Day Of Vindication
James Rupe
Smashwords Edition
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2009 by James Rupe
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
MidLand
www.dayofvindication.com
ISBN: 978-0-615-28930-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
VERY SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Harl Hanson, Karen Burgard and Keil Troisi
Talk to the Author!
If you
enjoy reading Day of Vindication, we want to know about it.
Find
us online and talk directly to author, James Rupe, about the book,
upcoming work and get the scoop on freebies, specials and sneak
peeks!
www.DayofVindication.com
I
hope you’ll join the discussion on Facebook
& Twitter
and
tell your friends about Day of Vindication!
INTRODUCTION
Abraham was a man who believed God rewarded faith so in a time past he and God had a heart-to-heart talk that resulted in a major land acquisition. Because of Abraham's great faith, God agreed to grant him the son he so desired in order to carry on his lineage. The baby would be born to Abraham's wife, Sarah. God then fattened the agreement by adding a parcel of real estate that stretched from Egypt to the Euphrates River on the east and from Syria to the Persian Gulf on the south. For his part, Abraham agreed to maintain the faith and pass it down to his heirs. Not long after this heavenly decree, Abraham tripped over his faith and slept with Hagar, an Egyptian girl who served Sarah. Because of her indiscretion, Hagar was chastised by Sarah and left the house to consider her options. While she sat by a spring pondering her condition, the angel of the Lord came to her with a promise. "I will multiply thy seed exceedingly, that it shall not be numbered for multitude. Behold, thou art with child and shalt bear a son, and shalt call his name Ishmael, and he will be a wild man; his hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him." With this guarantee in keeping, Hagar returned to the household of Abraham and birthed her baby.
Thirteen years later, Abraham renewed his covenant with God and bore a son with Sarah, naming him Isaac, making Abraham the unenviable father of both Arab and Jew. These are God's final words on the matter: "As for Ishmael, I have blessed him, and will make him fruitful, and will multiply him exceedingly. But my covenant will I establish with Isaac."
On that ill-fated day in September 2001, this age-old sibling conflict spilled across the wide Atlantic, brutally sending three thousand souls into eternity and radically changing the lives of Americans everywhere. The United States immediately countered by sending the most sophisticated army ever assembled into the Middle East to democratize the region on the naive belief that democracy was the solution to a four-thousand-year-old inheritance squabble.
PROLOGUE
The Capital, January 20th
Standing at the podium in the hallowed chambers of the House of Representatives, the President of the United States was about to finish his State of the Union Address, summing up his administration's accomplishments in the last year.
"And finally, I think it befitting to thank the citizens of this great nation for their courage, determination, and patience in the fight against terror. You have endured wars, sorrow, and disasters of every kind while combating the enemies of peace and democratic rule. I am here this evening to proclaim that your endurance was not in vain. The enemies of liberty are on the run. Over the last year, the drumbeat of hate has been silenced. The Al Qaeda terrorist network has been reduced to a handful of rag-tag cave dwellers. Its army of Mujahadeen fighters have been routed in a joint effort on the part of the US military and regional armies who have stayed the course.
Our friends in Israel, both the Israelis and the Palestinians, have made courageous concessions in the search for peace. I am happy to report tonight that those concessions are working to stabilize that country. Both sides are at the negotiating table, working out diplomatic relationships that will lead to a lasting peace...Democracy is working. Militant Palestine has agreed to put down their rifles and join in the talks. They have also conceded Israel's right to exist.
Afghanistan, Iraq, and Pakistan are all effective, functioning, free societies with democratic administrations, and have good working relations with the United States and her neighbors. Iran has agreed to comply with the United Nations mandate to allow inspections for the purpose of monitoring their nuclear ambitions. This cooperation by the Tehran government will lead to peaceful coexistence in the Middle East, and in so doing permit Iran to process nuclear energy for nonviolent purposes. For the first time in recent history, I can state with absolute confidence that the world is a safer place and its residents are at peace with one another. The efforts put forth by this great nation, the United States of America, to ensure global democracy will not go unnoticed by people around the world. As long as democracy remains the government of choice, peace will prevail. It is the supreme responsibility of all freedom-loving people throughout this great society to guarantee our neighbors that same inalienable right. I leave you with these compelling words from Abraham Lincoln: 'Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves; and, under a just God, cannot long retain it. Thank you, and may God bless America."
PART ONE
Houston Texas, Monday, July 3rd
Tucker Holt was one very happy trooper. He had the dream job he always wanted in the city he always loved. And if that wasn't enough to make a man feel good, last night his wife rewarded his love with the best news of all - there was a little Holt on the way. The two had been trying for more than two years to have a baby, and now after numerous medical procedures, a good deal of patience, and much love, Sara Beth Holt was pregnant. Nothing could ruin this day for Tucker Holt, nothing at all. It was a beautiful morning in Houston, Texas. It would be hot of course, but then it was always hot in Houston in July.
Trooper Holt had satisfied his childhood ambition when he joined the Texas Highway Patrol three years ago after graduating from South Texas College of Law. Tucker's daddy had pushed him for a law degree, but young Holt had other ideas. A degree in criminal justice with a job in law enforcement would suit him just fine. Shortly thereafter he married his college sweetheart, Sara Beth Maynard, and has never looked back. Tucker was not a complicated man. His short-term plan was to finish the day's shift, take the 4th off, and spend it with his wife and parents at the family's compound in Baytown on Galveston Bay. The routine had been the same for as long as he could remember. First they'd sit down to his mom's famous pot roast served with carrots, potatoes, and the thick brown gravy that originated at the crusty bottom of the roasting pan. After dinner, they would go down to the water's edge, have homemade ice cream (peach and vanilla) and then watch the fireworks - giving the delighted couple an opportunity to tell his mother and father about the new addition and, frankly, to let someone else chase the bad guys for a day.
