Black Sun

The president was thankful that burst had happened so far from civilization. But it had caused a shift in his position. He’d begun coming around to what the director of central intelligence had been pushing all along: that these stones, these devices of unimaginable power, were incredibly dangerous instrumentalities. If the men who studied them did not understand them, or even know what they were capable of, how could anyone accurately predict their intended or even unintended consequences?

For the past month, he’d been swayed by the opinion of his longtime friend, Arnold Moore. But for all his well-known gifts of discernment, Moore didn’t seem to feel the danger.

“Mr. President,” the head of the Joint Chiefs said, “in the interests of national security I must formally request we move the military readiness status to Defense Condition Two.”

“Two?” the president asked, stu

“Yes, Mr. President. I feel in light of the Russian and Chinese actions it’s necessary.”

Escalation, the predictable result of itself. Certainly Moore had been right about that. Even if he was blind to his own part in the cause.

The president looked down at the photo in the briefing folder. Russian ICBMs fueling up. For the first time in decades. He felt a thin sheen of sweat on his palms. Things were begi

“Mr. President … I’m afraid we need an answer.”

Henderson closed the folder and looked up.

“No,” he said. “DefCon Three only. Take all defensive measures, but I don’t want any ships going to sea early, bombers on airborne alert, or ICBM activity. Do one damned thing to make them more afraid and I’ll fire your asses on the spot. You understand me?”

So forceful was the president’s voice, so unexpected, that the entire room shrank back. Henderson considered that a good sign. He knew there would still be visible signs of the upgrade but they would be minimal and perhaps it would be the start of a de-escalation.

“Yes, Mr. President,” the head of the JCS said.

As President Henderson stood, the room came to attention.

“I want updates in two hours,” he said, then glanced over at Byron Stecker. “Come with me.”

Henderson strode from the Situation Room and down the hallway. The glare on his face was dark enough that staff members who’d been waiting hours to speak with him pulled back into the shadows and let him pass.

Stecker caught up with the president halfway to the White House elevator.

“What’s your take on Moore?” the president barked.

Stecker fumbled for a moment, and then spoke. “He wants his way,” Stecker said, struggling to keep up. “Wants to win his argument.”

That wasn’t Moore’s style, the president thought. Moore could be obstinate but not for the sheer sake of it. If the facts were plain he would surrender his case. There was something else.

Turning the corner, he launched his next question. “Could he be withholding information?”

Stecker looked away, as if considering the possibility.

“I’ve had issues with the NRI since day one,” Stecker said. “And especially since Moore took over. I wouldn’t put it past him if he thought it was the right thing to do, but …”

“But?”

“But in this case it would take a hell of an effort. We have access to the stone; we have everything in their database. My people have been all over it for the past couple of weeks. Everything is linked to everything else. Every report they ran built on a prior one. If there were holes in the data we’d have found them. So if he is holding something back, it’s something he never disclosed in the first place.”

The president doubted that. Moore had been up-front that the stone had been brought here from the future, that it was creating ever larger waves of energy, and that it was ticking down to something cataclysmic. If you weren’t going to hide those facts, what the hell could be worth hiding?

And yet Moore’s actions in this particular instance seemed out of character: his initial reluctance to explain what his people were doing in Mexico, his private hiring of a mercenary to rescue his friend—a loss that the man Henderson used to know would have borne stoically out of duty’s sake, even with all its pain and anguish.

The president stopped thirty feet from the elevator and the Secret Service guard who stood beside it.

“Do Moore’s actions seem rational to you?” he asked.

If Stecker ever wanted to fire a broadside at Moore, the president had just given him the green light. But Stecker was subtle.

“If you have to ask, Mr. President …”

He did have to ask. And now he found himself furious with Moore for putting him in this position to begin with.

“I want you to go back out to Yucca,” he said. “I want you to keep an eye on Moore, personally.”

“Mr. President—”

“He’s too wrapped up in this thing to pull him off it now. He knows the stone and the research better than anyone else. But I’m strongly leaning toward destroying that damn thing, and on the chance that Moore finds that option unacceptable, you are to prevent him from interfering.”

The president paused and then added, “By any means necessary.”

CHAPTER 50

Ivan Saravich sat at the end of the poorly lit bar. A tepid shot of bad vodka sat in front of him.

He looked at the man beside him, the head of the FSB unit he now commanded.

Commanded. The word was a figment of someone’s imagination. Not his.

These men of his were as much his guards as his subordinates. They answered to him, yes, but only in regard to the quest. Their real masters resided in Moscow, with Ropa and the FSB.

“Let me get you a glass,” Ivan said.

“I don’t drink,” the man said.

Ivan shrugged. “Perhaps you should. You look upset.”

“We should not have left Gregor,” he said.

“It could not be helped,” Ivan said.

“We should have continued the pursuit,” the man said insistently.

Ivan downed his shot and poured another one.

“Along the crowded beach, with your weapons held high?” he scoffed. “How long do you think before the Mexican police arrived? How long before a helicopter and waves of cars made it impossible to escape? What would happen to our quest then?”

The man backed off a bit, but he still seemed angry and there was a sense of arrogance that would not fade. Finally he spoke. “I wonder if you really want to find the boy.”

Ivan smiled to himself, disgusted.

The man stood up. “We leave in the morning. You should know, I will not let you act that way next time.”

The man walked away. He was half Ivan’s age, thirty pounds heavier, and strong. Ivan guessed there was little beyond disdain in his heart for the old warrior.

How things change. He had once been a hero of the Soviet Union, and since its disintegration he had become a successful capitalist. He marveled at the differences. For him communism had meant honor without wealth, and capitalism wealth without honor. And now he was a disgrace, his only hope for redemption to assassinate a child.

Not a satisfactory end to either part of his life. The capitalist in him saw no profit in it and the communist saw no honor.

He downed another shot of vodka to quell that thought. The vodka was begi

The truth was, if he didn’t succeed or do as ordered, these men would kill him. And if he did succeed … they would probably kill him anyway.

CHAPTER 51