Wild Fire (33 page)

“I’ll try the phone company. But I’m not calling my FBI source back. I went as far as I could with him, and he was cooperative, but then he got nosy. We’ve got to leave that alone unless you want to stir up some shit.”

“Okay, leave that alone.”

“Kate, why am I doing this? When I worked for the ATTF, they had their own computers, phones, and files.”

She looked at me, then said to Dick, “Your friend is pursuing his own theory about something.”

“Right. Did you tell him he needs to be a team player?”

“I mentioned that a few times.”

By now, I was rolling my eyes.

Dick said, “Well, when John gets fired, I need some help here.”

Kate replied, “I think he’ll be on the Federal do-not-hire list forever.”

“Okay,” I interrupted, “let’s get back to business. Dick, is there anything else you can think of that might be important or relevant?”

“Relevant to what?”

Good question, and before I could think of an answer, Dick asked, “What’s with the nuke stuff?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant to the homicide investigation.”

“Why would an MIT professor be mixed up with a murder?”

“I thought he might be Russian Mafia, but it doesn’t sound like it. Okay, I’ll—”

“So, did the Arabs snatch this guy?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll take Putyov’s home and work numbers.”

He gave them to us, and said, “Okay, guys, the ball is in your court. Good luck with locating Putyov, and I hope you find the sonofabitch who killed Harry Muller.”

“We will.”

Kate said, “Thanks, Dick.”

“Watch yourselves.”

We hung up, and Kate looked at me. “Nuclear physicist.”

“Right.”

“What’s he doing at the Custer Hill Club?”

“Fixing the microwave oven?”

“John, we need to fly to New York today and have Walsh assemble the appropriate people—”

“Hold on. You’re overreacting. We don’t have any startling information other than a nuclear physicist happened to be a guest at the Custer Hill Club—”

“We have MAD, NUK, ELF, and—”

“Jeez, I hope they found that by now.”

“What if they haven’t?”

“Then they’re stupid.”

“John—”

“We can’t admit to having evidence that we’ve hidden . . . well, that we just forgot to mention.”

“
We?
”
She rose from her chair and said, “
You
didn’t report it.
We
have committed a felony. I’m an accessory.”

I also stood. “Don’t you think I’m going to cover for you?”

“I don’t need you to cover for me.
We
need to report everything we have, including Putyov. Now.”

“For all we know, the FBI knows everything we know, and they’re not sharing it with us—so why should we share it with them?”

“That’s our
job
.”

“Right. And we
will
share it. But not now. Think of what we’re doing as a supplemental investigation.”

“No, we’re engaged in an
unauthorized
investigation.”

“Wrong. Walsh authorized us—”

“Liam Griffith—”

“Fuck him. For all I know, he’s here to bring us a week’s worth of clean underwear.”

“You know why he’s here.”

“No, I don’t. And neither do you.”

She moved closer to me. “John, what’s your agenda?”

“As always, truth and justice.” I added, “Duty, honor, country.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, the real answer is we need to save our asses. We’re in trouble, and the only way out of that trouble is to bring this case further along toward—”

“And don’t forget your ego. This is John Corey, NYPD, trying to prove that he’s smarter than the whole FBI.”

“I don’t need to prove that. It’s an established fact.”

“I’m going back to New York. Are you coming with me?”

“No. I need to find Harry’s killer.”

She sat on the bed, sort of staring at the floor. Clearly, she was upset.

I stood there for a full minute, then said, “Kate.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Trust me.”

She didn’t reply for a while, then muttered, almost to herself, “Why can’t we just return to New York and tell Tom everything we know . . . ? And try to salvage our careers . . . ?”

“Because,” I replied, “we’re past the point of no return. There is no turning back.” I added, “Sorry.”

She sat there a bit longer, then stood. “All right . . . what’s next?”

“ELF.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

K
ate seemed to have calmed down a little, and resigned herself to the fact that the idiot who got her into this mess was probably the only idiot who could get her out of it.