Trooper Holt's patrol-issued Explorer was headed south on state highway 45. His destination was the toll office in Aldine on the Sam Houston toll-way, just south of George Bush Intercontinental Airport. He was there to check on a toll violation. As he pulled into the toll office parking spot reserved for state officials, he looked at the clock on the dash - 7:03 A.M. The patrol vehicle was parked facing south. As Holt swung the door open and stepped out onto the pavement, he paused a moment to focus better on a scratch on the hood he had never before noticed. His attention was suddenly diverted to his feet. There was a slight vibration on the concrete surface.
"What the..." he said, moving his lips with no clear sound. The tremor was fleeting. Tucker reached down, grabbed the campaign hat from the passenger side of the truck, put it on, and headed for the toll office. He made his way toward the small building, still wondering what the shaking was all about. Suddenly, the office door flew open and an office employee dressed in a drab blue and white uniform emerged. He was frantically pointing south in the direction of downtown Houston. Tucker looked back over his shoulder to see what the clerk was pointing to. It took a second to make out the gray-blue cloud barely visible on the horizon.
Can't be the marine layer, he thought, it was too distinctive. Anyway, the marine layer seldom reaches that far north. He turned all the way around now to face the south, his eyes fixed on a small puff that appeared to be smoke rising off the surface and growing larger.
"I wonder what that is?" He asked himself, this time in an audible voice.
"What do you think is going on down there?" Asked the tollbooth clerk, now standing beside him.
"Don't know, looks like an explosion or fire of some kind."
"Airplane down, maybe," added the clerk.
Both men stood motionless, eyes fixed on the cloud just above the Texas horizon. "Holy moly, that thing is getting bigger!" The clerk blurted, jarring Holt out of his transfixed gaze. He nodded in agreement.
"It is at that," he said.
"I don't know what's going on down there, but I do know it's not my problem. I'm here to check on a toll violation."
Both men continued to watch for a few minutes longer, then turned and headed back to the toll office.
* * *
George Bush Intercontinental Airport, Houston
At 7:05 A.M., a small charter jet from Denver was just beginning its final approach to George Bush Intercontinental Airport. The flight path would take it across the northern edge of downtown Houston.
" Houston control, this is Jet-Ride Hawker 808 requesting permission to land...over."
The radio squawked and then responded, "Houston control...Jet-Ride you're clear on runway one two. Your heading is north by northeast... Do you copy?"
"Roger, Houston."
Tim Ross had made this landing many times. It was routine for the seasoned pilot who was Captain and principle owner of Jet-Ride Charters out of Denver, Colorado. His co-pilot this morning was his son, Tim Jr.
The Hawker banked left on a heading north by northeast. Its passengers were four investment officers from a local securities firm returning from a business trip to Denver. As the plane banked on its approach, the pilots had a clear view of the ground below.
"Wow, what is that?" Yelled an excited Tim Jr.
"Beats me. Looks like some kind of fire or something."
"I don't think so; that's way out of fire range."
An inquiry came from directly behind the two pilots as the plane began to level off. "Hey, did you see that?"
"Please be seated and buckle up. We're on our final approach."
"Yeah, but did you see that?"
"Yes, I saw what looked like a fire."
"Fire my foot."
"Be seated please."
"Houston, this is Jet-Ride Hawker 808."
"Houston control...go ahead Jet-Ride."
"We have a visual on what appears to be a big fire. There's a lot of smoke, you know, that kind of thing. It looks like it could be right in the downtown area."
"Copy that, Jet-Ride...all of our aircraft are accounted for, but I'll pass that information on to my supervisor."
"Roger, Houston...over."
The control tower was busy but orderly at George Bush Intercontinental. The controller for Hawker 808 summoned his floor supervisor for further instruction on how to handle the Jet-Ride alarm.
"What's up?"
"Hey boss, I've got a guy on approach. Says he's spotted a big fire downtown, thinks it could be an aircraft."
"What does the board look like?" The supervisor asked. The two men studied the monitors in front of the controller for a moment.
"Everything looks up and running over in Houston."
"Ok, but I'll go ahead and pass it on to Washington Center."
A call was placed to the air traffic control headquarters of the Federal Aviation Administration and the operations manager of the southwestern sector, Washington Center. It was determined that all aircraft in the Texas sector were accounted for and on schedule. Back at Houston Control, air traffic began to confirm Jet-Ride's sighting.
"Houston control, this is American 587 Houston to Miami...over."
"Houston control...go ahead American."
"We had the same visual as Jet-Ride on takeoff, but I gotta tell ya, it's much too big for a single plane crash. It covers blocks, lots of real estate."
"Copy that American...over."
"Hello Houston control, Delta 9-5...over."
"Houston control, Delta 9-5...go ahead."
"Houston I'm confirming the American 587 sighting...over." "Roger, Delta, copy that...over."
The mood around the controller's station handling the Hawker 800 flight intensified with the confirmation of Delta and American. The floor supervisor placed a 911 call. The line was dead. A second call was placed to the Harris County Sheriff's department. The switchboards were jammed. All lines were busy. It was no longer a question in the control tower - an incidence of notable concern had struck Houston, Texas. Origin unknown. The supervisor placed a third call, this time back to FAA Headquarters, Washington Center. It was determined that this was a ground problem and not an air traffic problem. However, Washington Center agreed to notify the Defense Intelligence Agency and the FBI in accordance with the new protocols established by the office of the National Intelligence Director. All major disturbances nationwide are now considered potential terrorist activities since the events of 9/11. Upon receiving the call from the FAA, the FBI immediately contacted the Governor's office in Austin, Texas who in turn contacted the Texas Department of Public Safety and the Highway Patrol.
