She needed some way to distract them. She thought of the lab books. Paul had been working with them when he had drifted from her. The Americans were keenly interested in them. She supposed the Russians would be too, if they only knew how near they were. She hated them!
She spoke to the tall one.
'I will get him out in the car. You can wait to see us leave. We have a hunting lodge higher in the mountains, I'll draw you a map. I will head in the opposite direction and then double back on another road. We can switch to your car there.'
'I don't like it,' said the other man. 'We shouldn't let her or Krone out of our sight.'
The tall man turned to speak to him, keeping his eyes locked on Maria Latvin.
'I don't think there will be any problem.' He smiled an unpleasant smile and patted the leather folder in his breast pocket.
Isaacs closed another book and checked his watch. He had found no reference to other useful material beyond an occasional technical journal. The lab books seemed selfcontained. There was no reason to delay further.
'It's time to get back to the base and radio a report,' he said. 'How are you doing?' he inquired of his companions.
'This is amazing stuff!' Runyan replied enthusiastically.
'The man is really incredible. He has developed a whole series of innovative techniques to accomplish things I would have said were impossible. Apparently, he deliberately set out to make a black hole. He wanted to use it as an energy source, utilize the power emitted as material is swallowed. Vast power from anything, dirt, water, air. He started by investigating how great a density he could create in the lab. Just a question of pure basic science with no practical application in mind. Then he got the idea of creating a black hole. He imploded pellets of iron with his standard beam techniques — iron so that there would be no nuclear reactions. The problem is that it requires vast energies to overcome the internal pressure of the compressed matter. Krone seems to have developed a way to neutralize the electrical charges in the pellet and the beam which compresses it. That reduced the pressure and allows much higher densities. I haven't got to anything about black holes yet, but if I'm any judge his studies will advance our knowledge of the behaviour of nuclear matter by a decade.'
'Could be,' replied Isaacs. 'I was just looking here somewhere in the middle of the story,' he checked a date, 'about a year and a half ago. Apparently, he has had some success at reaching high densities, but trouble maintaining them. He's describing here the development of a magnetic confinement configuration which can support the compressed pellet while he continues to focus the intense neutron beams on it. The discussion is highly technical. I'm barely getting the gist of it.'
Isaacs paused to rub his eyes.
'The real question is whether we are going to learn anything from these that will tell us how to undo the damage. Are you getting any sense of that?'
'He's done the impossible and recorded it in meticulous detail,' Runyan replied. 'Only time will tell, but I can't believe there won't be some new knowledge, some hints. I know this, as long as the original knowledge is locked up there,' he glanced at Krone's still figure, 'these books are invaluable.'
Danielson had not seemed to pay any attention to this interchange. She had swivelled her chair away from the desk and was staring at the fire.
'Pat?' inquired Isaacs.
She turned to look at him with a vacant smile. 'I was thinking about Shelley.'
'The poet, Percy Bysshe?'
'No, his wife, Mary Wollstonecraft.'
'Oh, right, Frankenstein. Well, our scientist has created a monster all right.'
'Four of them.'
'What's that?'
She pointed at the book she had abandoned on the desk.
'He thinks he made four of them. At first the suspension system was ineffective. He cites evidence that he managed to start three seeds, but then they disappeared from the system. There was no sign that they had evaporated, no unexplained release of energy. He suspects they fell into the earth, but are too small to detect. By the fourth time, he made significant improvements to the magnetic suspension and managed to force-feed and grow the one we know about. Eventually, the suspension failed again. This time he detected it seismically and knew for sure what was happening.'
'My god!' gasped Runyan from his seat by the door.
'Didn't he know what he was doing? Why didn't he stop after the first disaster?'
She looked at him Godly.
'The journals are pretty clinical so his state of mind is only implicit, but I get the feeling that he was totally caught up in the scientific and engineering questions and driven by a powerful megalomania. Apparently, he was so consumed by his quest that he didn't question the failures in that way, just what had become of them. When the fourth got away from him, he finally thought seriously about the implications of what he had done — and it destroyed him.' She waved a hand towards the quiet figure in the chair by the fireplace.
'But if he's right about the other three,' said Runyan, 'then even if we find some solution to the big one we're still in danger from the others. Drag on them is going to act more quickly to cause them to settle into the earth where they're unreachable. They may take a much longer time to grow to a dangerous size, but it's still just a matter of time.'
He exchanged a long glance with Isaacs. Isaacs broke it off, gathered up the books he had been reading and stood.
'Well, let's see if we can get these books to someone who will understand them better than we do.'
Danielson stood up from the desk, and Runyan gathered his long legs under him and shoved himself to his feet.
Maria Latvin appeared in the doorway. She gave Runyan a cool look and then addressed herself to Isaacs.
'I must put Paul down for his rest. Then I would like to talk to you, if I may. Would you please wait in the living room?'
'Certainly,' replied Isaacs. 'We have a couple of issues to discuss with you as well.'
They filed out of the room and down the hall as the woman bent to help Krone from the chair.
Isaacs deposited the books he had been holding on the table in the foyer. He walked over next to Runyan who had settled in the chair next to the fireplace. Danielson examined the artefacts on the shelves.
'What next?' Runyan inquired.
'We'll explain to her that we need the books and that we'll have to send someone for Krone. Something tells me she's not going to take that news too well.'
Runyan's face clouded over. 'I don't believe I fathom that lady. Surely she realizes that we represent some threat to upset her isolated but rather posh applecart here, yet she doesn't seem at all perturbed.'
'I'm not sure of her role, either,' Isaacs answered. 'She does seem to be devoted to Krone. If he returned the consideration, he may have set her up for life, regardless of what happens.'
Runyan smiled an impish grin. 'Or maybe Krone's not as incapacitated as he seems. That's one good-looking woman there.'
'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Danielson turned, exasperated.
'You can see what shape that man is in. Can you imagine what an effort it must be to care for him? All by herself?'
Runyan leaned towards Isaacs and said in a stage whisper, 'Touchy feminist.'
'Mr Isaacs,' Danielson's voice was cold with fury. 'I don't believe you need me here anymore. I'll wait in the car.' She paused to pick up the lab books Runyan had left in the foyer and then swept out the front door.
Runyan gave a half shrug as Isaacs fixed him with a stony stare.
'That was completely unnecessary, Alex. I don't know what you've done to upset her, but I want a lid on it.' 'Hey, it was a little joke.'
'There's more to it than that. Something's going on between you.'
'Well, to hell with you,' Runyan scowled. 'My personal life is none of your business.'
'It is if it keeps one of my people from performing at top efficiency, or distracts us at all from what we're doing here.'
'Horse shit,' seethed Runyan. 'Don't tell me I'm not on top of what's going on.' He stood up and looked down at the slightly shorter man. 'You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me.'
'I know what you've contributed, and I'd like to keep you on the team, but if you get in my way, you're out!'
The two men glared at one another, then Runyan broke off and looked at the carpet, scuffing his toe, then finally back at Isaacs.
'Look,' he said, 'this thing is too big for us to lose sight of it fighting over some girl.'
'Girl! She's a damn fine worker. Let me remind you neither of us would be here if it weren't for her early work.'
'She's a bright lady, I know that. She's also attractive, in case you hadn't noticed. We got a little friendly out there in Arizona. Didn't mean anything.'
'I think it did to her.'
They were silent a moment. Then Isaacs spoke.
'We've got to get a move on here. The woman's had plenty of time to put Krone to bed or whatever she was going to do. See if you can find her. I'll get the two men in the car to start carrying out the books.'
Runyan headed down the hallway. He heard a noise, turned into the study, and was rooted with shock. A huge fire roared in the fireplace. In disbelief, he watched Maria Latvin pick up an object, squirt it with charcoal lighter, and toss it into the fireplace where it ignited with a FOOMPF! and added to the blaze. He looked more carefully and realized that the grate was filled with burning books. The lab books!
'What the hell are you doing?' he shouted, rushing towards her.
The woman swivelled quickly, the fingers of her right hand deftly sweeping up a bone-handled knife as she turned. I wish no one hurt, she thought, but I'm too close to let this one stand in my way. I must get to Paul!
She faced Runyan in a half-crouch, the position they had learned when planning the escape. She felt the rush of irony that she should use this skill to fight her way back in. She spread her feet wide, wielding the weapon in the classic offensive position, point out, not down from her fist like a dagger. Runyan registered her savage, determined look and the wicked tip of the blade. He tried to brake, off balance.
The knife whipped in a deadly arc towards his face. He jerked his head back and threw up his arms for protection, stumbling backwards. He felt his jaw go numb as the blade went by and then a deep agony flashed through his right forearm. He crashed onto the floor. The woman's knife hand had completed its vicious cycle, instantly ready to strike again. Runyan's fall on his back, legs sprawled, had taken him just out of reach. He saw her look at his exposed crotch and draw back the knife. Panic seized him. He shuttled backward, crab-like, then flipped onto all fours. He screamed as his right arm gave way, and he fell on his face. He crawled awkwardly with one arm, flailing, splashing blood, then finally got his feet under him and lurched out the door and down the hallway.
