The Agenda, page 27
“That’s likely.”
“Then Jesus Christ, abort the hit and let me try!”
82
White House Situation Room
Washington, DC
President Starling stared at the screen showing the target location along with dozens of inbounds. “ETA to target?”
General Parsons whispered into his phone before replying. “First impact in two minutes, sir. We’ve got dozens of bunker buster missiles inbound. They won’t survive, Mr. President.”
Starling looked at Morrison’s image. “Were you able to reach your people?”
Morrison shook his head, his face somber. “No, Mr. President. But if I know my agent, he would have told you to send the missiles himself.”
Starling smiled slightly, appreciating the sentiment. Morrison was forgiving him.
“Sir! ICBM launch orders have been received!”
Starling leaped from his chair. “Are you sure?”
General Parsons nodded. “Yes, sir, confirmed. Final launch orders have been received.” He lowered the phone to his chest, his voice subdued. “There’s nothing we can do.”
The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Starling, who stood as shocked as the rest of them.
Move. Now!
He tore his eyes away from the screen. “Get me the Russian President, now! And line up the Chinese, British, French, and Israelis. And I want flash communiques sent to every capital in the world telling them that this is not an intentional launch, and that our systems have been compromised. Tell them we are doing everything we can to abort the launches, but we are not hopeful, and they should take all necessary precautions.”
“Yes, Mr. President!”
He raised a hand. “And add this. Any retaliatory launch will be met with overwhelming force.”
General Parsons nodded, his face grim. “Yes, Mr. President.”
83
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Leroux spun toward Tong. “Get me the Director!” He turned to the rest of the room. “Analyze any signals from that area. We’re looking for something new in the past few minutes. I need to know where it’s coming from. Now!”
His team leaped into action as Tong cleared her throat. “Sir, I’ve got Director Morrison.”
Leroux adjusted his headset. “Sir, we have to abort the strike on the bunker, now!”
“Why?”
“I just spoke to Kane. He’s inside and alive. We need to give him a chance to send the abort message.”
“We can’t get the message through, Chris, the system’s locked us out.”
Leroux shook his head, getting frustrated at not being understood.
There’s no time!
“No, sir, you don’t understand. That bunker is the only way to get the message through. Destroy it, and we lose any chance of stopping this!”
Morrison cursed. “Okay, stand by.”
84
Assembly Command and Control Facility
Short Hill Mountain, Virginia
Croft didn’t want to die, though he knew it was inevitable. Number One would order his execution shortly, if he hadn’t already. But at least he would die knowing he had fulfilled the Assembly’s agenda for the coming decades.
He had to admit he was a little resentful.
He had done the work, he had accomplished the task, and now he was going to die. He had heard the conversation in the next room, the man holding him at gunpoint apparently a government agent of some sort, not a gun for hire like the terrifying Nadja Katz. Though it didn’t matter. Katz was going to kill him regardless of what the agent might say.
He had minutes to live.
It was unfortunate those last few minutes would be spent talking to Number One, the orchestrator of his demise, and not in the arms of a beautiful woman. He glanced at the intimidatingly sexual Katz.
If only.
He tapped his keyboard, linking him to Number One. “Congratulations, Number Four. You have exceeded my wildest expectations.”
He could almost see the silhouette smile. “Thank you, Number One. We couldn’t have done it without your guidance.”
“Indeed. What is your status?”
“Sir, we’ve been compromised, however the final launch commands have already been sent. The missiles will be launched. I don’t expect to be alive in the next few minutes.”
“Understood.” The computer-altered voice sounded even more disinterested than usual. “Number Four, you will be remembered. Not only by those who will succeed you, but in time, by all mankind, when we reveal ourselves to them. The name Roger Croft will be forever remembered and honored as the one who propelled our species into the stars.”
He felt a surge of pride at the words, though only for a moment, as resentment at this man’s lone survival took over. He eyed Katz, her reputation well known to him.
She’ll slice you to pieces while keeping you alive.
“Sir, I’ll be dead shortly, and I’m comfortable with that, but I fear for your safety. There will be hundreds of targets hit over the coming half hour. Are you certain you’re safe?”
“Don’t worry about me, Number Four, the nearest target is over three-thousand-miles from here, and the prevailing winds won’t touch us. I will survive. The Assembly will survive.”
He closed his eyes and nodded. Though he couldn’t care less if Number One himself survived, he did want the Assembly to continue, otherwise all the good it had accomplished throughout human history would cease, and there was so much more to be done.
He stared at the image. “The Assembly is eternal.”
“The Assembly is eternal. Good luck, Number Four.”
The signal went dead, and Katz raised her weapon. “You failed.”
She fired.
85
White House Situation Room
Washington, DC
“Mr. President, we have to abort the attack!”
