“Thorpe's Candle?”
“Why, yes, it was named after Dr. William Thorpe. Bill was the scientist I spoke of — a brilliant man.”
“Have you kept in touch with him?”
“No. He went off to teach at Chapel Hill in North Carolina. Never saw him again. I held my own, Mr. Skyler, but I was never in Bill Thorpe's league.” Penn wiped his forehead again with his handkerchief. “So why all the questions?”
Skyler took a deep breath. “I have reason to believe someone is building a weapon using the volatile nature of korium — what’s called a korium device. And for whatever reason, I believe they are going to do whatever it takes to find your missing shipment of ore so they can complete the project.”
Penn's mouth formed a silent circle. He leaned back, sighed, and cupped his hands over his face. Then he whispered, “Somehow I always knew this would come back to haunt us. Candle Power could not be hidden forever.” He looked at Skyler. “What are you going to do now?”
“I have to find that cargo plane before they do. If whoever is doing this get their hands on it first, we could have a situation that would make the Cuban Missile Crisis look like a friendly game of badminton.”
“I wish I could help. I feel somewhat responsible for this mess.”
“You have helped. And don't worry, we'll find it. The question is, will we find it first? I've been unable to track down any information through the Internet on the lost cargo flight. I'm starting a search of the old aviation records in London tomorrow. Once I get a general idea of where that plane crashed, OceanQuest has some fascinating technology for locating lost objects. Not only can we find the needle in the haystack, we can tell you what color of thread was used last and probably who's wearing the socks it mended.” Skyler turned to leave but stopped. “One more thing.”
“Certainly.”
“Was your Dr. Thorpe for or against revealing Candle Power?”
“Why for, of course. He was the one that wanted to be a hero.”
“He may still get the chance.”
SLEEPING BEAUTY
As the last of the Pennsylvania Avenue mercury vapor street lamps faded, the men gathered in the Crisis Command Center deep below the main levels of the White House. There were hushed voices and few smiles, only nods and short greetings.
When everyone had settled around the large conference table, the President said, “Thank you for coming. I want candid analysis, your gut feelings, and honest recommendations. No holding back today, gentlemen.”
He searched the faces of the five men and considered the immense power they wielded over so many lives. Under the present circumstances, what they decided today could well affect the future of not only the United States, but also the entire world. The President's eyes fell on Alan Grant, Director of the CIA, who leafed through a spiral notebook. Because the meeting was called on such short notice, Grant still wore his Polo jogging suit.
“Alan, why don't you start?”
“Thank you, Mr. President. This morning, a coded communiqué arrived from our friends in White Hall. It had an Anvil rating so according to protocol I received an immediate call at home. Because of the Anvil classification, I'm required to come in and review it in person — no faxes, e-mail, or text. It was from Sleeping Beauty.”
There was a slight reaction as the President realized the message was from the highest levels of the British Secret Service. Anything from “Sleeping Beauty” meant top secret of the gravest urgency. The Agency's code name for the same level of urgency was “Scare Crow”.
Grant went on. “An operative working in close proximity to the Communist General Secretary of North Korea overheard a conversation that related to a shipment of Cuban korium. There appears to be no doubt that the North Koreans are involved in developing what they referred to as a korium device.”
“Is this operative reliable?” General Mitchell Greer asked. Already in crisp uniform, the weathered face of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff reflected a lifetime commitment to professional soldiering.
Grant glanced at his notes but the President knew he didn't need them. The CIA director was renowned for his photographic memory. “Yes, General,” Grant said. “We must assume the device is some sort of weapon.”
Again, there were slight murmurs as questioning glances shot around the room. Only the President showed no outward reaction. “Go on, Alan.”
“I've ordered our science division to come up with an explanation of what a korium device might be. The communiqué contained a reference to an American scientist, a Dr. William Thorpe, who apparently is assisting in the development of this device.”
“Do you have anything on Thorpe?” Buck Stone said. The Secretary of Defense sipped black coffee and crossed his long Texas legs. Lizard-skin cowboy boots stuck out of his Wrangler jeans. The President had heard Stone carried a small automatic pistol in his boot but no one had ever seen it.
“Yes,” Grant said. “I've already run a background check. He's the former head of the physics department at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Renowned for his work on alternative energy experiments, did some work for the government in the late 1990's. Thorpe moved to Mexico after the death of his wife and worked for a pharmaceutical company for a few years.”
“Any idea what he's doing now?” asked Dean Clancy, National Security Adviser. Clancy was a former federal prosecutor, Attorney General of New York, and Ambassador to the UN.
“We have unconfirmed reports that he's working for Pablo Escandoza,” Grant said. “It's also believed that Escandoza and his associate, Colonel Felix Blackstone, have recently acquired a former Soviet nuclear missile submarine from the North Koreans.”
“Are you serious?” Nathan Templeton, White House Chief of Staff, jerked the stem of the calabash briar pipe from between his teeth. He was not allowed to smoke in the White House, but he always had the pipe with him. “You're telling us that one of the most ruthless men on the planet has the use of a nuclear missile submarine?”
“Holy Mother,” Buck Stone said. “Have those fucking Russians lost their minds?”
“Actually,” Grant said calmly, “we think the Koreans got the sub from the Ukrainians, But I agree, this goes beyond even Escandoza's usual tricks.”
“Tell me about Escandoza,” the President said.
“Certainly,” Grant continued. “Pablo Escandoza rose to power fifteen years ago by systematically assassinating the heads of the other Colombian drug cartels. As Nathan pointed out, he is ruthless, responsible for the deaths of Colombia's Attorney General, a Justice Minister, three Presidential candidates, dozens of journalists, and at least one thousand police officers. And that's just the ones we know about. His personal worth is estimated at three hundred and twenty billion dollars and his business interests are diverse. They include: shipping, banking, real estate holdings around the world, cattle ranches throughout South America, high tech electronics manufacturing and pharmaceuticals in Mexico, dozens of front organizations from Hong Kong to New York, and of course, narcotics. His control over Colombia is solid. Anyone of authority is on his payroll. We'll get little cooperation from the government in conducting any type of investigation to locate Escandoza's operation.”
“All right, gentlemen,” the President said. “I think it's obvious that we have a serious situation here. I have not been up front in what I already know, so now is the time to take this to the next level.” He picked up the phone. “Ask Colonel Argentine to join us.”