“Want to ask him, Mr. Vice President?” Ann asked. A few moments later, Patrick appeared on-screen beside her.
“I didn’t know you were sitting there, Patrick,” Phoenix said perturbedly. “You know better than to have unauthorized persons on a secure videoconference, Madam Undersecretary. You, too, General Raydon.”
“Patrick’s expertise was crucial to discovering both the DF-21 and Russian netrusion attacks, sir,” Kai said.
“So he’s seen the data from the Kingfisher satellite, too?” the vice president asked incredulously. “That’s classified, too, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You have the authority to raise my security clearance level or adjust the classification level of the data, sir,” Patrick said. “It’s been done before.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass, Patrick,” the vice president said. “I also have the authority to send you to federal prison without charges in the interest of national security. Want me to do that?”
“Sorry, sir. But you realize just as we do that although we might not have court-of-law evidence, we do have more than enough information to show Russia and China are conspiring to degrade or destroy the Space Defense Force. They might not stop at shooting at interceptor garages next time.”
“I think the president expects that the Russians and Chinese want a sense of parity with the United States, and this antisatellite stuff is it,” Phoenix said. “Just like nukes during the Cold War, they’ll build up a credible enough force and claim military-superpower status.”
“The difference is, sir, that the United States didn’t do away with its nukes once we found out the Russians and Chinese were building them,” Ann Page said. “We built more, and then we started to design an advanced antiballistic-missile system to protect ourselves. China gave up the nuke race, and Russia went bankrupt trying to keep up. But this time, President Gardner wants to do away with our antisatellite weapons in the hopes of convincing all nations to do the same, which gives our adversaries the advantage. It doesn’t make sense.”
“He’s the commander in chief, Madam Undersecretary,” Phoenix said. “It’s his call.”
“What do you think, sir?” Patrick asked.
“Doesn’t matter, does it, General McLanahan?” Phoenix replied stonily.
“So…that’s it, sir?” Ann asked, shaking her head. “We found information that points to Russian and Chinese active attacks on our space systems, including an attack that caused the death of an American astronaut, and the president will do nothing?” She sat back in her seat, then put her hands on the edge of the table at which she was seated, as if bracing herself. “I…I can’t work for this administration, Mr. Vice President. I am going to submit my resignation to the secretary of the Air Force today.”
“Think about it first, Dr. Page,” Phoenix said. “Look at the incredible accomplishments you’ve made in the Space Defense Force over the past three years. Despite the president’s and Congress’s decision to rely more on carrier-based naval power, you’ve managed to build a robust satellite-based strategic defense, communications, reconnaissance, and strike force. You didn’t expect it to be smooth sailing each and every year, did you?”
“I dealt with the politics for years in the Senate, and I know that politics and not the real world are influencing the president’s decisions now,” Ann said. “When being a globalist and appeaser is more important than even a single American life, I don’t want to be part of that administration. Good day, Mr. Vice President.” And at that, Ann Page stood and walked out of camera view.
“I’ll talk to her again, Mr. Vice President,” Patrick said.
“Do that, but I don’t think it’ll make any difference,” Phoenix said, shaking his head. “Thanks for the information, guys. Keep me informed, and I’ll let you know if anything changes from the White House. When do you go back to the station, General?”
“Not for about three weeks, sir,” Kai said. “Mandatory Earth reacclimation.”
“Let’s hope nothing else happens before you get back,” the vice president said. “How about Mr. Noble?”
“He’s grounded for at least six weeks, sir. He’ll take a couple weeks off for leave, then come back and work in ground control, instruct in the simulator, help the engineers work on propulsion and other technical problems, that sort of thing.”
“Well-deserved rest for both of you. Thanks again.” He terminated the videoconference, sat thinking for a few moments, then turned to Tim and asked, “Your thoughts, Mr. Dobson?”
“I’ll have to study up on this netrusion technology,” Tim said, “but the Russians have been hacking into U.S. government computer networks for years. The CIA alone probably gets a thousand serious attempts every day just from Russia, and I know most are either sponsored, directed, or actually undertaken by the FSB.” The FSB, or Federal Security Bureau, was the new name of the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, or KGB, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics ’ internal and foreign spy agency-but in fact their activities had hardly changed from the darkest days of the Cold War. “So they definitely have the technology. I didn’t know you could do it over the air from such long distances, but if we can do it they probably can, too.
“The sensor on the weapon garages would be the best way to collect the intrusion signal, especially if it’s a narrow focused beam aimed directly at the satellite,” the young CIA administrator went on. “But we might be able to collect the signal from the ground with a sensor placed on the transmitting dish. Murmansk and Kamchatka would be hard to penetrate; Socotra Island and Venezuela would be easier.” He smiled and added, “Of course, if you could get a couple of those Cybernetic Infantry Devices or the other armored infantry guys General McLanahan was using-”
“The Tin Men.”
“That’s it, sir. One of those guys could probably do the job. Bring one Tin Man and one CID robot and you could probably set up a spy sensor on the top onion dome of the Kremlin.”
The vice president fell silent again; he then nodded, and his eyes had a new fire in them. “I have a new project for you, Mr. Dobson,” he said, a mischievous smile growing on his face.
Tim smiled in return. “Yes, Mr. Vice President,” he said. “I’m in.”
“Good.” Phoenix picked up the phone, and a few moments later Patrick McLanahan’s image reappeared on the videoconference monitor. “Where are you, Patrick?” he asked.
“ Sunnyvale, California, sir.”
“More importantly: Do you have any CIDs and Tin Men available?” He noticed Patrick glancing at Dobson, then said, “This is Tim Dobson, CIA, on my space-policy-review panel; I just enlisted him to plan a few other projects for me.”
“As you know, sir, all but one of the CIDs were destroyed in Iraq, and the survivor was badly damaged,” Patrick said after a slight hesitation. “It was confiscated by the Army, including all remaining weapon packs and the electromagnetic rail guns. They also took possession of all of the remaining Tin Man suits, including battery packs.”
The vice president smiled. “Mr. Dobson is okay, Patrick.”
Patrick still didn’t look convinced, but after a few additional moments of consideration, he said, “Jon Masters has a number of operational Tin Man outfits and a few more in various stages of completion. He’s made a few design changes, incorporating what he learned working with the CID units.”
“What about the CID units, Patrick?” the vice president asked. “Is anyone building them anymore?”
“I don’t believe Dr. Masters has any CIDs-that wasn’t a Sky Masters creation,” Patrick explained. “The Air Battle Force bought the last remaining units, the ones used in Iraq.”
“If the Air Force bought them, General McLanahan, how did Scion Aviation International, the contracting group you headed, get them?” Dobson asked.
Patrick glanced at Dobson, hesitated again, then decided to ignore the question. “I know Colonel Jason Richter and Lieutenant Colonel Charlie Turlock at the Army Transformational Battlelab were in charge of what remained of the CID project now at Aberdeen Proving Ground,” he said, “but I haven’t been in contact for some time.”