Isaacs was on the front step when he heard Runyan shout. He raced into the living room just as Runyan, frightened and bloody, ran from the hall.
'Burning the lab books!' Runyan shouted hoarsely, as he collapsed onto Isaacs who lowered him to the floor. The two CIA agents pounded into the room. Danielson and the pilot followed them, breathing hard, eyes wide.
'The woman! Get her!' Isaacs directed the agents. 'And watch out — she's got some kind of weapon. Pat, see to him, will you?' he said standing, pointing to Runyan's sprawled form. 'You!' he said, fingering the pilot, 'come with me.'
He raced down the hallway. At the end of it, the two agents were putting their shoulders to a locked door. Dimly, Isaacs heard the roaring start of a high performance engine.
'A car!' he shouted. 'Out the front way. See if you can stop her! If she's got Krone with her, for god's sake don't do anything to harm him.'
Isaacs turned into the study as the agents ran back down the hallway past him. He fought down a sense of dismay at the sight of the hearth full of burning books, then grabbed the fireplace tongs and began to frantically pull them from the grate. The pilot backed into the room watching the two CIA field men disappear into the living room. Then he turned and stopped transfixed, watching as Isaacs threw book after burning book about the room.
'Get your jacket off!' Isaacs shouted over his shoulder. 'Smother those!'
The carpet was starting to smoulder in a dozen places. The young pilot stripped off his jacket and began to extinguish the flames, covering the books with his jacket, kicking them away from areas of smoking carpet.
Isaacs pulled the last book from the grate, a half— consumed block of char. He removed his jacket and methodically worked on the flames nearest him. After a frenetic minute, the last of the flames died. Isaacs, breathing in huge gulps of air, smiled gratefully at the young 'man. His proud grey-blue jacket was a scorched tatter. He was covered with soot and his hands were red with angry welts. Isaacs felt his own hands begin to puff and sting with burns he had ignored.
'Sorry about your hands, and clothes.'
The young man shrugged.
'Would you make sure these are all out?' Isaacs asked him. 'I'll check the others.'
Isaacs left the soldier gently kicking the books into the hallway, checking for those still smouldering.
Pat Danielson had run over to Alex Runyan and then stopped, weak-kneed. He lay on his back, staring pale faced at the ceiling. His shirt was slashed just below his right elbow and a dark stain spread into the cloth, but it was his neck that held her attention. His beard below the chin line dripped red blood. She paid no attention to the two CIA agents who tore through the room and out the front door. My god, she thought, dropping to her knees, his throat's been slashed!
Runyan rolled his eyes to her and smiled weakly. 'I'll never look at another woman again.'
Danielson forced herself to look at his neck. With relief, she realized the wound was just along the jaw bone. It was deep, with pink bone showing, but not life threatening.
'She — she nearly cut your throat.'
'I certainly got the impression that was her goal,' Runyan croaked.
'Let me look for something to stop the bleeding', Danielson said. She ran through the dining room into the kitchen. She slammed through the cabinets until she found a stack of dish towels. She turned to go, then stopped and pulled open drawers until she found a large, sharp kitchen knife. She fretted back to Runyan who was struggling to sit up.
'Lie down, crazy,' she said, pushing him in the chest with the butt of the knife.
Runyan spied the gloaming blade. 'You're going to finish the job,' he groaned. 'Make it quick.'
Danielson put the knife and towels down and gave him a pained look. She rolled one of the towels up and aligned it with the cut on his jaw.
'Hold that!' she said sternly, grabbing his good left hand and putting it on the towel. She laid his right arm slowly, gently, straight out from his body. Then she picked up the knife and carefully inserted the tip in the hole in his shirt and slit the gash to the end of the sleeve. She reversed the knife and extended the slash to his upper arm so she could curl the cloth away from the wound. It was also deep, with sliced tendons exposed, bleeding steadily and profusely. She wrapped a towel around the forearm and it promptly turned a bright crimson. She slit another towel in several places with the knife and then tore it into strips. She knotted two strips around the towel on the wound and another just above the elbow as a tourniquet.
She felt Isaacs crouch at her side.
'How is he?'
'Not as bad as he looks, I thought his throat was cut. He's lost a lot of blood, though.'
'I'll send the pact in the van for his chopper. There must be someplace he can set down around here. We'll get him down to the base hospital at Holloman as soon as possible.'
Isaacs headed quickly for the door. Outside the two agents were jogging back up the driveway.
'Missed her?' Isaacs inquired.
'No way,' one of them replied. 'Damn Ferrari, or some such thing. But she didn't head for the lab: she took off in the opposite direction. Shall we take the van after her?'
'No, we need it to help get medical attention for Runyan. Was Krone in the car?'
'Didn't get a good look, but yeah, I thought I saw a passenger.'
'Can't be too hard to find such a car in these parts,' Isaacs observed.
'Nah,' the agent agreed, 'it's bright red and goes two hundred miles an hour. Should be a snap from the air. It'll be dark soon, though. That could give her an edge.'
'Let's get on it then,' Isaacs said. 'You go with the pilot to the lab. Radio from the helicopter for a search team.'
'Right,' replied the agent, heading for the van.
Inside the house, Runyan had closed his eyes. Pat Danielson looked at his face, nearly as white from shock as the plaster on the adobe walls. Slowly, she reached out and put a comforting hand on the pale forehead.
'Damn you,' she whispered. 'Damn you.'
Chapter 18
She spoke to the tall one.
'I will get him out in the car. You can wait to see us leave. We have a hunting lodge higher in the mountains, I'll draw you a map. I will head in the opposite direction and then double back on another road. We can switch to your car there.'
'I don't like it,' said the other man. 'We shouldn't let her or Krone out of our sight.'
The tall man turned to speak to him, keeping his eyes locked on Maria Latvin.
'I don't think there will be any problem.' He smiled an unpleasant smile and patted the leather folder in his breast pocket.
Isaacs closed another book and checked his watch. He had found no reference to other useful material beyond an occasional technical journal. The lab books seemed selfcontained. There was no reason to delay further.
'It's time to get back to the base and radio a report,' he said. 'How are you doing?' he inquired of his companions.
'This is amazing stuff!' Runyan replied enthusiastically.
'The man is really incredible. He has developed a whole series of innovative techniques to accomplish things I would have said were impossible. Apparently, he deliberately set out to make a black hole. He wanted to use it as an energy source, utilize the power emitted as material is swallowed. Vast power from anything, dirt, water, air. He started by investigating how great a density he could create in the lab. Just a question of pure basic science with no practical application in mind. Then he got the idea of creating a black hole. He imploded pellets of iron with his standard beam techniques — iron so that there would be no nuclear reactions. The problem is that it requires vast energies to overcome the internal pressure of the compressed matter. Krone seems to have developed a way to neutralize the electrical charges in the pellet and the beam which compresses it. That reduced the pressure and allows much higher densities. I haven't got to anything about black holes yet, but if I'm any judge his studies will advance our knowledge of the behaviour of nuclear matter by a decade.'
'Could be,' replied Isaacs. 'I was just looking here somewhere in the middle of the story,' he checked a date, 'about a year and a half ago. Apparently, he has had some success at reaching high densities, but trouble maintaining them. He's describing here the development of a magnetic confinement configuration which can support the compressed pellet while he continues to focus the intense neutron beams on it. The discussion is highly technical. I'm barely getting the gist of it.'
Isaacs paused to rub his eyes.
'The real question is whether we are going to learn anything from these that will tell us how to undo the damage. Are you getting any sense of that?'
'He's done the impossible and recorded it in meticulous detail,' Runyan replied. 'Only time will tell, but I can't believe there won't be some new knowledge, some hints. I know this, as long as the original knowledge is locked up there,' he glanced at Krone's still figure, 'these books are invaluable.'
Danielson had not seemed to pay any attention to this interchange. She had swivelled her chair away from the desk and was staring at the fire.
'Pat?' inquired Isaacs.
She turned to look at him with a vacant smile. 'I was thinking about Shelley.'
'The poet, Percy Bysshe?'
'No, his wife, Mary Wollstonecraft.'
'Oh, right, Frankenstein. Well, our scientist has created a monster all right.'
'Four of them.'
'What's that?'
She pointed at the book she had abandoned on the desk.
'He thinks he made four of them. At first the suspension system was ineffective. He cites evidence that he managed to start three seeds, but then they disappeared from the system. There was no sign that they had evaporated, no unexplained release of energy. He suspects they fell into the earth, but are too small to detect. By the fourth time, he made significant improvements to the magnetic suspension and managed to force-feed and grow the one we know about. Eventually, the suspension failed again. This time he detected it seismically and knew for sure what was happening.'
'My god!' gasped Runyan from his seat by the door.
