Rain of Terror td-75 Read online

  From that point on, Leiber horsetraded his way to a captain's bars and finally to a general's stars. The Air Force had been good to him, even during the Vietnam war when corruption in the South Vietnam government was so entrenched that General Leiber found himself swapping multimillion-dollar equipment-even as he sold off the last of his North Korean bayonets as North Vietnamese bayonets.

  It was a career that had ultimately led to the Pentagon and rigging defense contracts and gold-plating procurement orders. And now, with retirement not far off, General Leiber was not about to blow it. Which was exactly what would have happened had the press got wind of his name. They would have splashed the headline "PRESIDENT PUTS FATE OF NATION IN HANDS OF PROCUREMENT OFFICER" all across the country's newspapers.

  As long as the President had no inkling of his true status, General Leiber could carry on. And as long as he could carry on, there was still a chance he could wheel and deal his way out of this mess.

  First he'd have to find out where those damn steam engines were coming from.

  Taking a deep breath, General Leiber reached out for what was in his mind the mightiest weapon in the United States arsenal. The telephone. He dialed Andrews Air Force Base.

  "Major Cheek. General Leiber here. The President has just alerted the nation to the crisis."

  "My God! Did he tell them about the locomotives?"

  "KKV's, dammit! I told you never to use the L word again."

  "Sorry, General. The KKV's. And I guess that means he did not."

  "Damned right he did not. Our President, bless him, is no fool. Now, I need answers."

  "We have the pieces of the second KKV here, General." Behind the major's voice, the sounds of hammers clanging against metal were a cacophony. The muted roar of furnaces made static background noise.

  "I can hear that. But what have you got?"

  "We may be in luck, sir. This one appears not to have been as damaged by reentry."

  "It came in tumbling."

  "That would explain it. Actually, the rear section suffered the most friction damage."

  "So?"

  Well, the nose-or whatever you called it survived unmelted. Sir, this may be premature-"

  "Yes, yes, out with it!"

  "There's no sign of a cowcatcher. And we found what we think is one of the bumper rods. My people are trying to assemble it to be certain."

  "Certain of what, dammit?"

  "Don't you remember our earlier conversation, General?- No cowcatcher means it's not American. We have a foreign . . . er ... KKV."

  "Can you ID the country of origin?"

  "That's my hope, sir."

  "Could it be African?"

  "African?" the major said, his voice frowning. The general distinctly heard him flipping through the pages of a book.

  "I see no mention of any African models in this book on steam KKV's."

  "Our intelligence indicates it lifted off from Africa. So it's gotta be African."

  "The first one was a U.S. model. But of course, a lot of older models were shipped abroad after we converted the diesel engines. Can I say 'engines' over an open line?"

  "I don't care," the general said morosely. "I want to know where that thing came from. Isn't there any way we can find out?"

  "There is one possibility sir. The livery."

  "Say that again."

  "When an engine goes into service, it's painted with the operating company's colors. Just like they do with passenger jets today. They call that the livery."

  "Sound reasoning, Major. What color is this KKV?"

  "Unknown, General. The entire surface is scorched. But we're trying to scrape off the gunk and get to the paint. It's our only chance."

  "Will you need any special equipment?"

  "Yes, whatever they use to analyze paint. I would think the FBI lab would be able to help.

  "No good. I don't know anyone in the FBI. They're law. I don't mess with the civilian law. The military is one thing, but once civilian law gets on a man's tail, they don't let go."

  "I catch your drift, General. What about the CIA?"

  "No way. You get in hock to those spook bastards and the next thing you know, their periscopes are rising out of the john while you're sitting on it."

  "Well, General, whatever you have to do, if we can get paint samples and you can have them identified, we should have our ID."

  "I'll get right on it," promised General Leiber, hanging up.

  "Damn!" he swore after some thought. He didn't know squat about paint analysis. Worse, he didn't know anyone who did.

  The phone rang suddenly, and without thinking, he picked it up.

  "General Leiber?" The voice was very authoritarian, very military.

  "Yes. Who is this?"

  "This is the joint Chiefs."

  "I hear only one of you."

  "I'm chairman. Admiral Blackbird. We've just watched the President's address. What goes on? Who is this military mind the President is talking about? We know it isn't the Acting Secretary of Defense. We have that bastard down here where he can't muck things up with his inexperience."

  "Good move," said General Leiber, who hadn't even thought of the Secretary of Defense. "Admiral," he went on, "if the President had wanted this man's identity known, he would have broadcast it. I understand from the President that the security of the good old U.S. of A. depends upon this man's name being a national secret."

  "Harrumph. I suppose that makes good strategic sense. Give us the poop on the situation threat-wise."

  "We're at Defcon Two and holding."

  "We know that. What's the situation on your end?"

  "We're moving toward identifying the aggressor."

  "Good. We're itching to press buttons down here. Anything we can do to speed up the process?"

  "We've got a complicated materiel-analysis problem up here," General Leiber said. "Frankly, we're not certain how to proceed. The normal agencies that might handle this kind of work are civilian. We don't want to involve them. "

  "Good thinking. Civilians can't pound sand."

