Area 51: The Truth (22 page)

An alarm chimed, and Bartlett paused.

Thayer looked at the radar feed. “Incoming craft. Range five miles, altitude six thousand feet. Closing fast. It’s big.”

“Damn,” Bartlett muttered as he picked up the microphone for the FM radio. “Unidentified aircraft, you are entering restricted airspace. Veer off on a heading of one-six-zero degrees immediately.”

There was no reply.

“Still coming,” Thayer reported.

Bartlett flipped a switch, arming the Stinger missiles deployed on the roof of the
LCC
. “Unidentified aircraft, you will be shot down if you do not immediately veer off.”

“I’ve got a visual,” Thayer said.

Bartlett looked at the video display. A lean black form was approaching, definitely not of human origin. “What the hell is that?”

Bartlett hit the button and two Stingers launched. He watched the two missiles roar toward the Talon and hit with no effect.

Bartlett picked up the red phone that linked them with headquarters at Barksdale. He paused as he heard the distinctive sound of a gun’s hammer being pulled back. He turned to look right down the barrel of Thayer’s 9mm Beretta. The other crew member had left his station and come around the wall.

“What the hell—” Bartlett didn’t finish the sentence as Thayer pulled the trigger.

The round hit Bartlett in the forehead, plowing through and exploding out the back, taking with it blood, brain, and bone, producing a gory splatter on the bulletproof glass.

Thayer glanced at the video display. The Talon had landed inside the fence. A door slid open and a gangway extended to the ground. Several heavily armed men wearing an assortment of camouflage uniforms and carrying a spectrum of weapons sprinted off, taking up defensive positions. Then a tall, pale-skinned man walked off and headed into the
LCC
. Thayer put the gun down on his console and typed an override command into the computer. The steel doors in the surface entrance slowly opened.

Thayer heard the elevator rumble. He turned and faced to the rear as the doors slid open. Aspasia’s Shadow walked in. No greetings were exchanged. Thayer was responding as the guardian computer underneath Mount Sinai had programmed him to upon receipt of the proper code word—which had arrived via e-mail less than three hours earlier.

Aspasia’s Shadow went to the other console and reached inside Bartlett’s jumpsuit, retrieving a red key on a metal chain and placing it around his own neck. Then he pulled Bartlett’s body out of the seat, sending it tumbling to the floor. He sat down, ignoring the blood and brain matter staining the back of the chair.

“Are you ready?” Aspasia’s Shadow asked. He grabbed a three-ring binder that had a red cover and Top Secret stamped in large letters. He had learned of the Final Option Missile from one of his Guides secreted high inside the United States intelligence community. He had targeted several of the crew members for imprinting and succeeded with three, one of them Thayer, ensuring a good chance that he would always have a Guide on duty in this
LCC
. It had been a backup plan, one of many that

Aspasia’s Shadow had put in place around the world, but this was perhaps the most powerful and most desperate.

Thayer looked over his panel. “Final Option Missile silo on-line. Missile systems show green.” “Open silo,” Aspasia’s Shadow ordered.

“Opening silo.”

Four hundred meters from the surface entrance to the Final Option Missile
LCC
was another fenced compound. Inside the razor wire topping the fence, two massive concrete doors slowly rose until they reached the vertical position. Inside a specially modified LGM-118A Peacekeeper
ICBM
missile rested, gas venting.

“I’ve got green on Final Option Missile silo doors,” Thayer announced, verifying what one of the video screens showed. He had trained so often to do this that he was acting almost instinctively. The only difference from his training routine was that he was acting under the motivation of the imprinting, not an order from the National Command Authority.

“Green on silo,” Aspasia’s Shadow confirmed, reading the checklist. He thought it very nice of the United States Air Force to have a step-by-step list of actions to be taken to launch the missile. It always made him feel superior to use humans’ own inventions against them.

The tower at Barksdale Air Force Base served two functions. In the top, air traffic controllers ran the day-to-day operation of the airfield itself. On the floor below the top, the duty staff for the 341st Missile Wing ran the day-to-day operation of the LCCs and missiles under their control.

