Sandstorm (34 page)

He lay in bed, covered only by a sheet, and yet he was soaked in sweat. He slowly sat up, reacting to the pain he felt. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Elaine. She’d grill him with a hundred questions, and before you knew it, he’d be the embarrassment of the neighborhood because she’d overreact and call 911. He was damned if that was going to happen over prime rib.

Lipton tried to remain still and control his breathing, hoping his body would cool down. It wasn’t working, so he slid out of bed as quietly as possible and headed for the bathroom, easing the door closed behind him. He turned on the cold-water faucet and repeatedly splashed his face, allowing the water to run down his body. He looked in the mirror and didn’t like what stared back. His eyes were bloodshot, his coarse hair a mound of mess. He watched as he gasped for air, his breathing labored. Nearly stumbling, he steadied himself against the basin, trying to fight off an onslaught of pain and nausea. He opened the medicine cabinet and discovered what he needed, but the cap on his nitroglycerin pills bottle was difficult to negotiate with his trembling hands. Heavy droplets of sweat fell onto the marble flooring. He could hear his heart pounding and was frightened that he couldn’t turn the volume down. Images were starting to blur.

“Elaine! Elaine!”

He tried to shout her name, but it wouldn’t clear his throat. His heart felt as if there was a vise around it. The distance from the basin to the bed seemed endless, and he doubted if could make it that far. His muscles tightened as he tried to walk. He made it to the door and somehow forced it open. He leaned against the doorway and realized there wasn’t enough strength left to reach the bed. With tears in his eyes, he stared at his wife, peacefully sound asleep. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He didn’t understand. There had been no warning signs, and except for tonight, he’d been good to his heart. Lipton saved everything he had for one last attempt.

“Elaine,” he managed to say, the sound so guttural it didn’t seem human. His legs could no longer offer support, and he fell to the floor like an abandoned puppet.

Elaine Lipton thought it had been a bad dream as she turned over in bed, reaching for her husband. Only when she came up empty and felt damp sheets did she open her eyes. She shot up to see her husband slumped on the floor at the bathroom door.

“Bryce … oh my God!” She first grabbed the nearby phone and dialed 911. She then raced to her husband’s side and knew immediately he was in serious trouble. He was unresponsive and barely breathing. She climbed over him to enter the bathroom where she found his pill bottle in the basin. She dumped a pill into her hand and raced back to him. Forcing his mouth open, she shoved in the nitroglycerin pill. Repositioning him on the floor, she then began administering CPR.

Lipton’s eyes were open, but he could neither speak nor move. He did feel the intermittent drops of Elaine’s tears upon his face.

Damn it! He saw red lights rapidly flickering off the bedroom walls. He was going to be the embarrassment of the neighborhood after all.

CHAPTER
70

The news wouldn’t make the early-morning edition of the papers. If word got out, there was a better chance of it appearing on the various news services’ Web pages, but even that was unlikely. At 3:45 a.m. there would be a skeleton staff in place, and more than likely, not a very seasoned one.

National Security Advisor Warren Spencer didn’t want the president riding in the backseat on this one, certainly not after the way the past forty-eight hours had developed. Spencer thought about waiting. The president generally started his day at five thirty with exercise. After two sips of freshly made coffee, Spencer alerted the Secret Service that he needed to wake the president.

Special Agent Jimenez was standing ready by the president’s bedroom door when Spencer rounded the corner. Jimenez looked into Spencer’s eyes as the two men stood inches apart, the agent waiting for the go-ahead. It came with a head nod. Jimenez proceeded to knock firmly several times on the door and then moved aside.

About a minute later, Spencer watched the door handle turn. He still wasn’t completely used to the idea of following protocol when addressing his friend. On this occasion, however, he made sure he got it right when the most powerful man in the world opened the door.

“Mr. President, sorry to wake you.”

“Spence…” President Hudson said, confused. This was the first time since taking office his sleep had been interrupted. “What is it?”

“Mr. President, I have to inform you that Senator Bryce Lipton has died.”

