The Trident Deception Read online

  Thirty seconds passed, but the light for Missile Tube One stayed red.

  Malone glanced around Control. Something was wrong.

  A minute passed, and still no launch.

  Stepping onto the Conn, Malone removed the 21-MC microphone from its holster. “MCC, Conn. Report launch status.”

  There was no response from MCC.

  “MCC, Conn. This is the Captain. Report launch status.”

  Still no answer.

  Malone started to slam the mike back into its clip when MCC responded.

  “Captain, this is Lieutenant Wilson.” Tom’s voice was uncertain, shaken. “The Weps…” There was silence for a few seconds. “The Weps won’t unlock the safe.”

  “Put the Weps on line!” Malone yelled into the 21-MC microphone.

  A few seconds later, Tom replied, “The Weps won’t take the mike.”

  Malone slammed the microphone back into its clip and stepped off the Conn, stopping in front of the COB. “Give me your firearm.”

  The COB unholstered the pistol and slowly handed it over, butt first.

  Malone released the clip into his hand, ensured it was full, then reinserted it. “Come with me, COB.” Malone hadn’t bothered counting the number of rounds in the clip.

  He figured he only needed one.

  * * *

  In MCC, Lieutenant Pete Manning stood next to the Launch Control Panel safe containing the Trigger, his face placid. As he braced himself for the impending confrontation with the Captain, his thoughts wandered to his meeting with the XO after lunch, during which he had revealed his reservations. The XO had been understanding and to some extent shared the same feelings, but in the end, Lieutenant Commander Fay was firm about their responsibility to the Kentucky and the Navy. They had been given an order and they would follow it, regardless of whether they thought the order should have been issued in the first place.

  That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and he had left the XO’s stateroom no closer to deciding what to do. The remaining hours had slipped away, and when the launch order came across the 1-MC, followed by the identical one over the 21-MC, he had been forced to decide. As a result of his decision, the door to MCC flew open and Malone stormed in, the COB close behind.

  “What the hell is going on, Weps?” Malone stopped a few feet away—there was a pistol in his hand, held down by his thigh.

  Manning held firm his resolve. “I can’t do it, sir.”

  “Yes, you can. The rest of us have done our part. Now it’s your turn. Unlock the safe.”

  Manning shook his head. “No, sir. I will not be a part of this.”

  “I gave you a direct order. Open the safe.”

  Manning stood there, silent.

  Malone’s eyes narrowed as he raised the pistol, pointing it at the Weps’s face.

  “Open the safe!”

  Although the Captain had a pistol pointed at his head, Manning knew he was bluffing. There was no way he would kill someone for disobeying an order, even a nuclear strike order.

  “I will not open the safe, sir.”

  Malone reached up and pulled back the slide valve, chambering a round. “Open the safe.”

  The confrontation had escalated higher than Manning had expected. Like a game of Texas hold ’em, the Captain had bluffed by holding a pistol to his head and he had responded by going all-in. But Malone hadn’t folded. However, with a round chambered and the muzzle of the Llama an inch from his forehead, there was one small, but important detail about the weapon in Malone’s hand that was not lost on the Weps.

  The safety was still on.

  * * *

  That fact was not lost on Malone either, along with the realization that the stakes in this confrontation were high. Like a snowball rolling downhill, gaining speed and mass as it traveled, the Weps’s refusal to follow his order could turn into an avalanche of insubordination. That was something he could not allow. He could relieve the Weps and replace him with another officer, but if the only immediate repercussion a crew member suffered was being relieved from his watch station, that would do little to deter others. He needed to make an example of the Weps, make the consequences of refusing to obey the Captain’s order so dire that no one would be willing to accept the same punishment.

  Malone lifted his thumb, releasing the safety.

  “I’m going to give you to the count of three, and if your hand isn’t spinning the tumbler by then, I’m going to permanently relieve you of your duties.”

  The Weps stared at Malone as he began counting.

  “One.”