The opening of a single silo door was indicated by a lone red light going on among a cluster of green ones. The duty officer immediately picked up the phone and punched in the number for the Final Option Missile
LCC
. When the other end rang ten times with no answer, the duty officer put the phone down and hit the large red alarm button. A Klaxon wailed from the top of the tower as the duty officer picked up a different phone that had a direct line to the wing commander.

“What’s the targeting matrix for Final Option Missile?” Aspasia’s Shadow asked.

Thayer had already checked that information. Since the end of the Cold War the United States and Russia had reached an agreement where all ICBMs would no longer rest in their silos targeted at each other’s countries. Instead, the standing targeting information programmed in each warhead was for a site in the middle of an ocean, called a Broad Ocean Area. Its purpose was to prevent disaster in case of accidental launch. In the event that a launch was actually desired and the missiles used in a conflict, a target matrix would be fed by computer into each missile, and they would be quickly reprogrammed with the new destinations for the warheads.

“Resting matrix is the Broad Ocean Area. However, a broad range of firing options was programmed in at the start of recent hostilities,” Thayer said. “Primary standby matrix is against mainland China. Secondary matrix is for North Korea. Third priority is the Middle East.” “We can reprogram, correct?”

Thayer nodded. “After we launch the
FOM
, we can access it through
MILSTAR
. You can then program the targeting matrix once the missile is up.” He tapped a laptop computer that had wires running from the back into the main console. “I’ve got this on-line and we can use it from a mobile spot as long as we can access
MILSTAR
.” He held up a small green box with a small dish on top. “This is a secure
SATCOM
link.”

Aspasia’s Shadow smiled. “Oh, where I have in mind, we most definitely can access
MILSTAR
.” He pulled the red key from under his shirt and inserted it into the appropriate slot. “Insert key.” Thayer did the same.

“On my three,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, staring through the glass at Thayer. “One. Two. Three.” They turned their keys at the same time.

The solid rocket first stage of the LGM-118 A ignited. Umbilicals fell away and the rocket slowly began lifting on a tail of flame, clearing the silo.

Thayer was already moving before the rocket emerged from the silo. He disconnected the laptop computer from its port and slid it into a briefcase. Aspasia’s Shadow led the way to the elevator and they headed for the surface.

The wing commander stared in disbelief at the flashing red lights indicating a missile launch. He looked out the tower window and saw a plume of smoke heading up into the morning sky.

“What launched?” he demanded.

The answer was the worst one he could have received. “Final Option Missile silo is empty, sir.” “Get me the
LCC
,” he ordered the duty officer.

“Our link with the Final Option Missile
LCC
is down. Everything else shows secure.” The duty officer reported.

The wing commander turned to the duty officer. “Get me Final Option Missile command computer on
MILSTAR
.”

“I’m not getting an answer, sir.”

“Status on Final Option Missile
LCC
other silos?” “All other missile silos are still secure and in place.”

The first stage of the Peacekeeper finished its sixty-second burn and separated, the second stage immediately taking over. The missile had been going straight up, simply absorbing the upward thrust of the first stage, but the second stage had some thrust vector and the rocket turned slightly to the north and west, ascending at over a thousand miles an hour and still accelerating.

The second stage burned out and explosive bolts fired, causing its large metal casing to fall away. The Peacekeeper was now almost out of the atmosphere as the third stage fired cleanly.

The third stage stopped firing but did not separate. There was still fuel left, enough for the payload to be further maneuvered if needed. The Peacekeeper was in space, at a point above the middle of Kansas. Small thruster rockets fired as the onboard computer checked its position with various satellites to settle the rocket into a geosynchronous orbit.

After a few moments of firing they too fell silent and the Peacekeeper was in position.

Aspasia’s Shadow’s Talon lifted off and headed directly upward, moving even faster than the missle that had just been launched.

The wing commander grabbed the red phone. “Space Command, are you tracking an
ICBM
launch from out site?”