* * *
Houston Police, Substation 44
At 7:10 A.M., the Houston Office of Emergency Communications (OEC) went silent. The OEC replaced the old dispatch office at the Houston Police Department, purging all fire, police, and Harris County Sheriff's department 9-1-1 calls and sending them to a central location. The neutralization of the OEC automatically diverts all 9-1-1 calls to auxiliary substations which impaired and localized the communication system; jamming lines and creating an emergency communications breakdown. Suburban substation 44 was no exception. Computer generated switching consoles were at capacity in the small dispatch office. Two civilian dispatchers worked frantically to handle the incoming 9-1-1 calls as well as the police patrol transmission.
"9-1-1."
"Police?"
"Yes, state the nature of your call please?"
"There's one heck of a fire downtown. I mean smoke you wouldn't believe. I mean, you couldn't. I mean, I just can't believe this."
The dispatcher tried to calm the man. "Calm down please, take your time, and tell me what you're observing."
"My God...my God...oh, my God!"
"Sir, please calm down. I can't help you if you don't calm down. Sir, where are you now?"
"I'm standing in Galena Park, about Clinton and Fidelity." The caller's voice was steadier now.
"What are you seeing?"
"I'm looking west toward downtown. I can't believe what I'm seeing. It's a gigantic fireball of some kind. I can feel the heat, and the..." His voice began to falter and fade.
"Sir, how far are you from the explosion?"
"I don't know... my God, six or seven miles, maybe. I've got to go. I've got to get home."
"Sir, sir..." The dispatcher tried desperately to get a reply. "Sir, are you still there?" No reply. She immediately dispatched an all-points. "I have a code three with undetermined location, downtown area. That's a code three, Houston Central."
Police radio transmissions lit up the small dispatch office. The dispatcher placed a call to the central command center. There was no response. A second call was made to fire station one. The lines were dead. She placed a third call to fire station fifty-three where she connected with the station's duty officer. Fifty-three was located two miles southwest of Galena Park.
"Fire station fifty-three."
"This is HPD suburban 44. We have an alarm, an explosion in the downtown area. We are having trouble reaching anyone in that area. Can you respond?"
"We have a truck en route."
"Ok, are you in touch with central command?" the dispatcher asked.
"That's negative. Central does not respond. We have radio transmission. It's hectic, but no dispatch."
"Alright, can you inform us as information becomes available?"
"Will do. What's going on Harris County?" asked the duty officer.
"I don't know," responded the troubled dispatcher.
* * *
Texas State Police, Austin
Major Michael Furtado, a veteran of the Texas state police for twenty-seven years, stood before a large slate board fastened to the wall of the generic conference room. A computer image of greater Houston's road and highway system was cast against the white surface of the board. His face was dour as he moved about his business with deliberate cause. Major Furtado's company was a small group of subordinates seated facing the projected computer grid. The room was windowless with an adequate bank of fluorescents imbedded in the ceiling. There were two banquet tables, one where the officers were seated, the other between the Major and his team. Coffee was the beverage of choice.
"We are shutting down all right of entry to within a ten mile radius of central Houston. No one gets in until we find out what is going on; the exception being emergency, of course."
The Major was interrupted by one of his senior officers.
"What kind of manpower do we have in the area right now?"
"Not enough. We're putting people in as fast as we can, but we're looking at hours before we are adequately in place."
The questions began to come now in rapid-fire succession from the panel of officers seated in front of the duty board.
"Do we have a command center established yet?" "Not yet, but I think our south Houston station is best suited for this."
Mike Furtado looked straight at Eric Hoefield, the youngest officer seated at the table. He was a four-year veteran achiever and a graduate of Texas Technical University. Now, he was the acting logistics officer for the Texas state police. "Eric, that's your job. I'd like for you to head down there as soon as possible and establish an operation command center."
The young officer nodded in agreement. Another question was fired at Furtado. "Don't we need to get Airborne up right away?"
This time it was from the commander of the aviation division, Bill Sherman. "No question. We need people over the site as soon as possible. That's your discretion, Bill."
"Do we have any idea what has happened?" Eric asked, taking a sip of hot coffee. "All I know at the moment is that there was a big explosion and the city is in gridlock. We're getting some splintered reports from units around the area, but nothing substantiated." Hoefield stayed with the question but phrased it differently.
"What is the preliminary assessment then?"
"Grim," said Furtado, turning toward the board.
Pointing his laser pencil at the map, and the center of the city of Houston, the Major began to make small circles over and over again.
"There is no communication in or out of this sector at all, so the overwhelming concern I have is the massive exodus I anticipate from Houston central. We are going to need to get as many units as we can as soon as we can into this area and try to get this thing under control."
* * *
Pentagon, Washington D.C.
The DIA is the military arm of the National Intelligence Defense bureau and is responsible for homeland defense, which includes gathering intelligence against any terrorist attack or alleged terrorist activity that may lead to an attack. The Intel is then assessed by an oversight committee of the bureau of NID that determines where to go next with the information. At 7:16 A.M. central time, the DIA received a phone call from the FAA Washington Center, warning of the possibility of an air space infringement over the south central United States. The DIA quickly evaluated the information. A decision was then made to contact NORAD, according to protocol. The North American Aerospace Defense Command was created in the 1950s to protect the North American continent from the Soviet nuclear threat. It has since established a nationwide net in collaboration with Canada to protect the continent from the impending threat of air space encroachment by planes or missiles and has become the front line defense of any national security breach from outside the continental United States.
From NORAD headquarters in Colorado Springs, the command was passed on to CONR Continental Aerospace Command Region, Tyndall AFB in Panama City, Florida, and an arm of NORAD. CONR is responsible for two thirds of the nation's air space, including Texas. CONR was promptly able to determine that no illegal airspace intrusion had occurred. A high level decision was made, however, to scramble two jets from Cannon Air Force Base in Clovis, New Mexico for a look.
