Chapter 3 #2
“It’s simple,” Kurt said. “These men hijacked the EAGL only after they were fully convinced it was operational. They killed the crew, shot down the F-35s, and took out the E-6 radar plane to clear their path. They did all that as a warning to the Air Force: Come up and challenge us and we’ll turn your squadrons into heaps of molten metal.
A warning the general took to heart. They then turned toward Murmansk, while switching off every system in the plane that would allow you to track them, including the APX-9 radar, which as you said stood out like a man in a dark field wielding a bright flashlight.
It’s the last act that gives them away.”
“How so?” the President asked.
“As long as the targeting radar is operational, they’re invulnerable,” Kurt said.
“Turning it off gives us the chance to mount up and scramble a few squadrons or at the very least attack them with surface-to-air missiles. It also leaves them in the dark as to our actions, creating a guessing game they don’t need.
If they truly wanted to reach Russia, they’d leave the radar on until they entered Russian airspace, at which point going after them would bring about World War Three.
Which means the only reason to turn the APX-9 off is so they could run and hide somewhere else. ”
“So, the turn toward Murmansk is designed to throw us off the trail,” the President said, following Kurt’s line of reasoning. “Tap into our greatest fear and get us looking in the wrong place. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Exactly,” Kurt said. “They wanted you to think they were headed to Russia. Otherwise, they’d have switched the radar off before they made the turn.”
Kurt left it at that. He expected there would be those in the crowd who scoffed at his analysis, but he knew the logic was sound and he wasn’t there to score points with anyone.
Low-level discussions broke out around the room. The chief of staff leaned toward the President and whispered something in his ear. They seemed to argue. Eventually the President shook him off and turned his attention back to Kurt. “Austin…is it?”
“That’s right,” Kurt said.
“The same Austin who stopped some mad airship tycoon from dusting Guantánamo Bay with toxic gas a few years ago, and who was instrumental in destroying a rogue artificial intelligence entity that had come to life in the Indian Ocean this time last year?”
Kurt nodded. It seemed that the President knew of his adventures. Briefings from Sandecker probably helped in that regard, although both incidents involved the type of world-altering events that any sitting President would have been aware of.
“I had something to do with preventing the attack on Guantánamo,” Kurt admitted. “As for the artificial intelligence incident…I’ve always been hard on computers. Can’t keep a laptop working for more than six months at a time.”
The President allowed himself a modest grin, which was significant considering the circumstances. “All right, Austin,” he said, growing stern once again. “I’m listening. Tell me more. If the EAGL isn’t in Russia, then where do you suggest it went?”
Kurt glanced at the map. The Arctic Ocean and Barents Sea didn’t offer much in the way of safe landing spots.
Bear Island was an uninhabited spot of land right in the middle of the search zone, but it was a rugged, rocky place that jutted from the ocean like a mountain poking up through the clouds.
It would be all but impossible to put down there without a disaster.
The Svalbard archipelago was farther north.
Its various islands offered plenty of snow-covered terrain to choose from, but a couple thousand Norwegians lived there, along with scientists from a dozen countries whose stations dotted the far reaches of the place.
Greenland was out of range. Iceland was closer. But the tiny island was a hub of activity and not the type of place one could sneak a missing military transport into without being spotted. Not with NATO forces on the lookout for it.
Kurt shrugged. “It’s a lot easier to say where a missing thing isn’t, than guessing where it actually is. But I expect you’ll find it on some flat piece of land in the middle of nowhere, covered in nets and foliage in an attempt to hide it from view.”
At this the Air Force general redirected the conversation.
“With all due respect to Mr. Austin’s theory, we’ve had satellites scanning every square inch of open terrain in the aircraft’s range.
Every island. Every field. Every empty highway and abandoned air base.
We’ve found no sign of it. No heat plumes from the engines, no smoking craters to suggest it crashed.
