He turned to Weinroth again, and the scientist thought for a moment or two. Then he sighed and shrugged his hands in front of him. “I can’t predict what they will do, but it would strike me they’d have to iron out the bugs for another year. By that time, we’ll have an operational system ourselves and we’ll be at parity just as in bombs and missiles.” Roarke nodded happily and adjourned the group.
Sam Riordan went up to Roarke and told him he would brief the President personally on the meeting that night. Roarke put his hand on Riordan’s shoulder and said, “Sam, tell him hello for me. I haven’t seen the President for six months. And please give my best regards to Pamela.”
At 9:02 P.M., Washington time, a Midas satellite, moving 104 miles above the earth in its relentless orbit, monitored a twenty-two-second pulsing of heat estimated at an intensity of plus ten million degrees. Its on-board computer calculated the emission at a point north of the Caspian Sea in the area of Tashkent in Soviet Central Asia.
At almost the same moment, another Midas, circling the globe ninety-seven miles over the darkened jungles of Tanzania, recorded another emission in the area of the Negev Desert southwest of Jerusalem. It lasted for twenty-two seconds at an intensity of plus ten million degrees and was followed by heat ranging between one thousand and fifteen hundred degrees. The latter emission continued for some time as the Midas passed on over Bulgaria toward the Arctic Circle.
In the Mediterranean Sea, sailors of the United States Sixth Fleet on watch noticed nothing unusual.
In the ancient town of Beersheba on the edge of the Negev, guests at the Desert Inn, the only motel in the area, were wakened by a tremendous roll, like thunder, to the west. When several of them looked in that direction, they saw a cherry-red glow beyond the mountains. Someone remarked, “Al Fatah must have been caught in another ambush. Those bastards never give up, do they?”
On a hillside near Aqaba, the Jordanian port near Eilat, three men bent over instruments just inside the mouth of a cave. They watched sensitive needles recording wavy lines across paper and gauges which reflected a violent reaction somewhere within the range of the equipment. The three men conversed in low tones. They spoke Russian.
At a radar station in northern Turkey, an employee of the National Security Agency heard a voice from the radio. Beamed from near Tashkent to Moscow, it said simply, “Borodino.” The NSA man noted that it was the first time Tashkent radio had spoken to anyone for over six months. He also noted that Borodino was the site of Russia’s great victory over Napoleon.
In Washington, D.C., the lights had gone on in the White House. In an upstairs sitting room, Sam Riordan sat with his chief and explained the outcome of the Pentagon briefing. William Stark was not bored now. He had known Sam Riordan for too long not to detect in the man’s attitude a note of urgency and, even more dismaying, a sense of frustration at not being able to pinpoint his fears.
Stark pressed Riordan several times on his own feelings, and finally the director of the CIA blurted out: “Mr. President, frankly I’m baffled. My instincts tell me that something bad is taking place in the world, but my intelligence cannot bring it to light. Maybe I’m getting too old for the job. Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Perhaps I’ve been watching the Reds so long I’ve become paranoid.”
Stark smiled at him and leaned over to pat him reassuringly. “Sam, you’re still the best man the CIA ever had. Don’t worry about yourself that way. What does concern me here is some item we all might have overlooked. Is there any area not probed yet by your people or the other agencies?”
Riordan searched his mind for a clue. “No, we’ve gone over the missile deployments, their outer-space platforms, the naval and army concentrations and even the internal condition of the Soviet Union. In several instances, the ones we discussed today, there are signs of trouble within the country, and there are unusual movements of ships and even diplomats. But by themselves they don’t add up to any dangerous situation. Again, I go back to my own gut reactions, which are not good.”
Stark ordered drinks from the kitchen, and the two old comrades sat under a portrait of Thomas Jefferson and sipped bourbon and branch water. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten as they continued to discuss the perplexing problem.
At Point Mugu, ninety miles north of Los Angeles, a Univac 5000 computer poured forth a torrent of words received from Midas 14 passing overhead. Midas 14 had analyzed the data collected in its pass over the Middle East and was now disgorging it to its masters on the ground. Midas 8 had earlier alerted Mugu to its detection of a single heat-emission from within the Soviet Union.
The Univac recorded its interpretation of the information while the Midas silently stole southward off Baja California. A man dressed in a white smock looked casually at the lined paper as Univac began its report. He suddenly snatched at it and ran to a telephone. He called NORAD — the North American Defense Command — and the operator pressed a switch. The line cleared immediately, and a man deep within the rock of Cheyenne Mountain in southern Colorado answered.
“Mugu here with a condition yellow from Midas. Only one sighting but suspicious outside Soviet border… but initiated within.”
“Uh, roger… confirm condition yellow.”
The officer at Cheyenne picked up another phone and in the Situation Room at the White House, Colonel Howard J. Landry answered. His face blanched as he heard the news and he immediately called upstairs to the President’s sitting room. Stark and Riordan had just finished talking, and the CIA director had reached the door leading to the hall elevator. Stark listened without comment until the Situation Room officer finished. Then Stark said, “Keep condition yellow until further word comes in.” He put down the phone and stared at Riordan. “Sam, your bones may be right. We’ve just had another Midas tracking, and this time it’s somewhere in Israel.”
Riordan put his coat down on a chair.
Two flights below, Sergeant Arly Cooper was still working. His reliefman had gone with his wife to the hospital to deliver a premature baby, and Cooper had volunteered to stay on until he returned. At 11 P.M., he had watched the teletype as a new Russian operator had printed out the first five lines from War and Peace. Cooper grunted with renewed interest as he read something other than Pushkin. At 11:05 P.M., the Russian signed off, and Cooper acknowledged the transmission. He stretched his legs for a moment, then went to the bathroom to revive by washing his face and dabbing cold water on his wrists and neck. Cooper walked back into the main room and poured himself another cup of black coffee. He had lost count of the number he had drunk that day. As he sipped, the teletype chattered suddenly. It was 11:18 P.M.
Cooper sat in front of the console and began to read the message:
TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA FROM THE SECRETARY OF THE PRESIDIUM, UNION OF THE SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS:
WE HEREBY INFORM YOU THAT WE DEMAND THE UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER OF YOUR COUNTRY EFFECTIVE SEVENTY-TWO HOURS FROM THIS TRANSMISSION. RESISTANCE TO THIS ULTIMATUM WOULD BE FOOLHARDY SINCE WE POSSESS A WEAPON OF UNUSUALLY DESTRUCTIVE FORCE WHICH CANNOT BE CHALLENGED. FOR PROOF EXAMINE THE REMAINS OF THE ISRAELI ATOMIC RESEARCH CENTER WEST OF BEERSHEBA. ARRANGE WITHIN TWELVE HOURS BY THIS CHANNEL FOR INTERMEDIARIES TO MEET WITH OUR REPRESENTATIVES IN GENEVA TO DISCUSS DETAILS OF TRANSFER OF POWER. WE URGENTLY REQUEST THAT YOUR ARMED FORCES MAKE NO OVERT MOVES AGAINST OUR COUNTRY SINCE THAT WOULD RESULT IN THE NEEDLESS DEATHS OF MILLIONS OF YOUR PEOPLE. THE ALTERNATIVE WE OFFER IS PEACEFUL OCCUPATION.