President Starling spun in his chair, staring at the screen. “What?”
Director Morrison leaned closer to the camera. “Sir, my agent inside thinks he can use their equipment to send the abort order.” The room went silent.
“Explain.”
Morrison shook his head. “There’s no time, sir! Abort the attack, or we face World War Three.”
Starling realized Morrison was right. There was no time to debate. He had to trust his people. He rose, pointing at General Parsons. “Abort the attack, now!”
“Yes, Mr. President!”
Phones were grabbed and orders given as everyone turned toward the screens, live footage from the cameras of the inbound missiles showing their rapid approach.
“There it is!” cried someone as the target became visible, the indicator showing a lock.
“Abort the attack, now!” cried General Parsons.
Suddenly the displays went dead, one by one, and Starling stared at another showing the incoming missile locations, the green triangles rapidly disappearing from the screen.
General Parsons sighed, dropping into his chair. “Attack aborted, Mr. President.” Starling closed his eyes then was nearly sick when Parsons continued. “Let’s just hope we didn’t give them time to send another launch order.”
Starling dropped into his chair, suddenly not confident he had made the right choice.
86
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“Did you get that?”
Leroux nodded at Kane’s question. “Yes.”
“Does it help?”
Leroux wasn’t sure. “It might. I’ll get back to you.”
“Okay, buddy.”
The call went dead and he turned toward the display. “Okay, Number One is apparently in a location at least three-thousand-miles from the nearest target, with prevailing winds that won’t reach him.” He pointed at a display showing all the known target locations, the information pulled from the target packages delivered to the silos. A swath across the equator was about to be eliminated, there little doubt what the aim was.
To irreparably harm countries dominated by Islam.
“Okay, show me all the locations we think that transmission was coming from.”
Hundreds, if not thousands, of indicators appeared across the globe. For the moment, the only way they had to narrow the signal was to track every single one that had come into the same satellite during the indicated time window.
There were simply too many.
“Now eliminate anything within three-thousand-miles of a blast zone.” The targets dwindled dramatically, almost everything in the southern hemisphere dropped, still leaving scores of targets in the north.
“Prevailing winds?”
A swath of color was superimposed, more possibilities eliminated.
“Okay, pull the satellite logs. See if any of those have communicated with that bunker in the past several months.”
Child cursed. “We don’t have access, it’s Russian!”
87
White House Situation Room
Washington, DC
Starling had never liked the Russian President. The man was an arrogant asshole, and the condescension in his voice was almost enough to wish a few of the missiles about to launch would stray off target. The lecture he was receiving was wasting everyone’s time, and was pointless, though pissing the man off wouldn’t be wise. All he could do was assure him there appeared to be no targets on Russian soil, probably the only thing preventing an immediate retaliatory strike.
“Sir, we need access to the Russian’s Meridian-7 satellite, immediately!”
Starling glanced at Morrison, muting his side of the call. “Why?”
“We need its communications logs.”
He repeated the question, knowing full well the Russian President would be asking him the same.
“We might be able to identify who’s behind this. He was using it to communicate with his team.”
Starling unmuted the call, interrupting the lecture. “Mr. President, I’m sorry to interrupt, but my people tell me that they need access to the communications logs of your Meridian-7 satellite.”
There was a pause. “Why?”
“Apparently the person behind this situation was using it to communicate with his team. Those logs will help us identify this individual and bring them to justice.”
“And why should I trust you, Mr. President? You are about to condemn the peaceful people of the world to Armageddon.”
Starling sighed, gripping his temples. “Mr. President, Vlad, please. This may be our only hope of stopping this before it’s too late, and seconds count.”
There was a pause. “Very well, you will have it.”
Starling smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Thank you, Mr. President. And God save us all.”
88
Minuteman III Launch Control Facility
Outside Karlsruhe, North Dakota
Captain Daugherty’s heart pounded as the speaker blared another alert. The wait had been interminable, and unexplained, this not the way things were supposed to happen, though after this, he’d have to review the book once again. He had always assumed everything would be done in a hurry, but perhaps that was just in the movies.
“Begin countdown. T minus sixty.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, realizing that hurry he had been expecting, had arrived. He removed the key from around his neck, then glanced at Fraser. “Ready?”
Fraser nodded, the fear in his eyes obvious.
“Okay, insert launch key.”
Fraser inserted his key. “Launch key inserted.”
“Copy. On my mark, rotate launch key to Set.” He stared at the key, surrounded by three options. Safe, Set, and Launch.
Could this be a drill?
He shook his head.
Not with this long a wait.
“Three… two… one… mark!” He turned the key to the Set position, the missiles under his control now ready to receive commands. He glanced at his partner, his hand still on the key, shaking as much as his was.
