"Westlake," Nick said.
"It certainly looks like it."
"Now what, Director?" Ronnie said.
"We might be in better shape than we think," Elizabeth said. "I don't see how Westlake can access the satellite. He'd need to get on one of the bases where they have the right equipment. Everyone is looking for him. He'll never get close. You can't call that satellite up on a CB."
"Maybe not a CB, but he doesn't have to be on a military base," Selena said.
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth looked at her.
"All he needs is a powerful enough radio and the right frequency. If he's got a transmitter and an antenna hidden somewhere, he can reach the satellite when it's in the right position."
"If that's the case, we're screwed," Nick said. "We'll never find a hidden location in time."
Elizabeth's phone rang.
"Harker. Yes, Clarence."
She looked at them. Hood, she mouthed. She listened. "Thank you, Clarence. I'll keep you updated."
She set the phone down. "The FBI found Senator Martinez."
"He knows where Westlake is," Nick said. "Let's ask him."
"We can't. Martinez went home and shot himself."
"Uh, oh," Ronnie said.
"It gets worse. Martinez left a note. He said he didn't want to be part of what was coming."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"That doesn't sound good," Ronnie said.
"We have to assume Westlake has gone over the edge," Elizabeth said, "and that he intends to launch those missiles."
"What are the targets?" Nick asked.
"Programmable. They could go anywhere."
"Can we knock down the satellite?" Selena asked. "Missiles? Some secret plane that can get up there? Anything?"
"No. Only a missile could reach it and Prometheus is programmed to defend itself against missile attack. The Pentagon says the missiles wouldn't get through."
"The Pentagon could be wrong, or maybe they don't want to blow up their billion dollar toy on our say so."
"Even if we could blow it up, those are hydrogen bombs up there," Elizabeth said. "They'll go off and they're loaded with plutonium. The explosion would poison the atmosphere for generations. It would create an EMP burst that would blanket half the globe and take out electrical power everywhere. The results would be catastrophic."
"Didn't anyone think about stuff like that before they put it up there?" Ronnie said.
"Apparently not."
Ronnie shook his head.
"Westlake would need a place to keep a transmitter," Nick said, "someplace no one would think of. Has anyone checked to see if he owns property somewhere, like a vacation home? Somewhere he could put up an antenna without attracting attention?"
"They did," Elizabeth said. "He doesn't own any property aside from his house. They searched that. They didn't find anything."
"Is he married?" Selena asked. "His wife might know something."
"He was married, but she died a few years ago," Elizabeth said.
"Another dead end," Ronnie said.
Nick rolled his eyes. "Come on, Ronnie."
"Maybe not," Selena said. "What was the wife's name?"
CHAPTER 60
Westlake parked the rental car on the steep slope leading up to the cabin. In winter, the driveway was impassable. When his wife had been alive, they'd tried to come here at least once a year during the good months. The cabin had belonged to her father. The county records still had it listed in her name. It had been the perfect place to install the transmitter.
The cabin sat below the tree line at 9,000 feet. The antenna was unnoticeable unless you were looking for it. No one ever came this way, except for an occasional hunter. Alice's father had liked the privacy of the wilderness.
He climbed onto the porch and unlocked the front door. The front room smelled of dust and closed space and stale mouse urine. Mice had always been a problem up here. But now it didn't matter. He wouldn't be coming here again.
Westlake opened a window. He went out through the kitchen to the generator shed in back. The generator was solar powered, running off energy stored in deep cycle batteries connected to an inverter. It was silent and provided enough power for the refrigerator, the lights, the radio. Pure sine wave power that wouldn't fry the transceiver in the bedroom. The system panel showed full charge and a green light. Westlake turned on the power.
The afternoon was bright and sunny, but he could feel the chill of the high country. He went back into the cabin, where a fire was already laid in the fireplace. He lit the kindling and watched it spread until the logs caught. He felt detached, as if someone else stood there, watching the orange and yellow flames.
Westlake went into the back room, where a large radio transceiver sat on a wooden table next to a computer monitor and keyboard. He turned everything on. The display lit with an orange glow, locked onto the frequency for Prometheus. Once the satellite was in range, all he needed to do was to transmit one preprogrammed signal and Prometheus would launch its nuclear spawn.
The missiles had been programmed months ago, targeted on China, Russia and Iran. The Pentagon had to point them somewhere, and the Pentagon technicians were sure they could always re-program the missiles for different targets as needed.
The Pentagon technicians were wrong. Westlake had used Phil Abingdon's expertise to alter the command codes. Prometheus answered only to him. Like the god himself, Westlake would bring the fires of heaven to earth.
He entered a new string of commands on the computer, re-programming one of the missiles with a new target.
Washington.
Westlake had never believed in surrender. Like Ajax, he planned to kill himself in protest. Unlike Ajax, he would take those who had been the instruments of his humiliation with him. It was only right.
He walked from the radio room to the front of the cabin and went to a wooden cabinet. He took out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. There were mouse droppings in the cabinet. He took the bottle and the glass and sat down in a chair in front of the fire. He poured a drink, held it up to the firelight and downed it. He poured another.
Westlake looked at the fire blazing in the stone fireplace. A picture taken in happier days of Westlake, his wife and his son rested on the mantle. Alice would have appreciated the fire. She'd always liked it up here in the mountains. She'd liked a fire on a chilly evening.
His thoughts drifted in a random haze. If only his son hadn't died. If only Alice had lived, things might have been different. In a few hours all those who had opposed him would find out what a mistake they had made. The satellite would come into range early in the morning.
For now, he could relax and enjoy the warmth of the fire and the whiskey. In the morning, the world would change forever. Westlake knew he would always be remembered.
He would be immortal, like Homer's heroes.
It was a satisfying feeling.
CHAPTER 61
"We've got it," Elizabeth said. "Westlake's wife owned a cabin in Colorado. It's still listed in her name. It's up in the high country, on the Western Slope. I'm sending you to find out if he's there."
"I know that part of the country," Selena said. "I grew up on the Western Slope."
"Why not call in the Feds?" Nick asked. "They've got a big presence in Colorado. Or SOCOM?"
"I talked it over with Rice," Elizabeth said. "He wants us to do it. He doesn't trust the military at the moment. It's not certain all of the plotters have been identified. Someone could know where Westlake is and tip him off. That leaves out SOCOM."