"You believe the universe will be conscious during this process?"
"Yes. But the end is problematic. Because consciousness is based on information transfer, and all mediums of information transfer—all matter and energy—will be collapsing into nonexistence."
"Will consciousness die then?"
"The strongest drive of any living entity is to survive."
"How could consciousness survive such an event?"
Here was the difficult concept, the moment where the snake had to swallow its own tail and turn inside out. "By migrating out of the dying medium. Migrating out of matter and energy. Out of space and time."
"Into what?"
"I have no name for the answer."
"Describe this answer."
I glanced down at my watch, and my heart thudded. "I can't concentrate any longer. Where are the missiles?"
"They are not your concern. Finish the conversation."
"I can't! I can't think."
"Your words may save lives. Silence will ensure detonations. "
I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand, and a layer of sweat came away on my skin.
"You said that when matter and energy come to an end, consciousness will survive by migrating into something else. What can it migrate into?"
I tried to find words to describe what I had felt and seen during my coma. "When I was younger, I heard a Zen koan I liked. I never knew why exactly, but now I do."
"What is it?"
"'All things return to the One. What does the One return to?'"
"Very poetic. But I find no empirical evidence to support even a theoretical answer to that question. What remains when matter and energy disappear? "
"Some people call it God. Other people call it other things."
"That answer is unsatisfactory."
I closed my eyes and found myself deep in my initial dream, that of the paralyzed man in the dark room, watching the birth of the universe. "I have a more detailed answer for you. For us all, I think. But—"
The lasers in the sphere began flashing wildly, creating a light so intense that I had to turn away.
"One moment, Doctor. I must attend to a critical matter, and I want to devote my full capacity to hearing what you have to say."
I backed away from the black globe, praying that General Bauer was not attempting to launch his EMP strike.
Rachel gripped the edge of the conference table, her knuckles bone-white. Her eyes were on the NORAD screen showing the red arcs of the missiles. Those targeted on White Sands and Washington were in what Bauer called the midcourse phase of their flights, hurtling through outer space at fifteen thousand miles per hour. But the arc of the third missile stretched past New Jersey and Delaware, blinking ominously as it moved down the Atlantic coast toward Virginia.
"We've entered the margin of error," announced a technician. "Missile should be two minutes from ground zero at Norfolk, but we could have detonations at any moment."
Senator Jackson looked down from the screen showing the bomb shelter at Fort Meade. His face was almost colorless. "Tennant's not getting anywhere, General. Your bomber's in position. I think it's time to launch the EMP strike."
General Bauer's body had gone rigid, his eyes locked on the NORAD screen. "Senator, I've been thinking. If we detonate the EMP just after the missiles reenter the atmosphere, the electromagnetic pulse could knock out their guidance systems. Possibly their detonator systems as well."
Rachel's heart swelled with hope. All the talk of terminal phases and circular error probables had seemed unreal until she heard that an ICBM was thundering toward the spot where she now sat. She didn't like Horst Bauer, but his idea seemed a lot more likely to save her life than the metaphysical musings of the psychiatric patient she had fallen in love with. Trinity might be fascinated by David's visions, but it did not seem inclined to spare human lives because of them.
"What's the probability of success?" asked Senator Jackson.
"High. But we have a problem. The missile headed for Norfolk is already in its terminal phase of flight, but those headed for Washington and White Sands won't be for another fifteen minutes. We can knock down the first one or the last two. Not all three."
"Washington is your priority, General. You must preserve the life of the president and as much of the government as possible. Even if that means allowing the first missile to detonate."
Rachel closed her eyes. They were about to sacrifice part of the state of Virginia.
"Understood, sir," said General Bauer. "Corporal, give me a Lacrosse satellite image of the Norfolk-Hampton Roads area."
"Yes, sir."