I was feeling a little pressured by that, but I knew if I stayed focused and solved this case—Harry’s murder
and
the Madox mystery—then our career problems and personal problems would disappear. And while we were at it, maybe we could also save the planet. As Kate herself said, “Nothing succeeds like success.”

The opposite of that was . . . well, disgrace, humiliation, dismissal, the unemployment line, and some sort of nuclear surprise. But why be negative?

To make Kate feel part of the solution, I said to her, “Okay, I’ll take your advice, and we’ll call John Nasseff.”

Kate and I sat at the writing desk and took out our notepads.

I’d rather have used Ned’s laptop, but I was pretty certain that John Nasseff, who was a Technical Support guy, was out of the ATTF loop anyway.

She dialed out, using her personal calling card that would not show Wilma’s number on a caller ID, then identified herself to the ATTF operator and asked for Commander Nasseff. She put the phone on speaker, and as the call was routed, she said to me, “John Nasseff is an active-duty naval commander, so you may want to initially address him by his rank.” She added, “He’s an officer and a gentleman, so watch your language.”

“And you be careful how you phrase the questions.”

She replied, “I think I know how to do this. But why don’t you take the lead as you usually do?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Navy Commander John Nasseff came on the line. “Hi, Kate. How can I help you?”

“Hi, John. My husband, John, who works with—works for me—and I need some information about extremely low frequency radio waves. Can you help with that?”

“I think so . . .” He paused, then said, “Can I ask what this is about?”

I chimed in, “Good afternoon, Commander. This is Detective Corey, who works for Special Agent Mayfield.”

“Just call me John.”

“Same to you. To answer your question, unfortunately, this is a sensitive matter, and we’re only at liberty to say it’s urgent.”

“I understand . . . What would you like to know?”

I asked, “Can ELF waves fry an egg?”

Kate looked pissed, but Commander John replied, “I don’t think so.”

John Nasseff sounded like the starched Navy guy that he probably was, so I followed up with, “Just kidding. Can you give us some background on ELF waves? And please don’t be too technical. I can’t even program the buttons on my car radio.”

I got him to chuckle, and he replied, “All right . . . it’s sort of a technical subject, but I’ll try to speak English. First, I am not an expert on ELF signals, but I can certainly give you some basic background.”

“We’re all ears.” I opened my notepad and picked up my pencil.

“Well, to begin . . . I’m pulling up some of this on my computer . . . okay, ELF waves are transmitted at extremely low frequencies . . .” He chuckled to himself and said, “That’s why they’re called . . . Anyway, these are extremely
long
waves, so say you’re transmitting at 82 herz, or 0.000082 megaherz—that’s equal to a wavelength of 3,658,535.5 meters, or 3,658.5 kilometers—”

I dropped my pencil and said, “Hold on, John. Hold on. We don’t want to send a message on our ELF transmitter. Who uses this wavelength? And what’s it used for?”

He replied, “It’s only used by the military. Specifically, the Navy. It’s used to contact nuclear submarines operating at very low depths.”

Kate and I looked at each other. I wanted to ask him if he knew Fred, but instead I inquired, “Can these ELF waves be monitored?”

“Sure. If you have the right equipment. But you might wait a long time to hear an ELF transmission.”

“Why?”

“They have very limited use. And anything you heard would be encrypted.”

“Okay . . . take us through this. Who, what, where, when, how, and why?”

“I don’t think anything I’m going to say is classified, but I need to ask you if you’re on a secure line.”

Typical military commo guy. I thought maybe Ned was listening to pass the time of day, but he didn’t look like a spy, and Wilma was probably watching the Home Shopping Network. I said to Commander Nasseff, “We’re on a regular landline, and it’s a one-time use for me at a resort up in the Adirondacks.” We weren’t actually in the Adirondack Mountains any longer, but that’s where Walsh and Griffith needed to think we were if this conversation got back to them. I added, “A resort called The Point. The chef is French, but I’m sure he’s not listening in.”