* * *
Cannon A.F.B., Clovis New Mexico
The pictures were inconclusive, but the devastation was evident. The heat at the core of the blast was estimated to be at thermo-nuclear levels according to the onboard sensors used by the scramble jets in the fly-over operation. The two fighter pilots stood at ease as the Operations Group Commander, Colonel Jeffrey Harmon, bent over the desk of Colonel John Porter, the Base Commander of the 27th Fighter Wing. The two Commanders were studying the stills using a nondescript magnifying glass. Neither was adept at reading flight photos, but the destruction was unmistakable. Colonel Porter straightened himself to face the waiting pilots.
"Was there anything else you observed that might be of help in determining what has happened?" the colonel asked.
The ranking F-16 pilot stepped smartly to attention.
"Yes sir," he paused a moment to consider his words. "Although the dust created difficult visual comprehension, it looked bleak, sir, very bleak."
The Colonel looked down at the photos and then dolefully back at his Operations Commander, but said nothing. Colonel Harmon dismissed his pilots with a salute. "Good job, fellas."
As the two pilots left the office, Colonel Porter was not far behind. Outside Porter's office was a smaller reception area where Commander Porter's administrative assistant occupied the workspace. Also in the room was a civilian, a local politician, waiting his turn to speak to the Colonel about a community issue. The Clovis councilman was standing now, eyes fixed on the two pilots in full flight gear who were exiting the waiting room. The Colonel walked straight to him, hand extended. The two men had a short and cordial exchange as the colonel walked him to the door, begging his forgiveness, and canceling the scheduled meeting for this morning.
"What's up, Colonel?" he asked as they reached the entrance.
None of your business, the Colonel thought, but smiled and explained that something had come up, and asked him if he wouldn't mind rearranging a meeting after the holiday.
As the man left, Colonel Porter turned back to his aid. "Call General Hamilton, please."
A call was placed to General Robert Hamilton at CONR headquarters Panama City. Colonel Porter was smiling but the Lieutenant saw through the smile and recognized the gravity of the moment. She had been with him long enough to know when it was business as usual and when the matter was urgent. Colonel Porter returned to his office where he found Jeff Harmon still meticulously studying the photos.
"I can't make much out of these pictures, Colonel, but it doesn't take a specialist to see the devastation."
"What do you think it is Jeff?"
"I'm afraid to say what I think it is, but it seems to me there's only one thing that could do this kind of damage."
"Are you thinking nuclear?"
"I don't know... I'm just not good at reading these things. But it's pretty obvious no conventional explosion did this. It's certainly not natural gas, crashed aircraft, or anything of that sort. This dust cloud is at least six miles in diameter. There is some visual evidence on the perimeter of the cloud, but no detail I can make out...the heat at the core is very alarming."
"What time did our people arrive over Houston?"
"We're estimating this event took place at approximately 07:02 we scrambled about twenty minutes later at 07:22, twenty minutes to destination...We were on target at 07:42...forty-two minutes after the explosion. The intercom interrupted the conversation."
"General Hamilton is standing by on line one, sir."
"Hello General, Colonel Porter."
"Hello John, what do you have?"
"We have the results of the fly-by, sir. Your people should be receiving them about now."
"Ok, good. What's your preliminary evaluation, John?" "At first glance the data is very disturbing. Have there been any air space infringements, General?"
"Not to my knowledge, but I understand we are still assessing satellite systems."
"Why...are you thinking a delivery of some kind?"
"Yes, sir. It had to get there somehow. I think we need to get a drone in as soon as possible and see what's happened on the ground."
"I agree, possibly Lackland, they may have a Scan Eagle available. If not, I will bring one in from St Louis. Should be up and running by the afternoon."
* * *
Television
"We interrupt this program to bring you special report. Here now is Stuart Jenkins." The long-time anchor and the face of network news came into view on the small screen.
"About forty-five minutes ago, it appears that an explosion of some magnitude occurred in or around the greater Houston, Texas area. At this time, details are sketchy. What we do know is that somewhere around seven twenty this morning, Central Standard Time, an explosion of consequential effect could be seen from as far away as Galveston, forty miles to the south of Houston. I understand we have a crew on their way from our affiliate in Austin and should be arriving in Houston momentarily. Meanwhile, Fred Morales is standing by on the phone from Galveston... First tell us who you are, Fred, and then please tell us what you can about this explosion."
"My title is Public Affairs Officer for the Galveston police department, and as you suggested, the details are few at this time. I can tell you that at about seven-fifty this morning, distress calls began to come in from the Houston area asking for medical assistance, water... essentially, all the things one might need to deal with a seriously urgent situation."
"Fred, sorry to interrupt, have you spoken to anyone from Houston yourself?"
"Yes, we have received numerous calls from police officers and emergency personnel located in that area, as well as citizens who haven't been able to contact their own police departments. The Houston officers are not able to give us much information because they can't get back to their precincts, nor can they communicate effectively with their commanders. The city of Galveston has begun a massive mobilization to help in any way that might be requested or needed, and we are making every effort to coordinate with county agencies including the sheriff's department. We will know more as the morning progresses. Right now, that is about all I can tell you." "So it's safe to say at this time that you have no idea what has happened in Houston?"
"That's right, Stuart. We know something significant took place this morning, but as of this minute we don't know what it was." "Fred, will you be accessible to us as information becomes available?"
"Yes of course, definitely."
"Thank you, Fred...Fred Morales from Galveston." Jenkins' head tilted slightly, indicating that he was picking up something in his earpiece. "Let's go now to our White House correspondent Lewis Kemper, who is standing by on the west lawn. Lewis, it appears we have something serious going on in Texas this morning. What are you hearing?"
Lewis Kemper was the veteran journalist in the White House corps, and normally could be relied upon to gather the particulars before anyone else. "Well, Stuart, no word from the White House yet, but we have an unconfirmed report that the Air Force scrambled two F-16s earlier this morning from Cannon A.F.B in New Mexico. Our sources are telling us that the order to scramble came from NORAD. That is significant because it means that the possibility of an airspace violationhas occurred. If that proves to be the case, it opens the whole can of proverbial worms. Hostile aircraft, missiles, even meteorites."
