Contagious Page 20

“We have to acknowledge the possibility that we won’t see a construct in time,” Murray said. “If that happens, it will open up and deliver that initial beachhead force. We don’t know what kind of weaponry or technology we’ll be dealing with at that point. We have to have this level of response in order to take out both the construct and the enemy force.”

“This is insane,” Vanessa said.

“It was approved by President Hutchins,” Murray said.

“Hutchins isn’t the president anymore,” Vanessa said. “John Gutierrez is.”

Murray nodded. “And the orders of a former president stand until the current president gives new orders.”

Vanessa turned to face Gutierrez. “So give a new order, Mister President,” she said. “Call this whole thing off.”

Gutierrez sat back in his chair. “These conventional bombs Ogden ordered, what kind of hardware are we talking about?”

General Luis Monroe, the air force’s top man, spoke for the first time. “The GBU-31, version three, is a two-thousand-pound bomb. It’s a bunker-buster, biggest thing we’ve got short of a nuke. The blast will kill everything within a hundred and ten feet of the point of impact and will cause casualties at over a hundred yards. Total blast radius is about four thousand feet.”

“A radius of four thousand feet?” Vanessa said. “But . . . that’s a diameter of a mile and a half.”

Monroe nodded. “They’ve worked very well in Iraq and Iran. If it was daylight, the smoke cloud would be visible from twenty miles. All the surrounding towns will feel the impact, probably think it’s a minor tremor.”

“How the h.e.l.l are we going to keep that secret?” Vanessa asked.

“I have a prepared cover story,” Murray said. “This is a very rural area, remote, so it’s feasible a terrorist cell set up a bomb-building facility. We learned about it, determined it was possible they were building a dirty bomb, so we sent in the F-15Es to take it out. A dirty bomb is a radiation threat, so we can lock down a large area while we investigate. Everyone wins—intelligence got the info, executive branch reacted definitively, military took out the terrorists.”

All eyes watched Murray. The Joint Chiefs weren’t surprised; they’d seen him do things like this before. Donald Martin didn’t look surprised, either. Working his way up to secretary of defense, he’d undoubtedly seen such lies. Gutierrez, Vanessa and Tom Maskill, however, looked astonished.

“Domestic or international terrorists?” Gutierrez asked.

Murray shrugged. “Whichever you prefer, Mister President. I have an extensive background developed for a white supremacist group, if you want to go that route. Or we can go Al-Qaeda. Your call.”

Gutierrez rubbed his hands together slowly as he thought.

“Let’s do the white supremacists,” he said. “I can’t have foreigners building a bomb on U. S. soil.”

“Yes, Mister President,” Murray said. “I can make that work.”

“John,” Vanessa said, astonished. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re going to let those jets drop bombs and lie to the American people about it?”

All around the table, eyebrows raised at her use of the president’s first name. She didn’t seem to notice. Neither did Gutierrez.

“I just don’t know what choice we have,” he said.

“We have the choice of telling the truth and trusting the people,” Vanessa said.

General Cooper laughed at her. “Ma’am, with all due respect, where did you learn about the world, from a game of Candy Land? We’re talking aliens and intergalactic gates, caused by an infection that starts as a G.o.dd.a.m.n skin rash. We tell the people about this and the country will disentegrate in total chaos.”

“I disagree,” Vanessa said. “The people will come together for this.”

Cooper laughed again and started to say something back, but Murray interrupted.

“We need a decision,” he said. The screen behind the president changed from a static picture of the gate to a high-alt.i.tude c.o.c.kpit-cam shot. The cool blacks and blues of a frozen Wisconsin forest raced by. A few spots glowed white as the plane pa.s.sed over houses.

“The Strike Eagles will commence their bomb run in two minutes, Mister President,” Murray said. “If you want to call this off, you have to say so right now.”

Gutierrez sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. He let out a heavy sigh and looked at the ceiling. Murray could sympathize. Carrying out an executive order that could result in civilian deaths was one thing; being the guy to give that order, that was another.

The main flat-panel monitor flared with a new light—the construct had just started to glow.

“d.a.m.n,” Gutierrez said. “How long do we have, Murray?”

“Based on Wahjamega, maybe fifteen minutes. We’re just not sure, Mister President.”

Gutierrez nodded. “If we drop these bombs, how many people do you think could die? Off the record. Just give it to me straight.”

Murray shrugged. “If we’re lucky, none that aren’t already infected. It’s a very remote area, so if we’re unlucky, ten at the very most.”

Gutierrez nodded. “Proceed with the bombing. Get Tom a briefing paper that covers the high points of your cover story. Call a press conference for eight A.M. Donald, General Barnes, you’ll be with me for that conference.” He turned in his chair to watch the bomb run.

Vanessa wasn’t watching the screens. She was watching Murray. All the values Gutierrez had espoused while running for office had just taken a backseat to reality. In her idealistic mind, she probably blamed Murray for that. Too bad, so sad—the president was making the right choice for the country, and she’d just have to deal with it.

Within seconds the screen’s cool blacks and blues revealed a white dot. That dot quickly grew in size. It was a little shaky, a little grainy, but there was no mistaking the construct’s definitive fishbone shape.