Chapter 12

Konstantin Naboyev climbed into the helicopter with a feeling of grim pleasure. It was not much of a revolt, but it was his, and he was so bored he could eat the hinges off a hatch cover. He had to do something to scratch this itch; there was nothing else in sight, so this was it.

He went through the pre-flight check quickly and lifted off the helipad as the control started to give him permission. The voice squawked that he had not maintained procedures. Up yours, he thought to himself. What are you going to do, send me back to Afghanistan ?

He longed to return to that incredible challenging mountain terrain. There your ass was on the line every second of the day. Even when you were asleep, those tricky, fierce bastards could figure some way to get to you. In Afghanistan , you were either a man, or you were dead. In a way he loved those tough rebels who fought like stubborn terriers and kept him on the razor's edge, every nerve throbbing with awareness. But most of all he loved to find them scrabbling over the rocks in the high country, in places where it was impossible to fly, where the passes were too narrow, the air too thin, the cross winds too vicious. He would fly there anyway! He would find them, bring his great machine whining up over a ridge, catch them in his sights, and rip them to bloody shreds.

And so what was he doing now? Flying off a ship in the middle of the flattest, most boring god-awful expanse of ocean known to the mind of man. The mindless routine was driving him absolutely berserk. Stop in the ocean, lower the small boats, rig the large aluminium plate between them, sail around trying to see if something coming out of the sea would punch a hole in the plate. Naboyev, now he was really lucky. He got to take off, fly in a lazy circle about the small boats below, not see a goddamn dung, then land back on the ship, so they could sail a few hundred kilometres and then perform the same idiotic routine the next day. Well today, by god, he was at least going to find out a little about what was coming out of the ocean.

The rumours making the rounds were that they had got pretty good at positioning the plate so whatever it was came up and made the silly little hole. Since that was the only action around, Naboyev was determined to play the game and find out what they were all up to. He'd just kind of break formation at the right time and fly on over that plate and see what he could see.

He went into his standard circular pattern, listening to the radio traffic. He had learned to time the scattered information that came over his frequencies and knew when to kick the rudder and head for the platform. He wanted to get there in time to hover over the platform at a couple of thousand feet for thirty seconds or so before the hole got punched. That way he would have time to get stabilized and oriented before anything happened. With any luck there would be a circus. There would sure be one when he got back on ship. To hell with them!

Naboyev listened to signals being relayed to the small boats carrying the plate from some sonar installation in the mother ship. When he heard the call for them to hold position, he broke off and headed for the knot of boats. He took up position over the boats and peered down. He saw a small turbulence and a rising plume in the water next to one of the boats. If that's what they were after, he thought, they missed it today. He strained, but couldn't see anything else, nothing came up in the air towards him.

The helicopter bucked and Naboyev felt he had been hit by a shell. His craft began to shake as if caught in a gigantic paint mining machine. Naboyev fought the controls of the ship like a madman. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a half-metre long slab of metal go arcing gracefully out and down towards the ocean below. Without knowing how it happened, he recognized that the tip of one of his rotor blades had been sheared, and that the vibration from the imbalance of the rotors would make it impossible to land even if the chopper didn't shake itself apart.

Naboyev throttled down to reduce the centrifugal force on the blades. He changed the pitch to decrease the lift and the machine dropped like a rock. The shaking was eased minutely, but the ocean came up with terrifying speed. At the last possible second, Naboyev restored the pitch and opened the throttle. The craft halted its plunge ten metres above the gentle swells, but began to vibrate more fiercely than ever. Naboyev kept a death grip on the stick with his right hand, and opened the hatch door next to him with his left. He took his feet off the pedals and stuck his butt out of the door, leaning, straining to keep the wobbling ship on even keel with the stick. He got his feet on the rim of the hatch as the craft began to rotate, and then in one swift desperate movement, he released the stick, kicked it with his foot, and used the leverage to eject himself out the doorway. The effect was to knock the stick to the right as he buried himself to the left. The helicopter followed the lead of the stick and lurched to the right as Naboyev fell clear, hurtling to the water below.

He curled into a ball and felt the blistering blow as he smacked into the ocean. He uncurled and opened his eyes, struggling to orient himself as he heard and felt the great churning of his wounded, pilotless machine plunging into the water twenty metres from him. He swam for the surface and broke through to the pure sweet air, shouting to himself as he broached.

Death! You rotten bastard! I've looked into your putrid eyes. And I've won again!

Isaacs stood near the door, watching the mad confusion as some members of Jason tried to leave the room past the clutter of chairs and lingering people. After Runyan's projection of the destruction of the earth, if not the sun itself, by his hypothesized black hole, Phillips had called a halt to give time to think and evaluate. They would reconvene the next morning.

