Jack's stomach began to tighten. He'd been loyal to the Legion. Loyal to Steve. And he'd played his end of the game. Us against the government. One day we'll show them. But the weapons had never been loaded. Never would be loaded. Not really. That was part of the unspoken understanding. "What do you intend to do?" he asked.
"It's simple. We're going to Atlanta. You and Tad and I are going to take out one of the SSTOs. That's all we have to do: take out one. If we do that, it's over. The Possum hits, and the government will be gone within weeks. Maybe days."
"My God," said Jack. "How many people would we kill?"
Steve nodded sadly. "Too many," he said. "But the price of freedom is always high. Fortunately, it's a price free men have been willing to pay." He refilled his glass. His eyes gleamed in the light. "Jack, don't you think I'd use another way if I could? But this is all we have. This is it. It's a God-sent opportunity, and it'd be criminal not to take advantage of it just because we have weak stomachs."
"Weak stomachs? Steve-" The words wouldn't come. Jack had always looked up to his brother, had never known him to be wrong about anything. Steve Gallagher was the soul of courage and integrity. That he'd lied about his Ranger status was of no significance because he'd needed that extra bit of prestige to ensure control over the Legion. Jack understood completely. But this was horribly wrong. It occurred to Jack that his brother had read too many manuals, had begun to believe all the things he said, all the things that gave him power.
The colonel's eyes slid shut. "I know," he said soothingly. "I know everything you're going to say. And I've thought about it. But won't we be better off in the long run if we populate this country with a few thousand free men rather than three hundred million slaves? That's what we've got now, Jack. You know that as well as I do."
Tad was watching Jack carefully.
Steve leaned forward. "So what's your answer, Jack?"
"No." Jack's voice shook because he never said no to Steve. "I don't want any part of it."
"Okay." The colonel nodded. "I understand your feeling on this. And I respect it."
Thank God. "Then we'll look for another way?"
"We've looked for another way. We've been looking years for another way. Jack: Tad and I are going to complete the mission." He looked over at Tad, and Tad's eyes were amused. "But I understand you have a moral reservation that will not allow you to participate."
"Colonel-"
"It's okay."
Tad's jacket had been thrown carelessly across a coffee table. Now he picked it up and his right hand went into a pocket. The colonel signaled no and the hand came out. "I'm disappointed, Jack," he said. "I thought you'd want to be with us on this."
"No. I don't know how you could say that. I've never wanted to kill anybody."
"Then I have to ask what you've been doing all these years in a military unit. What was this? Some kind of joke to you?"
"This isn't a military action, Steve. It'll be mass murder. Is that what you want?"
Steve's eyes slid shut. "Okay. I'm sorry you see it that way, Jack." He looked at Tad. "You were right. We should have left him out of it."
Tad nodded almost imperceptibly.
"I can't turn you loose," he said to Jack with a mixture of regret and irritation. "You're going to have to come with us."
"With your permission, Colonel," said Tad, "he'll be in the way. We'll have to watch him constantly."
"I understand the problem," Steve said. "But I don't have a lot of choices here. And I won't have my brother's blood on my hands." He stared at Jack, who was having trouble comprehending what was happening to him. "But fortunately, I'm not entirely unprepared." He produced a pair of handcuffs.
BBC WORLDNET 11:55 P.M.
Dr. Alice Finizio at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, Interviewed by Connie Hasting Finizio: (Finizio and Hasting stand in front of a map of the United States.) We're projecting ground zero right about here, Connie, near Interstate 35 in Chase County, roughly midway between Wichita and Topeka. (A circle appears in the center of the map, in Kansas. It expands until it touches Canada and Mexico, extending roughly from eastern Utah in the west to Columbus, Ohio.) This is the primary blast zone. We would expect very few survivors in this area. Hasting: (Breathless) It includes Chicago, St. Louis, Dallas… Finizio:… Minneapolis, Lansing, Fort Wayne. The entire heartland, I'm afraid. I wish we could be more optimistic. (A second, shaded circle rolls out from the first through large sections of Canada and Mexico, absorbing the entire United States, with the exceptions of Oregon, Washington and northern California in the west, and Florida and northern New England in the east.) This represents a heavy-to-mod-erate destruction zone. People living in this section, if they take precautions, should survive the immediate impact. Hasting: Immediate? Finizio: The long range prognosis is not good. The blast will throw up a cloud of dust that will spread around the globe. The skies will be dark for decades. It's going to get cold, and it's going to stay cold, Connie-(Picture flutters and vanishes. A BBC anchorwoman appears.) Anchor: We are having technical difficulties at the source. We'll return to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory as soon as we are able. Meantime, we have a report from the Federal Emergency Management Agency on how to prepare for the impact…
CHAPTER NINE
Monday, April 15
1.
Hartsfield SSTO Maintenance Facility, Atlanta. 2:55 A.M.
A pair of SSTOs were berthed in the hangar; another waited outside. Work crews swarmed over all three vehicles. Sparks flew from welding torches. Exterior panels were removed while technicians poked at the planes' circuits.
The crew chief was satisfied that they were getting all the preliminary work done. There was still a question about the type of piton that would be installed. And that couldn't be resolved until whoever was doing the analyses of the Possum's surface made up his, or her, mind about specs. But once they knew, it would just be a matter of slapping in junction boxes, bolting on the mounts, and inserting the units.
"Four hours," the crew chief told his department head. "Minimum."
"Four hours?" The department head wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Look, Arvy, we've got the goddam president of the United States personally taking soil samples-"
"Well, that sure as hell makes me confident."
"Just have everything ready to go, okay?" AstroLab. 4:11 A.M.
Feinberg was sleeping on a couch in his office when the call came in. It was Al Kerr: the president would be grateful if the professor could see his way clear to accompanying the Possum mission.
He hesitated. Feinberg didn't like planes all that much, much less rockets. He argued that he was better placed to help at the AstroLab, but Kerr insisted. The president thought his presence might make the difference if problems developed. "Besides," Kerr said conspiratorially, "the country's in a panic right now. If you're there, people are going to feel better."