“People were saying the same thing about North Korean ICBMs not too long ago,” said Catlin. “They weren’t supposed to have the technical knowhow to build missiles with intercontinental range. Then one day, they lofted a Hwasong-14 into the Sea of Japan. Big surprise to everybody. Same thing with miniaturized warheads. We were absolutely certain they couldn’t do that stuff, right up until they did.”
“Yeah, but they weren’t inventing the core technology,” said Quinn. “They could copy from our ICBM and warhead designs, and Russian designs, and Chinese designs, and whatever they could beg, borrow, or steal. But they can’t copy somebody else’s supercav design, because no one has ever built a supercavitating submarine.”
Without waiting for a reply, he made a basketball-style toss with his lunch trash, dropping the wad of paper and plastic into the open waste can. A perfect two-pointer. And then he was out the door.
With Quinn gone, Catlin — a more methodical eater — continued to work slowly on his tuna sandwich. He would Google the Avrocar thing (and Velma’s age), in case Quinn was yanking his chain again.
But even if Quinn was right about the failed flying saucer program, that didn’t justify a knee-jerk dismissal of supercav technology. There might be a way to make it work. There almost certainly was a way to make it work, as the crew of USS Mahan had already discovered.
He pulled out a mechanical pencil and started doodling on his paper lunch sack. If he wanted to build a supercavitating submarine propulsion system, what would his design look like?
He was absently outlining a triangle when it occurred to him that he had unconsciously asked himself the wrong question.
The correct question was this…
If a North Korean engineer — with North Korean training, North Korean technical resources, and North Korean cultural biases — wanted to build such a submarine, what would that design look like?
Catlin erased the triangle and began to sketch in earnest.
CHAPTER 24
Secretary of Homeland Security Fernando Salamanca shook his head. “This blackout is a demonstration of force, Mr. President. Not intended to cause us serious damage.”
“I’m not sure I can agree with that,” said National Security Advisor Frank Cerney. “I’ll grant you that the physical destruction to infrastructure is relatively minor, but the damage to national security is completely off the charts.”
The president nodded. “I have to go with Frank on this one. The North Koreans have pulled the plug on the capital city of the United States, and everybody knows it. At the top of the hour, CNN is running coverage of the three families that froze to death in Congress Heights and Washington Highlands. At the bottom of the hour, the story shifts back to that elderly couple who asphyxiated trying to heat their apartment in Knox Hill with a charcoal grill. In between, the coverage alternates between footage of DC residents burning furniture in the streets to stay warm, and cyber security experts announcing that Kim Yong-nam can wipe out the entire U.S. power grid with the press of a button. If the CNN polls are anything to go by, about a third of the people in this country are ready to run for Canada, and another third are buying up ammunition and digging in for World War III.”
“What about the other third?” Secretary Salamanca asked.
President Bradley gave him a grim smile. “The other third are convinced that this entire situation is a government hoax, perpetrated as a pretense for declaring martial law, suspending constitutional protections, and turning over control to the new world order.”
“I’m leaning toward the Canada option,” Salamanca said.
“So am I,” said the president. “But all kidding aside, people are terrified. They’re losing confidence in our ability to defend them against unexpected threats. All of a sudden, North Korea is looking less like the punch line of a joke and more like the harbinger of doom.”
“We can hardly blame the public for being afraid,” the national security advisor said. “Have you seen what Fox News is running?”
“I think I missed that,” the president said. “I usually prefer to get my news from other sources.”
“Well, the boys at Fox are stirring the pot pretty hard,” said the national security advisor. “A bunch of think-tankers backed up by a retired Army colonel, speculating about which of our cities and towns are within striking distance of warheads launched from Cuba. Lots of flashy graphics with estimated fallout footprints, intercut with CGI animations of nuclear fireballs.”
The president nodded. “How good is their speculation?”
“Not too far off from the Pentagon’s estimates. Fox is basically drawing an arc from San Antonio to Virginia Beach, and counting everything southeast of that curve as a potential mushroom cloud.”
“So the pundits are assuming the missiles are either Rodong-2 series, or something with similar characteristics,” said Secretary Salamanca. “About what my people and DoD have been figuring. That makes the potential target area all of Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Tennessee, South Carolina, and North Carolina — along with half of Texas, most of Arkansas, Kentucky, and Virginia — as well as portions of five other states. Not to mention a big slice of Mexico, if we’re not the only country on the target list.”
“DIA recommends that we assume a twenty percent improvement in flight and payload performance over the stock Rodong configuration,” said the national security advisor. “Just to make sure the North Koreans don’t surprise us by exceeding our expectations.”
“They’ve already done that,” the president said.
No one pointed out the obvious. As described by the national security advisor, the expanded danger area put Washington DC squarely within striking range of the missiles.
The president turned his chair and looked out the windows at the lengthening shadows. Sunset was less than an hour away and — except for the emergency shelters and facilities supplied by backup generators — the city was in for another night of darkness and deadly cold.
“Tell me where we are with recovery operations and emergency relief efforts,” he said.
Just as the secretary of homeland defense was mentally shifting gears, there was a quiet knock at the door. White House Chief of Staff Jacqueline Mayfield let herself into the president’s study. “I apologize for the interruption, Mr. President, but you need to see this.”
She picked up a remote and pressed the power button for a small television tucked between family photos on a side table. The screen flared to life with the recap of a soccer match. She tapped in a channel selection.
The soccer pitch gave way to the MSNBC studio, the news desk covered by that anchorman in his late forties, the one with the movie star face and the sonorous pipe organ voice. Oliver Somebody — whose ageless features and slightly graying temples contrived to straddle the divide between the under-thirty and over-forty demographics. The network tended to trot him out for any story with the markings of an emerging international political crisis.
To the anchorman’s left, an animated graphic depicted a silhouette map of North Korea, overlaid with footage of marching troop formations and fiery missile launches. Oliver Somebody’s lips were moving, but no sound came out; the television speakers were muted.