Read Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 01 Online
Authors: Flight of the Old Dog (v1.1)
Brent
motioned to the scrolling printout. “The RC-135 is now ninety miles from
Kavaznya. It is still being tracked by surveillance radar, as shown by this
line on the printout—standard India-band surveillance radar. I assume air
defense forces have been alerted, but only the missing controller’s transcript
can tell us this. Here ...” Brent pointed to the transmitted energy bar graph,
“is where a new radar comes on. The plane is still over ten minutes from
reaching land.
“See
how much the energy level has increased? The printout confirms it... here.
Frequency, carrier power, modulation—all significantly different, thousands of
times more powerful than the ordinary surveillance radars.” A new circle
appeared on the map, this one several times larger than the first.
“Mr.
Secretary-General, I must protest this,” Karmarov said.
Brent
stopped the scrolling display. “Mr. Karmarov, this presentation has been
approved by the Steering Committee for presentation,” McCaan said. “What are
the grounds for your objection?”
“This
appears to be what Mr. Brent says it is,” Karmarov said, “but it can also be a
clever forgery. Why, I can create such a grand display on my own computer.”
“If
you are challenging the Steering Committee’s judgment,” McCaan said, “you must
enter a protest with the Steering Committee—”
“But
I have not yet had an opportunity to examine any of the evidence being
presented.”
“The
Steering Committee—”
“I
know
about the Steering Committee.
But such a . . . jumble of information cannot be brought before the Security
Council without—”
“It
seems your objection is a procedural one, Mr. Karmarov,” McCaan said, “and as
such I must overrule it. The admissibility of this data and the manner of its
presentation has already been approved by the Security Council as per this
body’s regulations. Mr. Brent, proceed.’’
The
screen went into motion once again. “The RC-135 is now forty-two miles from
shore.” Brent pointed at the readout on the left. The map magnified into a much
larger scale of the Kavaznya area itself. The red line plotting the course of
the RC-135 began to change. “It is here that the plane begins a right turn away
from the coastline. As you can see, the transmitted energy scale has greatly
increased. At the same time, all other radars in the area have been turned
off—all but one. No India-band radars, only the much more powerful
Lima
band radar at Kavaznya.”
Brent
turned to Karmarov. “Why, Mr. Ambassador, would your air defense operators turn
off
their radars with an intruder in
the area? With three fighters airborne that rely on that radar for vectors to
the intruder, why was it deactivated? Where are the fighters?”
Karmarov
decided his only response was silence.
The
screen froze. The bar graphs had all suddenly pegged themselves at the top of
their scales.
“Suddenly,
here,” Brent said, “there is a massive explosion of transmitted energy, visible
light, radiation, and polarized light.” The display began to move slowly. “The
blast lasts for almost a full second. Gentlemen, the readout for polarized
light is a readout of levels of visible light that meets very strict
parameters. The light must be pure—one wavelength, one frequency, one
direction. Polarized light.” He turned and looked at Karmarov. “Laser light. A
laser on the order of two hundred megawatts has just been fired from Kavaznya.”
The
scrolling continued, but the printout display on the left and the movement of
the bar graphs halted for several minutes. “The data transmission was
interrupted after the laser blast,” Brent said. “The tremendous amount of
energy disrupts electronic circuits for hundreds of miles. Is that why there
are no fighters in the area, Mr. Karmarov? A fighter near that laser blast
would fall into the ocean.”
No
reply from Karmarov.
A
few moments later the stream of data returned. “As you can see,” Brent went on,
“the levels of radiation and transmitted energy are still high. The bar graphs
for polarized light and thermal energy have been removed. That is because that
data was obtained from an Alpha Omega Nine reconnaissance satellite over
Kavaznya. That satellite was destroyed by the laser blast.”
“Impossible,”
came a voice from the Council table. The rumble of voices increased in volume.
“The
crew aboard the RC-135, which is now almost ninety miles from shore, are
probably already exposed to lethal doses of radiation, but they are still
alive.”
One
bar graph jumped. “Transmitted energy is increasing again,” Brent said. “The
radar at Kavaznya is active again—searching for another victim.”
“Unfounded
accusations,” Karmarov protested. “Mr. Secretary-General—”
“The
Lima-band radar is at full power again.” Brent was no longer looking at the
screen but directly at Karmarov, who stared at the data flowing on the screen.
“There is a pulse-shift—the radar has locked onto the aircraft, an unarmed
reconnaissance aircraft almost fifty miles from shore with ten men and two
women aboard.”
The
screen went blank, and the room went dark. Slowly, the lights were brought back
up in the Council chamber.
“Without
warning, with malice aforethought,” Brent said to Karmarov, “the Soviets
disabled a satellite, then, trying to cover their first crime, turned that
laser on an unarmed aircraft, killing twelve people.”
The
chamber was silent. “In
America
, Mr. Ambassador, we call it murder in the
first degree.” Brent turned and faced the Council members seated around him.