"And the likelihood?"
"I couldn't say. We do know that the President has been advised of the matter and is meeting with his top advisers as we speak."
"Lewis, has there been any indication of the scale...the damage...anything like that? Any information from Home Security that you could pass along?"
"I'm afraid not. We are pretty much at the same place you are. It does appear that something grave has happened in Texas."
"Will you come back to us as soon as you learn anything?"
"Yes of course, Stuart, I expect the President to make some kind of statement at any time now."
"Thank you, Lewis Kemper at the White House." Jenkins' head tilts again.
"Martha Rinek at the Pentagon. What's going on down there at the Pentagon, Martha?"
"Hello Stuart, not much more, but I can lend some credibility to Lew Kemper's report. Just about five minutes ago we were given an official memo verifying that jets were scrambled out of Cannon this morning but no cause was given. I can also tell you that the military has gone on high alert as of the same memo."
"Will you be staying down there for a while?" Jenkins asked Rinek.
"I'll be here until we get some concrete answers, Stuart."
"Thank you, Martha. Martha Rinek at the Pentagon."
A very concerned Stuart Jenkins directed his undivided attention to the viewing audience. "This is what we know at this time; a disaster of significant proportion has befallen Houston, Texas and we are using every resource available to keep you up to date."
* * *
The President Of The United States
A small group of advisers had stationed themselves around the heavy oak desk where the president of the United States was seated. The desk was a gift to the White House from Queen Victoria and fashioned from the timbers of the historic British discovery vessel the H.M.S. Resolute. It was befitting - the President's countenance was resolute this morning. The sunlight found its way through the large oval window at the his back and fell on the west corner of the desk. Seated from his left to his right was Rupert Langford, the National Security Advisor, Adam Mendez, the new National Intelligence Director, and next to him was F.B.I. Director Dale Barker. Finally, to his far right, was the President's personal friend and confidant, the White House Chief of Staff Theodore Clark. The President waited for Ted Clark to move his chair out of the glare of the sun and then spoke.
"What do we know, Ted?"
Clark cleared his throat, and then began without looking up from his notes. "At approximately seven-thirty a.m. this morning, Texas time, Houston experienced an explosion of such intensity that all communication from downtown was cut off." His voice wavered slightly. "There is dust and debris above the city that can be seen for miles."
The president braced a pencil eraser against the desktop and ran his fingers down the side of the pencil. "Have we authenticated this information...do we have facts?"
Clark continued, "The air force scrambled two F-16 jets from Cannon. They're trying to put together a profile right now." The president focused his attention on Adam Mendez.
"How did the Air Force get involved so soon?"
"The jets were scrambled on NORAD's directive, sir. It's procedure."
"Is that all we know then?"
The National Intelligence Director was uneasy. He uncrossed his right leg and then crossed the left before he answered the question. "That's all we know, right now anyway."
The President pushed against the leather backing of his swivel chair in a relaxed posture. He slowly clasped his hands behind his head, attention trained on Mendez.
"Are we going to put the nation at high alert, Adam?"
"We are assessing whether or not this is a national security problem. We simply don't have enough information to make that call this early."
The President shifted his weight back toward the desk in Rupert Langford's direction.
"I suggest we go high alert right now and worry about whether it's appropriate later. Do you agree, Rupert?"
"Yes, Mr. President. I think it's imperative."
The President nodded at his ranking police officer. "Dale?"
"I agree."
The president then pushed himself away from the desk and slowly walked around to the front, making his way through his seated company, resting his weight against the front of the hefty fixture. "My gut feeling is that this is a very serious situation and I want to be informed by the minute. Ted, we will use your office as a temporary operations room until we can get a handle on what's happened. It's expected of me to make some kind of statement as soon as possible."
* * *
Local Coverage
"We understand we have a local news crew with some pictures on the scene. We are waiting for the feed right now. Meanwhile, let's go to KVUE in Austin, and Diane Taylor."
Jenkins face reflected his concern. "Good morning, Stuart."
"Well, not so well in Houston apparently." Jenkins misspoke, not knowing to what extent the city had suffered.
"What can you tell us about it?" he asked.
"The information we have is that at sometime between 7:00 and 7:30 a.m. this morning there was a horrendous explosion in the center of downtown Houston. The source of the explosion is still a mystery. We understand buildings have collapsed and the streets leaving the city are clogged with snarled traffic. No one is getting in or out."
Jenkins pressed the local reporter. "Can you speculate at all what might have caused such an explosion?"
"There are conflicting reports. The possibilities are some kind of gas leak, a plane crash is another cause floating around, but certainly nothing that can be confirmed."
"What about loss of life?" Jenkins asked.
"There appear to be fatalities, but to what extent is pure speculation."
"Of course. Thank you, Diane. Diane Taylor, KVUE News, Austin, Texas."
Information and directions were flooding into Jenkins' ear in rapid-fire succession.
"We are going to go to George Bush Intercontinental Airport now, and Russell Upshaw."
A panorama of the Texas landscape flooded the screen. In the distance, a blue-gray smoke plume reached skyward.
"What are we looking at here?" Jenkins asked.
An unfamiliar voice answered, "We are looking south in the direction of downtown Houston and what you are seeing is the dust cloud that was created by whatever happened."
The camera zoomed in, cutting the distance in half. The picture filled with a mixture of dust and smoke.
"Goodness!" exclaimed a startled Jenkins.
"Yeah, it's unbelievable. This is a clear day, by the way!" said the voice.
"You are located at the George Bush Airport, and that's Houston's airport?"
"That's right, Stuart."
"How far is that from the downtown area?"
"I'm roughly fifteen miles from where I would estimate the explosion took place."
"Mr. Upshaw, who are you sir, and how are we receiving these pictures?"