No sign of it whatsoever. If the aircraft is on the ground, then it’s hidden in a hangar somewhere. And that brings us back to Russia.”
The President nodded thoughtfully before turning to the CIA director. “Carson,” the President said, using the DCI’s first name. “What do you have?”
The DCI cleared his throat and then spoke up.
“I would have to agree with Austin,” he said reluctantly.
“We don’t think the plane is in Russia. There’s no sign of increased signals to and from Moscow.
Nothing to suggest any sense of celebration or glee within the higher levels of their command structure.
On the ground floor, we’ve seen no unusual activity at any Russian air base.
A large American aircraft coming in from the northwest at low altitude would set off all kinds of alarm bells once it got close enough to appear on radar. ”
“Not if they knew it was coming,” someone suggested.
“In which case they would send up fighters to escort the hijackers in. Both to keep us from attempting to shoot the plane down and to keep the hijackers from changing their minds.”
The President concurred. “Standard procedure, but it didn’t occur.”
“No, it didn’t, Mr. President. Furthermore, we’ve seen nothing in Murmansk to indicate any hangar large enough to hide the C-17 has been put into special use.
No signs of increased vehicle and foot traffic—which we would expect to see as Russian experts and intelligence personnel gathered at an airport to study the newly arrived plane.
No signs of other planes being pushed out onto the ramp to make room for a larger aircraft.
What we do see is business as usual. The Russians are busy winterizing their fleet this time of year.
Buttoning things up. Putting things away.
Packing the hangars to the gills with vulnerable aircraft and locking the doors and windows.
There’s nothing to indicate them doing anything special to make room for the EAGL. ”
The President was feeling more confident as the meeting went on. Perhaps his worst fears had been avoided. “So, it’s not in a Russian hangar, and not anywhere out on open terrain. That leaves only one possibility. The aircraft went down over the ocean. Do we have anything to support this?”
At this the director of the National Reconnaissance Office chimed in. The NRO was in charge of America’s spy satellites, collecting and disseminating information to the various military branches and intelligence agencies.
“There is one thing,” he began slowly, “one possible piece of evidence to suggest the aircraft hit the sea. Though I’m not sure we should fully rely on it.”
“Give it to us,” the President ordered.
“Approximately two hours after the hijacking, one of our satellites picked up an unusual radio signal in the Barents Sea. It was a continuous burst on multiple frequencies at the same instant. It lasted only three-quarters of a second and then vanished. No intelligible data was recovered, but the recorded frequencies match up precisely with systems used on the C-17.”
“What are you trying to tell us?” the President asked.
“It might be nothing,” the NRO’s director said.
“It could be a fisherman thumbing his radio switches in the middle of the night or a malfunction on some nearby container ship. But it’s possible that we picked up what’s known as an ‘impact jam signal.’ An erroneous radio burst triggered during a crash when radios and other equipment are exposed to powerful destructive forces.
It’s thought to occur as the impact shatters equipment, causing the remaining standby energy in the circuits to be channeled through the transmitters.
Think of it as an electronic shout from a dying machine. ”
The President nodded. “And this ‘jam signal’ would suggest the plane crashed?”
“Possibly,” the NRO’s director said. “But—and I cannot stress this enough—I would not label this a high-reliability indicator.”
Kurt saw the President’s face change even as the NRO’s director warned him not to put too much stock in what they’d picked up. The President wanted to believe it, he needed to believe it. In his mind it was the proverbial smoking gun.
“Where did this transmission occur?” the President asked.
“Only one station picked it up,” the director admitted, “which prevents us from triangulating its exact location. And that gives us a line to draw on the map, instead of a single point.”
The mild-mannered director tapped on the computer terminal in front of him and the line appeared on the map for everyone to see.
It ran diagonally from a spot in the middle of the Barents Sea, up to the northwest, terminating twelve miles short of an island chain known as Franz Josef Land.
To everyone’s dismay, a red flag labeled the islands as Russian possessions.