'Didn't he know what he was doing? Why didn't he stop after the first disaster?'
She looked at him Godly.
'The journals are pretty clinical so his state of mind is only implicit, but I get the feeling that he was totally caught up in the scientific and engineering questions and driven by a powerful megalomania. Apparently, he was so consumed by his quest that he didn't question the failures in that way, just what had become of them. When the fourth got away from him, he finally thought seriously about the implications of what he had done — and it destroyed him.' She waved a hand towards the quiet figure in the chair by the fireplace.
'But if he's right about the other three,' said Runyan, 'then even if we find some solution to the big one we're still in danger from the others. Drag on them is going to act more quickly to cause them to settle into the earth where they're unreachable. They may take a much longer time to grow to a dangerous size, but it's still just a matter of time.'
He exchanged a long glance with Isaacs. Isaacs broke it off, gathered up the books he had been reading and stood.
'Well, let's see if we can get these books to someone who will understand them better than we do.'
Danielson stood up from the desk, and Runyan gathered his long legs under him and shoved himself to his feet.
Maria Latvin appeared in the doorway. She gave Runyan a cool look and then addressed herself to Isaacs.
'I must put Paul down for his rest. Then I would like to talk to you, if I may. Would you please wait in the living room?'
'Certainly,' replied Isaacs. 'We have a couple of issues to discuss with you as well.'
They filed out of the room and down the hall as the woman bent to help Krone from the chair.
Isaacs deposited the books he had been holding on the table in the foyer. He walked over next to Runyan who had settled in the chair next to the fireplace. Danielson examined the artefacts on the shelves.
'What next?' Runyan inquired.
'We'll explain to her that we need the books and that we'll have to send someone for Krone. Something tells me she's not going to take that news too well.'
Runyan's face clouded over. 'I don't believe I fathom that lady. Surely she realizes that we represent some threat to upset her isolated but rather posh applecart here, yet she doesn't seem at all perturbed.'
'I'm not sure of her role, either,' Isaacs answered. 'She does seem to be devoted to Krone. If he returned the consideration, he may have set her up for life, regardless of what happens.'
Runyan smiled an impish grin. 'Or maybe Krone's not as incapacitated as he seems. That's one good-looking woman there.'
'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Danielson turned, exasperated.
'You can see what shape that man is in. Can you imagine what an effort it must be to care for him? All by herself?'
Runyan leaned towards Isaacs and said in a stage whisper, 'Touchy feminist.'
'Mr Isaacs,' Danielson's voice was cold with fury. 'I don't believe you need me here anymore. I'll wait in the car.' She paused to pick up the lab books Runyan had left in the foyer and then swept out the front door.
Runyan gave a half shrug as Isaacs fixed him with a stony stare.
'That was completely unnecessary, Alex. I don't know what you've done to upset her, but I want a lid on it.' 'Hey, it was a little joke.'
'There's more to it than that. Something's going on between you.'
'Well, to hell with you,' Runyan scowled. 'My personal life is none of your business.'
'It is if it keeps one of my people from performing at top efficiency, or distracts us at all from what we're doing here.'
'Horse shit,' seethed Runyan. 'Don't tell me I'm not on top of what's going on.' He stood up and looked down at the slightly shorter man. 'You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me.'
'I know what you've contributed, and I'd like to keep you on the team, but if you get in my way, you're out!'
The two men glared at one another, then Runyan broke off and looked at the carpet, scuffing his toe, then finally back at Isaacs.
'Look,' he said, 'this thing is too big for us to lose sight of it fighting over some girl.'
'Girl! She's a damn fine worker. Let me remind you neither of us would be here if it weren't for her early work.'
'She's a bright lady, I know that. She's also attractive, in case you hadn't noticed. We got a little friendly out there in Arizona. Didn't mean anything.'
'I think it did to her.'
They were silent a moment. Then Isaacs spoke.
'We've got to get a move on here. The woman's had plenty of time to put Krone to bed or whatever she was going to do. See if you can find her. I'll get the two men in the car to start carrying out the books.'
Runyan headed down the hallway. He heard a noise, turned into the study, and was rooted with shock. A huge fire roared in the fireplace. In disbelief, he watched Maria Latvin pick up an object, squirt it with charcoal lighter, and toss it into the fireplace where it ignited with a FOOMPF! and added to the blaze. He looked more carefully and realized that the grate was filled with burning books. The lab books!
'What the hell are you doing?' he shouted, rushing towards her.
The woman swivelled quickly, the fingers of her right hand deftly sweeping up a bone-handled knife as she turned. I wish no one hurt, she thought, but I'm too close to let this one stand in my way. I must get to Paul!
She faced Runyan in a half-crouch, the position they had learned when planning the escape. She felt the rush of irony that she should use this skill to fight her way back in. She spread her feet wide, wielding the weapon in the classic offensive position, point out, not down from her fist like a dagger. Runyan registered her savage, determined look and the wicked tip of the blade. He tried to brake, off balance.
The knife whipped in a deadly arc towards his face. He jerked his head back and threw up his arms for protection, stumbling backwards. He felt his jaw go numb as the blade went by and then a deep agony flashed through his right forearm. He crashed onto the floor. The woman's knife hand had completed its vicious cycle, instantly ready to strike again. Runyan's fall on his back, legs sprawled, had taken him just out of reach. He saw her look at his exposed crotch and draw back the knife. Panic seized him. He shuttled backward, crab-like, then flipped onto all fours. He screamed as his right arm gave way, and he fell on his face. He crawled awkwardly with one arm, flailing, splashing blood, then finally got his feet under him and lurched out the door and down the hallway.
Isaacs was on the front step when he heard Runyan shout. He raced into the living room just as Runyan, frightened and bloody, ran from the hall.
'Burning the lab books!' Runyan shouted hoarsely, as he collapsed onto Isaacs who lowered him to the floor. The two CIA agents pounded into the room. Danielson and the pilot followed them, breathing hard, eyes wide.
'The woman! Get her!' Isaacs directed the agents. 'And watch out — she's got some kind of weapon. Pat, see to him, will you?' he said standing, pointing to Runyan's sprawled form. 'You!' he said, fingering the pilot, 'come with me.'
He raced down the hallway. At the end of it, the two agents were putting their shoulders to a locked door. Dimly, Isaacs heard the roaring start of a high performance engine.
'A car!' he shouted. 'Out the front way. See if you can stop her! If she's got Krone with her, for god's sake don't do anything to harm him.'
Isaacs turned into the study as the agents ran back down the hallway past him. He fought down a sense of dismay at the sight of the hearth full of burning books, then grabbed the fireplace tongs and began to frantically pull them from the grate. The pilot backed into the room watching the two CIA field men disappear into the living room. Then he turned and stopped transfixed, watching as Isaacs threw book after burning book about the room.
'Get your jacket off!' Isaacs shouted over his shoulder. 'Smother those!'
The carpet was starting to smoulder in a dozen places. The young pilot stripped off his jacket and began to extinguish the flames, covering the books with his jacket, kicking them away from areas of smoking carpet.
Isaacs pulled the last book from the grate, a half— consumed block of char. He removed his jacket and methodically worked on the flames nearest him. After a frenetic minute, the last of the flames died. Isaacs, breathing in huge gulps of air, smiled gratefully at the young 'man. His proud grey-blue jacket was a scorched tatter. He was covered with soot and his hands were red with angry welts. Isaacs felt his own hands begin to puff and sting with burns he had ignored.
'Sorry about your hands, and clothes.'
The young man shrugged.
'Would you make sure these are all out?' Isaacs asked him. 'I'll check the others.'
Isaacs left the soldier gently kicking the books into the hallway, checking for those still smouldering.
Pat Danielson had run over to Alex Runyan and then stopped, weak-kneed. He lay on his back, staring pale faced at the ceiling. His shirt was slashed just below his right elbow and a dark stain spread into the cloth, but it was his neck that held her attention. His beard below the chin line dripped red blood. She paid no attention to the two CIA agents who tore through the room and out the front door. My god, she thought, dropping to her knees, his throat's been slashed!
Runyan rolled his eyes to her and smiled weakly. 'I'll never look at another woman again.'
Danielson forced herself to look at his neck. With relief, she realized the wound was just along the jaw bone. It was deep, with pink bone showing, but not life threatening.
'She — she nearly cut your throat.'
'I certainly got the impression that was her goal,' Runyan croaked.
'Let me look for something to stop the bleeding', Danielson said. She ran through the dining room into the kitchen. She slammed through the cabinets until she found a stack of dish towels. She turned to go, then stopped and pulled open drawers until she found a large, sharp kitchen knife. She fretted back to Runyan who was struggling to sit up.
'Lie down, crazy,' she said, pushing him in the chest with the butt of the knife.
Runyan spied the gloaming blade. 'You're going to finish the job,' he groaned. 'Make it quick.'