  "I read you there. So what do we do?"

  "General, when the Joint Chiefs are in this situation, there is only one place to turn."

  "Sir?"

  "Computers, man. Computers can do anything today. What you do is find a computer to handle the matter, program it, and let 'er rip!"

  "Outstanding, Admiral. I'll pass your suggestion along. We'll be in touch."

  General Leiber hung up with a gleeful expression. Why hadn't he thought of that himself? Of course. A computer. There were tons of them in the Pentagon-payroll computers, cost-analysis computers, there was even a wargaming computer. Somewhere.

  The trouble was, the damned things took weeks or even months to program. General Leiber didn't have weeks to program a computer to analyze scorched paint chips. And he sure didn't trust any Pentagon programmer with the knowledge of what was being analyzed and why. The Pentagon leaked worse than Congress.

  General Leiber put in another call. As the line rang, he felt the inherent power of the instrument with which he had made a small fortune. Let the others have their jets and ships and tanks. General Leiber would lay it on the line with a solid-state multiline telephone any day of the week.

  "Excelsior Systems," a bored male voice said.

  "Richards, General Martin S. Leiber speaking."

  "General Leiber," the voice said brightly. Then, in a lower tone, "Anything wrong, General?"

  "Damn straight there's something wrong. We're on the brink."

  "No," the voice said. "Don't tell me they found out about the faulty computer chips."

  "Nothing of the sort, man. I'm talking about national security."

  "Don't tell me they're flying those planes into combat?"

  "It could happen. And you know what would happen to our asses if they do."

  "My God. We'll go to the pen."

  "You'll go to the pen, civilian. They'll haul my tired ass to the stockade. We're talki
ng high treason here."

  "My God," the other man sobbed. "What do we do?"

  "The only way out of it is if I can get my hands on the best damned computer in the world."

  "We make the best. We're on the leading edge in everything. Parallel processing. Artificial Intelligence. You name it."

  "I need a task-analysis unit and I have to do the programming myself. Security reasons."

  "But what do you know about programming, General?"

  "Not a damn thing. But I need this done ASAP."

  "Only one machine could handle this. It's our new Excelsior Systems Quantum Series Three Thousand. There's only one in existence. It's a quantum leap over any mainframe imaginable. It's an artificial-intelligence system with parallel processing capability. Voice-activated. Voice-responsive. You wouldn't have to program it. just talk to it."

  "Ship it!"

  "General, I can't ship the only working prototype. The ES Quantum is going to be put up for bid. The CIA wants it. So do the NSA and NASA. I expected that you'd be putting in a bid for the Pentagon."

  "I am," General Leiber snapped. "And this is my bid. Ship it today or else."

  "Or else what?"

  "I blow the whistle on you. About the faulty chips you sold the Air Force that are mounted in every stealth aircraft in existence. If we ever go to war, those chips will malfunction like flies sucking DDT."

  "But I sold them through you! You're in this as deep as I am!"

  "I'm already staring at the end of my career. If I go down, you go down with me. Do you read me, mister?"

  "This isn't like you, General."

  "These are grim times, civilian. Now, I'll need your answer. "

  "A loaner?"

  "As soon as I'm done, you can have it back. But I'll expect preferred treatment when the Pentagon puts in its bid."

  "I knew you were going to say that, General."

  General Leiber had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang again. The President's ragged voice came over the line.

  "Did you see the press conference?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir. And if I may say so, sir, you did an outstanding job your first time out of the gate."

  "Don't be ridiculous. They had me for breakfast. And now the media are fanning the fires of this thing. I'll have to go public with the whole truth if we don't have some answers soon."

  "Have no fear, Mr. President. I'm about to take delivery on a high-speed computer that I expect will do the job."

  "Computer?"

  "Yes, this is too big for one general. Even if it is me. This baby has everything."

  "Global links?"

  "Of course," General Leiber said, wondering what "global links" meant.

  "How about simultaneous language translation?"

  "State-of-the-art," said the general, wondering why the President was so interested in languages at a time like this.

  "Where is this computer now?"

  "Being crated for freighting."

  "Hold the line," said the President.

  General Leiber listened to John Philip Sousa march Muzak with his brow wrinkling.

  The President came back on the line.

  "That computer," he said. "It's not going to the Pentagon."

  "Of course it is. I just requisitioned it."

  "No, it is not. It's going to where I tell you to ship it. Now, please write down this address."

  General Leiber copied down the address of a warehouse in Trenton, New Jersey.

  "Send it there."

  "But, Mr. President, why?"

  "I'm kicking this upstairs. You'll continue with your end of the investigation, of course."

  "Of course," said the general. "But-"

  "No buts. That's an order."

  General Leiber hung up the phone, wondering where the President had suddenly found his gumption. Only a few hours ago he had been a raving idiot. And what did he mean by "kicking it upstairs"? He was calling from the White House, for God's sake. There was no upstairs.

  Worriedly General Leiber put in a call to Excelsior Systems. The President had said nothing about the computer being returned. Well, hell, let the milk-livered bastard at Excelsior worry about getting his own damn computer back. General Leiber had bigger fish to fry. Assuming he himself didn't get fried along the way.

