"Well, we've got missiles and supertankers," Madden said. "We've tested Bloomingdale's at the range in Colorado and it's looking good. A single payload targeted on South America could wipe out fifty square miles of rain forest. As for the oceans, supertankers at strategic locations could dump Macy's within hours. As far as anyone knew they'd be commercial vessels on regular trade routes. Not a nuke to be seen."
Rolsom led the way into the corridor, trailing aromatic blue smoke.
"You'll want to see the bacteriological section while you're here."
"How's it coming along?"
"We're experimenting with a number of mutant strains of bacteria that consume oxygen at a far greater rate than normal." Rolsom was using his hands for more graphic displays. "The bacteria don't actually
The image was arresting and Lloyd Madden felt a pleasurable shudder down the length of his spine. As a kid he'd gone around with an imaginary machine gun wiping out everything that moved,
This was nearly as good. They took the elevator up to sublevel D and entered the laboratory, lit by glareless ceiling panels. He felt an almost sensual pleasure. This was his achievement! All these people working away to realize his ambition! While it was true that General Wolfe was ostensibly head of ASP and it had been Blindeye's rank and prestige that had persuaded the Pentagon to fund the establishment, the real motive force had come from him, from the kid with the imaginary machine gun.
That assignment in the Antarctic and the interrogation of the Russian scientist had started it all. Here was the warfare of the future. Here was a way of terrorizing not just a country or a continent but an entire planet. As the idea grew and took shape and assumed an independent existence, so his covert power had gone from strength to strength. Now, looking around at what he had created, Lloyd Madden felt an ecstatic thrill and the deepest satisfaction.
He strolled with the director past rows of white-coated researchers crouching over lab benches. At the far end of the long room an illuminated red sign warned sterile area, and beyond, through a double pane of glass, masked and rubber-suited figures moved like priests among glass tanks on metal racks. Everywhere there was a cathedral calm and quiet.
Beneath the red sign Rolsom stopped and pointed through the panel into the sterile inner chamber. The glass tanks were half-filled with seawater in which a greenish-brown scum floated.
"You can see how the bacteria progressively affect the phytoplankton. Each tank represents a time lapse of one week, and by the sixth or seventh week the bacteria outnumber the marine organisms, which then start to decay. The phytoplankton is being choked to death."
"The change in color is an indication of how the bacteria are consuming the oxygen," Madden said, wanting to be quite sure he understood.
"That's right. The green is the healthy phytoplankton and the color darkens and turns brown as the bacteria multiply." Rolsom tapped the glass with his pipe stem. "The real beauty of this method is that we need only a small amount of chemical bacteria to start the process rolling--after that it's self-generating. Not only is it highly effective, but also very economical."
"And very fast," Madden mused. There was a little catch of breath in his throat. "In three months we could virtually eliminate all phytoplankton growth."
"Don't be too optimistic," Rolsom said, sounding a note of warning. "It's early days yet, a year before we're ready for field trials. And we still don't know what happens over the long term, after the bacteria have taken over. It could be that it will continue multiplying--"
But Madden didn't want to hear. He said brusquely, "That's irrelevant as far as we're concerned. Have you tested it at Starbuck yet?" He was gazing fixedly through the glass panel at the rows of tanks.
Starbuck was an island practically on the equator, in the dead center of the Pacific Ocean. Once used for naval weapons testing, it had been taken over by ASP for marine trials on herbicides. Its location tickled Madden, being near Canton Island where Theo Detrick had spent twenty-odd years researching his precious diatoms. Madden could hardly resist a chuckle. The proximity of Starbuck to Canton only embellished the poetic irony, he felt.