Danielson put the knife and towels down and gave him a pained look. She rolled one of the towels up and aligned it with the cut on his jaw.
'Hold that!' she said sternly, grabbing his good left hand and putting it on the towel. She laid his right arm slowly, gently, straight out from his body. Then she picked up the knife and carefully inserted the tip in the hole in his shirt and slit the gash to the end of the sleeve. She reversed the knife and extended the slash to his upper arm so she could curl the cloth away from the wound. It was also deep, with sliced tendons exposed, bleeding steadily and profusely. She wrapped a towel around the forearm and it promptly turned a bright crimson. She slit another towel in several places with the knife and then tore it into strips. She knotted two strips around the towel on the wound and another just above the elbow as a tourniquet.
She felt Isaacs crouch at her side.
'How is he?'
'Not as bad as he looks, I thought his throat was cut. He's lost a lot of blood, though.'
'I'll send the pact in the van for his chopper. There must be someplace he can set down around here. We'll get him down to the base hospital at Holloman as soon as possible.'
Isaacs headed quickly for the door. Outside the two agents were jogging back up the driveway.
'Missed her?' Isaacs inquired.
'No way,' one of them replied. 'Damn Ferrari, or some such thing. But she didn't head for the lab: she took off in the opposite direction. Shall we take the van after her?'
'No, we need it to help get medical attention for Runyan. Was Krone in the car?'
'Didn't get a good look, but yeah, I thought I saw a passenger.'
'Can't be too hard to find such a car in these parts,' Isaacs observed.
'Nah,' the agent agreed, 'it's bright red and goes two hundred miles an hour. Should be a snap from the air. It'll be dark soon, though. That could give her an edge.'
'Let's get on it then,' Isaacs said. 'You go with the pilot to the lab. Radio from the helicopter for a search team.'
'Right,' replied the agent, heading for the van.
Inside the house, Runyan had closed his eyes. Pat Danielson looked at his face, nearly as white from shock as the plaster on the adobe walls. Slowly, she reached out and put a comforting hand on the pale forehead.
'Damn you,' she whispered. 'Damn you.'
Chapter 18
From his helicopter seat, Robert Isaacs looked down on the lights of the ellipse, the thrust of the Washington Monument , and the illuminated sheen of the White House. His exhaustion ran so deep that the sight barely stirred him. His hands stung from burns and his belly ached from the cold, greasy, hastily packed box lunch that he had grabbed from the commissary at Holloman Air Force Base and shared with Pat Danielson on the flight back to Andrews. With luck, he thought, the car would be depositing Danielson at her apartment about now. He, on the other hand, had to face the most important meeting of his career with scarcely the energy to hold his head up. There would be shock, a lot of heat, a search for scapegoats. He knew he would be a target if his collusion with the Russians were revealed.
He hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt. The clean jacket that an aide had picked up from his home and delivered to Andrews helped, but he could see singe marks where the shirt cuffs showed. He looked at his watch as the helicopter settled onto the pad on the White House lawn. 11:37. A helluva time to decide the fate of the nation. He thought he might prefer to change places with Runyan, trussed up in a hospital bed, or the two agents who had gone chasing a Ferrari through the mountains of New Mexico. Isaacs wondered whether they had got anything to eat. He steeled himself as the door swung open and climbed down into the rotor's wash. He supervised the unloading of the precious footlocker, keeping one of the lab books to show the President and then headed for the nearest door of the White House.
Inside, a White House guard escorted him to the cabinet room. Isaacs thanked the guard, opened the door and stepped inside. Seventeen people were seated around the large table which filled the room. Isaacs nodded to the Vice— President, several cabinet officers, the Chairman of the National Security Council, and various others he knew. He recalled that the Secretary of Defence, smart enough to beat the August heat in the capital, was absent on a tour of European defence installations. Some of the faces displayed excitement at the state of emergency, others, blasй and disgruntled at the lateness of the hour, glanced at him long enough to ascertain that he was not The Man and returned to desultory conversations. The President's chair, halfway along the table, its back to the window, was still empty.
Howard Drefke rose from his seat at the far end of the table in front of the unlit fireplace. Wayne Phillips, who had been seated next to him, also stood as Isaacs walked the length of the room to join them.
'Bob. How are you?' Drefke's voice was low m the hush of the room, but warm.
'I'm fine.' Isaacs grimaced slightly at the pain of the handshake, but offered his hand as well to Phillips. They sat down, Isaacs taking a spare chair next to Phillips. He placed the scorched lab book carefully on the table. 'Sorry to call you back here so suddenly,' Isaacs said to the physicist.
'No problem at all. I'm so happy to be of service.'
'You brought the slides from Gantt?'
'Yes, they're in the machine.'
Phillips gestured at a projector sitting on the waist high table next to Drefke in front of the fireplace. Isaacs checked the alignment of the screen at the other end of the room, next to the door through which he had entered. He confirmed that Drefke had brought the satellite photos. All seemed in place.
'I caught one of those commuter flights from La Jolla to Burbank just after you called this morning,' Phillips continued, 'and Ellison was ferried over from Arizona. We had several hours in Pasadena to assemble the data and make the slides before my flight east. I'm sorry that Ellison isn't here to help with the presentation, especially since poor Alex is hurt. His condition is not too serious, they tell me?'
'No, he lost some blood, and he'll be in a bit of Paul for a while, but he'll be fine. In any case, you're the head of Jason, the man the President will want to hear from.'
The door banged open and the President barged through. Isaacs immediately perceived that the individual normally so bluff and hearty on television press conferences was thoroughly steamed. He strode to his chair and sat down so quickly that no one had a chance to stand. There was a momentary bobbing of bodies as several of the people started to rise, thought better of it, and resettled themselves. The President had a piece of paper partially crushed in his tight grip. He slammed it on the table.
'The goddamned Russians have gone berserk! This is the third hot line message from them today. This morning they wiped out the nuclear device that was our protection against their laser. All afternoon they've been methodically picking off pieces of space junk, showing what they can do. There are rumours in every major capital that our surveillance system is compromised and that one side or the other is on the verge of a preemptive strike.'
He poked a rigid finger at the paper.
'If we so much as blink we'll be at war and our NATO allies are panicked to the point where any one of them could push the wrong button.'
He looked around the table. 'The Russians are mad, and they are scared, and they are blaming us. I want to know what the hell is going on!'
The President paused and forcibly composed himself. He continued with a quieter but still strained tone. 'They seem to think that we have developed and are testing some fantastic new kind of weapon which can be fired through the earth.'
He turned towards the Director of Central Intelligence at his far right. 'Howard, you indicated you could shed some light on this. I hope you don't mind sharing one or two of your secrets with me before the whole world goes up in a goddamned nuclear war!'
A look of anguish passed over Drefke's face. The sarcastic attack from his old friend pained him, and he knew the President was not going to like the story he had to tell.
'Mr President,' his voice quavered, but then grew stronger, 'the case I have to present is highly unorthodox. My associate, Mr Isaacs, has only just this moment returned with the evidence to confirm that we are faced with a peril of unprecedented proportions. Through a bizarre set of circumstances, the earth itself has become mortally endangered.'
'I've always considered nuclear holocaust dangerous,' the President said, his irritation still plainly evident.
'I don't mean war, but something far more insidious,' Drefke pressed. 'If our understanding is correct, the issues we currently regard as crises, including this exaggerated light sabre rattling of the Soviets, become nearly irrelevant.'
Drefke could sense that his strong statement, coupled with the ire of the President, had created a profound air of discontent around the table. He rushed on.
'Our current understanding has been developed by the Office of Scientific Intelligence under Mr Isaacs with the collaboration of the Jason group chaired by Professor Wayne Phillips who is here to answer questions of a technical, scientific nature which may arise.'
Phillips nodded at the array of severe faces which surrounded the table.
'I will give you a brief overview,' Drefke continued.
'Mr Isaacs will then provide details of the present situation. He paused and looked at some notes before him.
'In late April, analysis of seismic data from the Large Seismic Array showed a peculiar signal. Closer examination by members of the OSI staff revealed this signal to be quite regular with a period of eighty and a half minutes. Attempts to relate this signal to a man-made origin were unsuccessful. On the contrary, the source of the seismic waves moved along a line which always pointed to the same direction in space.'
'Hell's fire!' The expletive came from the representative of the Office of Naval Intelligence, a man of stern military bearing. Several people in the room, including the President, flinched at the outburst. Drefke, who had beer anticipating it, looked at him stonily.
'You're talking about the same thing the Navy has beer monitoring on sonar,' the Navy man continued. 'Fixed orientation and all that. We lost a ship on that mission. What the hell's going on?'
Drefke looked Godly at the President, confident of his special relationship.
'If I may continue?'
The President nodded and Drefke proceeded to ignore the hot glare of the naval officer.
'It is true,' he said, 'that the phenomenon generates an acoustic signal in water which is the counterpart of the seismic signal within the earth.'
