LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Don’t you ever sleep?” asked Ana Thorne as she entered the DTAI workroom at 5:15 A.M.
“It’s overrated,” deadpanned Califano without looking up from his computer. His fingers were typing furiously on the keyboard.
“Anything interesting?”
Califano finished typing and finally gave in to the urge to check out Ana in her yoga pants. “Yeah, I found a few things.”
“Like what?”
Califano swiveled back toward his screen and cracked his knuckles. Ana walked up close behind him and leaned over his shoulder. “First of all,” said Califano, “we got the DNA analysis back from that carjacking incident in Maryland.”
“The one at the cabin near the Savage River?”
“Uh-huh, about twenty-five miles south of Frostburg. The FBI found cigarette butts in the cabin next door. Doc McCreary asked them to run an expedited DNA analysis on the saliva residue and compare it to that hair you found on the bathroom floor in Frostburg.”
“And . . . ?”
Califano clicked his mouse, and a detailed forensic DNA report immediately appeared on the screen, including a chart of twenty-two genetic markers and comparative scores for two samples labeled SPECIMEN 1 and SPECIMEN 2.
“Uh, help me out here,” said Ana.
Califano pointed to the conclusion at the very bottom of the report, which said: “Likelihood of match: 99.99%.”
“So that’s our guy then. Wait. It is a guy’s DNA, right?”
Califano nodded and pointed to the AMEL genetic marker in the middle of the chart, indicating “XY” for both specimens. “Yep, it’s a guy.”
“And we’ve got an APB out for his vehicle?”
“Uh-huh. A 2012 forest-green Range Rover Sport with Maryland tags YRT 886. We’ve got every local, state, and federal law enforcement agency in the area looking for it right now. And there’s something else, too.”
“Hmm?”
“Remember I told you I found a cigarette butt near the mine entrance in Thurmond? Well, I had Steve run it over to the FBI last night, and they did the same DNA analysis on it as they did on the cigarettes from the cabin.”
“They matched?”
Califano nodded. “Ninety-nine percent. So whoever this dude is, he definitely came out of that mine.”
“I figured as much.”
Just then, Admiral Armstrong barged into the room without even a perfunctory knock. He had his cell phone pressed to his ear, and he appeared to be in the middle of an intense conversation. “Yes, sir,” he said subserviently. “Yes, sir. We’re on it.” He paused for a moment and appeared to be getting an earful from the other end. “I understand, Mr. President. Yes, sir.”
Admiral Armstrong terminated his call and immediately turned to Thorne and Califano. “We’ve got problems.”
“What’s going on?” Califano asked.
Armstrong pointed to Califano’s computer. “Get me into NSASI and I’ll show you.”
Califano quickly manipulated his mouse and tapped on his keyboard until an NSA dialogue box suddenly appeared on the screen. He paused for a moment and then typed in a very long password, all from memory. A moment later, a window appeared on the screen that was prominently marked across the top with the words RESTRICTED NSASI DATA. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Ana immediately recognized NSASI as the acronym for National Security Agency Satellite Intelligence. “Um, I don’t think I’m cleared for this,” she said.
“You are now,” said Admiral Armstrong. “Michael, can you put it on the big screen?”
Califano pressed a button on his keyboard and then swiveled around and turned on the projector. Seconds later, the NSASI main page appeared on the screen at the front of the room.
Moments later, Bill McCreary entered the room, out of breath and harried. “I just got your message,” he said to Armstrong. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll show you in a second.” Armstrong retrieved a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Califano. “Call this up.”
Califano quickly navigated through a series of screens, typing in information here and there until, finally, a sharp photographic image appeared. He enlarged it and carefully centered it on the screen. Everyone in the room stared at it for a few seconds, trying to figure out what it was.
“This is satellite imagery from about three hours ago,” said Armstrong. “The area we’re looking at here is in the White Sea, about ninety miles northwest of Severodvinsk, in northern Russia. Hit Play, please.”
Califano clicked a virtual button on the screen, and the satellite imagery suddenly began moving.
“What’s that black line in the middle?” asked Ana.
