Stormhaven Rising (Atlas and the Winds Book 1) (44 page)

“Why’d we need to do that? Our SA is a hell of a lot more reliable—,” the pilot said.

“Just humor me, Watchdog,” Shapiro said, his tone making it clear that he was giving an order. “I want visual confirmation of what you see on the ground.”

“Roger,” the pilot said. “Stand by.”

In the distance Shapiro could hear the jets change heading and kick up the throttle. One of the motion sensor cameras spun wildly toward the jets to track their skimming pass over the field. Shapiro watched their landing lights turn the area where the ships should have been into daylight. The stage riser was still there, but everything else, including the two ships was gone.

“I’ll be damned,” the pilot swore.

“It looks like we’ve got another problem,” Shapiro said, switching off the radio link.

Schimmel nodded. “So what else is new?”

***

Space Command, Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado:

“We’ve been hacked again?” Marquez closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in frustration.

“Yes General, I think so. Your pilots can give you the specifics,” Shapiro said.

“You’re telling me that they moved those houseboats and the pilots didn’t catch it? What makes you think they’ve breached the defense net?” he asked.

“Apparently your pilots had no indication on their SA,” the agent said. “Our Tactical Specialist pointed out that if they’d been jammed, we’d have seen it. In order to pull this off they’d have to be feeding false data directly to your system.”

Looking at the display on the wall and realizing Air Force One was currently over southern Utah less than 200 miles from Stormhaven, Marquez started punching in the codes to get the President’s pilot on the channel. If the SA system was off line, then he couldn’t trust the flight telemetry data either.

“If we hadn’t been watching on a starlight camera they still wouldn’t know,” Shapiro said. “It wasn’t until we asked for a direct flyover that they confirmed it.”

“I may have a much bigger problem to deal with. The President is about to enter the grid section that you think might be spoofed. If so, then this is about to become critical.” He punched off the line without waiting for a response, flipping to the uplink to the President’s jet.

“Air Force One, this is Space Command with an Alpha Code Instruction. Please respond.” General Marquez stood up to get a better view of the big screen below him. His stomach settled into a knot of razor wire as the seconds stretched on.

He hit the button that put the Center on alert. A claxon echoed through the command center and he pointed at the screen when the Flight Ops officer turned to look up at him. “Intercept Air Force One. I want eyeballs on it. Five minutes ago!” he barked.

“Air Force One, this is Space Command. We are declaring this an Alpha Code Emergency. Do you copy?” He leaned against the railing, staring at the trace for the President’s jet as if sheer force of will could make this a simple telemetry glitch, but knowing already that it was the rising edge of a real crisis.

“Space Command, this is Air Force One. We have no emergency. I repeat, we have no emergency.” The voice of the President’s pilot came back, sounding slightly confused.

“Air Force One, we’re scrambling to intercept. We believe that your location may be compromised. Stand by for emergency instructions.” He punched in a command to send a string of maneuvers to the jet that would confirm they were accurately tracking its location.

Once the pilot’s computer authenticated the instructions, he’d make a very precise set of heading changes that they should be able to verify to make sure the object they were tracking on the screens was indeed, the President’s aircraft.

“Confirm receipt of orders. Commencing protocol, but I don’t show us as off course,” the pilot said, the sound of the engines roaring loudly in the background. He’d just thrown the jet into a steep climbing bank toward the north. “Maneuver Gate One, completed. Commencing Gate Two."

The massive jet turned 145 degrees in the opposite direction, bringing it back toward the southeast and into a gentle descent. “Gate Two, completed,” he reported. The plot for the jet showed no heading changes, even though the President was more than two miles off her original position.

“Negative, Air Force One,” Marquez said. “We cannot confirm. SA telemetry has been compromised."

Punching out of the radio circuit, he hollered, “Where the hell are the Lightnings?”

“They’re gear up forty-five seconds ago,” Flight Ops replied.

“Then where are they?” There were no jets showing on the situational map. Several squadrons of fighters should have been visible, streaking toward the location of Air Force One, but the map was unchanged.

“Air Force One,” Marquez said, assuming control of the situation without hesitation. “This is a verbal Alpha Flight Command Order from CiC Space-Command. You are to proceed at best speed to Schriever AFB. Observe Zero-Radio Protocol and contact Escort Flight Leader via laser LoS only. Confirm?”

“Confirm CiC Space Command. Laser LoS. Zero-Radio Protocol.” The pilot’s voice sounded tight, and the General knew that his heart had probably started pumping ice water to stay calm. He’d just received irrevocable orders, superseding any previous instructions. There was no way, short of the commencement of World War III, that the President was reachable until she was on the ground.

The General had just taken direct responsibility for the President’s aircraft. The last time a similar order was issued was during George W’s great escape, after the World Trade Center incident. This time, it might have been a little preemptive, but if this were indicative of Stormhaven’s technological ability, there might be nowhere on Earth that was beyond their reach.

Below him, the screen blinked, and the fighters appeared out of empty space, with Air Force One jumping almost forty miles from its last displayed position.

“Nice of you to give our toys back,” he grumbled.

***

Air Force One, over southern Colorado:

“We’ve been diverted?” Sylvia Hutton roared into the intercom. Her hair was dripping on the floor and she was nursing what felt like a broken elbow. The hot shower had been doing her some good, and she was finally starting to relax when the pilot started dancing across the sky like he thought he was in aerobatic school.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. We just got orders to put down at Schriever immediately,” the pilot said. “We’ve got a system-wide failure of our Situational Awareness Network and until they can figure it out, we need to get you on the ground.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she said, twisting to look at her arm, relieved to see the bones weren’t sticking out of the joint. She was only somewhat frustrated by the bruise developing on her fanny.

