Lightning, p.16
Lightning, page 16
Clarissa hadn’t connected before that they were three women who had each lost so much. She and Rose had lost their husbands and their shots at the White House, Taz had followed her commanding general for nineteen years only to have him betray his oath in the end. Maybe they were more alike than she’d thought…or would ever admit to Taz Cortez.
“Anything else?” Clarissa needed to prove the CIA’s usefulness. She had to prove to Drake and the President that they’d been underutilizing the agency for too long. But they approached their precious Miranda before calling the CIA. They treated her as if she was a rabid dog, not the director of the world’s most-feared spy agency. The CIA had earned that reputation and she was not being allowed to leverage it to the max.
“We received a call from Miranda a few minutes ago.”
When Clarissa stood, her feet immediately set in to throbbing. Her boots might look stylish, but they hadn’t been made for hiking. She’d have taken them off, but she’d been afraid that her feet would swell and she’d never get them back on.
Taz patted her hands downward, indicating Clarissa should sit down. “She’s done. Apparently there was a delay, something about the Acting Captain not giving her permission to call earlier.”
“Acting Captain.” Clarissa absorbed that. She’d used her credentials to obtain access to the satellite imagery. But seeing a destroyed command superstructure on her phone’s screen and hearing it confirmed were two quite different sensations. Someone had managed to kill an aircraft carrier commander.
“What did she have to say?” Clarissa sat once more, then rubbed her forehead. She could feel the previous day and night’s sludge coating her the way fire char had coated everything at the George.
“Miranda and Jeremy had an intense discussion that was very difficult to follow. Even for me. She was being very cagey.”
“Can she be cagey?”
“Not in my past experience. I assume that she’s under a high security lockdown of some sort.”
“No surprise there. Someone crippled a four-billion-dollar aircraft carrier. Even my teams can’t get more information about that.”
“Perhaps,” Taz conceded as if it was physically painful to admit Clarissa was right about anything. “Anyway, they discussed something that I think you should be aware of, which is why I’m here.”
“And?” It was like pulling teeth.
“They discussed the atmosphere at length.”
“The atmosphere?”
“Temperature, pressure, and particularly humidity—at various altitudes.”
Clarissa couldn’t imagine what they were discussing that for, unless it was a piece of space debris that had fallen on the ship.
“And they discussed lasers.” Taz appeared to be enjoying her slow dribble of information.
Clarissa again had to resist the urge to slash at her. “Lasers?” she managed in a reasonable voice. “Someone shot a laser from where, from orbit?”
Taz shrugged this time. As if she truly didn’t know.
“Seriously?” She’d meant it as a joke. “One big enough to shatter an aircraft carrier?”
She shrugged again. “Miranda was being very cautious about what she said. If she hadn’t asked about laser etching of aircraft carrier deck plating, we wouldn’t have known where she was at all.”
Clarissa could feel the blood draining from her face.
Who had anything like that? Space-capable countries were few and far between. And most of the list was painfully aggressive.
30
“Thank you for letting me call Jeremy earlier. That was most helpful as we’ve continued our investigation.” Miranda was pleased that she was no longer forbidden to use him as a resource.
“It would have helped if you’d mentioned the true level of your team’s clearance sooner.” Captain Brightman was leading the team belowdecks.
Miranda must remember to be more careful in her own future self-education though. There were whole segments of knowledge that Jeremy had pursued recreationally that she’d never expected to be relevant. But he was no longer at her side. She hesitated long enough to pull out her notebook and make a note to brush up her knowledge of high-power lasers.
She was almost run over.
The ship was almost as busy belowdecks as it was above. And as confusing. Miranda hurried after the captain because, if she was swept aside, she feared she might never be found again.
“I had thought that was obvious by the fact that we were assigned to this investigation. Do you often have uncleared guests boarding a recently attacked ship of war?”
“No. I don’t think so. But I’m new to this.” The captain opened a door and led them inside the compartment. “I’ve been in this compartment twice in my life, and now it’s mine. That’s more than a little scary.”
“Scarier than an attack on your ship?”
Captain Brightman laughed briefly but it seemed as if it was a rough sound, like the way coarse sandpaper would feel against her hand. A very unpleasant sensation.
“No, not that scary. But I was trained for that. I wasn’t for this,” she waved a hand.
The captain’s in-port cabin was quite sumptuous. Captain Brightman had said that when they were at sea, this cabin was primarily used for entertaining. While at sea, the ship’s captain typically resided in the small cabin directly behind the bridge. At the moment, that no longer existed.
The big cabin was decorated in a style befitting the ship’s namesake. The highly polished dark wood flooring and wainscot paneling provided a lushness that her own home’s rough Douglas fir paneling didn’t. The oriental rug and brocade armchairs made a properly commanding setting. The captain’s desk stood before a large portrait of the twenty-sixth President.
“Doesn’t he look oh-so-ready to beat someone with a big stick for hurting his ship?” Andi whispered to her.
