“Holy shit,” Jarrel finally exclaimed. “This NIRTSat thing — your SPO actually thinks this satellite got pictures of a Chinese nuclear attack against a Philippine patrol?”
“Well, God knows it was possible,” Elliott said. “If they had the NIRTSat up there, and it was over the Philippines at the time, it’s more than possible. That might also explain why the satellite went off the air for McLanahan. Except it didn’t go completely off… the thing was alive long enough to download the last of its photos to McLanahan in the B-2 during his bomb run here.”
“But McLanahan says here the data wasn’t transmitted to SPACECOM…
“Space Command wasn’t one of the users,” Elliott said. “They provided launch and orbiting monitoring and had backup-performance telemetry but weren’t scheduled to receive the imagery.” Elliott paused for a moment, then said, “You know, Cal, if you’re in DEFCON Three…
“Yeah?”
Elliott knew that if Jarrel was going to be in a conventional contingency operation, which was very possible, he would be deploying, as priority one, the Air Battle Force. “Well, I think we’ve got the ultimate mission-planning tool in the world available for you if you want it. All we need to do is hook you up with Jon Masters and his NIRTSat boosters, and you can build mission packages for the STRAT- FOR so detailed that you’d think someone already flew the mission.”
“Maybe not,” Jarrel said, motioning to the message from McLanahan. “Your SPO says that SPACECOM will deorbit the NIRTSat. SPACECOM didn’t know about the nuke — they thought it had malfunctioned.”
“Hal, step on it,” Elliott told Briggs. “We need to get to the command post five minutes ago.”
“Got you covered, sir,” Briggs said. He tossed a pocketsized cellular telephone into the backseat. “I wasn’t cleared to peek at General Jarrel’s message, but I was cleared to peek at yours. When I read the thing about Space Command, I ordered a direct scrambled call to General Talbot at Falcon Air Force Base. He should be calling back any minute.”
True to his word, the phone rang just as Briggs pulled up to the steel and glass headquarters building, so Elliott sat in the car and took the scrambled telephone call from there. A gruff, impatient voice answered, “NORAD, General Talbot,” then added with even greater brusqueness, “Make it quick.”
“Mike, this is Brad Elliott calling from Ellsworth. How the hell are you?”
“Fine, Brad, just fine. Listen, Brad, can this call wait? I’m up to my ears in ’gators right now.”
Brad Elliott knew that was the understatement of the year. Air Force General Michael Talbot had one of the most unusual military jobs in the world: he was a “triple hat,” commander of three major military organizations all at the same time. Because the Air Force was the lead agency in space-related matters, Talbot, as commander of the Air Force Space Command, was also commander of the United States Space Command, the new specified military command that directed all military space functions and coordinated all space-related activities for the three services; and because Space Command was the United States’ agency in charge of space defense, Talbot was also, the current commander of the North American Aerospace Defense Command, which was a joint U.S. and Canadian organization that commanded all long-range radars and air-defense fighter bases for the defense of North America.
As such, Talbot was incredibly busy even during the quiet times — with an air-defense emergency in the works, he was stretched to the limit. Even through the hiss and pop of the secure phone line, Elliott could hear the stress in Talbot’s voice. “I know you’re busy, Mike, but this is important. I need to talk to you about Jon Masters…
“I got young Doctor Hot-Shot Big-Sky Damn-the- Torpedoes Masters sitting right here, Brad,” Talbot said with audible contempt. Talbot’s commander of the Air Force Space Command’s Second Space Wing (which was in charge of all Defense Department satellites from launch to recovery) had gotten on the phone to Sky Masters’ DC-10 the minute the satellite went out. Since the NIRTSat had been launched seventy-one seconds outside of the launch window after disobeying an Air Force request to cancel, Talbot’s subordinate, the commander of the Second Space Wing, had ordered up a specifically modified C-130 cargo plane to recover the satellite. Better that, the commander thought, than having a nine-hundred-pound piece of scrap metal in a bad orbit. Masters had no choice but to go along with the Air Force. Either that or face handcuffs at Falcon Air Force Base, where he was now sitting.
“He was just about to let my senior staff in his plant office inspect his records, weren’t you, Doctor Masters?”
“That’s got to wait,” Elliott said. “He just lost a satellite and I’ve got to get him out to GENESIS right away. It’s all connected…”
There was a slight pause; then, “Oh…”