  Chapter 16

  At the White House, the President hung up the telephone. It was a stroke of luck that General Leiber had called with the news about that computer. It might be the solution to his problems. He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out the red CURE telephone. An extension cord trailed out of the Oval Office and all the way to the President's bedroom. The President had personally hooked up the extension himself and then forbidden all mention or questions about it among his staff.

  He lifted the receiver. Dr. Harold Smith's acknowledgment came promptly.

  "Smith, this is your President."

  "Of course," Smith said.

  "Smith, where are your people?"

  "My people? I sent them to Washington hours ago. Do you mean they have not arrived?"

  "No."

  "Yes," said a squeaky voice.

  "Which is it, Mr. President?" Smith asked in puzzlement. "Yes or no?"

  "That wasn't me," the President said, looking around the Oval Office. Who had spoken? He was alone.

  "Mr. President," Smith said sternly, "it is a serious breach of our security for you to converse with me while others are in your presence."

  "I'm alone. I think." The President looked around the room. They called it the Oval Office for a good reason. There were no corners or crannies in which an assassin might conceal himself. The President looked into the well of his desk. The only things there were his legs.

  "No, you're not," a second voice said. A firmer voice.

  "Smith," the President said huskily, "I'm not alone. This is exactly why I wanted your people here."

  From behind the standing flag of the United States, a figure emerged. The President blinked. He was a thin, youngish man with deep-set eyes. He was dressed casually. A second man-he stepped from behind the presidential flag-was anything but casually dressed. His kimono was the color of a Chinese firecracker. Two tigers rampant were stitched in black and gold threads on the front. It seemed incredible that either of them could have hidden unseen behind the standing flags, but the evidence was before him.

  "I was mistaken," the President said. "They are here."

  "Let me speak with them," Smith requested.

  "Here," the President said. Remo took the phone and began speaking quietly.

  The Oriental man regarded the President with wise eyes. He bowed.

  "And how have you been?" the President asked. "Chiun, isn't it?"

  "I am well," Chiun said with formal stiffness. "I trust you are happy now that you have ascended the Eagle Throne."

  "The what? Oh, yes. Of course. I worked very hard to attain this office. I just didn't expect this rough a time of it so soon."

  "Leadership brings many burdens," intoned Chiun. "Fortunately, Remo and I are here to lighten some of them."

  "I wish you could do something about the press."

  "Don't give him ideas," Remo said suddenly, clapping a hand over the red phone.

  "You need only whisper their names in my ear and your enemies will become as the dust on your boots," Chiun offered.

  "I think you're thinking of the last President. I don't wear boots. But the press isn't the problem. It's the source of these attacks. If only we knew which nation was behind them."

  "As I told Smith, it is very simple," Chiun said. "Look for a jealous prince."

  "The Vice-President?"

  "Is he your mortal enemy?"

  "Not at all. And to the best of my knowledge I don't have any enemies-mortal or otherwise."

  "All heads of state have enemies. Allow us to seek out these secret plotters. We will mount their heads on the White House fence. If we get the correct enemy, your problem will be solved. If not, mounted heads m
ake an excellent warning to unsuspected pretenders to a throne."

  "I don't think that will work."

  "Then we will await the next attack." Chiun turned to Remo and caught his eye.

  "I just told Smith we looked at the craters and couldn't figure out a thing," Remo said.

  "Naturally, we are assassins. Not detectives."

  "Let me have that phone," the President said. "Smith? The KKV's were hauled off for analysis. You and your people don't have to worry about them. Find the launch site. That's the key."

  "It would help if I had an idea of the projectiles."

  The President hesitated. "All I can tell you, Smith, is that they are multi-ton wheeled vehicles. So far they have not been armed in any conventional way."

  "That's not really much to go on," Smith began.

  "I don't want you working on that end of it. The KKV's are the Pentagon's worry. Find the launch site. Got that?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Now, that item I discussed with you has been shipped to your warehouse drop. It should make a tremendous difference in your search ability."

  "But, Mr. President, I reiterate that my system is sufficient for CURE operations."

  "This one will work better. It can handle multiple tasks simultaneously. Language translation will no longer be a barrier."

  "There's still the sheer mass of data to be sorted. I couldn't possibly handle it all."

  "You won't have to, Smith. This computer thinks for itself. It will do a lot of your work for you. And I've taken the liberty of ordering some additional upgrades for the rest of your operation."

  "Upgrades?"

  "For one thing, this phone has to go. You should see how I had to rig it so that I can get my hands on it no matter what happens."

  "Sir, this line has been inviolate for over twenty years. You can't-"

  "I can and I did. I wish everyone would stop trying to override me. Now, about that computer. It comes with an installer. I'll leave the security problems of installation to you. "

  "But, sir, I-"

  "No buts. I'm tired of buts. I want action. Your people will remain here until you come up with answers. It had better be soon, Smith. The media are trying to whip the public into a frenzy."

  "I know, Mr. President," Smith said, hanging up. The President turned to Remo and Chiun.

  "Now, I'm going to ask you to fade into the woodwork again," he said. "I have much to do."