His voice took on a slight condescending note. 'My colleagues in the Navy are aware of the phenomenon I'm discussing. They chose not to pursue the matter in a manner which would give any useful insight.' Drefke knew that this simple statement on his part would eventually cause heads to roll in the hierarchy of naval intelligence, including, perhaps, that of his obstreperous colleague at the table. He proceeded with the matter at hand.
'The Navy lost a ship, the Stinson, with tragic loss of life, while monitoring this phenomenon. That relates to another important point. At the same time, also beginning last April, another chain of events was set in motion, which.are well-known to all of you here.' Drefke hunched forward, leaning on the table, and looked intently at his colleagues. 'I am referring to the Soviet carrier, the Novorossiisk.'
There was a rustle and exchange of glances around the table. Drefke continued.
'You all know what transpired from that seemingly minor incident. The Soviets unveiled their first laser and demolished one of our surveillance satellites. We captured that satellite, thanks to the brave action of our shuttle crew, but that led to the launch of a new laser satellite and our nuclear weapon in a standoff which was broken this morning, leaving us in our current state of emergency. We now have reason to believe that the object which damaged the Novorossiisk and, in sad fact, sank the Stinson, was the very thing the Stinson was sent to monitor, the source of the odd seismic and acoustic waves.
'Mr President,' Drefke faced his commander-in-chief, 'we now believe that all these events and several more peculiar happenstances are intimately related, although it was difficult, until very recently, to see the common thread. It is very much to the credit of Mr Isaacs and his team that the crucial connection was made. The seismic information was used by the OSI to predict that the source of these waves would appear in Nagasaki and Dallas on specific dates last summer, July 7 and July 26, respectively. In each instance, there was some relatively minor, unexplained damage. In each case there was also a death, but neither was directly attributable to the source of the seismic waves. This much information was presented to Jason by Mr Isaacs in early August. A possible explanation was forthcoming.'
Drefke leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, looked at Isaacs and Phillips, and then exhaled. He looked keenly at the President.
'Mr President, I know you have heard the term "black hole".'
'Yes,' the President answered with a note of questioning in his voice, 'some sort of gravitational trap, I believe. Supposed to be formed by a collapsing star, if I have the picture right.'
'That is the basic idea,' Drefke assented.
'So what's the point?' the President demanded. 'Are you going to tell me that in addition to the Russians threatening to blow us to kingdom come, we are about to fall into a black hole?'
'Apparently, Mr President, we are doing so at this very instant.'
This statement brought outbursts of protest from around the table. Drefke looked pained again and raised his voice.
'Mr President! Mr President! I beg your pardon! If I could be allowed to explain.'
The President quieted the group. 'Russians I can deal with somehow, Howard, but what the hell are you feeding us now?'
'Please consider my position,' Drefke pleaded in the most dignified tone he could muster. 'I sympathize with your incredulity, but you have not heard all the arguments. Understand that there is no way to introduce this idea without surprise and shock.'
'All right, all right,' said the President with protesting hands in the air. Then he dropped his elbows to the table and supported his head in his hands muttering, 'Jesus Christ!'
'At the Jason meeting the suggestion was made that, despite the seeming impossibility, the only explanation consistent with the facts was a very small black hole. In addition, a suggestion was made for a definitive test of this hypothesis. Such a thing should have a precise and measurable gravitational field. The meeting with Jason was on the second and third of August, nine days ago. An expedition was mounted a week later, and results were obtained only yesterday.
'Mr President, the answer is unambiguous,' Drefke continued. 'An object with a mass of about ten million tons and of very small size is oscillating through the solid matter of the earth as if it did not exist. The conclusion seems inescapable that the object is a black hole and that it is slowly consuming material from the inside of the earth. Left unmolested, that process will proceed to completion.'
A stillness had fallen on the room as Drefke spoke. It continued for a few moments, then was broken by the President.
'And now you are going to tell me the Russians are onto this thing and think we have done it?' he said in a forlorn voice. 'Why wasn't I apprised of this before I had World War Ill dumped in my lap?'
'Sir,' Drefke pleaded, 'as I said, the results confirming the hypothesis only became available yesterday, and even then there were important unanswered questions. You must understand that the notion was so incredible that we had to be absolutely sure before bringing it to your attention.'
Drefke paused to collect his thoughts. He had always been comfortably frank with this man before and after he became the President, but he did not care to confess in front of this group his culpability in delaying Isaacs's investigation. He chose his words carefully.
'Besides drawing us into a confrontation in space, the I Soviets have been pursuing their own investigation of the ' damage to the Novorossiisk.' He could not suppress a quick glance at Isaacs. He also did not want to expose Isaacs's role in tipping the Russians to the nature of the black hole. 'We are not sure of the details, but with their extensive naval deployment in the Mediterranean and the Pacific, they have evidently also discovered the regular sonar pattern associated with this thing. We have recently found that I they have a series of vessels deployed precisely on the path that the, uh, black hole follows as it punches through the earth's surface.'
'May we deduce then,' an abrupt voice broke in, 'that the Soviets have the same information that was available to ! our Navy?' The forceful baritone belonged to the Secretary ' of State, a diminutive man whose tone belied his physical stature. 'But they have gone ahead to reach the conclusion that this thing is a great danger?'
'I believe that is a fair statement,' Drefke replied. In his peripheral vision he could see the jaw muscles of the naval intelligence officer clinch and bunch.
'And they have concluded as you have,' the Secretary of State continued, 'that it is a black hole and have further concluded that we are responsible?'
'That seems to be the best guess,' answered Drefke.
'They have individuals with the necessary insight and imagination. Often their highly compartmentalized system keeps the people with the data from the people with the insight. In this case, however, one of their very. best scientists has been in on it from the beginning, starting with the analysis of the events on the Novorossiisk. Academician Viktor Korolev.'
There were several nods of recognition around the table. Korolev's defence-related work was known to many of them.
'We think,' Drefke continued, 'that it is very likely that, faced with the same data, Korolev would come to the same conclusions that we have.'
'Where did this thing come from then?' the chairman of the National Security Council demanded. 'Outer space?' He glanced at the Secretary of State. 'Why do they think we had anything to do with it?'
'Those questions are closely related,' Drefke said. 'I want you to follow the logic so that you can see that the Russians, Korolev, have probably done the same thing. I would like Bob Isaacs to lay that out for you and report what he found today.'
'Very well,' said the President, 'Mr Isaacs, why don't you proceed?'
Isaacs stood, fighting the fatigue of his hectic day, images flashing: the discovery of Krone's lab, the race to New Mexico , the machine, the encounter with Krone and the woman, Latvin, the flight back. He had to admire Drefke's presentation, a politician who'd scarcely heard of the phrase black hole a day earlier. He moved behind Drefke to the projector, switched it on, and picked up a laser pointer, as the officials swivelled in their chairs towards the screen.
'I'm going to leave out some of the background details for now,' he said, pushing a button to advance through a number of the slides Gantt and Phillips had prepared, until he came to the one he wanted.
'This,' he said, 'is an illustration of the path the black hole takes when it comes out of the earth, rises to a peak, and falls back in. It will then go through the earth and come out the other side. For now, I want you to concentrate on the fact that it rises to a fixed height each time. We can determine the amount of time it is above the earth's surface, and that tells us how far up it goes. The answer is fifty seven hundred feet. The simplest hypothesis is that it was formed somewhere at that altitude and always returns to that height as it swings in orbit through the earth.'
He pushed the button and advanced the projector to a map of the earth centred on the western hemisphere. He used the laser pointer to mark twin red horizontal lines.
'Here you see the path where the orbit intersects the earth's surface, one line in the north through Dallas and Nagasaki , another in the south. As you have heard, we obtained hard evidence that we were dealing with a black hole only yesterday. We immediately did an orbital survey of every point on those two red lines that was at an altitude of fifty-seven hundred feet. You can see there are not many, because of the broad expanses of ocean and low terrain, but it still took some time. You can appreciate that with the orbital path and timing data, the Russians can follow the same procedure. All the locations of interest were empty save one.'
Isaacs paused and looked at the floor as he gently cleared his throat. He looked up and found, not to his surprise, that he was the centre of undivided attention. He pointed to the map.
'That exception is here in New Mexico , east of the White Sands proving grounds and just south of the Mescalero Apache reservation in the Sacramento Mountain Range.'
'Wait a minute now,' the President said excitedly. ' New Mexico ? You're claiming this thing was made in New Mexico ?'
Isaacs flipped through several more slides to reveal a blown-up photograph.
'This is a satellite photograph of the point of interest taken late yesterday afternoon,' he explained.
All around the table the members of the council peered intently at the complex of buildings perched on top of a mountain range.
'We found out this morning that it's a private research laboratory, subcontracted to the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory, two hundred miles to the north. The man who runs it is Paul Krone.'
'Krone? Of Krone Industries?' the President inquired. 'Yes, sir,' answered Isaacs.
