Meanwhile, it did seem likely that the second Barracuda might be creeping, at that moment, quietly through the eastern Pacific right off America’s West Coast. Or, alternatively, beating a rapid path around Cape Horn into the Atlantic, making straight for the towering, unstable southwest coast of La Palma in the Canaries. If a collective response had been possible from the concerned military, it would have undoubtedly been along the lines of H-O-L-Y S-H-I–I-I-T!!!
President or no President, General Scannell, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, called an emergency conference in the Pentagon for Monday morning, August 24, at 1030. This was strictly military, highly classified, and the General also invited Admirals Morgan and Morris, plus the young “Sherlock Holmes of Fort Meade,” Lt. Comdr. Jimmy Ramshawe.
The task was fivefold: one, to examine the letter from Hamas and call in an expert to judge the psychological condition of the writer; two, to appreciate the situation and discuss a possible plan of defense against an attack on the volcano of Cumbre Vieja; three, to discuss the possibility of the terrorists going for any target other than Cumbre Vieja; four, to hold preliminary discussions on the possible evacuation of New York City, Boston, and Washington; and five, to make recommendations to the President of the United States for immediate civilian action in those cities.
General Scannell called Admiral Morris and requested he bring data with him outlining the basic requirements a terrorist might need for knocking down a high, four-mile-long granite cliff. Also, it would be useful to have an American expert from one of the universities to explain the ramifications of such a landslide, perhaps to offer expert opinion on the real-time chances of a mega-tsunami developing.
He booked lunch tomorrow, Saturday, with Arnold Morgan, Admiral Dickson, and the visiting Rear Admiral Curran, to try to assess a Navy operational plan in the eastern Atlantic, almost certainly to surround the west coast of La Palma with a U.S. battle group with state-of-the-art surface-to-air missile capability.
General Scannell broke with long-standing Pentagon tradition by inviting the retired Admiral Morgan to chair the lunchtime meeting on the basis of his considerable experience as a strategist and a Commanding Officer, and by virtue of his months-long involvement with the terrorist volcano threat.
Admiral Morgan accepted, pretending to be put out, protesting that he was supposed to be retired, enjoying himself hugely.
“Aren’t you?” asked Admiral Dickson, handing over a preliminary chart of the deep waters around La Palma.
“You bet I am,” replied Arnold, glaring at the detailed map of the ocean depths. “Now where we gonna find these fucking underwater towelheads?”
The great man hadn’t lost his touch, no doubt of that, and the three senior officers who sat at the table with him, in General Scannell’s private conference room, all felt a stab of nostalgia for the old days, of not so long ago, when the world was a simpler place.
As recently as one year previous, this meeting would not have taken place privately, on a Saturday. It would have happened in the West Wing’s Situation Room in the White House, with the full backing and probably the attendance of a President who believed in these men. This was different. The meeting was on the verge of being subversive. The current President did not trust their judgment.
“I think we all accept that if Mount St. Helens was deliberately exploded, it was hit probably by a broadside of cruise missiles coming through the early morning fog. Correct?” Admiral Morgan was swiftly arranging his ducks in a line.
Everyone nodded.
“Those missiles must have been fired from a submarine, which we photographed leaving the Yellow Sea, and was picked up twice, north of the Aleutians. No other submarine in the entire world fits the pattern, and every one of them is accounted for. The dates fit. The speed fits. And the possible attack on Mount St. Helens fits.
“Also, we have the perfect witness — a highly reliable, highly respected Seattle Bank President standing at the foot of the mountain. He’s a banker and a lawyer, paid to have suspicions, but not reckless imagination.”
Admiral Morgan paused. “Gentlemen, that’s not 100 percent, cast-iron fact. But it is way, way too strong to be dismissed. Agreed?”
Everyone nodded again.
“And therefore,” continued the Admiral, “in light of the letter received from Hamas, we must face the possibility that there is a boatload of Middle Eastern terrorists determined to bang a big hole in the face of a cliff of La Palma. Militarily, any other line of thought is childish. That’s what we’re for, goddamnit. To keep this country safe. And we have no right to go around making half-assed assumptions that it might not happen. And I think it will happen, unless we can get between their fucking missile and that cliff.”
“Correct,” said General Scannell. “I hope we are all agreed on that…gentlemen?” Once more, Admirals Dickson and Curran nodded their agreement.
“And for the purposes of this meeting,” said General Scannell, “we should concentrate on how we catch ’em. Which is unlikely to be easy. We learned that the hard way.”
“Essentially, we’re looking for a submarine-launched cruise missile,” said Admiral Dickson. “I suspect not a big ICBM that we would pick up a long way out. I’d say it’s a cruise, probably to be fired at around a 500-mile range. You can fire ’em from 1,000 miles, but that would give us too long to locate it. They’ll want to be in closer than that, maybe only 250 miles…25 minutes up range from the target. No nearer. Freddie?”
The Pacific Fleet submarine chief was frowning. “That’s likely to add up to one hell of a lot of water, sir,” he said. “If we take a best-case distance of a 500-mile north — south line, up and down the La Palma coast…forming a box out into the Atlantic from both ends…with the Cumbre Vieja volcano in the middle…then take a spot 500 miles due west of the mountain, we’re talking probably 200,000 square miles of ocean. If the Barracuda stands any farther offshore, it’s a whole lot more. But that way, we’d have more time to locate an incoming cruise…”
He paused for a moment, then added, “If I were trying to launch and get away, I’d probably go for around 300 miles up range of my target…So if we placed a cordon up to 500 miles out, we’d kind of have him trapped…Except the little son of a bitch could creep right out underneath us, dead slow in very deep water, and vanish. As he has done a few times before.”
“How many ships would we need?” asked the Chairman.
“Well, if we had a hundred in all — twenty submarines, plus frigates, destroyers, and cruisers — they’d each have to look after 2,000 square miles — roughly a 45-mile square each.”
“Jesus, Freddie…we didn’t have that many ships in the South Pacific in 1944,” said Arnold Morgan.
“And our enemy didn’t have nuclear submarines that could go as deep, stay there indefinitely, and run so quietly as this bastard,” replied the COMSUBPAC. “And I’ll tell you something else. Even then, with that big a fleet, we still might not catch him. With any less than hundred ships, I’d say we were almost guaranteed to miss him.”
“Even if we caught him, chances are he’d get one of his missiles away,” pondered Admiral Morgan.
“I’m not too bothered about that,” replied Admiral Curran. “Because I think we’d nail that missile. But I’m sure, sir, as ever, you’d rather nail the archer than the arrow.”
That was an old favorite policy of Admiral Morgan’s, and Arnold smiled wryly. “You got that right, Freddie,” he said. “But hunting submarines in a big pack is very difficult…”