“The white stuff you see here is ice,” said Armstrong, indicating with his finger. “Right now, the White Sea is mostly frozen in the north, and that black line you see is an icebreaker pushing its way through the sheet ice. And you see that thing behind it?”
“Yeah,” said Ana.
“That’s a barge that’s being towed out to sea.”
“What kind of barge?” asked McCreary.
“The name of the vessel is the Georgy Flyorov. It’s one of two floating power stations currently being built in Severodvinsk. Unfortunately, we don’t know much about them.”
“What’s it doing out in the middle of the White Sea?” Ana asked.
“You’ll see in a minute. Michael, can you speed it up a bit?”
Califano clicked another button on the screen and the video of the icebreaker suddenly sped up. In the time-lapse video, the icebreaker quickly punched a long path through the ice, maneuvered in circles several times to create a large swath of open water, then retreated south along the path it had just cleared, leaving the Georgy Flyorov floating all alone in a circle of open water in the White Sea.
“Okay, right here,” said Armstrong. “Go back to normal speed.”
Califano complied, and the video resumed as before.
Ana shrugged after a pause. “I don’t see anything happening.”
“Just wait,” said Armstrong. His eyes were fixated on the image. “It’s coming . . . now.”
As everyone in the room watched in astonishment, a bright flash suddenly enveloped the barge, causing it to disappear from view.
“What the hell,” McCreary whispered.
“Keep watching,” said Armstrong. A second later, the bright flash was gone. And so was the Georgy Flyorov.
“Did it sink?” asked Ana, her eyebrows scrunched tightly together.
McCreary was shaking his head slowly back and forth. He knew what was happening.
“Keep watching,” said Armstrong.
About ninety seconds later the barge suddenly reappeared on the screen.
“Holy crap,” said Califano.
“I don’t get it,” said Ana incredulously. “One second it’s gone, then it reappears?”
McCreary was still shaking his head. “They’ve got it,” he said quietly. Everyone turned to look at him.
“They’ve got what?” asked Ana.
“Whatever material Dr. Holzberg was using for his experiments in Thurmond. They’ve got some of it, too.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know,” said McCreary. “But this is bad. Very, very bad. The long-term effects of this could be . . .” His voice trailed off as he resumed shaking his head slowly back and forth.
Meanwhile, Admiral Armstrong leaned over Califano’s shoulder and typed in some information on the keyboard. Suddenly another window from the NSASI database appeared on the large screen. “This might give you some idea. This is from the Air Force Second Space Operations Squadron in Colorado. They’re the guys who control the GPS constellation and do all the maintenance and adjustments on the satellites. This is a top-secret message that was sent about two hours ago to all military users of the GPS system.” The message on the screen was written in military broadcast format:
FROM: Commander, 2SOPS (USAF)
TO: All GPSMIL subscribers
INFO: DHS, NASA, DARPA, NSA
TOP SECRET NOFORN
MSGID/GPSALERT/COM2SOPS//
GENTEXT/CRITICAL GPS EVENT AFFECTING ACCURACY
1. At 1113Z today, all GPS clocks experienced an unexpected error ranging from +1 to +12 microseconds.
2. The cause of the error is unknown and is currently under investigation.
3. The problem was corrected at 1149Z with an interim clock adjustment.
4. Civilian gps accuracy was not affected. However, military GPS accuracy may have been affected between 1113Z and 1149Z. All subscribers are advised to review GPS-derived data from this period.//
“Does that mean the clocks on the GPS satellites suddenly sped up relative to the earth?” Ana asked.
“That’s one possibility,” said Armstrong. “The other is that time on earth suddenly slowed down.”
There was silence in the room for several seconds, which was eventually broken by a knock on the door. The door opened slowly and Steve Goodwin entered tentatively with a piece of paper. “Sorry to bother you. I thought you’d want to have this immediately.”
McCreary grabbed the paper from Goodwin and quickly skimmed it. Suddenly, his eyes got wide. “Shit,” he whispered, glancing at his watch. “This was five minutes ago.” He looked at Califano and Thorne. “You two have to go. Right now!”