“They entered the containment lab! They saw the anomaly!” Forrestal thundered.
Danny’s heart was pounding like a drum corps in his chest, but he kept his composure. “They performed far better than anticipated. In fact, I’m going to have words with the security detail today about that. As for what they saw, they caught barely a glimpse and have zero understanding of it. I do not consider this a security breach.”
“The security detail wasn’t notified about this exercise,” Vandenberg pointed out.
“And they won’t be notified when it’s the real thing. This is, after all, supposed to be the most secure facility in the United States. Sir.”
For a moment, Vandenberg seemed ready to raise his voice a notch but apparently thought better of it. “Fair point, Commander.”
There was a long, awkward silence, Forrestal staring daggers at Danny and Vandenberg looking at his hands folded in his lap.
“So, what else can I do for you, Mr. Secretary? General?” Danny asked.
“When’s your report on the training exercise going to be ready?” the general asked.
“Later today. I need to further debrief the Variants once they’ve gotten some sleep.”
“I want to be there for the debrief,” Forrestal demanded.
“Of course, Mr. Secretary. Shall we?”
Forrestal and Vandenberg stood and headed out of the office, with Danny a few paces behind; he needed to grab a couple aspirin from his desk and dry-swallow them before he could continue. Once in the main office area, he saw Forrestal chatting with Andy Anderson, the Marine trainer, who nodded and smiled as he shook the secretary’s hand.
And that’s why they showed up at the worst possible time, Danny realized.
When the two VIPs walked outside, Danny stalked up to Anderson and shoved him up against the plywood wall of the offices. Or tried to — the shove didn’t really move Anderson much.
“What the hell, Andy!” he growled, anger overcoming discretion and a fifty-pound weight difference. “You just went over my head?”
Anderson, to his credit, didn’t immediately roll Danny into a small, bloody ball of meat. “I work for the Corps and DoD, Commander. Not CIA,” he hissed.
Danny shoved Anderson again. “What about them? You’ve been training them for weeks now! Forrestal gets his way, they’ll be chained up like dogs until we need ’em!”
Anderson finally pushed Danny back, the force of which sent the smaller man into a desk. “And maybe they should be! You’ve seen what they can do! Honestly, it scares the shit out of me, no matter how goddamn nice they are! All four of them slipped the leash last night, and where were you?!”
Danny straightened up. “Training exercise, Captain, and they fucking won. Where were you, anyway? They slipped right out of the pen and you were, what, sleeping? Jacking off to the girly mags?”
Anderson lashed out, grabbing Danny by his jacket lapels and lifting him high, to the point where he was barely on tiptoes. “Say that again, Navy man, and I’ll rip your fucking head off.”
Despite an inability to move or resist, Danny stared directly into Anderson’s eyes. “Captain, unhand me right now and report to the security chief to be confined to quarters until further notice. You’re under arrest for failure to adhere to the chain of command, gross insubordination, and attacking a superior officer. Dismissed.”
The look on Anderson’s face turned from anger to a mix of anguish and fury, but he slowly lowered Danny to the ground, giving him one final shove as the two airmen in the office stood — hopefully to back Danny’s play, but he couldn’t be sure. They simply stood there, aghast, at the sight of two officers almost duking it out and probably wondering just how much of the exchange they’d be ordered to forget.
“Aye aye, sir,” Anderson spat before wheeling on his heel and stalking out of the building.
Danny straightened his jacket and nodded toward the airmen.
“You want us to escort him, sir?” one asked.
He stuffed his trembling hands in his pockets and shook his head. “No need, airman. The captain’s on his own recognizance. As you were.”
With the two airmen watching, Danny walked out of the office and into the desert sunlight that, despite the brightness, did nothing to illuminate his way.
16
The sun had yet to rise over the placid waters of the Pacific, but Roscoe Hillenkoetter was already up and at ’em, a steaming cup of shipboard coffee in hand as he looked toward the purple-pink eastern sky. It was his favorite time of day at sea, when both water and crew were calmest, and there was more promise in the air than fatigue.
Hillenkoetter took another sip of coffee, which tasted just as horrible as he remembered. Sailors were a dumb, overly romantic bunch — himself included.
His reverie was interrupted by Dr. Schreiber, who had taken over one of the larger holds aboard USS Mount McKinley, the amphibious assault ship leading this particular mission. Admiral William Blandy — “Spike” to his friends, including Hillenkoetter — commanded a large flotilla of ships all aiming a stunning array of scientific equipment at a tiny island out in the middle of nowhere.
Even if he weren’t the CIA director, he probably could’ve hitched a ride. His rank and position merely meant he could bring along Schreiber and a couple of his pencilnecks, along with a whole lot of equipment.
“Yes, Doctor,” Hillenkoetter said, a touch of morning fatigue in his voice.
“The equipment is ready. The electromagnets are in place. If there is to be an anomaly, we shall capture it,” Schreiber said.
“And how certain are you of that?”
Schreiber gave one of his usual shrugs. “I cannot say. This is very different from the last time. The materials are not the same, the location not the same. At worst, I hope that our readings will tell us something more.”
Hillenkoetter nodded and checked his watch. “Four minutes. Get in there and get it going. Make sure the cameras and reel-to-reel are working. I’ll stay out of your way.”
The German — the goddamn Nazi that Jim Forrestal approved for PAPERCLIP, dammit — went back inside without a word, leaving Hillenkoetter on deck by himself once more, looking north. Here, in the middle of the very definition of nowhere, new fronts of new wars were being waged. Impossible weapons, both mechanical and human, would reshape history.
And it was Hillenkoetter’s job to ensure both those weapons stayed on the leash men created. If they didn’t…
“Two minutes,” came the voice from the shipboard loudspeaker. “Two minutes.”
Hillenkoetter thought about heading inside, up to the bridge, where Spike would be managing the ballet of ships. But that wasn’t his place anymore. For now, at least, his place was away from the front line, in the shadows. Watching.
“Thirty seconds.”
Hillenkoetter steeled himself, a sudden wave of fear washing over him. It was damned silly, of course, and he chided himself for it. They were ten miles off and upwind. They’d be fine.
“Ten seconds.”
It didn’t matter. It was terrifying, knowing what would come next.
“Ignition.”
A blinding white light erupted off the starboard side of McKinley. It quickly reddened and grew — an atomic fireball soon surrounded by the massive condensation cloud that gave it the now-classic mushroom shape.