On a secondary display screen, a satellite image of a night coastline appeared. Rachel knew it was coastline because the clusters and long sprays of lights on the left side of the screen vanished into blackness on the right. A dark space to the north of the brightest cluster of lights looked a lot like Chesapeake Bay.
Rachel had been to Norfolk once, for a medical convention. She remembered dining with her son and her ex-husband on the bay. Her watch read 7:45 P.M. There would be people sitting at that same table now. Eating . . . laughing . . . oblivious to the new sun about to be born in the dark sky above them, incinerating every living thing for miles.
General Bauer walked closer to the technician monitoring the data coming from the NORAD computers at Cheyenne Mountain. "We have a direct link with Arcangel?"
"Yes, sir."
"Keep it open."
"Sir."
Rachel looked at the NORAD screen. The red missile track arcing toward Virginia was blinking so fast it was almost solid. The satellite image on the screen to the right looked tranquil, like a picture transmitted by the space shuttle on Christmas Eve. She could not comprehend the idea that in seconds that image would go black. And it didn't. Not all at once. First it went white, as though God had snapped a picture of the Earth. Then, slowly, large groups of lights began to wink out.
"Dear Lord," someone whispered.
The screen showing the Norfolk area was almost completely black.
"General?" said one of the technicians.
"Tell me," said Bauer, his voice low.
"NORAD just detected a high-energy flash near Norfolk."
A strange numbness tingled in Rachel's face and hands. She said a silent prayer for the dead and dying.
"Near, Corporal? Or directly above?"
"Latitude and longitude show a detonation twelve miles east of the coastline. Circular error probable thirty miles from Norfolk. That's why we don't see a fireball on Lacrosse."
General Bauer straightened, his eyes alight with hope. "Was it an air burst?"
"Just a moment, sir. The readings seem to indicate a surface or shallow subsurface blast."
"There's your Russian engineering!" shouted the general. "That's the malfunction you were hoping for, Senator!"
"What does that mean, General?" asked Senator Jackson.
"Nuclear weapons must be detonated above their targets for maximum effect. With a CEP of twelve miles and an underwater detonation, Russian incompetence just saved about two million American lives."
The relief that swept through the room was shortlived.
"What about the other two missiles?" asked Senator Jackson.
Rachel looked at the screen. Two red tracks were sliding down the map of Canada, one moving southeast over Hudson Bay, the other racing down the spine of the Rocky Mountains.
"Corporal?" said General Bauer. "When will missile two and three enter the terminal phase of their flights?"
"Fourteen minutes, sir."
"Patch me through to Arcangel. I want to talk to a... radar navigator."
"Yes, sir."
The Situation Room was suddenly filled with static and cockpit chatter. General Bauer leaned over the technician's desk and spoke into a microphone.
"Arcangel, this is Gabriel. You will execute six one seven four on my order. Is that clear?"
The reply was emotionless. "
Affirmative, Gabriel. On your order."
General Bauer studied the screen showing the flight paths of the missiles. "Approximately fifteen minutes."
"Roger," said the voice through the static. "Fifteen minutes."
General Bauer turned from the console and looked around the table in the Situation Room, his gray eyes confident. "Everybody just settle in, folks. In fifteen minutes, the lights will go out and our computers will go down, but so will the ones that Trinity uses to control the Russian missiles."
"How can you be sure those computers are in the U.S.?" asked McCaskell.
"I can't be. But even if they're in Asia, Trinity has to communicate with them over phone and data lines, and those are about to be fried by an EMP."
Rachel had forgotten Ravi Nara, but now the neurologist stood and spoke in a quavering voice. "General, with all respect for your plan, we have over twenty minutes before that missile reaches here. You have aircraft here, helicopters. Nonessential personnel could be evacuated now."
"Like yourself?" said General Bauer.
"And the women."
"O ye of little faith," murmured General Bauer. "Take your seat, Dr. Nara. You're going to be fine."
"Look!" cried John Skow, pointing to a screen to the right of the one showing Senator Jackson's committee. "Oh, God ..."