"I'm an independent satellite facility operator. We had our truck at the airport to do a regional story for a local station with regard to the increasing hub demand out of the Houston airport."
"Incredible!" said an astonished Jenkins, whose attention was fixed on the revealing video.
"I'm sorry. I didn't get that last part sir," he said at last, after realizing he wasn't paying attention to the reporter.
"We are doing a regional story for a Houston station," repeated the engineer.
"There was something else sir," Jenkins insisted.
"Oh, I apologize, Stuart, I'm not a trained reporter, and I'm a little nervous. The people from the station haven't shown up yet."
"That's all right, just relax and explain to us as best you can what we are seeing."
"We are looking south over what used to be Houston. The debris cloud seems to be getting larger by the minute, as you can see. I just can't imagine what could have caused such a thing."
"Mr. Upshaw, how about the people around you there at the airport, are they aware something has happened, and how are they reacting to it?"
"The airport is rather quiet this morning, but those that are here seem to be confused, apprehensive maybe."
The camera began to pan the airport terminal. People were unusually stationary, standing silently at the large observation windows that housed the terminal. All were staring dumbfounded toward Houston with looks of despair and disbelief.
"As best I can tell, the airport has canceled or delayed all flights for the time being."
* * *
Aldine Toll Station, North Houston
Trooper Holt finished his work at the toll station by 7:45 a.m. and headed back to his waiting Explorer. At 7:50 a.m., Holt notified the troop dispatcher that he had finished his assignment at the tollbooth and was back in service. He then inquired about the obvious debris cloud now looming on the horizon. The dispatcher informed him that there had been numerous calls but that she had no concrete information about the cloud of smoke. She went on to tell him that she believed a mobilization of some kind was underway. Holt decided to head in that direction for a closer look.
He used his personal cell phone to call his wife to verify their plans for the 4th. Sara Beth was in a childlike mood this morning. She was so happy about the baby and she knew that the senior Holts would be almost as thrilled as she was. She was not about to let anything spoil such a wonderful day. Prospects for the Holt family could not be brighter as far as Sara Beth was concerned. The two lovebirds spent a few minutes in small talk and then discussed their plans for the following day. Tucker bid her a loving goodbye, smacking his lips with the sound of a kiss. Sara Beth did the same and then asked with naïve innocence, "What's going on downtown?" She always refused to acknowledge that her husband was involved in dangerous work, but deep in her heart she knew better.
"I don't know. I'm heading that way now to take a look. I'll see you later today. I love you darlin'. Bye-bye."
Holt turned his patrol cruiser south heading down the Hardy Toll Road toward the 610 belt that encircles the Houston business district. He noted the traffic headed north was heavy; stop and go. It should be just the opposite on a working day. The closer he got to the smoky cloud, the more menacing it became. His senses heightened as he moved south. He was aware now that there was something very, very wrong. He placed a call to the dispatcher. She told him they still didn't know what had taken place, but all available personnel were asked to proceed with caution into the Houston sector.
Holt's concern for his family suddenly became foremost in his thoughts as he watched the cloud spread itself across the Texas range with no end in sight. Slowing his Explorer to a standstill, he observed its relentless expansion. Holt felt a slight quiver across his shoulders while observing the dazed looks on the frightened faces of the people slowly emerging from the dust. He estimated the dust would reach him in two or three minutes and considered turning around, but the reality was that trooper Tucker Holt was a proud public servant who had sworn to assist and protect the citizens of Texas. With this gallant thought in mind, Holt moved his Explorer headlong into oblivion - unaware that he would die from the cloud's effects before the day was done.
* * *
Continuous Coverage
"We are now being told that there were low-flying fighter jets in the area just prior to the explosion. We'll try to confirm this as more information becomes available. Right now I want to go back to Galveston and Fred Hamilton... Hello, Fred. Are you there?"
"Yes Stuart."
"What are you hearing?"
"The Harris County Sheriff's Department has been reporting that people leaving the Houston area are describing intense heat with dust and some destruction. There is still no explanation about what has happened. We can confirm that there are injuries. Most seem to be burn related."
"Is there any word on how far into the city authorities are able to venture?" Jenkins asked.
"No, as best I can tell they are severely hampered by traffic tie-ups and we are having trouble picking up the radio transmissions from the area. There seems to be some kind of atmospheric condition hindering the communications network from up there."
"I'm curious, are you able to see the dust cloud from where you are, Fred?"
"Actually my view is a bit limited by my location, Stuart. Looking north, what you see is a kind of blue-gray hue that just seems to be hanging on the horizon. I'm told that the farther north you travel, the more distinguishable the cloud becomes."
"And how far are you again from Houston?"
"I'm about fifty miles from the center of downtown Houston."
"One more thing before we let you go... have you heard anything about military aircraft in the area at or about the time of the explosion?"
"Yes, there was some talk of jets, but no confirmed reports as of this moment."
"Are there any military bases in that area?"
"Lackland is about two hundred miles from here, but I believe this is a no-fly zone; off limits to the military."
"Thank you, Fred. Once again Fred Hamilton, an official with the Galveston police department."
"Thanks, Stuart."
"Let's go now to Diane Taylor in Austin. Diane, I understand you have some pictures for us."
"That's right, Stuart. This video is coming from our Eye in the Sky chopper. The onboard reporter is Brad Gane. Brad, can you hear me?"
"Yes, I can hear you, Stuart."
"Ok, tell us what we're looking at."
The KVUE news copter began transmitting live video to a nation spellbound and glued to the TV.
"This is the debris cloud just in front of us. It is next to impossible to distinguish anything within the perimeter of this dust and smoke. We are purposely staying away from the cloud right now because of low visibility, and because, frankly, we don't know what it may be composed of."
The picture from the chopper's perspective revealed little to the television audience. A foggy effect was the best explanation.