The President exchanged a glance with Drefke. They both knew that Krone had heavily financed his opponent in the last election.
'And now you're going to tell me he made a black hole? There?' The President extended a pin-striped arm and pointed a finger at the slide without removing his eyes from Isaacs. 'At a government sponsored laboratory? Right in our own backyard? Without our knowledge? Without my knowledge?'
'Yes, sir, that seems to be the case. When we discovered the site this morning, I took a team for an emergency visit to confirm our suspicions.
'There is a machine in this building,' Isaacs said, using the pointer on the screen, 'the details of which we do not understand. But it is of gigantic proportions and appears to have consumed the rock missing from this ridge.' He pointed to the bare patch of mountain top bordering the lab. 'That's over ten million tons of rock, and the strong circumstantial evidence is that it was compressed by this machine to produce the black hole.
'We then proceeded to a home which Krone maintains near the lab. We found him in a semi-catatonic state. He attempted to commit suicide about four months ago and has some brain damage. We recovered from his study a set of laboratory notebooks, of which this is one.'
Isaacs stepped around behind Drefke, picked up the lab book from his place and walked half the length of the table to set it by the President's elbow.
'We haven't had time to study them) but they seem to contain a complete record of Krone's experiments which led to the creation of the black hole. There may also be important computer files.'
'It's burned!' exclaimed the President.
'Yes, unfortunately. A woman who lived with Krone attempted to burn them. It was a ruse on her part to distract us while she smuggled Krone out the back door. Some were badly damaged before we could stop her.'
'She smuggled him out? While you were there?' The President was incredulous 'Where are they now?'
'The woman got away with him, at least temporarily. They're somewhere in the mountains. We have air and ground search parties after them.'
'Who is this woman?' the Chairman of the NSC inquired.
'Her name is Maria Latvin. She's apparently a refugee,' Isaacs explained. 'From Lithuania. Krone met her in Vienna after she escaped, and she's been living with him ever since.'
'A plant?' the Chairman asked.
'Not that we can tell,' Isaacs answered. 'We're still looking into her background, but the escape from Czechoslovakia seems genuine enough. It's in Krone's character to take up with such a person, to flaunt the possible security risks.'
'Why would she run off with Krone?' the Chairman pressed.
'We haven't come up with any motive yet.'
The President slumped back in his chair.
'All right, let me summarize this.' He shook his head in dismay. 'Krone somehow eats a mountain at government expense and makes a black hole. That black hole punches a hole in this damn Russian carrier?' He looked at Drefke, who nodded his assent. 'The Russians from some perverse instinct, which turns out to be right, assume we are at fault, and start our first space war.
'I thought we had everything fought to a standstill up there,' he jerked a thumb at the ceiling, 'eyeball to eyeball, and all that, and all of a sudden they don't just blink, they haul out a baseball bat and crack me upside the head. And turn all our low orbit stuff into a damn shooting gallery with their laser. God knows what else they've got in amid.
'Now, Howard,' he turned to look at his Director of Central Intelligence, 'you seem to be saying that what's happened is that the Russians have followed the clues and deduced that we made a black hole there and are more convinced than ever that we're out to get them.'
Drefke straightened in his chair, his thoughts equally divided between the crisis before them and the years of friendship with the man at the centre of the table. Those years would be swept away if he didn't handle this properly.
'We have no final proof, although we are working through our contacts in the Soviet Union to find out just what they know. The circumstances strongly suggest that they reached the conclusion at virtually the same time we did, that we manufactured a black hole there. Blowing up our nuclear satellite was apparently their way of letting us know that they're on to us.'
'Mr President.'
All eyes turned to General Whitehead, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He was a large man with bristly close-cropped hair and, at this hour, stubble on his stern jaw to match.
'I've been out of my element with this black hole stuff, but now we are beginning to get into my territory. As I see it, we need to get the Russians back into their corner while we sort all this out. First of all, we need to make crystal clear to them that they've absolutely got to put a cap on any escalation of the current situation. All this skeet shooting they've been doing is one flung, but if they so much as scorch a surveillance satellite, they had better put their population on alert. I also recommend we go after that laser again, to give ourselves some breathing room.'
Drefke ignored the General and spoke to the President again.
'The immediate task before us is to defuse the anxiety of the Russians, not to scare them further. I think that candour is the best policy here. I recommend you tell them everything we know, give them all our data and let them reach their own conclusions. Yes, there is a black hole. Yes, it was made at that site,' he gestured at the slide. 'That should add to our credibility. We must convince them that it was an accident, not an offensive act.'
'I agree with that sentiment,' the Secretary of State firmly announced. 'Mr President, the problem we face here is a unique one. We must bear in mind that, although a US Government lab is involved, the threat is a universal one. I believe it is incumbent upon us to share the information we now have not just with the Soviet Union, but with all our major allies, the People's Republic, and the Third World.'
There were outbursts of protest. The National Security Advisor finally gamed the floor.
'Mr President, I sympathize with the desire of the Secretary for openness and candour, but it seems to me premature to broadcast this problem until we fully understand all the ramifications. At all costs, we must avoid the widespread dissemination of this information and the panic that would ensue.'
'We already know the basic nature of the problem,' protested the Secretary, 'and we may very well need to call on the resources of other countries to devise a solution.'
'This country has plenty of resources on its own,' rumbled General Whitehead, 'and in any case I don't like telling the Communists any more than we have to.' He shot a glance at Drefke. 'There's no way they won't twist this around and throw it in our face, or somehow use it as a lever against us. We should keep the Russians on a short leash and the Chinese should certainly be kept out of it.'
'I don't disagree that the Chinese have very little to offer us in the current context,' the Secretary appealed to the President, 'but for the sake of our future relations with them we must keep them apprised of a problem of this magnitude and of such universal concern. The same argument applies even more strongly to our allies.'
He hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt. The clean jacket that an aide had picked up from his home and delivered to Andrews helped, but he could see singe marks where the shirt cuffs showed. He looked at his watch as the helicopter settled onto the pad on the White House lawn. 11:37. A helluva time to decide the fate of the nation. He thought he might prefer to change places with Runyan, trussed up in a hospital bed, or the two agents who had gone chasing a Ferrari through the mountains of New Mexico. Isaacs wondered whether they had got anything to eat. He steeled himself as the door swung open and climbed down into the rotor's wash. He supervised the unloading of the precious footlocker, keeping one of the lab books to show the President and then headed for the nearest door of the White House.
Inside, a White House guard escorted him to the cabinet room. Isaacs thanked the guard, opened the door and stepped inside. Seventeen people were seated around the large table which filled the room. Isaacs nodded to the Vice— President, several cabinet officers, the Chairman of the National Security Council, and various others he knew. He recalled that the Secretary of Defence, smart enough to beat the August heat in the capital, was absent on a tour of European defence installations. Some of the faces displayed excitement at the state of emergency, others, blasй and disgruntled at the lateness of the hour, glanced at him long enough to ascertain that he was not The Man and returned to desultory conversations. The President's chair, halfway along the table, its back to the window, was still empty.
Howard Drefke rose from his seat at the far end of the table in front of the unlit fireplace. Wayne Phillips, who had been seated next to him, also stood as Isaacs walked the length of the room to join them.
'Bob. How are you?' Drefke's voice was low m the hush of the room, but warm.
'I'm fine.' Isaacs grimaced slightly at the pain of the handshake, but offered his hand as well to Phillips. They sat down, Isaacs taking a spare chair next to Phillips. He placed the scorched lab book carefully on the table. 'Sorry to call you back here so suddenly,' Isaacs said to the physicist.
'No problem at all. I'm so happy to be of service.'
'You brought the slides from Gantt?'
'Yes, they're in the machine.'
Phillips gestured at a projector sitting on the waist high table next to Drefke in front of the fireplace. Isaacs checked the alignment of the screen at the other end of the room, next to the door through which he had entered. He confirmed that Drefke had brought the satellite photos. All seemed in place.
'I caught one of those commuter flights from La Jolla to Burbank just after you called this morning,' Phillips continued, 'and Ellison was ferried over from Arizona. We had several hours in Pasadena to assemble the data and make the slides before my flight east. I'm sorry that Ellison isn't here to help with the presentation, especially since poor Alex is hurt. His condition is not too serious, they tell me?'
'No, he lost some blood, and he'll be in a bit of Paul for a while, but he'll be fine. In any case, you're the head of Jason, the man the President will want to hear from.'
The door banged open and the President barged through. Isaacs immediately perceived that the individual normally so bluff and hearty on television press conferences was thoroughly steamed. He strode to his chair and sat down so quickly that no one had a chance to stand. There was a momentary bobbing of bodies as several of the people started to rise, thought better of it, and resettled themselves. The President had a piece of paper partially crushed in his tight grip. He slammed it on the table.