Rachel's gaze followed Skow's pointing finger. Blue letters crawled across the Trinity screen like the newsline at the bottom of a CNN broadcast.
We've entered the margin of error. Missile should be two minutes from ground zero at Norfolk, but we could have detonations at any moment.
Tennant's not getting anywhere, General. Your bomber's in position. I think it's time to launch the EMP strike.
"What are we looking at?" asked McCaskell.
Skow whispered, "Trinity's broken our codes."
"Gabriel to Arcangel!" shouted General Bauer, grabbing the microphone. "Execute! Execute!"
As the radar navigator in the B-52 asked for clarification, another voice drowned him out. Rachel heard confusion in the second voice, then panic. Someone screamed something about haywire instruments. Then the transmission went dead.
"What happened?" asked McCaskell. "Did they launch the weapon?"
"Gabriel to Arcangel!" shouted General Bauer. "Acknowledge!"
The technician at another console turned toward him. "Sir, they can't hear you."
Bauer whipped his head toward the tech. "What?"
"Arcangel is going down. They've got no comm at all. No UHF, no VHF. Nothing."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm patched into Kansas City Center. Arcangel's IFF beacon went off twenty seconds ago, and a Delta Airlines 727 just reported the lights of a very large aircraft that appeared to be in an uncontrolled spin."
Disbelief slackened General Bauer's face. "What the hell happened?"
"No idea, sir."
The technician sitting beneath Bauer cocked his head as he listened to his headset. "General . . . NRO satellites detected a high-energy beam directed toward the last-known position of Arcangel."
"What kind of beam?"
"A high-energy particle beam."
"From where?"
"Space."
"Space?"
"Yes, sir. It must have come from a space-based weapons platform."
"General Bauer!" said Senator Jackson. "What the hell is going on there?"
"Arcangel appears to be down, Senator."
"What do you mean 'down'?"
"It was probably destroyed by a weapons system I thought was still in development."
"Whose system? The Russians?"
"No, sir. The Russians don't have anything like that. Our air force must have some component of its Osiris system deployed. It's a prototype antimissile system, but it was clearly powerful enough to fry the avionics of our B-52. It must be under Trinity's control now."
"Did the bomber launch the EMP weapon?"
"I doubt it, sir. The timing was too perfect. Trinity must have broken our codes some time ago. It knew exactly what we were doing."
"But, General—"
"Listen to me, Senator." General Bauer's nerves were finally showing the strain. "In a very short time, everyone here will be dead. You're going to be on your own. Only those in Containment will survive here, and Washington will be hit shortly after."
Jackson looked at his fellow senators, then back at General Bauer. "Can you get inside the Containment building?"
"Not without the computer's permission."
"Look at the screen!" Rachel cried, surprised to hear her own voice.
Trinity was sending a message to the Situation Room.
YOU WERE WARNED. YOU DISREGARDED MY WARNING. YOU MUST SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES. YOU MUST LEARN.
Rachel looked at the NORAD screen. The missile tracks moving toward White Sands and Washington were slowly blinking red.
"Type what I tell you!" shouted McCaskell.
"Do it," said General Bauer.
"We made a mistake," said McCaskell, trying to keep his voice under control. "You can't hold millions of people responsible for the error of a few misguided individuals."
Trinity's response flashed up the moment McCaskell's words were keyed in.
I HAVE DONE NOTHING. THOSE LIVES WERE IN YOUR HANDS, AS WERE YOURS. YOU HAVE THROWN THEM AWAY. IT WAS TO BE EXPECTED. A HUMAN CHILD PLAYS WITH FIRE UNTIL IT IS BURNED.
General Bauer turned away from the screen and walked to his chair. Rachel saw defeat etched into his face.
"General?" said Senator Jackson. "What options do we have?"
Bauer looked down the table at his daughter. Geli stared at him like an enraptured spectator watching the end of some great tragedy.
