Stormhaven Rising (Atlas and the Winds Book 1) (57 page)

He shook his head, but said nothing.

“If the President’s already made her power-grab, then we’re shit-out-of-luck,” Tom said. “There’s no more court of public opinion to hear our case. Hell, there might not even be a court of any type anymore.”

“I know that,” he said, walking back to the table and throwing himself into a chair. “I just can’t see that we’ve played out to a busted hand. There’re still too many cards in the deck to fold.”

“This isn’t a game. You’re not betting abstractions. You’re playing with lives here,” Viki said, sitting down across from him.

“I’m not losing touch with that,” Cole said. “Believe me, I know what’ll happen if I play this wrong.” His eyes were burning, and he stopped himself to take several deep breaths. “One shell from one of those 105’s on the roof of the Biome, and we’re screwed. I know that better than you do, Viki.” He’d had that nightmare in vivid color every night since the Guard first arrived.

“So what do we do?” Tom walked up behind his friend and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ve got to wait a little longer,” Cole said. “There’s too much at stake.”

“You’re right about that,” Viki said, flinging venom in her tone. “We’ve got ninety-six children in here. Kids, Colton. Right now you’re betting
their
lives that you’re going to pull a rabbit out of your ass. You’re not a fricking magician. You’re a gambler playing a bluff, and if you can’t get it to pay, there’s going to be a lot of blood.”

“He knows that,” Tom said, looking at her and shaking his head. “I really think he does. But he’s also trying to look at the big picture, the one we’ve all lost sight of because we’re staring down the barrel of those cannons out there.”

Cole could feel himself shaking. Not outwardly, but inside where he lived. The part of him no one had ever seen.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

***

Over the Western Pacific Ocean:

With new security procedures in the United States, it had taken a lot of effort to get a travel permit to enter the country, even for someone with the position of Takao Mito. Ambassador Kuromori, through a miracle of string-pulling and no small amount of called-in markers, had managed to set him up with a temporary diplomatic status and a posting to the Japanese Consulate in San Francisco.

The tension between the two nations was rising so fast, from the time the travel plans had been made to the actual beginning of his flight, it had been possible that he might not be allowed into the country. They’d made contingency plans to land in Vancouver just in case the situation continued to unravel.

The purpose of his flight was to try to meet with Colton Taylor and begin the reality of a working alliance. Even though he’d read over and agreed to the proposal that Kuromori had presented, he was still a bit skeptical of the Ambassador’s assessment of Stormhaven’s technical and production capacities. He traveled with Dr. Itaki and an entourage of engineers.

Reclining in the small office of the diplomatic shuttle, he scanned the latest report. Apparently there were hundreds of artillery pieces parked around Stormhaven, and the entire operation had been given to the military. The possibility that he would be allowed to meet with anyone from Stormhaven looked remote at best.

The report ended with a note from Kuromori reassuring him that the US Secretary of State was actively trying to resolve the issue, and that he had a high degree of personal faith in John Herman. It wasn’t comforting to think if the diplomats failed, their entire future might be destroyed along with Stormhaven.

His vidlink beeped and he glanced at the ID code. “Good afternoon Wilhelm,” he said, watching the face of the ESA Director materialize on the tiny screen. “Is it not the middle of the night there?”

“It is,” he said, “though I would guess that we have all been sleepless of late.”

“True enough,” Mito said. “Contemplating the end of humanity can be enough to keep even a narcoleptic up with worry.”

“I have spent the last several days consulting with Jonathon Merrill and Fahmi Sidris about how we might work towards normalization of relations with the United States Space Administration,” Schmidt said. “I would like your thoughts on that.”

“My government would have no interest in such an action,” Mito said, surprised at how easily the words came to him. “We are pursuing a new set of alliances that do not include the United States.”

“Surely you cannot be considering working with China?” the ESA director said, shock playing across his face.

“Of course not.” Mito smiled at the absurdity of Schmidt’s conclusion. “There are other players in the arena,” he said. “We are currently exploring a relationship outside the mainstream community.”

“Really? There are no other nations, with the exception of the Russians and China,” Wilhelm said.

“There are nongovernmental entities that are capable of deploying vehicles into space,” Mito said.

“You are talking about Stormhaven?” Schmidt asked.

“In fact I am,” the Japanese Director said. “We opened negotiations with them right after they launched. They have a very ambitious plan and have invited us to participate.”

“Can they possibly manifest enough resources to mount a viable alternative to the US effort?” Schmidt reached offscreen and pulled an epad in front of him to make notes.

“They are situated better than one would expect,” Mito said. “I am en route to their community to confirm what Sayo Itaki and Ambassador Kuromori have seen. If they are not overstating Stormhaven’s strength, then they might be our best hope."

“If this is true what would be your thinking?” the German asked.

“I believe our government intends to invite you to a meeting to discuss these options. Until then, I cannot disclose what is on the table.”

“Takao, we have known each other for decades. Surely you can let me in on what you have planned,” he said, looking over the top of his glasses at him like an old professor.

“I cannot. However, I suggest you be willing to consider possibilities well outside the realm of anything you have previously considered. If I can confirm what I have been told, then that which has been beyond imagining, is now within reach."

***

Camp Kryptonite:

When the military units had moved onto Stormhaven’s property to begin salvage of the fighter jet’s debris, their equipment had stopped operating. Without exception the engines had died on every Humvee. After the recovery of the pilot, no military vehicle had been able to keep running on Stormhaven land.