  Tom and the missile techs stood frozen in their places.

  “Two.”

  * * *

  As Pete Manning stood on the wrong end of the Llama, he understood Malone’s obligation to execute the president’s order, as well as the country’s desire for revenge. The nuclear attack on the nation’s capital was a thousand times more devastating than 9/11, and they had to respond. But whereas the retribution after 9/11 was meticulously planned, attempting to eliminate only the terrorists while sparing the innocent in the vicinity, nuclear weapons were indiscriminate in their destruction, unable to distinguish between the guilty and the innocent.

  It was murder, pure and simple.

  “I can’t do it. I can’t kill millions of people.”

  He would not partake in this crime against humanity, and he would accept the consequences of his decision. Unfortunately, until this moment, he thought the only consequences would be professional. Apparently not. But he had made his decision and would stand by it, and no amount of coercion would change his mind. And so, with a pistol to his head, a round chambered and safety off, and the color of Malone’s index finger changing from pink to white as he squeezed the trigger, Lieutenant Pete Manning accepted his fate.

  * * *

  As Malone squeezed the trigger, he wondered how it had come down to this. As the Commanding Officer of a naval vessel, he had significant authority and wide latitude in dealing with discipline problems and insubordination. He could dock a sailor’s pay, bust him in rank one or even two pay grades, and restrict a married man to the ship for weeks, even months. He had exercised his authority many times at captain’s mast, and would not hesitate in the midst of their missile launch to use every means at his disposal to ensure compliance with his order. However, as extensive as his authority was, he could not kill his Weapons Officer.

  He dropped his hand to his side.

  “Goddamn it, Weps!”

  Talking over his shoulder, his eyes still locked on his department head, he issued instructions to the COB. “Confine Lieutenant Manning to his stateroom. Post two armed petty officers outside his door.” Malone turned toward Tom. “Lieutenant Wilson.”

  * * *

  It took a moment for Tom to realize his name had been called. “Yes, sir.”

  “You are now the Weapons Officer. Can you carry out the responsibilities of this position?”

  Things were moving too fast. A second ago, he was an innocent bystander in the clash of wills between the Weps and the Captain. Now he had been assigned the Weapons Officer’s duties, and Malone wanted to know if he could carry them out.

  Could he unlock the safe if given the combination?

  Yes.

  Could he squeeze the Trigger?

  Yes.

  Tom answered Malone automatically, before he answered the more important question he needed to ask himself. Would he?

  “Yes, sir. I can carry out the responsibilities of Weapons Officer.”

  “Good,” Malone said. “Get one of the EAM teams and retrieve the Weps’s combination.”

  Tom nodded numbly as the COB took the pistol from Malone and escorted Lieutenant Pete Manning, former Weapons Officer of the USS Kentucky, BLUE Crew, out of MCC.

  Glancing over at the Launch Control Panel, Tom noted the blinking red lights. “Sir, the launch sequence has timed out. We’ll need to start over.”

  “Shut tube One missile muzzle hatch,” Malon
e growled. “Set condition Four-SQ.”

  Moments later, the seven-ton muzzle hatch slammed shut as the Kentucky reset her strategic weapon system.

  66

  HMAS COLLINS

  42 MINUTES REMAINING

  “Watch Leader, Sonar. Mechanical transients, bearing zero-zero-two, designated Sierra three-five.”

  Captain Murray Wilson stood next to Brett Humphreys in the cramped Control Room, as the tired crew of the Collins finally caught a sniff of their target. That they were now picking up mechanical transients did not bode well. Wilson exchanged a concerned look with Humphreys.

  “Designate Sierra three-five as Master One,” Humphreys announced.

  The submarine’s XO complied and a moment later reported, “Estimated range to Master One based on bottom bounce is thirty thousand yards.”

  Humphreys acknowledged and was about to give orders to the Helm when Wilson gently grabbed his arm and nodded toward the aft corner of Control.