Isaacs recalled Runyan's fatalistic shrug when Phillips suggested their free time should be spent seeking a different solution to the problem. Isaacs recognized that Runyan was sincerely convinced he had the correct interpretation, however wild the idea, whatever the gaping questions left unanswered. But a black hole! Isaacs could see no immediate weakness in Runyan's argument; it made a certain sense. But it violated every professional instinct. Somehow, Runyan had to be wrong. Isaacs determined to have a quiet, serious talk with Phillips.

Danielson noticed that Isaacs was not moving to leave immediately. In attempting to get out of the way, she did a brief Alphonse-Gaston routine with Zicek before retreating into the cranny between the desk and the sofa. Runyan edged along the blackboard and then in front of the sofa to get behind Zicek, Fletcher, and Noldt. Out of a sense of propriety for his temporary quarters, only Gantt remained seated in the swivel chair at the desk.

As Danielson watched Noldt, the last of the first group to leave, she was startled to feel a grip on her elbow. She looked around to see Runyan, whose mood was transformed by an infectious smile of mirth and well-being.

'You see what you and your boss have done?' he asked merrily. 'Put me through the wringer! What I need now is the company of a pretty lady for dinner. Do you have any plans?'

Her smile which had been spontaneously induced by Runyan's radiating good spirit brightened further. Runyan's revelation had left her shaken, the idea was too strange, too new for her to readily cope with it.. Her immediate reactions were much more personal. She was exhilarated that her work and risks had paid off. These men of Jason had given her the ultimate accolade by taking her analyses seriously. Besides listening to her, Runyan had deeply impressed her with his mind-boggling explanation of her discoveries. She was delighted at the chance to prolong these feelings with an evening in Runyan's company.

'I'm not sure what Mr Isaacs has in mind,' she said.

'Well, let's just see,' Runyan cut her off. Without releasing his grip on her arm, he led her around Gantt to Phillips and Isaacs.

'Gentlemen. I propose a few drinks and a good meal in pleasant company as therapy for our weighty problems. Will you join us?'

Isaacs noted with irony that Runyan had appointed himself and Danielson the core of the action, as if Phillips and he were the peripherals. Danielson had comported herself very well through everything today, thinking on her feet, picking up quickly on the lack of scorching, a point he should have stressed. More evidence of her good prospects in the Agency. His glance fell on Runyan's possessive hand on her elbow. Isaacs was still nervous about Danielson consorting with these academics, particularly Runyan, coming on fast this way. She was a grown woman, though, and deserved some recognition for her excellent work of the past few months. He looked at the expectant smile on her face and smiled himself in acquiescence.

'Of course, provided we're not out too late.'

'I'd be honoured to be in your company,' replied Phillips, with a small bow.

As if remembering suddenly whose room they were in, Runyan spoke back over his shoulder, 'How about you, Ellison? Can you join us?' His jovial tone dropped a note, a slight hint that Gantt was welcome to go his own way, which Gantt ignored or failed to notice.

'Sure, I'd like to join you if you don't mind,' said Gantt, rising from his chair.

'I'm sure Dr Danielson would like a chance to freshen up,' Phillips nodded in her direction. 'Let me show you and Mr Isaacs to your rooms.' Then to Runyan he said, 'Let's meet in the lobby downstairs in forty-five minutes.'

As Phillips escorted the pair out, Runyan turned to Gantt. 'You brought your Thunderbird down here from Pasadena , didn't you, Ellison? Can you take all five of us?'

'Sure, I can manage that.'

'Hey, good. I'll see you downstairs later.'

Runyan left, pausing a moment to look down the corridor to his left where Phillips was showing Danielson into her room. He then proceeded up another flight of stairs to his own cubicle.

Danielson shut the door behind her and looked around the room which was markedly similar to the one she had been in all afternoon, but less cluttered. There was no desk and the dormitory bed remained in its position near the windows. Her overnight bag had been neatly deposited on the use-worn bureau by the marine chauffeur they had rated on this official trip. She peeked into the bathroom and then kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed, her mind spinning with the events of the afternoon. She found herself thinking about Runyan, the way he had taken charge of the meeting, and of their plans for dinner. She felt a warm glow, twinged at the edges with fingers of darkness.

Phillips showed Isaacs into a very similar room across the hall and two doors down.

Isaacs looked in the door with scarcely concealed disinter— est. He turned to address the older man.

'I know it's been a long afternoon, but there are a few points I would very much like to clarify. Could you possibly spare me some time now?'

'Of course,' nodded Phillips with a hint of a smile. 'I thought you might ask. Come,' he said, gesturing down the hallway with his right hand as his left touched Isaacs's arm in invitation. 'Let's go down to my office. We can be more comfortable there.'

