Storm Killer (29 page)

It was as if the statue was getting retribution against the family for some unknown sins.

Edna took her latest victims without a qualm and was hungry for more.

Henri crawled to the edge of the apartment’s glass doors and peered out a gaping hole where, less than ten minutes ago, a balcony had been. Now, he could see his mother’s apartment building in the distance.

He was frightened by what he saw. The ugly, boiling sea covered the city’s downtown almost to the third floor of the buildings there. Several buildings had already crashed into the frothing water as their foundations crumbled from the relentless stress of water and wind.

The all-but-condemned apartment building he was in rocked back and forth in a frightening motion as the water crashed around it.

The two brothers consumed most of the beer they’d bought and went in search of loot in the closed shops of the downtown area. They were drunkenly inspecting some costume jewelry in one of the many closed shops in the main shopping district when the storm surge hit. Instead of running for higher ground, they tried to make their way back to the dilapidated apartment building which already had a three-meter wall of water running passed it. They drowned, panicked.

Henri was completely alone as the storm mounted to its full fury.

The rain stung his face as he squinted to see his mother’s apartment building. Henri’s heart leaped to his throat when he saw the first waves invade the third floor windows of her building.
Oh, my Jesus, please keep my family safe. Please let them live,
Henri prayed
.
  

He heard the sound of timber splitting and a deep groaning noise as his building’s lower floors began buckling from the stress of the pounding seawater. He continued to stare at his family home as a large wave covered the entire third floor. He groaned and held his sides as he watched his family’s floor covered in the angry water.

The condemned building began collapsing, and Henri’s last view before falling into the boiling sea was of his family home also tipping and beginning to slide into the sea.

Edna added to her count of victims.   

65

Tanechka was flying flawlessly. She jettisoned her spent first stage after the solid rocket propellant was completely used. The large, empty piece of hardware fell back to the Earth’s surface and collided with a peat bog in southern Kazakhstan, leaving a large, smoking crater.

Two young boys playing in a nearby field saw it fall and ran as fast as their small legs could go to see what had fallen from the sky. They knew no fear as they clamored down into the crater to investigate the hunk of metal. The boys died immediately, victims of breathing the noxious fumes still emanating from the now discarded military junk. Their names were added to those of the other innocent victims of the Storm Killer tragedy.  

Tanechka’s second stage was scheduled to burn for one minute and twenty-nine seconds. It ignited in silence, since there was no atmosphere to carry sound, as ninety-nine percent of the Earth’s atmosphere was below its current height. The engine gimbaled to steer her toward her orbital insertion point. She achieved the same orbit as Storm Killer and quickly came up to her target from behind.

Her Russian caretakers set up the program so that the two warheads would be released in thirty-second intervals at fifty-five kilometers from the target. Their own steering thrusters were used to fine-tune their trajectories into the doomed Storm Killer station. Once within four hundred meters of the doomed station, the warheads would detonate. The thirty-second delay ensured that the second warhead wouldn’t be accidentally destroyed by the detonation of the first warhead.

Tanechka’s internal computers were sampled and telemetry sent back to her mobile launcher. The Russian launch specialist sampled the data and wrote in the logbook,
on course, engine variables within spec. All is well.

Fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds until warhead release, and then another two minutes and twenty seconds of flight by the warheads. Then, Storm Killer would be no more.        

66

Rose Magruder was lying in a sun-drenched field of crimson red poppies. She felt wonderfully warm and sleepy. The only intrusion was the intermittent ringing sound that seemed to occur every few seconds.
What was that noise interfering with my peace and quiet?
She thought in annoyance.
Why can’t people leave me alone? Who would be trying to call me?

Call me? It’s my phone!
It suddenly dawned on Rose the annoying ringing was the familiar ring tone of her communications device. As she struggled to get up out of her lovely field of flowers, the field dissolved leaving blackness and pain. Her head was throbbing, she could taste something salty on her lips, and her body felt confined. She tried to lift her right hand and found that it was stuck between her back and the metal surface behind her. She worked her hand free and touched her lips. They were wet. She touched her nostrils and felt the same wetness.
My nose is bleeding. I wonder why?  

She tentatively opened her eyes and more pain shot through her head. She was somewhere that was semi-dark. She could see dark shapes but couldn’t tell what they were. She seemed to be stuffed into a confined space in some metal box with one open side.
What happened? Where am I? I need to rest a little longer.
Rose closed her eyes in an attempt to relieve some of the pain in her head.
Maybe a little nap would help.

The phone continuous ringing brought her out of her lethargy. My phone! I have to answer it. It could be important. It could be an update on Storm Killer. 

Storm Killer? Oh, my God! I remember!
Everything came flooding back to Rose. The Storm Killer crisis, the resignation request, and Dr. Rosen’s attack! All of this came back to her in a flash.

She looked around and finally figured out she was crammed under a desk. She could see the legs of the chair pushed in front of the desk. She unwound her legs from under the desk and used them to push the chair away. She gently extracted herself and arose to a kneeling position. Her head hurt and she could not focus her eyes very well.

She followed the ringing and finally located her phone stuffed in her purse and inside a file cabinet. She swayed slightly has she answered the phone. “Hello.”

She heard Adam Sand’s voice, “Rose, are you okay? Dr. Rosen said you had a melt down of some sort?”

