He spoke in Russian.
Christine cursed quietly, wishing she had learned Russian. She listened as Andropov elaborated, trying to pick up a key word here or there, but nothing registered.
General Andropov reached into his uniform jacket, retrieving a handheld military radio, which he spoke into. Moments later, Christine noticed movement on one of the displays; twenty armored vehicles streaked toward the mansion gates. Kalinin answered the speakerphone on his desk with the Army colonel still pointing a pistol at him. The mansion gates opened and the vehicles streamed into the inner courtyard. After they ground to a halt, over a hundred men surged toward every entrance. Christine watched as some of the president’s security detail tried to repel the soldiers and were gunned down in a fusillade of bullets. Others realized the futility of resistance and surrendered. It took only a few minutes before the entire mansion was under military control.
An Army officer entered the study with two other soldiers, weapons drawn. Andropov issued an order and the two soldiers approached Kalinin. The president stood and was escorted from the study by the three soldiers. Christine followed along on the monitors until Kalinin was placed in a bedroom suite on the second level. Two armed guards were posted outside.
After Kalinin departed the study, General Andropov took his seat behind the desk, placing the briefcase before him. He energized the laptop and a map of North America appeared on the screen, with several dozen symbols in the United States and western Atlantic Ocean. Andropov stared at the display, his forearms resting on Kalinin’s desk, fingers interlaced. He kept checking his watch, but otherwise did nothing. As Christine wondered what was going on, a blue trace appeared on the map, originating in Missouri.
General Andropov magnified the display and the single trace separated into four. Andropov selected each trace, then entered several commands into the laptop. A moment later, another blue trace appeared in the Atlantic Ocean, just off the U.S. East Coast. Andropov selected that trace and the external display energized. A world map appeared and Andropov zoomed in toward the East Coast of the United States. He then clicked on a location in Washington, D.C., then hit Enter.
He closed the briefcase and left the study with it, accompanied by the Army colonel. Christine watched on the monitors as they descended several floors and entered an underground command center.
21
THE SPIRIT OF KITTY HAWK
High above Missouri, headed east, Air Force Major Carole Glover sat on the left side of the two-seat B-2 Spirit, one of the U.S. Air Force’s long-range stealth bombers, monitoring the computer’s automatic adjustments of the aircraft’s flight control surfaces. The aircraft Glover was flying today was The Spirit of Kitty Hawk, the trailing bomber in a four-plane diamond formation, with each aircraft carrying sixteen bombs with inert payloads. For today’s mission, the four B-2s would fly halfway across the Atlantic Ocean before turning around.
Glover examined the communication settings and additional cockpit electronics, including the new fully digital navigation system with terrain-following radar and GPS guidance, part of the B-2’s once-a-decade cockpit modernization. After completing her assessment and assured that everything was operating satisfactorily, her eyes skimmed over additional components painted yellow, signifying emergency use only. Glover surveyed the yellow components more than usual, considering she was flying the bomber nicknamed Christine.
The complex flying-wing bombers sometimes had system failures during flight, and some of the aircraft were more reliable than others. The Spirit of Missouri, flying directly ahead, was the most reliable B-2, even though she was the oldest. Glover’s aircraft, however, had its issues. Years earlier, while the bomber was in a maintenance hangar, its engines had ignited on their own. Other unusual failures had occurred and maintenance crews had nicknamed this B-2 bomber Christine, after the possessed homicidal Plymouth Fury in Stephen King’s novel.
Glover glanced at the yellow ejection seat lever on her left.
Everything was operating perfectly today, and Glover settled in for the long flight. She turned to her copilot, Captain Bill Houston, planning to catch up on her friend’s summer plans, when the B-2’s engines extinguished and the cockpit went dark. The B-2 tilted downward and plummeted toward earth.
Glover reacted quickly, taking manual control of the flight surfaces via battery backup, trying to keep the flying-wing aircraft stable. She was about to curse at Christine, who had lived up to her reputation, when she noticed the other three bombers were also falling from the sky.
Houston tried a warm start of the engine electronics. When that failed, he rebooted the entire system.
No response.
He tried again. Still no response.
Without cockpit electronics, Glover had no idea what altitude they were passing through. Fortunately, it was daytime and a quick glance at the horizon told her they didn’t have much longer. Houston tried a cold restart one final time. When there was no response, he informed Glover of the obvious.
She reached for the yellow lever.
22
OMAHA, NEBRASKA
In the back of USSTRATCOM’s command center, Admiral Aronson monitored the nuclear-defense exercise. The initial response had gone as planned, with all three legs of the nuclear triad responding. Every ICBM silo had simulated its missile launch, B-2 bombers were aloft, and USS Maryland had launched a Trident II missile from just off the East Coast.
Aronson’s attention was drawn to commotion on the left side of the command center, where two supervisors had gathered around one of the consoles, with the two adjacent operators leaning in. One of the supervisors spoke into his headset, and the command center’s watch captain, also wearing a headset and seated beside Aronson, turned to the admiral.
“Sir, all four B-2s are losing altitude and we’ve lost communication with the crews.”
Aronson was about to ask if he had any idea about what was going on when he was distracted by a disturbance on the other side of the command center. A supervisor shifted the main display to the western Atlantic Ocean; the Trident II missile had changed course, angling west.
The watch captain reported, “Sir, the Trident missile has altered course.”
“I can see that,” Aronson replied. “Where is it headed?”
“Don’t know yet, sir. The missile’s third-stage engine has resumed firing, altering the ballistic trajectory. The tracking algorithms aren’t designed to—”
Admiral Aronson stood as red alarms began flashing on numerous control consoles.
What the hell is going on?
23
WASHINGTON, D.C.
It was just past two in the afternoon as the president’s motorcade sped down 17th Street NW toward the White House. As the motorcade approached the Ellipse, the president spotted the forty-foot-tall Colorado blue spruce, transformed each winter into the National Christmas Tree. As his thoughts drifted back to the first winter he and his wife lit the tree, the motorcade screeched to a halt.
Seconds later, the president’s door was yanked open and he was pulled from Cadillac One by a Secret Service agent. As the Secret Service detail surrounded him, shepherding him toward the nearest building, the head of the president’s detail explained.
“We’re under attack — ballistic missile!”