They retraced their steps down the hall and descended the stairs by which they had come up earlier in the afternoon. Phillips led the way to the end of the lower corridor and into the office which served the dormitory supervisor during term. A bay window looked out over a well-kept green lawn. Phillips crossed the room to a cabinet nestled among long rows of bookshelves.

'Would you have some sherry?'

'Why, yes, please... I would,' Isaacs replied.

'I hope you don't mind cream sherry. I developed a taste for it as a youth.'

'That would be fine.'

Phillips extracted a decanter and two small cut-crystal glasses from the cabinet and set them on the desk. He poured carefully and banded one glass to Isaacs. They feasted one another in quiet salute, then Phillips moved a chair up along the edge of the desk for Isaacs so the expanse of the desk would not discourage intimacy. Phillips sat in the nicely upholstered chair behind the desk and watched as Isaacs seated himself.

Isaacs followed Phillips's motions as the physicist took a sip of the sherry, rolled it on his tongue and then swallowed. Isaacs felt too drained for preambles. 'May I ask what your reaction is to Runyan's proposal?' he inquired. 'It's so outrageous. Can he be serious? Surely there must be a more reasonable explanation.'

'My instincts are the same as yours,' Phillips replied. 'I feel we need to seek some explanation in terms of more, shall we say, acceptable happenstances. But recall that it's the nature of the data Dr Danielson has presented which boxes us in. Make no mistake: Alex is most serious.'

Phillips pondered for a moment, then continued. 'Yes, we must pursue any reasonable alternatives, but that includes Runyan's proposal. Outrageous or not, it's the only one which has been advanced which fits the facts as we know them. Perhaps with an evening to relax and think things over, someone will turn up other alternatives. Just now I believe the appropriate response is to adopt Dr Runyan's proposal as a working "worst case" hypothesis and lay out the appropriate course of action.'

Phillips placed a palm on each knee and continued to address the younger man.

'May I put the situation in perspective as I see it?'

'By all means.'

'There's currently no indication that the signal you report has any connection with a hostile country.'

'That's correct.'

'Or a friendly one for that matter,' Phillips continued. 'We may, of course, find that we're dealing with some heretofore unknown seismic phenomena with a few startling coincidences thrown in. In such a case, the whole problem will be dropped from our agenda, although not, I daresay, from Ellison Gantt's. If Runyan's proposal is correct, then the issue is most serious, even though it doesn't involve what would normally be thought of as hostile activity. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, the security of our nation, indeed of the entire world, would be very much in jeopardy.'

'The problem, if I understand it,' stated Isaacs, 'is that if there is a black hole down there, it is actually slowly eating away the earth. Good lord, what a thought!'

'Quite right. And putting a stop to it will be a most formidable, if not outright impossible task.-'

Isaacs stared out the window, trying to imagine Drefke's response to this. And McMasters. Maybe the old bastard would have a heart attack. How in the world did one approach the President with such an idea? Phillips, sensing his preoccupation, inquired, 'I've had the pleasure of dealing with the Central Intelligence Agency before, as you know, but procedures have a way of changing. Perhaps you could refresh my memory as to the way a situation such as this is handled?'

Isaacs averted his gaze from the window. 'There's never been a situation like this,' he grinned ruefully. 'But of course you're right, there are certain procedures.' He straightened perceptibly in his chair. 'As head of the Office of Scientific Intelligence, my first responsibility will be to draw up a summary of our discussion here for the Deputy Director of Intelligence.'

'Yes, I've had the pleasure of meeting Mr McMasters,' said Phillips.

'I see.'

Phillips noted the look of stiffness which passed over Isaacs's face.

'You're probably aware, then, that the DDI has control over the intelligence which is passed up to the Director for consideration by the National Security Council. For most problems we have the "in-house" expertise to give the DDI a complete and self-contained summary. If Runyan is right, we'll be dealing with an area which is not entirely in our purview. Once the situation is well-defined, we can analyse its impact on the geopolitical situation, but we will undoubtedly need to continue consultation with your group until we have a thorough understanding of the problem. In the early stages, a close working relationship with key individuals in Jason will probably be necessary. When the tune comes to present our recommendation to the DDI, you or some individual you designate should be prepared to act as technical consultant.'

'I presume you'll apprise Mr McMasters of the present situation on your return to Washington.'

'That's correct.'

'But a formal report is also necessary?'

'Yes, the DDI requires a formal presentation prior to his report to the Director. The Director then prepares an agenda for the NSC. The Director often takes the DDI, and sometimes me, along to the NSC meetings to make detailed presentations if they seem necessary. In a case like the present one, I can envisage your delegate attending any or all of these discussions.'

'The real expertise to deal with this problem may not lie within Jason as it's presently constituted,' Phillips noted.

'In what sense?'

