CARRIER 3: ARMAGEDDON MODE

That had been two hours ago. The Indian aircraft had been ‘beaten off. The catapults on Jefferson had been repaired. 1 Now the strike force was over Highway 101, wreaking a special kind of hell on the Indian supply lines. i Members of the National Security Council had been coming and going all evening, most working in offices within the NSC complex, in the White House basement Victor Marlowe walked in, a folder in his hand. “Mr. President? These just came in from NPIC.” He glanced uncertainly at Magruder. “I … thought you’d better see them.” “Do you want me to leave, Mr. President?” ‘”They’re T-K clearance, sir,” Marlowe said. “That’s okay, Tom,” the President said. “Just excuse me a moment, will you?”

Magruder sat back, watching as the President leafed through What appeared to be a series of photographs. NPIC, Magruder knew, was the National Photographic Interpretation Center, the agency tasked with processing and producing photo intelligence from America’s chain of reconnaissance satellites. T-K, short for “Talent-Keyhole,” was the level of clearance necessary just to look at some of the photo imagery possible with the

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new breed of KH-12 satellites now in orbit. Magruder had heard the stories of reading newspapers over a man’s shoulder from two hundred miles up. Ridiculous, of course.

And yet …

“Oh my God.”

“Mr. President?”

The President looked up, his face ashen. He looked first at Magruder, then at Marlowe. “These were taken when?”

“Within the hour, sir. These are rushes. The tapes and the finished processing are on their way over now.”

“Mr. President,” Magruder said. “Perhaps I’d better wait outside while you—”

“He’s got T-K clearance, Vie. Now. Damn it, I need him!”

“Of course, sir.”

The President slid a photograph across the conference table to Magruder. He picked it up, careful not to touch the glossy finish.

It looked like a black-and-white photograph taken, perhaps, from the roof of a building. Several men in obviously military uniforms were gathered around a bulky, oblong something partly blocked by the wing of an aircraft.

Magruder squinted at the part of the plane he could see. “It looks like an Air Force Falcon,” he said.

“Very good, Admiral,” Marlowe said. “An F-16 Fighting Falcon. But it’s not Air Force. Not our air force, at any rate.”

Magruder looked at the photo again. “Pakistan.”

“Bingo,” Marlowe said. “The weapon being loaded onto that aircraft is a fair imitation of a B57 five- to ten-kiloton atomic bomb.”

“My God in heaven.”

“Why now?” Magruder asked. “In the middle of—”

“The battle has drawn Indian planes south.” Marlowe said quickly. “Stripped their defenses. The Pakistanis probably see this as their one chance to get something in without having it be shot down.”

The President gestured toward the picture. “Where is this?”

‘ “That was taken at a PAF base outside of Bahawalpur from one hundred seventy-five miles up,” Marlowe explained. “I have ground sources checking over there now, getting more data. I expect to hear more shortly.”

“I want to hear it the second you do, Vie. The second.”

ARMAGEDDON MODE

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“Yes, sir.”

}. The President took the photo from Magruder and stared at it. “Damn them,” he said. “Damn them!” “I thought the Pakistanis promised to hold back on this,”

jder said. “Promised?” The President’s fist hit the desk. “You’re

right they promised! Assurances were given—” “They are fighting for their survival,” Marlowe said. He nugged. “Or it may be a bluff. Another ‘message.’ ” “I’ll give them a message,” the President said. “And her is the Thomas Jefferson.” He looked at Magruder. “It , Admiral, that we must assume that the Pakistanis are iing an atomic device aboard one of their aircraft . . . and they intend to use it.” “Yes, sir.”

The President was quiet for a long moment. He rose from his hair, walked to the window, and stared for a time out across te Rose Garden, at the street lights of nighttime Washington. 4Vie,” he said at last. “I might have something we can try. Who do you have on tap at the American Embassy in New |lpelhi? Fast? I need to get a message passed on to the right srson over there.”

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