CHAPTER
71

The massive jolt achieved the desired effect. Everyone in the underground complex was concerned. There were multiple safeguards in place, and much thought, time, and money had gone into the facility’s creation, making it structurally sound. Those specifications made it capable of withstanding an aerial bombing.

Had the West, though, with all its wealth and technology, built a better bomb that could penetrate even deeper to deliver a destructive blow? Nothing short of a nuclear detonation was supposed to threaten it: the Iranians had built this place with extreme confidence, being proactive by digging even deeper than the original plan called for. And yet, something abnormal had just occurred.

Alex stared through the window of the control room, and what he saw reminded him of the daily routine on the floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. Everyone was moving swiftly, checking instrument panels, barking feverishly, and dealing with their anxiety. Even President Shahroudi, surrounded by security guards, seemed on edge. The lone inconsistency was easy to spot. The only uncanny calmness belonged to Dr. Mueller.

Alex ducked out of the way as a couple of lab coats came bursting through the door, cursing in Farsi. Alex eased his way inside, knowing his entrance would go unnoticed amongst the mayhem. He was wrong in that assumption.

Yadin tried to gauge reaction as best as he could. The technicians were scrambling to determine what had caused the place to rumble. He was surprised that the issue of shutting down the reactors hadn’t been raised yet. Perhaps they felt secure in knowing safeguards were in place to do just that in the event of a dire emergency. That belief would be tested once the fear escalated. Yadin registered all the moving parts and bodies as if he were painting a masterpiece of confusion. His canvas developed an imperfection when he spotted something that shouldn’t be there: Mr. McBride. He wondered how long McBride might have been watching him. The thought prompted Yadin to join the madness, and he did so with a purpose, knowing the clock was quickly counting down to the next disruption. He corralled a group of technicians. After their conversation, two of them approached Alex, who was milling around at the back of the control room. They expressed urgency in insisting he come with them.

“Where are we going?” Alex asked.

“We need to make sure every vital apparatus is working properly,” barked one of the techs, heading for the door. “We’re heading to the centrifuge room. Your expertise may be needed, Mr. McBride.”

“On whose authority, if I may ask?”

“That would be Dr. Mueller.”

Alex followed the technicians but took one last look before he left the room. He wasn’t at all surprised to see Dr. Mueller watching him exit.

CHAPTER
72

“What, exactly, did Dr. Mueller say we were supposed to be checking?” asked Alex, looking out at the sea of centrifuges running in unison.

“He said to monitor the situation here. Make sure everything is running smoothly while the source of what caused that disruption is located.” The tech was doing his best to shield his nervousness. Alex had his own set of doubts. Why did Dr. Mueller specifically request he be brought here? The good doctor had taken too keen an interest in him, considering what he should have been preoccupied with.

“Who is Dr. Mueller?” Alex figured it might be of some comfort to the tech if he were able to ease his fears by talking. There was a good chance his defenses would be down.

“There is little to be known about Dr. Mueller. He fiercely guards his privacy. But most of this facility exists because of him.”

“So you don’t know where he came fr—” Alex couldn’t finish the sentence because the explosion was ear-shattering, potent, and—worse—close. As the tech’s body slammed into him, it knocked the air from his lungs. The force of the blast sent both of them hurtling backward in the air. Alex fell to the floor, rolling over several times before stopping just short of a wall. The tech wasn’t as lucky. His body continued flying, its path abruptly interrupted by the same wall Alex had managed to avoid. His ears still ringing, Alex didn’t hear the thud of the collision, but the tech’s body gave way to gravity and fell to the floor. His neck was twisted in an unnatural position. Alex was sure the man had saved his life by absorbing the brunt of the explosion. His own head was a scrambled mess, but Alex concluded it wasn’t in his best interest to stay put. He groggily rose to his feet, hugging the wall for balance as he inched toward the exit. All the techs he’d entered the room with were down and motionless, their lab coats tainted with crimson. The other workers in the room looked to have either suffered a similar fate or were crying out in agony. The centrifuges were heavily damaged, and those that were still operational made a noise that only heightened his desperation to vacate the area. As his eyes began to focus, he saw that, in addition to the explosion, it looked like a number of centrifuges had ripped apart on their own. What was it Duncan had said? If they ran at a higher, inappropriate speed, it was possible for them to do just that.

