who had accompanied the President remained standing, their hard eyes boring holes into the Justice Department man.
“All right, here it is. At 0214 hrs this morning the entire nuclear stockpile of tactical nuclear bombs exploded at White Sands, New Mexico,” the President said, passing over a manila file colored a deep crimson.
“Obviously not an accident,” Brognola stated, accepting the folder. On the front were stamped the words, Top Secret, but the color alone was enough identify the high-level security status of the file.
“No, it was not an accident, nor a traitor or an enemy spy that infiltrated the laboratory.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” Carefully pressing his thumb to the sensor pad of the small explosive device locking the folder, Brognola impatiently waited until he heard a beep, then he slid off the explosive charge and opened the folder. There were a lot of documents carrying the Top Secret notice, along with a bevy of high-altitude surveillance photographs carrying the NSA emblem. There was a lot of technical jargon that the big Fed skimmed, along with a summary from the Pentagon noting the nuke signatures. Brognola knew that every type of nuclear explosive in the world had a unique chemical signature to its blast, sort of like fingerprints, the composite metal carried trace elements of their origins. An expert looking at the spectrograph of a nuclear explosion could tell with absolute certainty which country had made the bomb. Once again, this was old technology, tried and true, proved a hundred times over.
Scanning the summary, the big Fed slowly began to frown. He had expected to find one foreign nuke signature among the roll call of American bombs. But it wasn’t there. The White Sands base had not been hit with a nuke that set off a chain reaction among the arsenal of weapons in storage. The first blast had occurred deep underground. The side caverns built to absorb nuclear detonations had done their job and kept the explosions from reaching the surface. Unfortunately, there had been half a dozen tactical nukes being loaded onto some trucks to be shipped the Sixth carrier fleet in the Persian Gulf. Those blasts had to have been visible for miles. There was a small note on the side that a perimeter guard pretending to be a park ranger had called in the blast before going off the air. No remains had been found to date, but the search would continue. To everybody else in New Mexico the incident was being hushed up as an earthquake.
Poor bastard probably saw the actually blasts, Brognola thought. If so, there’s not going to be enough of him remaining to fill an eyedropper. But the military took care of their own, and whatever could be located would be given a proper funeral. How the living treat their fallen soldiers was the hallmark of any civilization.
“Every bomb in the place,” the big Fed said out loud, placing aside the folder. “How is that possible?”
“We have absolutely no idea,” the President said honestly, crossing his leg at the knee. “According to the security records recovered from the off-site bunker a hundred miles away, the status of the base was normal. There were no known intruders, no unusual incidents, nobody was acting oddly, no…nothing.” He shrugged. “The entire arsenal of nuclear weapons simply detonated at exactly the same moment.”
“All of them? Exactly?”
“All of the live bombs, yes. Thankfully the hydrogen bombs are kept disassembled for safety concerns, and only the cores exploded, but there were no thermonuclear reactions.” The President recalled how surprised he had been to learn that a tactical nuke was basically the same type of weapon America had dropped on Japan at the end of World War II. In government slang, those were called atomic bombs by the old guard. But wrap a jack of heavy water around the core, add some tritium injectors and the atomic explosion became a thermonuclear reaction a thousand times more powerful. It was sort of like using a firecracker to set off a stick of TNT. The analogy didn’t quite hold, but was close enough to the truth to serve as a nontechnical explanation to most folks. Sure as hell worked for him.
“Son of a bitch,” Brognola muttered, loosening his necktie. “Sir, we’re in deep shit.”
“I concur, my old friend. The deepest shit imaginable.” Accepting a cup of coffee from an aide, the President took a sip and made a face. Reaching out, he added more milk and sugar. It wasn’t his first cup today, and far from the last.
“So there’s more,” Brognola said, reading the expression on the man’s face. “Okay, let me have it, sir.”
“At precisely the same time as our incident, the exact same time, I might add, the Russian Kornevko Nuclear Repository in northern Siberia, and an Israeli Tomcat jet fighter carrying a Class 2 tactical nuclear missile also exploded without known reason or cause.”
Sitting back in his chair, Brognola exhaled deeply. The military had a saying about such things. Once can be an accident, twice may be a coincidence, but three times is always enemy action.
“It seems that some group has found a way to remote detonate nuclear weapons,” the big Fed said, his stomach tightening into a knot from the words.
“Unfortunately, that is also our opinion on the matter.”
“Anything from the TDT?” Brognola asked pointedly, laying aside the report.
“Sadly, no. And the Joint Chiefs checked with the Theatrical Danger Team immediately. Normally the TDT has got a plan for damn well everything, but this time…”
“Nothing?”
“Exactly.”
“And the vice president must have checked with the AEC, CIA…” Brognola pursed his lips, mentally running through the entire catalog of alphabet agencies. Then he shifted mental gears. The facts were plain. Nobody in America must have any idea how the weapons were triggered, or else the President would not have summoned me, the Justice man thought. Fair enough.
“I’ll assume that we are quickly disassembling our stockpiles?” Brognola asked, reaching for a cup of coffee.
“Across the board. Oak Ridge, Paris Island, San Diego, Fort Bragg, Arctic Base One, aircraft carriers, submarines…” The President made a circular gesture to indicate the all-inclusive process.
“I’m surprised the bastards didn’t hit Oak Ridge first,” Brognola admitted. “Maybe the enemy is not as good as we fear.”
“Oh, they might have,” the President admitted honestly. “But where the Oak Ridge Nuclear Weapons and Storage facility is located on the map—and where it is actually located—are two entirely different things. The atomic lab is well hidden, as protection from the old Soviet Union from blowing it out of existence.”
Really? That was news to him.
“Certainly served us well enough today. If their stockpile of hydrogen bombs had detonated, half of the nation would be dying right about now from the radioactive fallout.” Then Brognola frowned. “Any reactions from the nuclear power stations?”
“Thankfully, there was not, especially since all of those are near major cities,” the President said, obviously pleased how fast the man thought.
“So this trigger effect only works on weapons, eh?” the big Fed mused, rubbing his chin. “That’s something, at least.”
“Unless the effect that set off the bombs does not work on power plants.”
“Because