'If we are dealing with a black hole, we have no one who is professionally acquainted with the intricacies of the subject.'

'Not Runyan, then? I did want to ask about his qualifications. Minnesota doesn't really have the reputation of some of the universities represented here, does it?'

Phillips held up an admonishing hand. 'Be careful about the prestige game. Good people are where you find them. In any case, Alex was a colleague of Gantt's at Caltech. He likes the outdoors though, an avid cross-country skier, if I remember correctly. Also, I believe his wife has a nice position at Honeywell.'

'But he's not an expert on black holes?'

'No, Alex is broadly studied, but I'm sure he would be the first to point out that others have a greater depth of knowledge.'

'Yet you seem to put some store in his hypothesis?'

'Certainly. It's his broad background and cleverness at synthesizing which makes him such a valuable contributor to our group.'

'In any case,' continued Isaacs, 'if we must, as you say, turn to others for expertise, that can be arranged. With due regard to security, of course.'

Phillips nodded and took another sip from his glass. Isaacs put his glass down to take up another of the items on his personal agenda. He leaned towards Phillips. 'Let me ask you, in your own mind, how do you balance the immediacy of the problem against the lack of specific evidence?'

Phillips played his drink in a small circle, watching the fluid coat the sides of the glass. 'You're concerned about whether to recommend immediate presidential attention?'

'Yes.'

'Professor Runyan is more qualified than I to discuss the particular parameters of the problem. I deduce, however, that while we want to move with all dispatch, the magnitude of the problem will not be seriously increased by failure to take immediate action. We're not faced with a situation where we must invoke presidential authority to quickly resolve the situation. On the contrary, I fear no such quick resolution will be possible. I would sooner think that it's a question of marshalling resources over which the President has authority once we have some notion how to proceed.'

Phillips swivelled in his chair and looked distantly out the bay window.

'Our first priority is proof. We must be satisfied beyond any doubt in our own minds.' He was almost speaking to himself. 'But I can foresee that an immense effort may eventually be required that would be a severe tax on this nation's resources. How to proceed will be a decision which only the President can make. Our choices will be radical surgery or the slow death of the patient. Either way we would face a time of severe trial.'

Phillips turned back to confront Isaacs. 'If we are really in the dangerous situation Dr Runyan describes, it's not a concern only for our nation. The whole world is in peril. A multinational approach to the problem may not only be proper, but necessary. One must then consider the political situation. That's your province. Under what circumstances do you foresee taking this problem before a world forum?'

Isaacs considered for a moment. There was an important asymmetry in his relation with this sharp, inquisitive old gentleman. Isaacs's responsibility was to learn all that he could about the current situation from Phillips and his colleagues. But there were limits to which the converse was true. He thought about Korolev and his interview with Zamyatin, but decided that only some general reply was in order.

'You understand that this sort of decision is out of my hands: it would be decided by the NSC. I have the same reservations you do about prematurely bringing this problem to the attention of the NSC and the President. Those reservations apply doubly to communicating with our allies. We must be very sure of our situation before spreading any possible alarm. I think we must proceed very cautiously. If, as you say, there is little prospect of immediate resolution by quick action, then we can afford to go slowly and carefully.'

'I was thinking not only of our allies,' put in Phillips.

'From a scientific point of view, I have several colleagues in the Soviet Union who would make valuable consultants.'

Isaacs stared at Phillips a brief moment, eyebrows raised. He could foresee a situation developing in which a cooperative effort with the Soviets at some level would precede notification of formal allies. He saw no point in raising this possibility with Phillips at this early stage. 'I believe that's out of the question just now.' Phillips pressed the issue.

'It may not be our prerogative to bring this problem to the attention of others. Don't the Soviets have the same capability as we do to monitor seismic activity? Or perhaps even the People's Republic, where there is a long history of interest in earthquakes and related phenomena. You mentioned this Russian aircraft carrier. Should we not move as soon as is feasible to forestall the possibility of further misinterpretation?'

Damn this sly old dog, Isaacs said to himself. He was strongly tempted to tell Phillips the whole story of Korolev and the Novorossiisk, but he thought of the uneasy truce Drefke had forced between him and McMasters. He had no authority to disclose the details of these geopolitically charged events. The last dung he wanted to do was to open another procedural dispute with McMasters. He was sensitive to the hypocrisy, but felt compelled to head off this line of discussion.

'I've considered such questions. Professor Phillips,' Isaacs replied, forcing a trace of coolness into his voice. 'I don't believe we disagree in principle, but the issue of when communication of intelligence to other countries becomes feasible or desirable must be weighed most carefully. You surely appreciate that such decisions cannot be made in the context of one isolated set of events. All possible ramifications must be considered simultaneously. The ultimate decision is not within your province, nor even name. I can assure you that the points you raise will be given due consideration.'