'The goddamned Russians have gone berserk! This is the third hot line message from them today. This morning they wiped out the nuclear device that was our protection against their laser. All afternoon they've been methodically picking off pieces of space junk, showing what they can do. There are rumours in every major capital that our surveillance system is compromised and that one side or the other is on the verge of a preemptive strike.'
He poked a rigid finger at the paper.
'If we so much as blink we'll be at war and our NATO allies are panicked to the point where any one of them could push the wrong button.'
He looked around the table. 'The Russians are mad, and they are scared, and they are blaming us. I want to know what the hell is going on!'
The President paused and forcibly composed himself. He continued with a quieter but still strained tone. 'They seem to think that we have developed and are testing some fantastic new kind of weapon which can be fired through the earth.'
He turned towards the Director of Central Intelligence at his far right. 'Howard, you indicated you could shed some light on this. I hope you don't mind sharing one or two of your secrets with me before the whole world goes up in a goddamned nuclear war!'
A look of anguish passed over Drefke's face. The sarcastic attack from his old friend pained him, and he knew the President was not going to like the story he had to tell.
'Mr President,' his voice quavered, but then grew stronger, 'the case I have to present is highly unorthodox. My associate, Mr Isaacs, has only just this moment returned with the evidence to confirm that we are faced with a peril of unprecedented proportions. Through a bizarre set of circumstances, the earth itself has become mortally endangered.'
'I've always considered nuclear holocaust dangerous,' the President said, his irritation still plainly evident.
'I don't mean war, but something far more insidious,' Drefke pressed. 'If our understanding is correct, the issues we currently regard as crises, including this exaggerated light sabre rattling of the Soviets, become nearly irrelevant.'
Drefke could sense that his strong statement, coupled with the ire of the President, had created a profound air of discontent around the table. He rushed on.
'Our current understanding has been developed by the Office of Scientific Intelligence under Mr Isaacs with the collaboration of the Jason group chaired by Professor Wayne Phillips who is here to answer questions of a technical, scientific nature which may arise.'
Phillips nodded at the array of severe faces which surrounded the table.
'I will give you a brief overview,' Drefke continued.
'Mr Isaacs will then provide details of the present situation. He paused and looked at some notes before him.
'In late April, analysis of seismic data from the Large Seismic Array showed a peculiar signal. Closer examination by members of the OSI staff revealed this signal to be quite regular with a period of eighty and a half minutes. Attempts to relate this signal to a man-made origin were unsuccessful. On the contrary, the source of the seismic waves moved along a line which always pointed to the same direction in space.'
'Hell's fire!' The expletive came from the representative of the Office of Naval Intelligence, a man of stern military bearing. Several people in the room, including the President, flinched at the outburst. Drefke, who had beer anticipating it, looked at him stonily.
'You're talking about the same thing the Navy has beer monitoring on sonar,' the Navy man continued. 'Fixed orientation and all that. We lost a ship on that mission. What the hell's going on?'
Drefke looked Godly at the President, confident of his special relationship.
'If I may continue?'
The President nodded and Drefke proceeded to ignore the hot glare of the naval officer.
'It is true,' he said, 'that the phenomenon generates an acoustic signal in water which is the counterpart of the seismic signal within the earth.'
His voice took on a slight condescending note. 'My colleagues in the Navy are aware of the phenomenon I'm discussing. They chose not to pursue the matter in a manner which would give any useful insight.' Drefke knew that this simple statement on his part would eventually cause heads to roll in the hierarchy of naval intelligence, including, perhaps, that of his obstreperous colleague at the table. He proceeded with the matter at hand.
'The Navy lost a ship, the Stinson, with tragic loss of life, while monitoring this phenomenon. That relates to another important point. At the same time, also beginning last April, another chain of events was set in motion, which.are well-known to all of you here.' Drefke hunched forward, leaning on the table, and looked intently at his colleagues. 'I am referring to the Soviet carrier, the Novorossiisk.'
There was a rustle and exchange of glances around the table. Drefke continued.
'You all know what transpired from that seemingly minor incident. The Soviets unveiled their first laser and demolished one of our surveillance satellites. We captured that satellite, thanks to the brave action of our shuttle crew, but that led to the launch of a new laser satellite and our nuclear weapon in a standoff which was broken this morning, leaving us in our current state of emergency. We now have reason to believe that the object which damaged the Novorossiisk and, in sad fact, sank the Stinson, was the very thing the Stinson was sent to monitor, the source of the odd seismic and acoustic waves.
'Mr President,' Drefke faced his commander-in-chief, 'we now believe that all these events and several more peculiar happenstances are intimately related, although it was difficult, until very recently, to see the common thread. It is very much to the credit of Mr Isaacs and his team that the crucial connection was made. The seismic information was used by the OSI to predict that the source of these waves would appear in Nagasaki and Dallas on specific dates last summer, July 7 and July 26, respectively. In each instance, there was some relatively minor, unexplained damage. In each case there was also a death, but neither was directly attributable to the source of the seismic waves. This much information was presented to Jason by Mr Isaacs in early August. A possible explanation was forthcoming.'
Drefke leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, looked at Isaacs and Phillips, and then exhaled. He looked keenly at the President.
'Mr President, I know you have heard the term "black hole".'
'Yes,' the President answered with a note of questioning in his voice, 'some sort of gravitational trap, I believe. Supposed to be formed by a collapsing star, if I have the picture right.'
'That is the basic idea,' Drefke assented.
'So what's the point?' the President demanded. 'Are you going to tell me that in addition to the Russians threatening to blow us to kingdom come, we are about to fall into a black hole?'
'Apparently, Mr President, we are doing so at this very instant.'
This statement brought outbursts of protest from around the table. Drefke looked pained again and raised his voice.
'Mr President! Mr President! I beg your pardon! If I could be allowed to explain.'
The President quieted the group. 'Russians I can deal with somehow, Howard, but what the hell are you feeding us now?'
'Please consider my position,' Drefke pleaded in the most dignified tone he could muster. 'I sympathize with your incredulity, but you have not heard all the arguments. Understand that there is no way to introduce this idea without surprise and shock.'
'All right, all right,' said the President with protesting hands in the air. Then he dropped his elbows to the table and supported his head in his hands muttering, 'Jesus Christ!'
'At the Jason meeting the suggestion was made that, despite the seeming impossibility, the only explanation consistent with the facts was a very small black hole. In addition, a suggestion was made for a definitive test of this hypothesis. Such a thing should have a precise and measurable gravitational field. The meeting with Jason was on the second and third of August, nine days ago. An expedition was mounted a week later, and results were obtained only yesterday.
'Mr President, the answer is unambiguous,' Drefke continued. 'An object with a mass of about ten million tons and of very small size is oscillating through the solid matter of the earth as if it did not exist. The conclusion seems inescapable that the object is a black hole and that it is slowly consuming material from the inside of the earth. Left unmolested, that process will proceed to completion.'
A stillness had fallen on the room as Drefke spoke. It continued for a few moments, then was broken by the President.
'And now you are going to tell me the Russians are onto this thing and think we have done it?' he said in a forlorn voice. 'Why wasn't I apprised of this before I had World War Ill dumped in my lap?'
'Sir,' Drefke pleaded, 'as I said, the results confirming the hypothesis only became available yesterday, and even then there were important unanswered questions. You must understand that the notion was so incredible that we had to be absolutely sure before bringing it to your attention.'
Drefke paused to collect his thoughts. He had always been comfortably frank with this man before and after he became the President, but he did not care to confess in front of this group his culpability in delaying Isaacs's investigation. He chose his words carefully.
'Besides drawing us into a confrontation in space, the I Soviets have been pursuing their own investigation of the ' damage to the Novorossiisk.' He could not suppress a quick glance at Isaacs. He also did not want to expose Isaacs's role in tipping the Russians to the nature of the black hole. 'We are not sure of the details, but with their extensive naval deployment in the Mediterranean and the Pacific, they have evidently also discovered the regular sonar pattern associated with this thing. We have recently found that I they have a series of vessels deployed precisely on the path that the, uh, black hole follows as it punches through the earth's surface.'
'May we deduce then,' an abrupt voice broke in, 'that the Soviets have the same information that was available to ! our Navy?' The forceful baritone belonged to the Secretary ' of State, a diminutive man whose tone belied his physical stature. 'But they have gone ahead to reach the conclusion that this thing is a great danger?'
'I believe that is a fair statement,' Drefke replied. In his peripheral vision he could see the jaw muscles of the naval intelligence officer clinch and bunch.
'And they have concluded as you have,' the Secretary of State continued, 'that it is a black hole and have further concluded that we are responsible?'
'That seems to be the best guess,' answered Drefke.
'They have individuals with the necessary insight and imagination. Often their highly compartmentalized system keeps the people with the data from the people with the insight. In this case, however, one of their very. best scientists has been in on it from the beginning, starting with the analysis of the events on the Novorossiisk. Academician Viktor Korolev.'