“All right . . . as I said, most of this is not classified. So let me explain the practical application of ELF technology. As you know, we have nuclear subs operating at very low depths for extended periods of time—months, sometimes—and most of these subs operate in their regular patrol areas near . . . well, this is a little sensitive, but I’ll say near underwater hydro-acoustic stations where they can be in touch with naval operations through normal radio channels. But some of these subs can be out in no-man’s-land, too far from these underwater stations, so in an emergency situation, naval operations in Pearl Harbor, for the Pacific Fleet, or Norfolk, for the Atlantic Fleet, need to get in touch with these nuclear submarines that are not near the surface or near an underwater relay station. Follow so far?”

I looked at Kate, who nodded, and I said, “Sure. Go on.”

“Well,” he continued, “as a for instance, normally used VLF waves—very low frequency—won’t penetrate deep into the ocean depths, especially if the water is very saline. Salty.”

“I got salty.”

“Good. But ELF waves can travel all the way around the world regardless of atmospheric conditions, and they can penetrate anything, including mountains, oceans, and polar ice caps. They can reach a deeply submerged submarine anytime, anyplace. In fact, if it weren’t for the existence of ELF waves, we’d have no communication with some of these vessels in our nuclear submarine fleet, and that could lead to a major problem if the balloon went up.”

“What balloon?”

“
The
balloon. That’s slang for atomic war.”

“Right. I like balloon better.” Again, Kate and I looked at each other, trying to comprehend this. I didn’t know how she was feeling, but thinking of Bain Madox, I was a little worried.

Commander Nasseff made a funny doomsday joke by saying, “If it wasn’t for ELF, we couldn’t have a good, all-out atomic war.”

“Well, thank God for ELF.”

He chuckled. “That’s an old Navy commo joke.”

“That’s a real knee-slapper. Got any more?”

“Well, gee, it’s been a long time since the Cold War, but—”

I interrupted. “So, that’s the only way . . . the only reason anyone would use an ELF radio—to talk to a submarine.”

He replied, “Well, it’s not actually a voice radio—it’s more of a signal transmitter—like a telegraph—to send encrypted letter-code messages.”

“And only to a submarine?”

“Right. A deeply submerged submarine. ELF waves are very long, and therefore the transmissions are
very
slow. But they can
penetrate
anything. Thus, their only practical use is to contact submerged submarines that can’t be contacted by normal means.”

“Right. Can ELF waves screw up my cell phone?”

He chuckled again. “No. These waves are so far off the chart, they wouldn’t interfere with any other radio waves, microwaves, or anything we currently use on a day-to-day basis.”

Kate said to him, “So, these ELF transmissions are letter codes.”

“Correct.”

“And they can only be picked up by submarines?”

“Well, they can be picked up by anyone with an ELF receiver. But unless you know the code, which changes often, it would be meaningless. All you’d hear would be transmitted pulses, which are the letters in encrypted form. From what I understand, a three-letter code is the most common.”

Kate asked, “And that tells the people on the sub everything they need to know?”

“Usually, it just tells them that they need to establish normal radio communication.” He explained, “An ELF transmission is called a bell ringer. It’s to alert a submarine commander that a situation is developing, and he needs to do something to get in touch. But sometimes the three-letter code is self-explanatory. For instance, it could mean ‘Surface’ or ‘Proceed to location A,’ which is a predesignated grid coordinate. Follow?”

Kate replied, “I think so.”

“You can’t use ELF for long, chatty messages. It can take half an hour for the signal to reach the sub. And I should point out that the submarine can’t
send
an ELF signal or message. It can only receive one.”

I said, “Like, ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you.’”

“Correct.”

Kate asked, “Why can’t a sub send an ELF message?”

“The transmitter and antenna need to be on land. I can explain that later. But meanwhile, if a submarine needs to reply to this one-way message, or if the sub commander needs more data, then the sub would need to get near an underwater hydro-acoustic station—if there’s time—or would need to get near the surface and send up a communication buoy to reply or get more information via VLF, or these days via satellite, or other means.”

I inquired, “What do you mean, ‘If there’s time’?”