Painted in browns, he stood with a hand on a stairwell newel post and a fist on his hip holding back his jacket. He stared out of the portrait. She found his gaze unnerving, despite knowing he’d been dead for over a century. She slipped out her personal notebook and inspected the emoji page.
“I think it is more determined than angry.” She turned the page to Andi. “See, the straight line of the mouth. The forward-focused eyes without any eyebrow motion.”
“Could be. Could be.”
Captain Brightman waved them to sit around a long mahogany table. The Executive Officer flown over from the Carl Vinson had taken over deck operations and they were downstairs for a meal and a meeting.
“We now have limited video satcon available, Captain,” an orderly told her.
Miranda’s team, the captain, and Susan with Sadie beside her filled less than half of the table.
The table hadn’t been preset, the servers had to reach awkwardly between people to do so. Everyone sat in exhausted silence. Their postures of sagging shoulders and drooping eyes confirmed Miranda’s assessment by matching her emoji page.
Several minutes passed before they were served individual tureens of French onion soup accompanied by fresh-baked garlic bread. The massive impact of flight operations had apparently had little effect in the operations belowdecks.
“Sorry for the delay, Captain,” the head server bowed slightly. “We lost an entire shift from the main galley during the attack.”
“Carry on, sailor.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miranda was cutting an arc in the crisped Parmesan and Swiss cheese crust with her spoon when the large television screen at the head of the table lit up with Drake’s and Roy’s faces.
Captain Brightman pushed to her feet and saluted, as did Susan and Andi. There was a loud clatter of dropped silverware.
Unsure of her own correct action, Miranda noted that Holly stayed seated and simply waved, so she did the same. It felt awkward to do it with her off hand, so she switched her grasp and waved with the other hand.
“At ease, everyone.” The President hadn’t stood, though he had saluted back. “I know you’re pressed for time, so feel free to eat while we talk.”
“Yes sir.” Captain Brightman sat far straighter than she had moments earlier.
“What can you tell us?”
“Miranda has found…” the captain turned to look at her, then looked away, “…I don’t know what, sir. All I know is that we’re running at over eighty percent capacity for flight operations. We’ve managed to clear all of the dead from the Island below the PriFly and Captain’s levels. We have six missing overboard, we think. We’re patrolling the area for potential recovery operations, but it seems unlikely at this time. Four of those were our best search-and-rescue team and their helo. Our BARCAP—Carrier Combat Air Patrol—has successfully maintained the hundred-kilometer radius no-fly zone. The Chinese have made three tests of our perimeter, but none in the last four hours and none penetrated past ninety-six kilometers.”
“Well done, Captain.” Roy spoke up.
Drake took over. “We didn’t want to bother you while you were dealing with getting the Roosevelt operational, but we have been in touch with your escort submarines. They’re reporting nothing bigger than a UUV—Unmanned Undersea Vehicle—probing your area, which they deep-sixed. You’ll have two additional Australian subs around you within the next two hours. But CINCPACFLT is managing them so that you don’t have to.”
“Good to know, General. I’d sleep better, except I’m still a long way from getting any sleep.”
“Roger that. What do you have for us, Miranda?”
Miranda looked over at Susan.
“What?”
“You said I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone about this investigation. You said you would do all of the communication. Other than the call to Jeremy that you and Captain Brightman authorized, I have not done so. I was also careful about limiting the content I discussed with Jeremy as I was unsure who was working with him.”
Susan coughed and looked to the screens.
Drake was looking at her with raised eyebrows.
Miranda checked her notebook. Surprise? Disbelief? Shock? Humorous pause before a joke’s punchline? She couldn’t be sure.
“I’m sorry, sir. It seemed an advisable instruction at the time.” Susan faced her. “Please speak freely.”
“To Drake and Roy, or to anyone?”
“For the moment to the General and the President. Ask me about others as it comes up.”
“Thank you for the specificity.”
Mike gave Miranda a thumbs-up as Holly laughed at Susan.
Andi tipped her head toward the screen where Drake and Roy were still waiting.
“Oh, yes.” Miranda had finished her soup, so she set down her spoon. “Based upon the etching of the decking and selected parts recovered from the aircraft, it was struck by an orbital laser in the three-hundred-kilowatt range, which was fired upon—”
“Can you put that in relative terms for me?” Roy asked.
“—the plane. Do you recall the damage caused by the AC-130J Ghostrider laser in—” Miranda glanced around the room and was unsure of Susan’s or Captain Brightman’s clearance in the matter, “—that incident last year?”
“All too well,” Roy groaned as if the remembered pain was still visceral.
Miranda concurred. Mike and Jeremy had almost died during that operation. It had been a very upsetting time.
“This had approximately twice the delivery power, and that’s delivery, not origin. After passing through the entire atmosphere, rather than a mere fifteen-hundred meters like before. The atmosphere is presently unusually dry for this time of year, therefore its delivery power was maximized. That is only a rough estimate. Captain Brightman has declined my request to have a section of her deck removed and sent to the lab.”
“They burned one of my ships with an orbital laser?” Roy sounded… Miranda reached for her notebook.
“Aghast,” Andi whispered.