“Four
days ago a test of a new intercontinental missile design was also attacked by
the laser at Kavaznya. I will present the data when it becomes available. This
time, the data was collected by a vessel anchored offshore from Kavaznya, and
not by another satellite. Yet it will prove that not only has the
Soviet Union
used its new laser to attack another
American vehicle, but that it used
this.
” The lights were immediately lowered. Brent clicked a button again, and a
magnified, computer-enhanced picture of Salyut Nineteen with the large
rectangular mirror attached flashed on the screen.
“Salyut
Nineteen, gentlemen,” Brent announced, “but with a new and frightening twist—a
mirror used to bounce the laser beam to targets over the horizon from
Kavaznya!” The murmur in the Council chamber became one of disbelief.
“I
know you’re not going to respond to any of this, Mr. Ambassador,” Brent said,
turning back to Karmarov. “You are going to request a video tape of this
session, take it back to the Embassy, and talk it over with
Moscow
. Fine. But the
United States
requests the reinstatement of charges made
back on November fifteenth. We charge the
Soviet Union
with premeditated murder, conspiracy to
commit murder, piracy, perjury, and conspiracy to suppress evidence. We also
charge violation of the 1972 Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty with the deployment
of the laser, the
Lima-
band radar used to steer the laser, and the Salyut Nineteen spacecraft
refitted with a mirror for the reflection of laser beams with the purpose of
destroying ballistic weapons. We call for the immediate dismantling of the
Salyut Nineteen spacecraft and the closure of the entire Kavaznya complex until
an on-site United Nations inspection can be made. We are also demanding
reparations in the amount of five hundred million American dollars for the
death of the American service personnel aboard the RC-135 aircraft and the loss
of the RC-135 aircraft, the Alpha Omega Nine satellite, and the
Javelin
missile.”
He
turned to the Security Council delegates. “I know that, despite our lofty
ideals, justice meted by the United Nations is slow and sometimes ineffective.
But the government of the United States considers the laser device and the
orbiting mirror a major threat to its security, and we cannot,
we will not
, wait long for these devices
to be disarmed.”
He
turned again to Karmarov and raised his voice. “We give the
Soviet Union
three days to dismantle or render
inoperative the Salyut Nineteen spacecraft. If it is not proved to our
satisfaction that the Salyut Nineteen’s mirror is incapable of steering a laser
beam projected from Kavaznya to an atmospheric or ballistic vehicle anywhere on
the globe, we will assume that the 1972 Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty and the
1986 Iceland Summit Arms Reduction Treaty are null and void and take
appropriate steps to insure our national security.”
“And
what steps are those?” Karmarov asked. “Will you go to war to back up your
silly rhetoric, Mr. Secretary? Will you destroy civilization because of a
baseless, insignificant, pie-in-the-sky threat?”
Brent
turned to the Russian ambassador, planting his hands firmly on Karmarov’s desk.
In a voice so low few could hear except Karmarov himself, Brent said, “Why,
Dmitri? Why? We suspected almost from the beginning, and I took a tremendous
risk and
told
you of our suspicions.
Yet your government continued to use that laser device. Why? It doesn’t make
sense.”
“You
were foolish to expose your so-called evidence like this, Brent,” Karmarov said
softly. “I need not try to explain. But forcing my government into a corner
with outlandish grandstanding will not yield the results you want.”
“I
asked you why, Dmitri,” Brent said. “Dammit, I—”
“The
device is an instrument of
defense
,
of territorial security,” Karmarov said between clenched teeth. “It is years
ahead of its time, a device that even the most optimistic in your country would
not have expected to become operational in another ten years.
It violates no existing treaty
. It
affords a defensive umbrella, its existence cannot merely be shouted away with
threats.”
“You’ve
got a choice,” Brent said in a normal voice, stepping away from the Russian
ambassador so the rest of the delegates could hear. “Start with the Salyut
Nineteen spacecraft. Disarm it, go up there and dismantle the mirror, burn it
up in the atmosphere—I don’t care. But prove to the
United States
that you will pledge to use the laser as a
defensive device only. Right now it’s an offensive weapon, and it’s already
been used to murder innocent American lives. The other choice is to prepare to
accept the consequences of your actions.” Brent returned to his seat and slid
into it slowly, studying the faces of those around him.
“And
what would those consequences be, Mr. Brent?” Karmarov said quietly in English.
“Global war? Global death?” He was taunting his American colleague, but Brent
folded his hands serenely and returned Karmarov’s gaze in silence. Then the
memory of their private meeting returned to him. Brent saw that Karmarov had
remembered, too. Brent gathered his notes together and nodded to
Adams
, preparing to leave.
“Za/
Lyot
, ” Karmarov said, almost in a
whisper. Delegates scrambled for translation earpieces. Brent’s gaze narrowed,
as if in pain.
“You
cannot,” Karmarov said. “It will mean the end. You cannot—”
“We
can, we will,” Marshall Brent said, hoping he sounded more convincing than he
felt. He stood, nodded to Ian McCaan, and left the Security Council chambers.