Executive Intent

RUSSIAN MILITARY HEADQUARTERS, MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION

THAT SAME TIME, EARLY MORNING

“General Darzov here.” The chief of staff of Russian defense forces spoke.

“General, the site is ready to radiate,” the commander of the special intelligence unit on Socotra Island, Yemen, said. “Overflight will be in five minutes.”

“I received a message from the GRU, reporting a possible security breach of the facility,” Darzov said. “But I found nothing in your daily reports about it. Explain.”

“Sir, the military intelligence branch from Sana’a detached to Socotra Island arrested an American engineer here, claiming he was a spy,” the commander said. “They advised us to shut down all special intelligence operations and do a complete search of the facility.”

“And did you?”

“Yes, sir. We found nothing.”

“Did you interview the suspect?”

“We could not, sir-the GRU beat the man senseless. He is probably a vegetable.”

“Where is he?”

“They said he was to be transferred to GRU headquarters in Sana’a or to the Putin for further medical tests.”

Darzov knew full well that meant chemical-induced torture-the guy was certainly going to disappear after the GRU was through with him. “Did you look at the files on the suspect?”

“I did, sir. He checked out. He builds robots. He was scheduled to demonstrate some sort of robotic fishing device to the local fish company here. We looked at the device-it’s a robot that walks in the ocean and checks fish traps. All his other papers were in order. He flew in the day before on Felix Air from Sana’a. We checked his entire itinerary and background. Clean.”

“So what was the GRU suspicious about?”

“I do not know, sir,” the commander said. “They said his dive suit was unusual. I looked at it: It was fancy, very high-tech, made for long and deep underwater missions, but it was a dive suit. I think the GRU mouth-breathers got a little too overexcited on this guy and beat the hell out of him, and now they want to deflect attention from themselves.”

“And your facility checked out?”

“Completely, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Darzov thought for a moment. Something was not right. The GRU regularly used a heavy hand in their operations, but they did not target foreign civilians without plenty of reason. But there was no time to waste on this matter now. “Very well, Commander,” he said. “Proceed with the operation.”

“Yes, sir,” the commander said, and the co

Minutes later, 260 miles above Earth, the Kingfisher-3 orbiting interceptor spacecraft rose above Socotra Island ’s horizon. The space tracking facility immediately locked onto it, and steering signals were transmitted to the adjacent parabolic ante

The corrupt data stream lasted only tenths of a second, but in that span of time Kingfisher-3’s targeting and identification computers received millions of lines of computer code from the Russian computers on Socotra Island. Ninety percent of the code was rejected as corrupt or irrelevant data, but 10 percent was accepted and processed as valid commands. The commands ran the gamut: Some were orders to shut down, power up, reboot, or do all three at the same time; others were for repositioning and realignment with unrecognizable or illogical references such as the moon or some other celestial body instead of with Earth; others were for immediate engagement of nonexistent targets.

Within minutes of trying to sort out all of the contrary or unexpected commands, the spacecraft simply rejected all commands, safed and locked all of its weapons, reported itself as out of service, and shut itself down.

THE WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE

A SHORT TIME LATER, EARLY EVENING WASHINGTON TIME

“What the hell is it now?” the president asked as he strode into the Oval Office. He drank a full glass of water-he had been in a di

“The Reagan carrier group went on battle stations in the Gulf of Aden, sir,” National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle said. “One of its escort ships, the destroyer Rourke, was participating in a search and rescue for the bomber that was shot down a couple days ago. They found a survivor, but couldn’t pick him up because of low fuel, so they put a rescue swimmer in the water and dispatched another helicopter. The destroyer lost contact with the second helicopter shortly after detecting an unidentified high-speed aircraft heading east toward it.”

The president shook his head in confusion. “So the carrier came under attack?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Turner said. “They lost contact with the second rescue helicopter. The captain of the Reagan must have assumed the helicopter was shot down or collided with the unidentified aircraft and went to battle stations.”

“Did they see this plane attack the helicopter?”

“No, sir. They were out of range. The carrier’s Hawkeye AWACS radar plane detected both the aircraft and the helicopter but did not pick up any distress or warning calls and can’t say for certain what happened. The Hawkeye did pick up some radio traffic between the second chopper and the rescue swimmer, and also detected another helicopter from the west of where the survivor was located.”

“One of ours?”

“No, sir, but by the time a patrol plane from the carrier Reagan got on station, it was gone. The patrol plane searched for it until it got within a hundred miles of the Russian carrier battle group, then turned around.”

“Thank God for that,” the president said. “The last thing we need is for the Russians to shoot down another of our planes. But I still don’t see what the emergency is about. A rescue helicopter went down, and the carrier’s captain suspects something with this unidentified aircraft and goes to battle stations? Does he think the chopper was shot down? Why would anybody shoot down a rescue helicopter?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Carlyle said. “It’s preliminary word, a lot of guesstimates. But I asked that the Navy notify the White House anytime one of their battle groups in the vicinity of the Russian or Chinese carrier groups goes to battle stations for real, so they did. I thought you’d like to know.”

The president nodded, then burped uncomfortably-the sudden flurry of excitement was dumping stomach acid atop the fine di

“What about?”

“Wouldn’t say.” He picked up the phone again. “Ask Mr. Kordus to join us in the Oval Office. He’s upstairs in the residence with the reelection team. Thanks.” Just as he hung up, there was a knock on the Oval Office door, and Vice President Ken Phoenix walked in. “What’s going on, Ken?” the president asked.

The vice president held up a folder. “I have information that proves that the Russians have been sabotaging our Space Defense Force satellites, sir,” he said.

The president’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You have information? How did you get it, and I didn’t?” He turned to the national security adviser. “You hear about this, Conrad?”