“Well, for instance, if the other side has already launched ICBMs against us, then there’s no time to establish normal radio communication, because by the time the sub receives an ELF signal, which, as I said, can take thirty minutes, all forms of communication in the U.S. have already been vaporized, and the atomic war is all but over.” He explained, “If that’s what’s happening on the surface, then the submarines receive the last and only ELF message they will ever get—a three-letter code that means . . . well, ‘Fire away.’”

Kate looked a bit worried, but Commander Nasseff had good news. “ELF waves are not affected by thermonuclear explosions.”

I said, “Thank God for that. But let me ask you—what if the guy sending the atomic-launch code sends the wrong letters? Like, he means to type in XYZ, which means ‘lunch break,’ but he screws up and types in XYV, which means ‘Launch your nukes’?”

Commander Nasseff replied with a little amusement in his voice, “That can’t happen.”

“Why not? Look at the e-mails you get.”

“I mean,” he explained patiently, “there are safeguards, and all orders to launch need to be verified.”

“By
who
? By the time the sub gets the order a half hour after it’s sent, as you just said, there’s no one left to verify anything.”

“This is true. But rest assured that can’t happen.”

“Why not? I mean, you’re talking about three measly letters. Like those monkeys typing King Lear.”

“For your information, a three-letter code will yield 17,576 possible letter combinations in the English language alphabet. The Russian alphabet, with thirty-three letters, will yield 35,937 different codes.” He explained, “Thirty-three, times thirty-three, times thirty-three equals 35,937. So, what are the chances that a naval radio operator could mistakenly send the code to the submarine fleet to launch their missiles at their predesignated targets?”

Considering the fact that if something could go wrong, it would, I thought the chances seemed pretty good. I said, “Maybe we should use the Russian alphabet. You know? More letters. Less chance of starting a nuclear war by accident.”

He found that funny and said to me, “Actually, if you want to know more than you need to know, whoever transmits the message needs to send it as a repeating, error-correcting code, followed by another three-letter verification code. No one can screw that up by accident.”

I asked the obvious and more pertinent question, “How about on purpose? Like some nut who wants to start an atomic war?”

He thought about that and replied, “As I said, the codes change frequently.”

“But if someone had the code—”

“I can’t imagine that any unauthorized person could get the initiating codes and the verification codes, plus getting the current encrypting protocols. Also, the computer encryption software is sophisticated beyond anything you can imagine.” He added, “You shouldn’t worry about things like that.”

I thought of Bain Madox and wanted to say to Commander Nasseff, “
You
should.”

Kate asked, “And there is no other possible application for this means of communication? I mean, no other use for ELF waves other than military?”

“Well, that
was
true. But I’ve heard that since the end of the Cold War, the Russian ELF transmitter has been used for geophysical research. Swords into plowshares.” He explained, “The ELF waves can penetrate deep into the Earth’s crust and can therefore be used for electromagnetic sounding and monitoring. For instance, seismic research. Earthquake predictions and things of that sort. But I don’t know much about that.”

Kate said, “So, theoretically, someone outside the military
could
send an ELF transmission. Like scientists.”

“Theoretically, but there are only three ELF transmitters in the whole world, and they’re all owned by the military.” He added, “We have two, they have the other.”

Kate thought about that, then asked, “I see . . . but
theoretically
. . . is this top secret, or is it unlawful to build such a transmitter?”

“I don’t know about unlawful, and there’s nothing top secret about the technology or the physics behind it. The actual problem is that an ELF transmitting station can be expensive to build, and it has no practical application outside of contacting submarines or, recently, in limited geophysical research.”

I didn’t think that Bain Madox was interested in geophysical research, but he might be, so I asked, “Can these ELF waves detect oil deposits?”

“I would think so.”

“So, geologists could use them to find oil.”

“Theoretically, but ELF stations can only be built in a few places in the world.”

Kate inquired, “Why is that?”

“Well, now that we’re talking about the actual transmitter itself, let me explain that. You asked why a submarine can’t send an ELF message. One reason is that an ELF transmitter can only be located on land in an area that has very low ground conductivity. And there are only a few places on the planet where this geological condition exists.”