“I can’t really say for sure, Ma’am, but it looks like someone’s spoofing our satellites. We performed a couple maneuvers to test the data they were getting in Space Command. We flunked the test, so they decided we had to get you to a secure location. Pronto.”

“Just what we need, another damn problem.” She twisted around the other direction checking to make sure she didn’t have any more contusions, wincing in pain as her muscles protested the stretching. “Fine, just tell me before you decide to do any more barrel roles, ok Captain?”

“Yes Ma’am. I’d have to give the squadrons a chance to get out of the way anyhow,” he said dryly.

“Squadrons?” she asked.

“Yes Ma’am. If you look out your window, you can see we’ve got thirty-two Lightnings flying with us.”

“I’m not about to look out the window, Captain, I was in the shower and I’m still naked,” she said.

“Sorry Ma’am,” he said. Even though he never let it show in his voice, she knew he was laughing.

***

Stormhaven:

“I am sorry Mr. Taylor, but I believe the military detected me in their system,” Mica said, in what sounded like embarrassment.

“Do they know it was you?” Cole stood on the fabrication shop’s catwalk staring down at the
Dancing Star
where it hovered several feet above the floor. Daryl crawled under it with a micro-camera, thoroughly inspecting the hull damage for the first time.

“I can infer that they do,” the computer said. “Immediately after the flyover by the patrol aircraft, Agent Shapiro placed a call to Space Command. This was followed by a series of encrypted instructions to an aircraft that I later determined to be Air Force One.”

“So you screwed with the President?” Cole grinned in spite of the seriousness of the issue.

“Not intentionally, but they had a procedure to prove that the Situational Awareness data they were receiving was falsified. Unfortunately I did not decode the message for almost three seconds. By that time they had determined that they had been compromised.” Mica actually sounded ashamed. Its speech patterns had begun to develop inflection capable of conveying subtle meaning.

“So what are they doing about it?” Cole asked. His mind catalogued the idea that Mica’s emerging personality might be indicative of an error manifesting in the computer’s program.

“At this point in time, it appears that they are trying to trace the intrusion,” Mica said.

“What about the President?” he asked, far more interested in the long-term implications.

“Air Force One is en route to Schriever Air Force Base under heavy escort,” Mica reported, sounding much more normal now that the conversation was centered around factual data.

“Is there any reaction directed at us?” he asked, thinking about the possibility of retaliation.

“Not presently,” Mica said. “Based on analysis of previous response patterns, I estimate that they have a typical critical response threshold of eighteen to twenty-four hours. It is unlikely they can develop and execute any cohesive plan more rapidly than that timeframe.”

“Fine. Can you maintain surveillance of the defense networks without getting busted?” Cole asked, hoping that it wouldn’t be necessary to pull the computer back inside StormNet. Mica was probably the best hope they had of knowing what was coming.

“I can maintain passive monitoring of the defense systems without further risk of detection,” it said. “This incident is not an error that I will repeat."

“Good. Then keep me updated on anything that might be relevant.” Cole looked down at the floor and whistled. Daryl crawled out from under the ship.

“Yeah Boss? What do you need?” he hollered up at him.

“Drop what you’re doing,” Cole said, recognizing the frustration that played across Daryl’s features even from this distance. “We need to get those gravity lasers deployed, right now. We’ve got a boatload of bullshit about to be knocking at the door.”

***

Washington:

The small motorcade eased onto the empty parkway. Norman Anderson sat alone in the back of the limousine, watching the city. His eyes focused on the buildings, but his mind refused to recognize the landmarks, even though he’d spent most of his life traversing these streets.

Washington was the seat of real power, and so it had become the highest aspiration of his dreams. This city was the embodiment of everything that held value to him but at this moment, staring out the window he felt isolated from its living heartbeat. Held away by something more tangible than the bulletproof glass that, in its absolute clarity, still distorted his perception of the world. Perfectly transparent to the eyes, yet it reinforced the image of the world as a safe and secure place.

The Director of Homeland Security was on his way to the White House, knowing the President would never accept an apology for his actions, so he knew he was on his way to meet his destiny. Inside a rolling fortress of armored steel and impervious plastic, he sat trembling. Truth had finally broken into his sanctuary. One he’d faced from the beginning, but had never felt personally.

In front of him rode the usual police escort, followed by the Operations Command Vehicle and his limo. Trailing him were the Secret Service agents in their transport vehicle and two more police motorcycles. Ironically, tonight they were safer outside in the real world.

Norman thought about what they would see and hear in the coming months, whether this would all be worth it, and he felt the knot of fear increase again.

The bar in the limo was stocked with the finest liquor in the world, and he thought for the first time in his life about sampling it, to see if it actually had the anesthetic effect that made it the mainstay of political life. He reached out, picked up a bottle of old scotch and opened it. Breathing in its smooth fragrance he considered taking a deep swallow from the bottle, since he had nothing left to lose, but the words of the Prophet Joseph Smith came to him, even in this darkest hour. He replaced the crystal stopper, twisting it slowly to watch the dancing play of light across its intricate surface.

He’d spent much of his time over the last few days trying to reconcile his decision with Church Doctrine. Although he knew there was no LDS equivalent of purgatory, his actions were likely to land him on the doorstep of damnation. His concerns were not for his sake, but for those souls who were to be following him unknowingly. If he had done this alone, he would have been comforted by the simple truth that he was reaching for the greater good, but those unfortunate enough to be carried with him would be the undoing of his salvation.