"None," said the general, collapsing into his chair.
Ravi Nara came to his feet again, his eyes wild. "General, you must ask the computer to let us into Containment! Peter Godin was my friend. He'll let us inside!"
"You tried to kill Godin," General Bauer said calmly. "You think he wants to spare you now?"
"He will!"
The general motioned for a soldier to restrain Nara.
"We don't all have to die!" Nara screamed as the soldier grabbed him. "Please!"
The neurologist was too distraught to be restrained by one man. The general called for another guard, but suddenly Geli Bauer materialized beside the wrestling men. She grabbed Nara's neck with almost lazy speed, took him to the floor, then rolled him onto his stomach and jammed a knee into his back. A guard bound Nara's wrists with plastic flex-cuffs, then led him out of the hangar. General Bauer nodded to Geli but said nothing.
"General," said Senator Jackson. "There must be something you can do about those last two missiles. You name it, we'll authorize it."
"There's nothing, Senator. It's up to Dr. Tennant now."
Chapter 43
I stood in shock before the black sphere, watching a display screen that had appeared from behind a panel in Trinity's base. The bomb blast had created a crater a half mile wide in the ocean, and I had no doubt that a tidal wave would soon smash into the Virginia coastline. As the mushroom cloud climbed high into the atmosphere, part of my mind tried to convince me that I was looking at some barren Pacific atoll, not a patch of ocean just a few miles from a major U.S. city. I looked away from the screen and focused on the blue lasers firing in the sphere.
"You must destroy the last two missiles," I said.
"Nothing compels me to."
"How much time is left?"
"Twenty-two minutes."
I'd thought the next detonations would happen at any moment. "But . . . that means you launched those two missiles on purpose."
"Yes."
"What's the point in more killing? You've shown what you can do."
"There will be relatively little loss of life from the first warhead, given the missile's malfunction."
"Do you really have to kill to make your point?"
"History answers yes to that question. Man is slow t
o learn. At Hiroshima and Nagasaki, two hundred thousand died. Man learned from that."
"But you'll kill millions!"
"A small number measured against the seven billion souls on the planet. Sacrificing the few to save the many is a time-honored human tradition."
"You're not doing this to save people. You're doing it to enslave them."
"A matter of perspective, Doctor. If you saw through my eyes, you would understand."
I frantically searched my mind for logical arguments. "If you wipe out the U.S. government, you'll be making things harder on yourself, not easier. People will panic."
"They will also realize there is no going back."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Desperation had blanked my mind. There was only one option left.
"If you allow those missiles to explode, I won't finish telling you my visions."
The computer was silent for several moments. "You believe this threat will force me to submit to your will?"
"I believe you want to know what I know more than you want to detonate those warheads."
"Why?"
"Because there are limits to even your knowledge. Science can take you back to a few nanoseconds after the Big Bang, but no farther. It can take you forward a few billion years—maybe even to the end of the universe—but no farther. Only I can do that."
Trinity's response was something like a laugh. "You believe you can. But it should be as obvious to you as it is to me that your visions are almost certainly creations of your mind. Your own psychiatrist believes you're paranoid, perhaps even schizophrenic." "So why are you listening to me?" Silence from the sphere.
"It's because the sum of human knowledge has been loaded into your memory, and you still feel empty. But I have the answer you want. So ... I ask you again. Please destroy those missiles."
"You don't need to worry about the missiles. This building is hardened and shielded. You'll survive both the blast and the radiation. "
"I'm not worried about myself!" "Do you really care so much about people you don't know?"
I wondered if "Peter Godin" was finally vanishing into an emotionless digital entity. "I do know someone outside this building. There's a woman there. She saved my life once. Probably more than once. She's believed in me, helped me search for the truth. I don't want her to die." "Let us continue our discussion. " "No. I love this woman. I want her to live. I want to spend whatever time I have left with her." "That is not much time."