  The two men crammed themselves between two equipment consoles as Wilson spoke quietly. “I want you to communicate with the Kentucky first via underwater comms. I know what your orders say, but as long as we stop them from launching, that’s what matters.”

  Humphreys considered Wilson’s words for a moment, then replied, “I will not give away our stealth advantage. The Kentucky may be a ballistic missile submarine, but her tactical systems are equivalent and her weapons are superior. Our only advantage is our stealth. I won’t give that up.”

  “The Kentucky won’t attack, Brett. I guarantee it. Malone didn’t fire on a Virginia-class that came within a thousand yards. He won’t shoot. Trust me on this.”

  Wilson’s eyes conveyed his desperation as Humphreys contemplated his friend’s request. Finally, he replied, “All right. But if the Kentucky shows the slightest sign of aggression…”

  Wilson clasped Humphreys’s shoulder. “Thanks, Brett.”

  Humphreys turned toward the Watch Leader. “Come to course zero-zero-two, ahead full.”

  Looking at the Weps, Humphreys ordered, “Open outer doors, tubes One through Six.”

  67

  ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

  41 MINUTES REMAINING

  With Hendricks standing in her foyer, gift bag in hand, Christine turned away, hiding the smile that had formed on her lips. He had chosen this awkward time, in the middle of a crisis, to broach the subject of a renewed relationship. Looking for a reason to explain her sudden turn away, she straightened a few pieces of mail she had tossed onto the kitchen counter two days ago.

  Christine turned around, startled by Dave’s presence. He was only three feet away now. His eyes were determined, every trace of indecision gone. She eyed the gift bag in his hand, curiosity replacing the sudden fright. “So what do you have there? Something for me?”

  Hendricks stared at her for a moment, his face emotionless. Then his features softened into a friendly smile. “Yes, something especially for you.”

  Christine tilted her head. “Are you trying to get back into my good graces? Start over?”

  “Something like that.”

  Looking down, she tried to catch a glimpse of what was in the bag. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Show me what you’ve got.”

  “In a minute. But first I need to explain.” He reached up and caressed the side of her face with the back of his fingers. He lingered on her cheekbone, then slowly slid his fingers across her lips. She resisted the urge to kiss his fingers, to grab his hand and hold it against the side of her face. And then his fingers were gone. He still looked at her with determined eyes, but they had turned cold and hard.

  “I finally figured out why our marriage failed,” he began. “We shared the same goals, but our approaches toward achieving them were never the same. You’ve always played within the rules, while I’ve never constrained myself to someone else’s definition of right and wrong. Take the defense of our country, for example. You and I both work to protect the country we love. But you joined an administration whose visions you didn’t share. You did it because you thought it was the best way to achieve your goal within the confines of right and wrong.”

  Christine bit her lip, not sure where Dave was headed. His voice was listless, as if he regretted something he’d done.

  Or was about to do.

  “I decided not to waste my time in a futile effort like yours,” he continued, “waging a losing battle to defend our country. I wanted to eliminate our most serious enemies and send a message to others. When this opportunity presented itself, it wasn’t hard for me to decide.”

  “What opportunity?” Christine asked warily.

  He smiled. “You’re so naïve, Chris. Your instincts were correct. Someone involved in this plot knew the Kentucky had twice the number of warheads. Someone knew the Kentucky was on its way to a patrol area within range of Iran. That information is extremely sensitive, known only by a few. Who that person is should have been obvious to you. But even though you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re a persistent woman, and you would have eventually identified him. And it isn’t Hardison.”

  A sliver of ice ran down Christine’s spine.

  It was Dave. He had participated in the plot to destroy Iran, a plot that would soon result in 192 warheads raining down in a holocaust of nuclear destruction. But why was he telling her this? How could he risk exposing his role to her? He either was convinced she would keep his secret, or—

  Christine drew in a sharp breath.

  —he intended to ensure she would never tell a soul.

