Breach of Protocol Read online

  An hour of flight time later, Jana rubbed her eyes. Everyone on board the Gulfstream jet was head down, studying a map of the city.

  When the video monitor blinked to life again, Uncle Bill’s voice broke the silence. “Did you find anything?”

  Jana didn’t look up and instead rubbed her eyes. “Hey, Bill.” She pulled the ponytail free of the band holding it in place and her golden hair rolled forward like a silk sheet.

  Cade stared at it the way a person stares into a campfire.

  “We’re touching down at San Francisco International Airport. But, we found more possible targets than I care to admit,” she said. “There doesn’t seem to be anything in the city itself he would specifically go after, other than mass destruction, that is. Jarrah could put the device anywhere. Downtown would be particularly devastating, but Fisherman’s Wharf, Chinatown, Market Street around the Moscone Center, they’re all highly populated, touristy areas. Nothing is jumping out at us.”

  “Nothing?”

  As Jana stood she said, “Well, Bill, we did have this harebrained idea. It provided a bit of amusement in that it was so outlandish.”

  Bill grinned, although underneath the mass of grizzled facial hair, it was hard to tell. “And what was that? Remember, there are no stupid ideas here.”

  “It was something about placing the device inside the San Andreas Fault line to cause an earthquake.”

  When she looked back at Bill, she saw something in his eyes. It was an expression she couldn’t quite place. To her, it looked like his brain struggled with two opposing thoughts locked in a battle against one another. The first was fear, but what startled her more was that it was infused with something else: revelation.

  “Jana? I think you’re at the wrong location.”

  32

  COVERED IN SPADES

  715 Gibbons Street in Alexandria, Virginia

  The mixed residential, small-business district was reminiscent of so many similar neighborhoods in the Washington, DC, metropolitan area. The residential building was a two-story complex, complete with dormer windows characteristic of the architecture of the neighborhood. The exterior was all brick that alternated in color, the first few condos a natural brick, the next few painted white, then back to brick again.

  At 4:58 a.m. the pounding on the front door began. By the time Lyle Branson awakened, it sounded like a stampede of cattle. He looked out his second-floor bedroom window into the strobing of blue lights to see two Ford Crown Victorias, unmarked official vehicles, on the street below.

  “What the hell?” Branson said. He stumbled out of bed and down the stairs. “All right, all right,” he yelled. “Jesus, I don’t even have my pants on.” He unbolted and opened the door to find four men in business suits. The first held out a set of FBI credentials.

  “This can’t be good,” Branson said.

  “Federal agents. Dr. Lyle Branson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Dr. Branson, you’ll need to get dressed immediately,” the agent said. “We’re to escort you.”

  “Escort me? Escort me where? It’s not even 5:00 a.m. What is this about?”

  “We’re not at liberty to say. Please hurry, sir. This is a matter of utmost urgency.”

  Branson stepped back to let the men in, then closed the door behind them. “You dented my door, you know? Urgency? What the hell could be so urgent? I’m a geologist for God’s sake.”

  “Yes, sir,” the agent replied. “We have our orders.”

  Branson dressed quickly and found himself whisked into the backseat of one of the vehicles. The car ride was exhilarating, to say the least. As sirens blared and tires screeched, Branson tightened his seatbelt. It wasn’t until they exited the Baltimore-Washington Parkway onto Patuxent Freeway that he realized they were going to the headquarters of the National Security Agency.

  “What are we doing here?” Branson said.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “I know, I know. You’re not at liberty to say. Well, this one is for the books. A geologist is yanked out of bed at five in the morning to come to the NSA. Sure, happens all the time. Just another day for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It took several minutes to negotiate the series of checkpoints. But once through the front doors and into the lobby of the sprawling NSA headquarters building, Branson tried to match pace with the speed-walking agents.

  Uncle Bill stood just past the security checkpoint, wearing a crumpled, short-sleeve, button-down shirt; his hands clasped in front of him. As he extended a handshake, Branson took one look into his bloodshot eyes and knew this was a man that had not slept in a long time.

  There was something about Bill’s haggard, weary appearance that made Branson realize, whatever this was, it was big, maybe bigger than anything he’d been involved in before. And that was saying a lot.

  Dr. Lyle Branson had signed on as a civilian contractor to the United States Navy a year and a half prior. At the time, the navy, under orders from Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Joseph Glass, had embarked on a project to map the ocean floor in the region of the Persian Gulf. For a geologist, it was the chance of a lifetime.

  The United States and its allies needed oceanographic details of the area. As it happened, Branson had written his doctoral thesis on the technology surrounding high-resolution ultrasound images that could be used to document underwater geologic formations.

  It sounded like such a great idea at the time. He would board the nuclear submarine, USS Colorado. From there he would be responsible for deploying ultrasound mapping equipment from the sub to create a detailed set of maps of the ocean floor in the region.

  But the Colorado had stumbled upon a downed enemy submarine and the chaos began. By the time it was over, the USS Colorado had outmaneuvered a torpedo, destroyed another enemy sub, and narrowly escaped. It wasn’t until later that Branson fully understood the naiveté of his agreement to do the project.