“Oh,” Miranda nodded as the waiter served a course of chicken in lemon sauce with asparagus and fingerling potatoes. Then she shook her head. “The ship was only burned a little. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t seen the setting sun reflecting differently off the exposed section of the landing runway.”
“Then what happened to the ship?”
“Oh, that was completely because of the pilot’s actions. I thought that was clear. I inspected his canopy, helmet, flightsuit, and seat. Then I had the medical staff rush an autopsy. I don’t think they were pleased.”
She’d had to have Susan go to the captain and order it. It was far more important than broken bones and people’s various remaining burns remaining from the firefight. All of the critical patients had already been treated.
“They’re asking what you found out, Miranda.” Andi whispered.
“Oh. He’d been cooked.”
31
Susan dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter that seemed to shake the suddenly silent cabin. She wasn’t the only one.
“Cooked?” the President barely choked out the word.
“Yes, only partially, but yes. He’d been superheated inside his cockpit.”
“Cooked?” The President repeated. Hard to blame him; it was too unreal.
“Did you wish me to repeat that, Roy? The word is accurate. Verifiable by simple observation without any conjectural inaccuracies. His flightsuit and seat showed significant signs of burning. As did his face protected only by his visor.” And Miranda began cutting into her roast chicken. “Internally he was—”
“I don’t need any more details on that.” The President looked positively ill.
“If you like. It may not be directly connected to the cause, however it is relevant to the crash and the damage to the USS Theodore Roosevelt…herself.” Miranda paused her chewing for a moment and appeared to actually look directly at the screen. “Is that accurate?”
“Is what accurate? You’re the investigator on site.”
“Like the majority of US Navy ships, the USS Theodore Roosevelt is named for a male. Yet in colloquial English, we refer to a ship as she. The Russians call their ships by the masculine-gendered pronoun, which seems far more consistent with both their and our own ship-naming practices. Perhaps you should change either the common pronoun usage or how you name your ships, Roy.”
What would have completely flummoxed Susan six hours ago now had her laughing along with the other members of her team. The captain looked unamused but Susan noticed that General Nason and President Cole were smiling.
“I’ll give it some thought, Miranda,” the President nodded.
“I’d be glad to send you a list of some truly exceptional women who have served in the military and government, sir.” Susan couldn’t quite believe her own cheek.
“Yes, the naming is disproportionately male,” Miranda observed. “Especially when compared to modern forces. Including historical forces skews that of course, because of the bias of the military against inclusion. Roy, was that in violation of the law, discrimination based upon sex?”
“We’ve fixed that rule, Miranda.”
“Oh, good.” Miranda appeared mollified and returned to her meal.
“Sir,” unready to turn to her own meal, Susan turned to the President. “Has there been any progress on the who? I have done limited research from here, enough to know about the prior, ah, harassment of allied aircraft by Chinese ship-based lasers. They were mostly low-powered dazzlers intended to temporarily blind rather than…” she nudged her plate of roast chicken farther away, “…severely injure. Could this be an escalation of those practices?”
“Nothing more concrete than such a conjecture at this time.”
“Miranda,” Susan was having a hard time looking at her enjoying her meal. Was that why Miranda never looked directly at someone, she found it too upsetting? “Would there be anything to distinguish one country’s laser from another?”
“No. Coherent light, or in this case infrared light…hmm. It seems unlikely that anyone has developed such a powerful maser, doesn’t it?”
“Maser?” Susan hadn’t heard of that one.
“A microwave laser. No, I think they’re still in the testing stages for weaponization. It must have been a laser tuned to the infrared—an iaser perhaps, though that is an awkward vowel construction. As I was saying, coherent light, whether or not it lies within the visible spectrum, is still coherent light no matter whose equipment generated it.”
Susan had always thought she herself was tough and that nothing could forge past her guard. But watching Miranda eat roast chicken while discussing how the pilot was burned out of the sky was more than she could manage. A quick glance around the table showed that Miranda was the only one immune to the metaphor. Could she not see it?
Miranda waved a fork as if indicating the flight deck above them. “All of the rest of what happened was due to his actions during the landing operation. It was really a fascinating sequence of events that we don’t have fully mapped yet. The Landing Signal Officer noticed the first atypical flight action between five and six seconds ahead of the landing itself; that was probably the initiation of the laser strike. I haven’t had access to the PLAT cameras yet.”
“The…what?” The President had been a soldier, not a Navy pilot.
“It’s the Pilot Landing Aid Television, Mr. President,” Captain Brightman answered. “It records every aircraft’s approach as an aid to the LSO—the Landing Signals Officer. It hasn’t been our highest priority.”
Susan swallowed hard and carefully nudged her plate completely aside. “Miranda, is there anything on the PLAT that will tell you more about the attack itself?”
“Beyond the precise moment of initiation of the attack, no. All the rest was a straightforward series of events. An unlikely sequence, but Mike’s witness interviews have corroborated the observed results to date. The pilot’s actions were commensurate with attempting to protect the ship as he was dying, though he achieved quite the opposite result.”
The President and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs exchanged looks that Susan could easily read.