"Yes, of course. Can you show us what's happening on the ground outside of the debris cloud?" Jenkins pushed.
"Yes...We're looking due-east in this view of westbound traffic on Interstate 10. It's at a standstill as you can see. We've been circling this location for about ten minutes now with very little outbound movement. One other note of interest, Stuart, I haven't seen one emergency vehicle."
"What do you make of that?"
"You mean no emergency vehicles?"
"Yes, right. What do you make of that?"
"It looks like a serious deficiency in city emergency evacuation planning. No emergency coordinating going on at all that I can detect." The camera shot moves to a residential area.
"What are we seeing here? It looks like people are moving around some?"
"This is the Hillshire area about seven miles from downtown Houston, and yes, people seem to be milling about with little direction. It is obvious they are suffering from severe shock. They appear to be languishing helplessly with no conception of what has just happened or what course of action to take next."
"Brad, there doesn't seem to be any structural damage in this area, can you confirm that?"
"None that we can see. No noticeable damage anyway. We're going to make our way back south a little and try to approach from the southwest. The wind is blowing from that direction. We think we might be able to get a little closer to the center of the city from there."
"While we are waiting for KVUE, our team in Austin, to send back more pictures from their helicopter, I want to take just a few minutes and go back to our Pentagon correspondent Martha Rinek... Martha, nice to have you aboard on this one."
"Thank you, Stuart."
"I understand there's an official explanation for the jets now."
"That's right. The Pentagon has just issued a short statement acknowledging the aircraft were jets scrambled out of Cannon Air force Base, Clovis, New Mexico. The statement says it was for 'observation purposes' and that it is 'protocol'."
"So they're our jets then."
"That's what they're saying, Stuart."
"Any news on what they saw?"
"No, there's nothing in the statement with respect to the fly over, other than they're ours."
"Many thanks... Martha Rinek at the Pentagon... Stay close Martha, if you will. I want to go back now to the KVUE's Eye in the Sky chopper and Brad Gane... Brad, can you hear me?"
"Yes, I can hear you. What we have done is make a southwest approach to see if there is more ground exposure on this side of the city. We are headed in a northeast direction just east of highway 59. Directly below us is the 610 loop. It's congested, moving very slowly as you can see. The wind is coming out of the southwest at five to ten miles per hour, but I don't think it's going to let us get a lot closer. This cloud just seems to be lingering. It's heavier than normal air and is playing havoc with our instruments."
"Yes... well we certainly don't want you to put yourself and your colleagues in harm's way...Do you have some sense of the composition of this cloud by now?"
"I've never witnessed a live nuclear explosion, but if I had to guess I would say that is what we have here, Stuart."
"Well, you said what we were all thinking, Brad...Be very careful my friend."
"Right...We can give you some idea of what is going on below us. We're at about twenty five hundred feet and we are coming up on the campus of Rice University. There's not a lot of physical damage, some debris strewn about, but structurally things are still in one piece."
"Are those bodies we're seeing?"
"I'm afraid so. There are people down, and there are people attending to those who are down, but no government response or emergency personnel anywhere to be seen."
"I'm taken by the fact that there aren't very many people there, students I guess...What do you make of that, Brad?"
"Well, I think there are a couple of explanations. One, it's early so most of the kids could still be inside, and two it's summer school and tomorrow is a national holiday."
"Oh yes...of course."
"We're going to try and make our way east around the southern edge of the cloud."
"I'm curious, Brad; do you see any other aircraft, or any kind of ground mobilization, any kind of emergency response going on at all?"
"Yes, we're seeing some air traffic of various kinds now, police, there's another news copter in the area, but little if any crisis mobilization on the ground. I've seen a red light occasionally... actually Stuart, you're seeing pretty much what we are seeing. We are going to tuck right in behind this cloud of smoke and dust which seems to be drifting northeast now...we'll follow it for a while at a safe distance. I think we are coming up on what I believe is the University of Houston...Oh my...the landscape is beginning to change dramatically now, as you can see. We are seeing more structural damage. There are people waving desperately at us now...Oh my God...people are running around hysterically, but there's no help, many are down. Traffic is stalled in every direction. Some are vomiting. What we are viewing is so surreal it looks a lot like a crisis management simulation, but it's the real thing and there is no managing going on."
Jenkins, gripped by the scene unfolding before him on the video, broke in with a genuine but helpless request.
"Brad, is there anything you can do to help those poor people?"
"Nothing short of landing, and I don't think that's a good idea."
"Can you make contact with some emergency people and help bring them into that location?" Jenkins insisted.
"We can try, Stuart, but if this is what I think it is no one in their right mind is coming into this area for a while."
* * *
Emergency Command Center, South Houston
Officer Eric Hoefield, along with aviation Commander Bill Sherman, arrived at the South Houston State Police substation by helicopter at approximately 8:10 a.m., to establish a crisis command center. Captain Sherman had authorized three of his available aircraft for this operation; two Bell 407 helicopters identically equipped with gyro-stabilized video cameras, a thermal image sensor, microwave down-link facility, a searchlight tracker, and a comprehensive radio system with various other items of role equipment including air-toground heat sensing capabilities. The third aircraft was a fixed-wing Cessna 182.
Hoefield and his crew at station 2 South Houston used a small conference room as the war room for Exodus, the code name given to the operation. Meanwhile, Sherman and his other two pilots began their inspection. Bill Sherman skillfully took his Bell 407 from the South Houston substation parking lot and made his way north toward a very conspicuous debris cloud.
"This is Bell 44 Exodus with a Radio check... over."
The other two state police aircraft responded in businesslike manner.
"Exodus, 43, copy...over."
"Cessna Blue-Boy, four oh...copy."
The pilot of the Cessna 182, code name Blue-Boy, was Robert Wiley. He had been with the Texas State Police for six years and served with the 101st Airborne as a recon pilot in Desert Storm. Wiley's colleague in the second Bell 407 was also a seasoned veteran of twelve years with the Texas Highway Patrol.