At no point however did the signal cross the land.
The President turned back to the Air Force general, who’d conducted the briefing. “Could the aircraft survive intact if it hit the sea?”
“Doubtful,” the general told him.
“Why not?” the President said, pressing him. “A few years ago, someone landed a plane on the Hudson River. It came down in one piece.”
“A river is child’s play in comparison to the ocean,” the general said.
“The Barents Sea sports large waves, floating chunks of ice, and swaths of fog that stretch for miles. Landing safely on its surface would be extremely unlikely. Hitting it and flipping or breaking apart is a much more plausible result.”
“Would that destroy the plane?” the President asked hopefully.
“It would be rendered inoperative,” the general said, “but it’s possible that the top secret components would remain intact and retrievable.”
Exactly what no one wanted.
The President turned back to Kurt. “NUMA,” he said, “what kind of depth are we talking about here?”
Kurt knew what the President wanted to hear, but it wasn’t in the cards.
“Unfortunately, Mr. President, the waters of the Barents Sea are relatively shallow. It can be described as a tabletop between the deeper waters of the Arctic and the Atlantic Ocean. Depths probably average no more than seven hundred feet along the route indicated by the signal line. In some places less.”
“So not deep enough?”
“No,” Kurt said bluntly. “Not deep enough at all.”
The President had heard enough. He turned to the ranking Navy officials.
“Okay, gentlemen,” he said. “I don’t have to tell you how important this aircraft is to the future security of this nation.
It’s the one weapon that can protect us from a nuclear onslaught without having to retaliate by frying the rest of the world.
It’s the first brick in a wall that will keep us safer than we’ve been in a hundred years.
If the Russians or Chinese or any other enemies of ours get ahold of it, we’ll have lost an advantage that should last us ten years.
If Russia had such a weapon they might be inclined to attack Europe knowing they were safe from retaliation.
If the Chinese had a fleet of these planes, Taiwan, Japan, and South Korea would be swept into their clutches while we stood by unable to get enough weapons onto their targets to make much of a difference.
This EAGL is our strategic advantage, and I want it found or destroyed beyond recognition. ”
The Navy’s assistant chief of staff was present. He cleared his throat. “Mr. President, we have oceangoing salvage assets in Norfolk that could sail within twenty-four hours.”
“How long would it take them to reach the search area?”
The reply was disheartening. “These are not fast ships, Mr. President. We’re looking at eight, maybe nine days until they’re in the on-site.”
At this the CIA director interjected. “Mr. President, may I suggest not sending the Navy’s main salvage team to the area.
At least not toward the signal line. All it would do is telegraph what we know to the Russians, who at this point seem to be aware that something has happened, but are currently focused on missing F-35s. ”
The President grasped the logic. A secret operation would be preferable.
He turned slowly back to the man who’d given him some hope in the matter.
He almost seemed pleased that the options had presented themselves in this manner.
“Sandecker is always telling me that you NUMA guys have ships everywhere. Is this true?”
“Not everywhere, Mr. President,” Kurt said. “But as fate would have it, there’s a NUMA vessel looking for the wreck of a World War Two U-boat off the coast of Norway right now. Several good friends of mine are on board.”
“Perfect,” the President said. “In fact, it couldn’t be more perfect. I want you to get yourself to Norway and start looking for that aircraft.”
“And when we find it?”
The President grinned at Austin’s confident nature. “We’ll let you know. But I would plan on being able to recover it or blow it to a thousand pieces.”
Kurt nodded his understanding and stepped back. As he did, Sandecker shot him a look that said, Well done. He remained eminently proud of the organization he’d built, having instilled an unflinching attitude into NUMA’s core.
Kurt couldn’t have agreed more. The fact was he’d rather take on a high-stakes mission than attend a boring party any day. To that end, he made a mental note: the next time Pitt and Gunn left the office together, he was going to get as far away from Washington as fast as he possibly could.