There were several nods of recognition around the table. Korolev's defence-related work was known to many of them.
'We think,' Drefke continued, 'that it is very likely that, faced with the same data, Korolev would come to the same conclusions that we have.'
'Where did this thing come from then?' the chairman of the National Security Council demanded. 'Outer space?' He glanced at the Secretary of State. 'Why do they think we had anything to do with it?'
'Those questions are closely related,' Drefke said. 'I want you to follow the logic so that you can see that the Russians, Korolev, have probably done the same thing. I would like Bob Isaacs to lay that out for you and report what he found today.'
'Very well,' said the President, 'Mr Isaacs, why don't you proceed?'
Isaacs stood, fighting the fatigue of his hectic day, images flashing: the discovery of Krone's lab, the race to New Mexico , the machine, the encounter with Krone and the woman, Latvin, the flight back. He had to admire Drefke's presentation, a politician who'd scarcely heard of the phrase black hole a day earlier. He moved behind Drefke to the projector, switched it on, and picked up a laser pointer, as the officials swivelled in their chairs towards the screen.
'I'm going to leave out some of the background details for now,' he said, pushing a button to advance through a number of the slides Gantt and Phillips had prepared, until he came to the one he wanted.
'This,' he said, 'is an illustration of the path the black hole takes when it comes out of the earth, rises to a peak, and falls back in. It will then go through the earth and come out the other side. For now, I want you to concentrate on the fact that it rises to a fixed height each time. We can determine the amount of time it is above the earth's surface, and that tells us how far up it goes. The answer is fifty seven hundred feet. The simplest hypothesis is that it was formed somewhere at that altitude and always returns to that height as it swings in orbit through the earth.'
He pushed the button and advanced the projector to a map of the earth centred on the western hemisphere. He used the laser pointer to mark twin red horizontal lines.
'Here you see the path where the orbit intersects the earth's surface, one line in the north through Dallas and Nagasaki , another in the south. As you have heard, we obtained hard evidence that we were dealing with a black hole only yesterday. We immediately did an orbital survey of every point on those two red lines that was at an altitude of fifty-seven hundred feet. You can see there are not many, because of the broad expanses of ocean and low terrain, but it still took some time. You can appreciate that with the orbital path and timing data, the Russians can follow the same procedure. All the locations of interest were empty save one.'
Isaacs paused and looked at the floor as he gently cleared his throat. He looked up and found, not to his surprise, that he was the centre of undivided attention. He pointed to the map.
'That exception is here in New Mexico , east of the White Sands proving grounds and just south of the Mescalero Apache reservation in the Sacramento Mountain Range.'
'Wait a minute now,' the President said excitedly. ' New Mexico ? You're claiming this thing was made in New Mexico ?'
Isaacs flipped through several more slides to reveal a blown-up photograph.
'This is a satellite photograph of the point of interest taken late yesterday afternoon,' he explained.
All around the table the members of the council peered intently at the complex of buildings perched on top of a mountain range.
'We found out this morning that it's a private research laboratory, subcontracted to the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory, two hundred miles to the north. The man who runs it is Paul Krone.'
'Krone? Of Krone Industries?' the President inquired. 'Yes, sir,' answered Isaacs.
The President exchanged a glance with Drefke. They both knew that Krone had heavily financed his opponent in the last election.
'And now you're going to tell me he made a black hole? There?' The President extended a pin-striped arm and pointed a finger at the slide without removing his eyes from Isaacs. 'At a government sponsored laboratory? Right in our own backyard? Without our knowledge? Without my knowledge?'
'Yes, sir, that seems to be the case. When we discovered the site this morning, I took a team for an emergency visit to confirm our suspicions.
'There is a machine in this building,' Isaacs said, using the pointer on the screen, 'the details of which we do not understand. But it is of gigantic proportions and appears to have consumed the rock missing from this ridge.' He pointed to the bare patch of mountain top bordering the lab. 'That's over ten million tons of rock, and the strong circumstantial evidence is that it was compressed by this machine to produce the black hole.
'We then proceeded to a home which Krone maintains near the lab. We found him in a semi-catatonic state. He attempted to commit suicide about four months ago and has some brain damage. We recovered from his study a set of laboratory notebooks, of which this is one.'
Isaacs stepped around behind Drefke, picked up the lab book from his place and walked half the length of the table to set it by the President's elbow.
'We haven't had time to study them) but they seem to contain a complete record of Krone's experiments which led to the creation of the black hole. There may also be important computer files.'
'It's burned!' exclaimed the President.
'Yes, unfortunately. A woman who lived with Krone attempted to burn them. It was a ruse on her part to distract us while she smuggled Krone out the back door. Some were badly damaged before we could stop her.'
'She smuggled him out? While you were there?' The President was incredulous 'Where are they now?'
'The woman got away with him, at least temporarily. They're somewhere in the mountains. We have air and ground search parties after them.'
'Who is this woman?' the Chairman of the NSC inquired.
'Her name is Maria Latvin. She's apparently a refugee,' Isaacs explained. 'From Lithuania. Krone met her in Vienna after she escaped, and she's been living with him ever since.'
'A plant?' the Chairman asked.
'Not that we can tell,' Isaacs answered. 'We're still looking into her background, but the escape from Czechoslovakia seems genuine enough. It's in Krone's character to take up with such a person, to flaunt the possible security risks.'
'Why would she run off with Krone?' the Chairman pressed.
'We haven't come up with any motive yet.'
The President slumped back in his chair.
'All right, let me summarize this.' He shook his head in dismay. 'Krone somehow eats a mountain at government expense and makes a black hole. That black hole punches a hole in this damn Russian carrier?' He looked at Drefke, who nodded his assent. 'The Russians from some perverse instinct, which turns out to be right, assume we are at fault, and start our first space war.
'I thought we had everything fought to a standstill up there,' he jerked a thumb at the ceiling, 'eyeball to eyeball, and all that, and all of a sudden they don't just blink, they haul out a baseball bat and crack me upside the head. And turn all our low orbit stuff into a damn shooting gallery with their laser. God knows what else they've got in amid.
'Now, Howard,' he turned to look at his Director of Central Intelligence, 'you seem to be saying that what's happened is that the Russians have followed the clues and deduced that we made a black hole there and are more convinced than ever that we're out to get them.'
Drefke straightened in his chair, his thoughts equally divided between the crisis before them and the years of friendship with the man at the centre of the table. Those years would be swept away if he didn't handle this properly.
'We have no final proof, although we are working through our contacts in the Soviet Union to find out just what they know. The circumstances strongly suggest that they reached the conclusion at virtually the same time we did, that we manufactured a black hole there. Blowing up our nuclear satellite was apparently their way of letting us know that they're on to us.'
'Mr President.'
All eyes turned to General Whitehead, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He was a large man with bristly close-cropped hair and, at this hour, stubble on his stern jaw to match.
'I've been out of my element with this black hole stuff, but now we are beginning to get into my territory. As I see it, we need to get the Russians back into their corner while we sort all this out. First of all, we need to make crystal clear to them that they've absolutely got to put a cap on any escalation of the current situation. All this skeet shooting they've been doing is one flung, but if they so much as scorch a surveillance satellite, they had better put their population on alert. I also recommend we go after that laser again, to give ourselves some breathing room.'
Drefke ignored the General and spoke to the President again.
'The immediate task before us is to defuse the anxiety of the Russians, not to scare them further. I think that candour is the best policy here. I recommend you tell them everything we know, give them all our data and let them reach their own conclusions. Yes, there is a black hole. Yes, it was made at that site,' he gestured at the slide. 'That should add to our credibility. We must convince them that it was an accident, not an offensive act.'
'I agree with that sentiment,' the Secretary of State firmly announced. 'Mr President, the problem we face here is a unique one. We must bear in mind that, although a US Government lab is involved, the threat is a universal one. I believe it is incumbent upon us to share the information we now have not just with the Soviet Union, but with all our major allies, the People's Republic, and the Third World.'
There were outbursts of protest. The National Security Advisor finally gamed the floor.
'Mr President, I sympathize with the desire of the Secretary for openness and candour, but it seems to me premature to broadcast this problem until we fully understand all the ramifications. At all costs, we must avoid the widespread dissemination of this information and the panic that would ensue.'
'We already know the basic nature of the problem,' protested the Secretary, 'and we may very well need to call on the resources of other countries to devise a solution.'
'This country has plenty of resources on its own,' rumbled General Whitehead, 'and in any case I don't like telling the Communists any more than we have to.' He shot a glance at Drefke. 'There's no way they won't twist this around and throw it in our face, or somehow use it as a lever against us. We should keep the Russians on a short leash and the Chinese should certainly be kept out of it.'
'I don't disagree that the Chinese have very little to offer us in the current context,' the Secretary appealed to the President, 'but for the sake of our future relations with them we must keep them apprised of a problem of this magnitude and of such universal concern. The same argument applies even more strongly to our allies.'