The plan of action called for the Cessna to cover the north and east quadrants of the Houston Metro plexus. Bell 43 would cover the west quadrant and Sherman would approach from the south. The objective was to establish exit routes, locate easy-entry roads to be used by emergency traffic, examine the infrastructure for damage, and to better assess the cause and needs. The cloud looming in front of Sherman was a bluish gray color and had climbed to an altitude of 30,000 feet. He estimated the radius of the cloud to be six to eight miles at ground level, but the wind was out of the southwest at five to seven mph, which meant the back side could extend much further north.
"Forty-four...Bob, don't enter the cloud at this time until we can determine what the composition is. It looks very hot...over."
"Forty four, Blue-Boy...copy."
"What's your location, Blue-Boy?"
The Cessna was flying at an altitude of 6000 feet heading northeast, just southwest of George Bush Intercontinental. "One mile west of Tomball parkway," answered Wiley.
"What's the traffic look like over there?" Sherman asked.
"There is no movement inbound, none at all. Many cars off the road. Looks like they're trying to get turned around any way they can."
"What about outbound?"
Sherman asked.
"Very slow," Wiley continued while dropping his Cessna down to about 4000 feet.
"They're being hampered by people from inbound trying to turn around. It's a mess. No coordination of any kind."
Bob Wiley was a fearless sort, or maybe reckless, Sherman wasn't sure which. After finishing his tour in Iraq, he returned home to Bradenton, Florida and joined an Air Force Reserve unit. He married Susan, had a baby, and spent the next three years looking for a job flying airplanes. There wasn't much available on the west coast of Florida. He tried flying lessons out of a small airport near his hometown, but it didn't work out. He didn't have the patience. Crop dusting was only part time and meant he would have to travel some. Susan would have no part of that idea. It would require her to stay at home and care for the baby on her own. There were other dismal efforts, all leading to the same end. As it is after every war, there is an excess of military pilots all competing for a few jobs. Life didn't treat Bob Wiley very well back then and he became continually less enchanted with Bradenton; and with Susan's perpetual whining. They talked about moving, but Susan wouldn't leave her mother. After all, she would say, the baby couldn't grow up without a grandmother.
There was one thing about life in Bradenton that Wiley did like. His reserve unit worked as storm chasers for the national hurricane center in Miami. Stationed at Mac Dill AFB out of Tampa, he was part of the aircraft operations center's hurricane hunter's wing, more properly acknowledged as the National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration (NOAA). He admired the courage and professionalism of the men and women in the highly trained unit, but more than that he craved the adventure. It wasn't unusual to fly the WP-3D Orion in to 70 mph turbulence in search of storm information. Wiley would marvel at the fury of nature and wish within himself that everyone he knew could experience the same feeling. It was second only to the war experience where life and death got all mixed up; where power was king and if you were a pilot you controlled the power. Wiley liked flying into ominous looking clouds. He liked the unknown. It gave him the rush he needed. It filled the void he has craved since Desert Storm. He liked being in control of his own destiny and he liked being a maverick. He wanted the life back he had before the war. He wanted his wife and baby back. He wanted to go back to Mac Dill. He was sick of traffic control. Suddenly with a mind of its own, the Cessna banked into the ferocity of the storm cloud with tenacious grit.
The radio transmission was garbled. "Blue boy, you're breaking up," Sherman warned. "Do you copy? Do you copy, Blue Boy? Over. Bob, you're breaking up...come back. Blue boy, do you copy? Over." The silence was deafening in Sherman's ear. He called the second helicopter, "Exodus 43, do you read? ... over."
"Copy that Captain, but I've lost contact with Wiley." The two officers tried to reach the wayward pilot but to no avail.
Wiley was heading due south now. He had switched to instruments. It was pitch black within the depths of the debris-laden abyss. No sunlight was able to penetrate the dust. The dogged warrior would not be deterred. He will conquer yet another tempest and return triumphantly. Without warning, the instrument panel lights began to flicker. Wiley smacked the panel face with the palm of his hand. The altimeter malfunctioned, showing zero altitude. The intrepid aviator struggled for control of the aircraft. The artificial horizon went next, and then the lights went out completely. Wiley was now totally disoriented.
"Bell 44 this is Blue Boy, do you read? Over... Bill, this is Blue Boy, come back... Bill come back ... 43 do you read? ... 43 come back?"
No response. He felt his skin go flush. His heart was beating so hard he could hear it.
"Mayday...Mayday." He screamed into the dead radio. The fearless pilot, believing he has gone into a steep climb, frantically forced the stick of his winged chariot forward in an effort to prevent a stall. Instead, the disabled combatant flew his Cessna 182 straight into the Eastex Freeway, killing himself and sixteen stranded motorists.
* * *
The White House
The office of Ted Clark was small, but adjacent to the President's office. All intelligence being gathered regarding Houston would be guided temporarily through Clark in an effort to allow the President to carry on as normally as possible until relevant information could be assessed. At 9:42 a.m., a call came in from the Pentagon. It was General Millard Crenshaw, the nation's highest ranking Air Force officer. General Crenshaw asked to speak to the President but was transferred to Ted Clark's office. Millard Crenshaw was a personal friend of the President's and was perturbed that he would not take his call. He recognized the need to protect the President, however, and agreed to pass on the findings of the still-preliminary military investigation to Ted Clark. Clark switched his phone to intercom speaker for the benefit of those who have gathered in his small office and then braced himself for what he anticipated to be the worst possible news. "Go ahead, General."
"Hello, Ted...We have just received the preliminary results of the Scan Eagle fly and it's not good. It looks like we've been hit by a nuclear weapon of some kind...Let me repeat, this is preliminary, but I think there's enough evidence here to warrant all presidential safety precautions and protocols."