  He was later astounded at himself. What could go wrong? he had thought. What could go wrong is that you could end up dead, that’s what could go wrong.

  Whatever the NSA wanted, Branson would certainly try to assist. But with his first experience with the federal government having gone so badly, he had hoped to never work for them again.

  “Dr. Branson?” Uncle Bill said. “My name is William Tarleton. I’m sorry to have bounced you out of bed so early in the morning, but I need your help and it can’t wait.”

  As the two made their way down the series of hallways to the command center, Bill made small talk, but Branson pressed for more.

  “Mr. Tarleton, I still don’t know why the NSA could possibly need a geologist.”

  “Oh, we’ll get to that.”

  As they arrived at the command center, Bill put his hand on the door handle. “Dr. Branson, I can’t emphasize enough the importance of what is happening here. What you are about to see and hear is highly classified. No one outside of this facility can know.”

  “I understand.”

  “I hope you do, sir. Word of this gets out on the street and we’ll have an outright panic. Pandemonium in a way you’ve never seen. A lot of lives are on the line here, sir.”

  Bill slid his security card through the digital reader, but Branson put a hand on his arm. “Mr. Tarleton, are you sure you’ve got the right guy? Lives on the line? I’m a geologist. I study rock formations, underwater mountain ranges, tectonic plates, things like that. I don’t know anything about national security.”

  “Tectonic plates, you say? Funny you should mention that.” Bill pushed the door open.

  “Well sure, lots of geologist have an interest in the study of tectonic plates, but why should that be of any interest to the NSA? Holy shit,” Branson said. “This place is huge.” His head craned in all directions as he studied the multiple large-screen computer monitors hanging from the ceiling.

  Even at this hour of the morning, the place buzzed with activity. “Why the NSA’s interest in tectonic plates? Did you
run out of things to eavesdrop on?”

  Bill gave him a blank stare.

  “Sorry, geologist humor.”

  “Why don’t you wait in here,” Uncle Bill said as he pointed to the war room. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. We’ll get started in just a minute.”

  Knuckles walked in and rubbed his eyes as Uncle Bill peered across the tops of his glasses at him. “Just wake up? You look like you put your finger in an electrical socket.”

  “Oh, ah, yeah,” he said as he attempted to comb his hair with his fingers.

  “Put on a hat or something, son. We bounced Mr. Branson here out of bed at five and he looks like he’d be ready for a briefing with the president. Show some sense of decorum, will you?”

  “Man, it’s early. Besides, I gave away my NSA ball cap.”

  “Get Jana and the gang on the video uplink. They’re at the FBI field office in San Fran,” Uncle Bill said. “It’s about two thirty in the morning there, but this can’t wait.”

  By the time the secure video uplink connected, Branson paced the floor.

  “Am I being detained?” Branson said.

  “Detained?” Uncle Bill said. “No, but that sounds like something I ask my wife from time to time. Anytime my in-laws stay with us for the holidays, that is. No sir. But now that we’re all gathered, I can tell you why I’ve asked you here.”

  “Asked me here? They dented my door just trying to wake me up.”

  “Everything we’re about to tell you is classified, Dr. Branson. We need your help. I’ll reiterate again. There is nothing we say that you can take outside of this room.” Then he turned to the monitor and said, “Gang, this is Dr. Lyle Branson. He’s a geologist and he’s come here this morning out of the goodness of his heart.”

  “Goodness of my heart? Yeah, that’s hysterical.”

  “This is a matter of national security, Dr. Branson. We do thank you for being here nonetheless.”

  “I’m not so sure I want to hear this,” Branson said.

  Bill continued. “Dr. Branson, joining us on secure video uplink are Special Agents Jana Baker and Kyle MacKerron. Cade Williams is one of my team. We’re tracking another terrorist inside the United States.” He let that statement hang in space for a moment. “We fear another nuclear attack.”

  Branson’s head snapped in Bill’s direction.

  “A nuclear attack? And for some reason you need a geologist? Let me guess, you picked me because the nuclear device that destroyed CIA headquarters was obtained right out in front of the submarine USS Colorado when I was on board. Am I right?”

  Bill saw no need to verify the information.

  “What we’re wondering is this,” Bill said as he pointed to a map of the San Andreas Fault line.

  “You want to ask me about the fault line?”

  “Dr. Branson, is there any man-made way to trigger a major earthquake along the San Andreas Fault?”

  Branson peered sideways at Bill. “This is just a wild guess, but you mean, as in placing a nuclear device inside the fault line?” He exhaled, then crossed his arms.

  “I take it that this concept is not as far-fetched as it seems.”

  “Geologists have been squabbling about this for years. The consensus though, is that, yes, it’s possible. But no one knows for sure. A lot of factors would have to be in place, and even if they were in place, it’s still a long shot.”

  “Like what kind of factors?” Knuckles said.

  “The fault line is made up of the Pacific plate and the North American plate. Those two plates are grinding against one another—one moving south, the other, north. The San Andreas Fault is called a right lateral transform fault. Sometimes a lot of tension builds up between the two plates, and finally, that tension gives way. That’s when we get an earthquake. But right after the earthquake, the tension has settled out and is no longer present, at least for a while.”