“Roger that. We also have another controlled craft heading upward at escape velocity.” “What kind of craft?”

“Profile fits with an alien ship.”

“Oh my God,” the wing commander muttered. He clicked the phone off, then dialed the war room.

The capsule on the end of the Peacekeeper rocket split in two, both shells falling away. Bolted inside, the Final Option Missile payload activated itself. It was not a warhead. Instead, solar panels slowly unfolded, gathering the energy of the sun to complete the boot-up of the computer and communications system. A boom mast extended, a half dozen satellite dishes attached to it.

One of the satellite dishes twisted and turned, seeking out the closest
MILSTAR
satellite. It found one that was in its own geosynchronous orbit two hundred miles away. An inquiry burst was transmitted from Final Option Missile to the
MILSTAR
satellite on a secure link. A positive link burst was sent back by the
MILSTAR
computer, indicating that Final Option Missile was now on-line with
MILSTAR
. The other satellite dishes were oriented toward Earth and they sent out their own checks, linking with submarines, bombers, and launch control centers.

Inside, the master computer checked itself and found all systems to be functioning. Final Option Missile was ready.

Camp Rowe

Turcotte returned Captain Manning’s salute. The Space Command team had loaded all their gear in one of the cargo bays near the front of the mothership. The dozen men were stowing equipment and performing last-minute checks to make sure they had everything they would need. There were numerous pallets of equipment scattered throughout the bay.

“Are you ready?” Turcotte asked Manning.

“Yes, sir. We had everything packaged on pallets. We flew it here on a C-17 and just rolled it all in here.”

Turcotte noted several containers marked with an atomic symbol. “Nuclear warheads?” Manning nodded. “Yes, sir. Ten tac nukes loaded into Tomahawk cruise missiles.” “What if the target is shielded?” Yakov asked.

Manning shrugged. “Maybe they’ll have to turn off the shield when they turn the array on. If so, we might be able to drop one of these in during that window of opportunity.”

“That’s not good enough,” Turcotte said. “I don’t think it’s going to take them very long to get a message out. If we destroy it after a message is sent, we’re wasting our time.”

“That’s the best I’ve got, sir.”

“That’s why we’re waiting on this Professor Leahy.” Turcotte checked his watch. “He ought to be here any minute.”

Manning indicated a large medical device with a table extended in front of it. “We need to
MRI
you in order to prepare your
SARA
link.”

Turcotte wasn’t thrilled with the idea of using the
SARA
links, but Manning had insisted that they had found it to be perfectly safe and it would allow them to use the suits to their maximum capability. He reluctantly climbed onto the table as Yakov and Manning stood on either side.

“Try to remain perfectly still,” Manning said. “This will only take a few minutes.” He hit a button and the table slid into the machine.

Turcotte fought the feeling of claustrophobia. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing back to a normal cadence as the machine made strange noises. He was sure it was more than just a few minutes before the table vibrated and slid him out of the machine. He swung his legs down to the ground. Manning was standing next to a small laptop, looking at the display with one of his men and Yakov.

“Do I still have a brain?” Turcotte asked as he walked over. He sensed something wrong in the way both men were leaning over the screen, staring at it.

“You’ve got a brain,” Manning said. He touched the screen, indicating a small round black spot. “You also have something implanted in it.”

War Room, Pentagon

Three hundred fifty feet below the lowest level of the Pentagon proper was the Joint Chiefs of Staff’s National Military Command Center, commonly called the war room by those who worked there. It had been placed inside a large cavern carved out of solid bedrock. It was ten times larger and over three times deeper than the
LCC
Aspasia’s Shadow had been inside of in Louisiana, but it was designed along the same principles. The complex could only be entered via one secure elevator and the entire thing was mounted on massive springs on the cavern floor. There were enough food and supplies in the war room for the emergency crew to operate for a year. Besides the lines that went up through the Pentagon’s own communications system, a narrow tunnel holding cables had been laboriously dug at the same depth to the alternate National Command Post at Blue Mountain in West Virginia.