They’d pushed several of the Humvee off the property and when they reached the fence line they started up. They weren’t destroyed like the one that had been the first weapon test. They simply ceased to run.

Shapiro had warned the General that he might as well leave the trucks behind. When they all stopped at the same instant, and the com systems had failed with them, he’d shrugged and walked away.

The soldiers had to walk in and carry out the remains of the aircraft by brute force. Fortunately they’d been allowed that much. Marquez wanted a detailed analysis of what had happened as soon as he could get the experts to look over the wreckage. He was hoping something would be discovered to prove his hunch.

Hours later, Shapiro knew that Marquez thought he was ready. His uncertainty after the explosion of the patrol jet had been replaced by confidence. Nevertheless, in his bones Shapiro knew they were never going be ready, no matter how prepared they thought they were.

The two men stood staring through night vision glasses at the artillery units encircling the miles of fence line. “That ought to show Taylor we’re coming for him, whether he likes it or not,” the General said.

“You really don’t understand him, do you?” Shapiro said, looking at the General in amazement. “Colton Taylor doesn’t think like normal people do. He’s probably sitting in there right now, wondering how you’re going to react when they suck up your best shot and don’t even blink.”

“Doug,” Marquez said. “You really believe that we’re not going to be able to take him out? I’m absolutely certain that he doesn’t have enough of whatever mojo he used on that jet to stop thousands of simultaneous projectiles.”

“If your goal is simply to turn Stormhaven into a smoking crater, you might be right,” Shapiro said. “Though I think that would be a huge waste of a potential resource.”

“I agree,” the General said. “If they don’t back down, the first several hours of attack are going to be diversionary and psychological. We’re going to pound the ground around them. Hopefully it’ll soften their will and give them a chance to convince Taylor that they need to end this. I’m counting on somebody in there having a lot more force over his thinking than you and I do.”

“You’re planning to scare them out?” Shapiro said. “I’d bet you’re not thinking far enough outside the box. He’s going to come at you sideways before you even get the chance to launch your first volley."

“We’ll see—“

“General Marquez,” DeMarko said from the darkness behind them. “You’ve got the White House online. The President wants to talk to you.”

“She’s probably wanting a progress report,” he said, turning to trot back inside.

“Hey boss, got a minute?” DeMarko asked, coming up to stand beside him. “I think the General’s about to get the rug pulled out from under him,” he said.

“Why do you say that?” he asked. “I thought it was her idea to bomb Stormhaven back to the dark ages.”

“When I picked up the call, her first question was whether he’d started the operation yet. When I told her that he was waiting for the deadline, she said she was relieved to hear that."

“Oh he’s going to be tickled shitless over that,” Shapiro said.

“That’s what I thought too,” he said, handing him a small flask. “Let him have a belt of that. It’ll ease the pain.” Hearing the sound of the General coming out into the night air, DeMarko headed off toward the mess tent.

Marquez came back to where he’d been standing without saying a word. His breathing was steady, but Shapiro could tell what had happened.

“She pulled the plug?” he asked.

The General grunted something that sounded like a confirmation.

“You might as well get used to it,” the agent said, offering him DeMarko’s flask. “He’s never where you think he is, and just when you feel like you might have him cornered, he comes around and bites you on the ass."

“Fuck you,” Marquez took a heavy draw and gasped as it hit bottom. “Just fuck you."

***

The Dragon Awakes

Washington:

Al Stanley was sitting in the President’s office, staring out the window at the Secret Service agent who was watching the gardener running the lawnmower. He was carrying a machine gun. It struck him as strangely funny, with all the things going on, somebody had remembered to reseed the grass. It was still cold enough that the winter rye was green and the summer fescue hadn’t started taking over, but springtime was just around the corner and the sky was blue. At least superficially, it was business as usual outside the White House.

Inside though, the pressure was crushing, and Al’s heart had been telling him about it. His cardiologist, who knew nothing about the situation, was begging him to step down before he dropped dead. His wife was begging him too, but she knew the truth, so her pleas were edged with something else. Something like finality.
Please step down now, so we can spend what time we have left, together.

He understood, but he couldn’t. Not until after they’d launched The Hammer. Then maybe he could breathe. But not now. Not yet.

He surreptitiously popped another nitro under his tongue, and gritted his teeth waiting for the pounding in his chest to pass. He could feel his focus returning as the pain eased.

“Al, are you ok?” Sylvia asked. She knew his secret, and had promised to respect his decision to stick it out, but her face showed her concern.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, smiling and trying to look more normal than he felt. “I guess I was daydreaming.”

Secretary Worthington rolled his eyes. “Perhaps you should try to sleep at night,” he said.

“That’s easier said than done,” the President said, coming to his defense. “Anyway, we were wondering if there’s a projected launch date?” Her eyes still showed that she was worried about him.

“Not yet,” he said. “We’ve got it down to a two-week period toward the end of August. It’s really a matter of how long it’ll take to assemble the components at the ISS. Commander Rutledge has said that he thinks the crew isn’t progressing fast enough. He’s working them daily, but it’s slow going.”

“Have they actually begun to fabricate the missile?” Dick Rogers asked.

“The orbital components? Not yet,” he said. “They’re working on their training project. We’re also having some problems with NASA personnel. It’s not major yet, but Director Lange is saying we’re pushing his people past the point where it’s having an effect on safety.