Chapter 6
Defense Threat Reduction Agency
Fort Belvoir, Virginia
Wednesday
10:27 a.m. Eastern Time
“Just got the imagery data from Space Command in Colorado Springs, Admiral. Second source verified with NRO imagery and radar from various assets. Third-source verification from CIA has intercepted communications between the Russian Space Force commanders and the Kremlin. I’ve asked NSA for fourth-source verification and waiting. But, as far as I can tell, this is very real, ma’am.” United States Navy SEAL Special Warfare Development Group (DEVGRU) Chief Warrant Officer 4 Wheeler “Mac” McKagan tapped in his password and drove the mouse cursor over the large screen with big red letters TOP SECRET across the top and bottom. The computer processing circle spun a bit and then his desktop appeared. “Got the link to the imagery just now if you want to see it all, ma’am.”
“Let’s see it, Mac,” Rear Admiral Lower Half Tonya Denise Thompson leaned forward on her elbows onto the secure conference room table to get a better look. Mac could tell by the look on the admiral’s face that she was as nervous about this as he was. “What did the intercept from CIA say?”
“Right, here it is,” Mac said. Then he pulled up a classified email on the screen and read it out loud. “I checked with a buddy of mine at SAC/SOG”—Special Activities Center/Special Operations Group—“at CIA and he verifies it. Starts with…unknown speaker number one: ‘There were heavy casualties. No survivors.’ Then the source from Moscow voice replies: ‘Was Colonel Lytokov among the casualties?’ Unknown speaker number one then replies: ‘No, sir. His body was not recovered or any sign of it on the site.’ Moscow voice replies: ‘Damn fool Lytokov! Is the missile intact?’ Unknown speaker number two, a new voice, says: ‘No, the warheads are missing and the missile has been scuttled, sir.’”
“Jesus Christ, Mac!” RDML Thompson gasped. “Warheads? Do we know what they are?”
“Well ma’am, from the imagery here…” Mac tapped away at his keyboard. Satellite imagery appeared on the screen showing an area that appeared to be sparsely populated with maple and fir trees, a couple of trucks, a command center vehicle, and one very large modern-era Russian ICBM on a transporter erector launcher vehicle. He smiled to himself. This was right in his wheelhouse and what he had personally trained for all those years with DEVGRU—what some people, wrongly, referred to as SEAL Team Six. He specifically had trained for just this type of event. “It’s a Topol-M was my first guess, ma’am. By treaty, it is only supposed to have one nuke on it. But they did say ‘warheads’ with an S. Or, at least the translators said it was plural. If plural as translated, then that suggests it is a MIRV-carrying variant like the Topol-MR, also known as an RS-24 Yars. But Topol-M will do, that’s the generic description or class of missile. You might hear some analysts and historians in missile technology and defense refer to it as the Sickle-B. I just say Topol-M.”
“How many warheads, Mac?”
“As many as six, ma’am. Eighty to one-hundred-fifty kilotons’ yield each. Some variants of the missile have been rumored to be capable of carrying eleven, but I don’t think this is that variant.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Yes, ma’am. My sentiments exactly, ma’am. Should I alert the Teams?”
“Not yet, the Joint Chiefs may want to handle it differently. I’ve got to get this to the J2 immediately! Put this in a neat package for me. I’ll try to get on the J2’s calendar within the next hour or so. I’ll need the package by then. Just drop it in my folder on the shared drive. ASAP!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
It had taken Tonya almost two hours to get onto Vice Admiral Frank Whitburn’s schedule. Atop that the traffic going north on I-95 was a total pain in the ass. Tonya was beginning to wish she’d parked at the Park’n’Ride D.C. Metro stop at the bottom of the yellow line in Franconia-Springfield and just taken the damned Metro from there. She’d probably have been at the Pentagon thirty minutes earlier. As it currently stood, she was just now badging through and passing by the cafeteria, stores, and shops. She had been there so many times during her career that she had worked out multiple ways to get where she needed to be quickly. But then again, maintenance was always adding and removing walls and there were stories about ensign junior grades getting lost and walled in and never being heard from again. The Pentagon was a rat maze if there ever was one. Some said it was by design. Tonya was fairly certain it was due to a lack thereof.
Tonya had gone up stairs, down corridors, then down stairs, down another corridor, then back upstairs until she got to the right place. She could tell she was getting closer to the part of the ring where the Joint Chiefs were as the paint, décor, and even the furniture she could see in the office spaces looked nicer.
“Okay, here we go,” she whispered to herself as she read the placard outside the door just as she’d done some many times before. “The J2 Defense Intelligence.” It never got old being where she was and seeing what she got to see. Maybe today was the day that sentiment changed.
Tonya buzzed in and was let into the office waiting area.
“Can I help you, Admiral?” A new navy lieutenant commander sitting behind the desk rose. Tonya had never seen this one. He must be fresh in on his rotation, she thought.
“At ease. RDML Thompson for 13:10 with the J2.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The young lieutenant commander sat back down and tapped nervously at his console, reaffirming the appointment, and then looked up at her. “Did you send briefing materials?”
“Yes, I sent it on JWICS about an hour ago.”
“Hold one second, ma’am.” Tonya could tell he was searching for the email she had sent him over the Joint Worldwide Intelligence Communications System, which everyone simply called “jay-wicks.”
“Yes, ma’am. IT has already got them ready.” He stood to escort her. “This way to the conference room. Would you like some coffee or water or something, ma’am?”
“No, thank you. I’m good.” Tonya had been to the J2 conference room many times in her career and didn’t need the hand-holding. But this young naval officer didn’t know that and there was no need in explaining it to a sailor just doing his job.
“Right this way. Have a seat and he’ll be right with you.” The lieutenant commander turned a touch screen in the middle of the conference room table around and tapped at it. Then the monitors on the walls showed a classified computer desktop. A few seconds later Tonya’s briefing was on the screen. He handed her a remote. “This moves the slides forward and that one backward. This room is now at the level of your briefing and nobody uncleared will be allowed in. Any questions?”
“Got it. Thank you.”
Tonya sat patiently for about ten minutes, all the while going over the data in her mind. It was almost unfathomable. What was this Russian going to do with these nukes? To what endgame? These would be the hottest stolen goods ever and couldn’t just be fenced through some gunrunner or warlord. That really suggested to Tonya that the Russian and whoever else was with him planned to use these nukes. Jesus Christ…
One of the maple brown walls opened, revealing a door at the end of the room and on a side wall. The protocol was clear, as always. Tonya jumped to her feet at attention. A navy captain entered and announced, “Vice Admiral Whitburn.” The captain then stood at attention until the three-star director of the Directorate for Intelligence, J2, support to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretary of Defense, Joint Staff and Unified Commands, Vice Admiral Frank Whitburn walked in swiftly and stood at the end of the table.
“At ease. Sit down, Tonya.” VADM Whitburn turned to the navy captain. “Thank you, Thomas.” That was clearly the order to the lower rank that this was an admirals-only meeting. The VADM waited for the doors to close. The mahogany leather chairs squeaked as they settled into their seats.
“Okay, Tonya, now what is so damned urgent that…”