  She took a step back, her eyes shifting to the package he held in his hand. “What’s in the gift bag, Dave?”

  He reached into the bag with his right hand. “Something especially for you.” He let the bag fall to the floor; his hand held a black revolver. “I’m disappointed you decided to end your life this way.”

  “What way?” Christine asked, her eyes flicking between Dave’s hand and his face. Her breathing turned shallow, rapid.

  “Your suicide. The stress of this past week was more than you could handle. I’ll have to explain how despondent you became, how overwhelmed you were with your responsibility as national security adviser. How, once it became clear the Kentucky’s warheads would destroy Iran, you must’ve felt personally responsible for this horrible tragedy.”

  Christine’s pulse quickened.

  She recognized the double-action revolver. It was a Smith & Wesson Centennial, the one Dave had bought her shortly after they married, the one he taught her to fire as he stood behind her at the shooting range. After the divorce, she had returned the revolver to him; he was the gun nut. But the weapon was still registered in her name. It would look like she had taken her life with her own gun.

  Her mind raced, searching for a way out of her predicament. Maybe he could be reasoned with, talked out of his madness.

  “But the Kentucky hasn’t launched yet.” She tried to keep the panic from her voice, maintain it calm and steady. “There’s a possibility she won’t launch, and even if she does, that our defenses will take out her missiles. And as long as there’s hope, why would I kill myself?”

  Hendricks sneered. “The Kentucky will launch. She wouldn’t have come this far if she wasn’t intent on launching. And once she does, our ballistic missile defenses will be overwhelmed. But just in case, I’ve added an insurance policy. A virus has been inserted into our ballistic missile defense-targeting systems, corrupting the data. Only my computer account has the ability to correct this problem, and I’ll ensure all evidence of this corruption is eliminated immediately afterward.

  “Everyone will believe our failure to intercept the Kentucky’s missiles was due to our inadequate ballistic missile defense systems, and we’ll invest billions to improve them. You see, Chris, this plan will improve our country’s security—Iran will be destroyed, eliminating the most serious threat to our country today, and we’ll develop better missile defense systems to protect us in the future. I will have made a differe
nce, while you will have wasted your time in a futile effort to influence an administration from within.”

  Finished with the explanation he promised, Hendricks appeared ready to take the next step, murdering his ex-wife. Christine’s frantic search for a way to save herself had identified only two options. She’d tried the first—talk her way out. That left the other option.

  A physical confrontation.

  She had to wrest the gun from his hand.

  But how?

  Hendricks was six inches taller and sixty pounds heavier. And much stronger. The odds of overpowering him were slim to none. But there appeared to be no alternative. She had taken self-defense classes, but the moves she knew were designed to defend against an assailant attempting to overpower and restrain her. That wasn’t the situation here. Dave wasn’t going to physically attack her—he was going to put a bullet in her head. The roles were reversed.

  She had to attack him.

  Her mind indexed through her repertoire of moves, searching for one she could use to attack. But Hendricks interrupted her thoughts before she had identified an appropriate move. “Into the study,” he said. “You’re going to end your life sitting at your desk.”

  Christine glanced again at the gun in his hand, still held at his side. As long as it was pointed at the floor and not her head, there was hope she could succeed. But she hadn’t figured out how yet. She stalled. “Think about what you’re doing, Dave. Yes, you’ve participated in a conspiracy against our country, but your motive is honorable. If your role is discovered, I’m sure that will be taken into account. But once you commit murder, there’s no hope for leniency. Please, Dave, I swear I’ll keep your secret. Our secret. We can get back together. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and nothing you’ve told me has changed my mind. I still love you.”

  She took a step forward, reaching out to him with her left hand, praying her approach would be misinterpreted. She didn’t care whether he believed her or not; whether he thought her statement and gesture were a genuine attempt to bring their lives back together, or a desperate lie. Either way was fine—as long as he didn’t notice the shift in her posture, transferring her weight to the balls of her feet, her body tensing for action.