Fraser nodded. “Roger, key to Set.”
Daugherty closed his eyes. “Enable missiles.”
“Roger, enabling missiles.” Fraser reached over, flipping red covers out of the way, toggling the switches underneath, green indicators replacing red. “Number One enabled, Number Two enabled, Number Three enabled…”
Daugherty tuned his partner out as the horror of what they were about to do took full hold. This was actually happening. On the screen, cameras showed the missiles powering up, and the countdown, updated every ten seconds, continued to blare from the speaker, inexorably pushing them, willingly or not, toward nuclear war.
“Sir, all missiles are enabled.”
Daugherty sighed, gripping the key again. “Copy. On my mark, rotate key to Launch.”
89
Assembly Command and Control Facility
Short Hill Mountain, Virginia
“Why the hell did you shoot him?”
Katz glanced at Kane. “I told you, I’m here to eliminate the Assembly. Now there’s only one left.”
Kane threw up his hands in exasperation. “But we could have used him.”
“He never would have cooperated.”
Kane heard footfalls in the hallway, and he cautiously opened the door, surprised to see about a dozen people rushing past him. He grabbed one who looked important by the way he was dressed, and yanked him inside, slamming the door shut. “Where’s the control room?”
The man stared at him, confused. “Who are you?”
Katz opened the door and fired two shots, screams the result.” She stepped back inside. “Take us to the control room, or you’re next.”
The man nodded, terrified, and led them down the hallway, pushing past uniformed staff who appeared to be beating a hasty retreat, none paying them any mind.
Could it be because we’re already too late?
They reached a set of security doors and their prisoner swiped his pass. The doors opened into an impressive control room rivaling anything the CIA had at its disposal. Kane stepped out, his weapon held high, but the room was empty, abandoned by those who had already fulfilled their mandate.
The launching of America’s nuclear arsenal.
The abandoned equipment continued to report on the status of what clearly was a massive launch, hundreds of targets indicated on displays that wrapped around the entire front of the room.
He grabbed their prisoner, shoving him toward the workstations. “Send the abort codes.”
The man shook his head. “I don’t have them. Only Number Four does.”
Kane glared at Katz. She seemed unaffected.
“Besides, it’s too late.” Their prisoner pointed at the screen, a countdown indicator showing sixty seconds to launch. “The last crew acknowledged receipt of the order. The system has just automatically transmitted the final command to launch.”
“Then show me how to talk to the silo crews.”
The man crossed his arms defiantly. “No.”
Kane shot him in the knee and the man collapsed, screaming in agony. “I’ve got lots of bullets.” He pointed at the nearest terminal. “Show me, now.”
The man pointed at the panel, his hand shaking. Kane grabbed him and shoved him into a chair.
“Push that. You can talk to them through the headset.”
Kane fit the headset in place.
“You’re wasting your time. They won’t listen to you, not without the proper codes.”
The man was right. They wouldn’t, it would be against protocol. But he had to try. If even one crew had its doubts, millions could be saved. He pressed the button, not sure what to say. “Umm, attention missile launch crews.” He glanced at Katz, wincing at the made up title. “This is Special Agent Dylan Kane of the Central Intelligence Agency. The orders you have received are false. I repeat, the orders you have received are false. The same organization behind the hacking attacks across our nation are responsible. They have compromised United States Strategic Command Headquarters, and issued false orders.” He looked at their prisoner, leaving the mic hot. “Can they respond?”
“They can, but they won’t.”
Kane sighed, the man right. He was wasting his time. He couldn’t convince them. He snapped a finger at the prisoner. “Get me an outside line.”
No reaction.
He aimed his weapon at the other knee, and the man raised his hands. “Okay, okay!” He leaned forward and started tapping buttons.
“I want the missile crews to hear my conversation.” The man nodded, a final button pressed.
“You’re conferenced.”
Kane dialed Leroux’s number, his friend picking up immediately.
“Hello?”
“Buddy, it’s me. You’re on with pretty much every missile crew in the country. I need to talk to the President, immediately.”
“Just a second.”
Kane waited, not sure whether he should fill the silence. Instinctually, he had to. “Let’s hope we don’t get a busy signal, hey guys?” He smiled at Katz, who remained stoic, his humor wasted on her.
“This is the President.”
“Mr. President, you are now networked with the silo crews.”
90
Minuteman III Launch Control Facility
Outside Karlsruhe, North Dakota
“Sir, should I turn my key?”
Captain Daugherty stared at the speaker, his hand still gripping his key, procedure dictating he give a three count immediately. Though once he did, there was no turning back. The orders were legitimate, of that, there was no doubt. But the abort codes just received from someone who sounded an awful lot like President Starling had also checked out.
He didn’t know what to do.
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