Goliath

Rocky adjusts her skirt and sits on the bottom step. “Information’s being kept on a need-to-know basis until the Navy completes its salvage operation. The Ronald Reagan was carrying a dozen nuclear warheads.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Gunnar leans against the rail. The house is silent, save for the ticking of Harlan’s grandfather clock. “Are you certain it was the Goliath?”

“I saw it, Gunnar. It looks exactly the way we designed it.”

“Who built it? When did the attack occur?”

“The attack took place about a week ago. The rest of your questions will be answered on the flight to Washington.”

A week ago? If Sorceress was activated, then … Gunnar closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think it may already be too late.”

“Excuse me?”

“There may not be much we can do to stop it.”

“Eight thousand sailors died, Gunnar. You think we’re just going to sit back and …” She wipes away tears, her face flushing in anger. “They killed my husband.”

“Your husband?” Gunnar looks up at her, at a loss for words. “When did you—”

“What difference does it make? All hell’s breaking loose. I haven’t seen this much panic in Washington since the nine-one-one attacks. Now get your gear, I have orders to deliver you to D.C.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll contact the MPs, who will drag your sorry ass on board the chopper in shackles.”

“He ain’t goin’ nowhere, not ’til he eats.” Harlan Wolfe enters the hall from the kitchen, a carving knife in his hand. “Gunnar, go and get your stuff. And you”—the old man points the blade at Rocky—“you get in the kitchen and help me put supper on the table.”

The thunder of the helicopter’s rotors echoes in the distance.

“All through Nature, you will find the same law: First the need, then the means.”

—Robert Collier

“The atomic bomb will never go off, and I will speak as an expert in explosives.”

—Admiral William Leahy to President Truman, 1945

“Science will conquer famine, eliminate psychological suffering, and make everybody healthy and happy … yeah, sure.”

—Theodore Kaczynski, a.k.a. the Unabomber, who sent bombs through the mail, causing three deaths and numerous injuries

“We only killed our own.”

—Mickey Featherstone, Irish mobster, to future New York mayor Rudy Giuliani

CHAPTER 3

Convention Center

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

The tall woman with the pale complexion and shoulder-length brown hair fidgets as she waits her turn at the dais. She scans the crowd, then glances at the television crews. One-third capacity, and none of the major news networks are even here. What the hell’s wrong with our species? Are we that infatuated by the stock market and pro football? Don’t we realize that our very lives are in danger?

“Our next speaker is Dr. Elizabeth Goode, the foremost authority on nanocomputers and the author of ‘The End of the World and Other Selffulfilling Prophecies.’ Dr. Goode?”

A smattering of applause from the late-morning crowd.

“Before I begin, I suppose I should thank you for even bothering to show up. Frankly, it seems more and more of our population is caring less and less about the world’s quest to annihilate itself using thermonuclear means. I don’t know … maybe we scientists are simply not explaining ourselves properly, or the public just doesn’t believe us. Hell, maybe this entire convention would have been better served if the Institute for Energy and Environmental Research had invited some Hollywood bimbo with big tits to speak to you about nuclear proliferation instead of an overworked, single mother with a 170 IQ and dark circles under her eyes.”

A rustling of chairs as the crowd reenergizes.

Give ’em hell, Goode. Remember, it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the grease.