She shook her head in an attempt to clear some of the cobwebs. “Adam, Rosen attacked me! He hit me with something heavy and I’ve just now come to.” 

Adam asked, “Rosen? Hit you? Why? Jesus, what is going on? Has everyone gone off the deep end?”

He continued, “Rose, I have to verify that the missile has not launched yet.”

“What do you mean, ‘Not launched yet’? They launched when I gave you the warning to get out of there!”  

Adam slumped in his chair and spoke. “But Dr. Rosen called me back only a minute after you told me that and said things were on hold. That the President was going to give us every minute he could to regain control. And, and you had apparently had a breakdown of some sort.”  

“Oh, my God, Adam. Get everyone out of there, now!” Rose pleaded.

“It’s too late, Rose. We don’t have time. You’ll have to get the President to abort the missile. He’ll just have to trust that we’ll get control of this station in time. If he doesn’t abort, then he just killed another two dozen people up here.” 

There was silence on the line for a few seconds, finally Adam said, “Rose? Rose? Are you still with me?”

Rose had almost fallen from a passing vertigo attack and now felt nauseous, but she managed a reply, “Yes, Adam. I’m here, just feeling pretty shaky and sick.”

Adam was relieved to hear she was still with him. “Rose, you have to get to the President! Go! I’ll do what I can here, but go before it’s too late!”

Adam hung up. Rose was left holding a dead phone as she swayed back and forth.

Okay, I got to get to the situation room.
Rose thought as she walked unsteadily to the office door. Pulling it open she slowly made her way toward the situation room.

The situation room was at the end of hall. Large plate glass windows looked out on the hall from the room. She could see the President’s back as he sat at the conference table awaiting the news of Storm Killer’s destruction. Dr. Rosen was seated to the right facing the windows. He looked up and saw her staggering toward the room. The look on his face was between surprise and panic.

She was almost at the door when another vertigo attack hit her. She swayed, fell against the hall wall, bounced and slipped to the floor. The last thing she remembered was thinking,
Maybe just a few seconds of rest and then I’ll go talk to the President.
       
    

67

Dr. Rosen glanced up and saw Rose Magruder staggering toward the situation room. An electric shock went through his body as he thought.
She’s still alive? How? I hit her hard -- twice!

Now panic started to set in. She was moving in a slow wobbly gait toward the door. She would be to the room in seconds.
What the hell am I going to do now? How do I stop her?

It was at that moment that Rose blacked out and fell to the hall floor. Dr. Rosen sighed in relief. But the relief was short lived. The hall was a busy place; someone would probably find her in short time. Rosen glanced at his watch and struggled for a decision. He finally made it.

“Mr. President, I have served you as well as I could. I’m sorry that this project ended our relationship.” Reaching in his packet, Dr. Rosen extracted his letter of resignation and presented it to the President. “Here is my resignation. I don’t believe my services are needed any longer now that the missile is on the way. The decisions are made and done. I cannot stand to hear first hand of the destruction of what could be a marvelous weapons system. If you will excuse me, I will take my leave.”

The President gave an almost imperceptible nod and placed the resignation letter next to Rose’s on the table. He then replied in a terse tone, “Fine. Go. You’re done.”

Rosen stood and handed the President another document. “This is a proposal for using the Storm Killer technology in a wide range of military applications. Whoever replaces me should review it and present its pros and cons to you as soon as possible. In fact, you may wish to review it while you wait for the destruction verification.”  

The President took the thick document and sat it on the table in front of him. “I’ll review it, but I doubt if any application of this technology will occur in my remaining time in the White House. Not after this debacle becomes public knowledge.” 

“Good bye, sir,” Rosen said and, picking up his briefcase, walked briskly out the door behind the President. The President never looked around to see him go. If he had, he would have seen Rose sprawled on the hall floor.

Dr. Rosen made his way swiftly past where Rose lay unconscious and continued briskly to the elevator. He pressed the up button and after what seemed an eternity, the elevator car door opened. Two Air Force light colonels exited the car and turned left down the aisle towards the Chairman of Joint Chiefs’ operations office. They never looked to the right where the situation room was located and did not see Rose’s inert form lying there in the hall. 

Rosen had frozen when the door opened and the two officers got off. He breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the other direction and continued on their way. 

He entered the elevator and pressed the ground floor button. In less than thirty seconds, he was raised the ten floors to the ground level. Alan Hardy, the President’s Chief of Staff, entered the elevator as Rosen exited it. They nodded at each other but exchanged no words. Hardy punched the down button and the elevator doors slid shut as the car headed back down.

He signed out, removed his credentials and gave them to the Marine guard stationed at the exit door, and exited the building for the last time.

He had thought of every possible contingency. He had, over a year ago, purchased six valid United States passports in six different names and had booked multiple flights to Lima, Buenos Aires, London, Madrid, Paris, and Toronto at about two-hour intervals starting at 10 AM.

At each of these airports he had booked connections to Frankfurt or Rome, and then on to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. And each connection at each stop was booked under a different name on different airlines. He would arrive in Riyadh as either Paul Alan Ackerman, or Frank Aaron Rosensweig, depending on which connecting airport he had to use. 

The United States had no extradition treaty with Saudi Arabia, so Rosen felt safe that he could live out his life in various rich Middle Eastern countries like Saudi Arabia. After all, he had two hundred million dollars of the Mexico City payoff safely deposited in several off shore accounts.