  “And?” Uncle Bill pressed.

  “One factor is that the plates would have to be under extreme tension, otherwise nothing would happen. And second, it would have to be an enormous device. The plates are like springs. The springs are hundreds of miles long and several miles thick. They weigh tens of thousands, or even trillions of tons. It would take a near-biblical force to move them.”

  Uncle Bill said, “Let’s assume the plates are under great tension in the general vicinity of San Francisco. Well, hold on a second. Is there any way to know that they’re under tension?”

  “Well sure. The plates are continually moving and that is something we can feel and measure. When the plates touch each other they get stuck. The tension keeps pushing against the plates until finally enough stress is built up. Sometimes we detect more tectonic activity. But to answer your question, there’s almost always a lot of tension across the plates.”

  “Do you believe?” Jana said. “Do you believe that it’s possible a nuclear device could cause an earthquake?”

  Branson’s hands found their way into his pockets. “I tend to think it’s a load of crap, personally.”

  “And why is that?” Jana said.

  “We’re talking about a fault line that stretches for seven hundred miles. Most of it is over ten miles deep, for God’s sake. Like I said before. It would take a catastrophically large nuclear device to even make it budge.”

  “Like how large?” Bill said.

  “Let me put it into perspective for you. The 1906 San Francisco earthquake was a 7.8 magnitude. And, no, that’s not the largest one ever recorded in that region of the world. The largest was a 9.2 that happened in Alaska in 1964. But to give you an idea of the energy expended, the San Francisco earthquake of 1906 unleashed the energy equivalent of a forty-kiloton nuclear device. Bear in mind that the energy is spread across hundreds of miles. That’s unlike what happens when a nuclear device detonates, where all the energy is delivered in one spot. During that particular earthquake, the earth shifted a full six meters. That’s the very definition of devastation.”

  “Forty kilotons?” Jana said. She looked at Uncle Bill. “He’s got that covered in spades.”

  “Who’s got what covered in spades?” Branson said.

  “She’s talking about the terrorist, Dr. Branson,” Bill said. “The device he has access to.”

  “It’s bigger?”

  Bill stood and began to walk out of the war room.

  “Dr. Branson, the forty kiloton device you describe is roughly the size of the largest nuclear device ever tested. The device the terrorist has his hands on isn’t measured in kilotons. It’s measured in megatons. It’s a ten megaton device. For comparison’s sake, he doesn’t have a forty kiloton device, he has a ten-thousand-kiloton device.”

  “Mother of God,” Branson muttered as his eyes traced the floor.

  “So what do you think now?” Jana asked. “Do you believe?”

  “Ten thousand kilotons? If you could deliver ten thousand kilotons of energy into a focused point along the fault line . . . a bomb that large could set off a multimeter shift in the tectonic plates along hundreds of miles of the California landscape. The effect would be catastrophic.”

  Bill placed a hand on the door frame. “I want all of you to create a list of the most likely places to position the device along the fault line. Think like a terrorist and tell me where you’d place it, and why. And you should start your search at San Francisco.”

  33

  THE MINE SHAFT

  NSA Command Center

  After Uncle Bill left the war room, the geologist, Branson, stood motionless. It was Jana who broke his fog.

  “Dr. Branson,” she said across the video monitor. “That seems so formal. Can we just call you Branson? Look, I know this is a bit of a shock—”

  “A bit of a shock? I’m a geologist! I’m not used to this crap. Why in the hell I ever signed on board the USS Colorado last year is beyond me. If I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be sitting in NSA headquarters with the knowledge that a terrorist is out there, ready to detonate insi
de the United States again.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jana said. “We unfortunately have gotten used to this. We’re dealing with the same terrorist, the one who tried to detonate a nuclear device two years ago in Kentucky, and the one who did detonate a device last year at CIA headquarters. I think we’re just numb to it now.”

  “You’re numb to it? How could you be numb to it?” He looked at the three in turn. “Well un-numb yourselves, dammit.”

  “Yes, sir,” Knuckles said. “Maybe we could just focus on your area of expertise.”

  “I’m sorry,” Branson said as he slumped into a seat. “It’s all just a bit overwhelming. Can we start over? I don’t suppose there are any donuts around here to go with the stale coffee?”

  Kyle laughed. “The stale coffee is an Uncle Bill specialty.”

  Knuckles continued. “What we need, Dr. Branson, is for you to think like a terrorist.”

  Branson’s mouth hung open.

  “If you were a terrorist and had this idea to place a nuclear device inside the fault line, where would you put it? Is there a place, or places, that would be particularly vulnerable? And remember, the terrorist would be looking for the place that would cause the most magnified effect possible.”

  Branson stood and began to pace. “Think like a terrorist, he says.” He was almost talking to himself. “Think like a terrorist. Well, let’s see, where would I place a bomb?” He looked at the monitor. “That’s a good question. There isn’t really a place along the fault line that would be considered more vulnerable in terms of how much pressure it’s under. And even if there was, brilliant geologists like me can’t really determine that. We don’t have enough data.” The grin on his face made him look as if he was waiting for a response. “That was geologist humor. Sorry.”