at least now he had a map of the internal layout. In principle that should make things easier. In practice-
He lowered his binoculars, then looked back. The fortress was still there, looming in the east, mocking him. Your bones, at my feet, it was saying. Your blood: my mortar.
A loud crack! caught his attention. Behind the line, the royal artillery's light cannon began to fire, deep-throated coughs that spat clouds of smoke and sparks as they threw cold iron at the gatehouse. Stone chips flew, but the gatehouse was, itself, a castle in miniature, and beyond it the drawbridge across the wet moat and the sunken road allowed the defenders to reinforce it at need. The range was almost half a mile: The bombardment wouldn't do much save to make the defenders keep their heads down. But that was better than nothing, Otto supposed. That, and the king's plan-if it worked-might get them close enough to the defenses to at least have a chance. And if the king's plan didn't work, at least we've got an entire army, he told himself. Scant comfort, looking up at those ramparts.