He could hear sirens now, the explosion impossible to mask. Any minute, he expected to be joined by teams of emergency responders. He staggered into the hall and encountered chaos as his head began to clear. No one seemed to have the slightest interest in what was going on in the centrifuge room, and between the blasting of the sirens, he learned why. The female voice filtering through the broadcasting system in Farsi was issuing a warning of her own.

“Danger of reactor failure. Initiate immediate shutdown procedures.” The voice was eerily calm, but the message was scaring the hell out of people who had no intention of the underground facility’s being their gravesite.

Alex saw a worker jumping behind the wheel of the cart he had ridden to get here. He raced to catch up, and with the worker’s back exposed, it was easy to grab hold and throw him roughly to the floor. Alex hopped in the cart and began retracing his route. Alex was convinced the explosion was designed to cripple the centrifuge area and hopefully take him out in the process. His blood began to boil. This was the second time within a few days someone had tried to kill him. Dmitri Nevsky had failed. He couldn’t do anything about that at the moment, but Dr. Mueller was accessible.

CHAPTER
73

By now the centrifuge section would be in shambles and “Mr. McBride” presumably a memory. Yadin ignored the high-pitched screams of technicians as they relayed what their monitoring stations were reporting. He had hoped President Shahroudi and his handlers were smart enough to evacuate, but they were dazed by everything happening around them. Yadin could wait no longer. He regrettably had to get the man out. He approached the entourage with urgency.

“Mr. President, you need to get out of here. Now!” The message was delivered loudly. No one dared to talk to the president like that, but clearly, this was no ordinary situation.

“What is going on?” an agitated Shahroudi shot back, not sure if going anywhere was safe.

“I don’t know yet, but I don’t want to take any chances with your safety.” Yadin tried to sound sincere. If the president was unsure about departing before, the next words he heard persuaded him quickly.

Not unlike the voice of propaganda used by the Germans and Japanese during World War II, the voice from the loudspeakers was soothing while delivering news of dire consequence.

“Warning. Warning. Danger of reactor failure. Initiate immediate shutdown procedures.”

Dr. Mueller was precise in giving Shahroudi’s bodyguards a route back to the surface. He sent them on their way with a sense of urgency based on knowledge of future events.

Alex was out of the cart when he gave way to Shahroudi and his men, who, besides their weapons, carried a serious look of purpose with each rapidly advancing step. Alex managed to grab the last guard to inquire about Dr. Mueller. The guard was in no mood to protest and hurriedly told Alex he’d find him in the control room. Alex stopped at the door before going in. The room was a lot less populated now, with just five technicians frantically moving. Watching it all stood a relaxed Dr. Mueller. Alex couldn’t hear, but he saw all the techs stop what they were doing and give Mueller their full attention. They must have heard what amounted to a stay of execution because they all abandoned their stations and rushed for the exit. As they pushed through, Alex entered. The soft covering on his shoes helped mask his entrance as Mueller faced the huge window overlooking the reactor floor. Alex knelt, using console panels for cover as he moved forward. The back of his head felt wet, so he touched it; after inspection, he concluded the blood on his hand wasn’t enough to warrant concern. He let go of the thought of what might have been if not for that technician taking the brunt of the blast.

He peered around a corner and caught Mueller checking his watch. Alex was about to advance when it became necessary to grab onto the console for support. The structure had begun to shake violently as a loud boom permeated the environment. The woman’s voice over the loudspeakers was even more nightmarish now.

“Warning. Warning. Reactor failure imminent. Automatic shutoff protocols are offline.”

Throughout it all, Dr. Mueller hadn’t moved.

“You’re either quite resourceful or very lucky, Mr. McBride. Considering you’ve gotten this far, I’d say it’s the former.” The words startled Alex, and he realized there was no point in remaining hidden. He stood up, keeping a watchful eye on Dr. Mueller. Knowing he was being studied, Mueller let his arms hang naturally, exposing his open hands, informing Mr. McBride he was not armed—at least, not in a conventional way.