Dragon (Dirk Pitt 10)

President, what happens when you wave a magnet near a computer disk or a cassette tape."

"They're erased."

Kern nodded slowly. "The electromagnetic pulse from the nuclear explosions would do the same thing.

For hundreds of miles around each explosion the memories of every computer would be totally erased.

Silicon chips and transistors, the backbone of our modern computerized world, are defenseless against a pulse running through electrical and telephone circuits and aerials. Anything made of metal would carry the pulse from pipes to rails to microwave towers and steel supports inside of buildings."

The President stared at Kern with unbelieving eyes. "We're talking total chaos."

"Yes, sir, a complete national breakdown with catastrophic results that are beyond recovery. Any and every record ever programmed into a computer by banks, insurance companies, giant corporations, small businesses, hospitals, supermarkets, department stores-- the list is endless-- would vanish, along with all stored scientific and engineering data."

"Every disk, every tape?"

"In every home and office," said Jordan.

Kern kept his eyes on the President to reinforce his dire commentary. "Any computer electronics that runs on memory, and that includes ignition and carburetion on modern autos, operation of diesel train engines, and controls on aircraft in flight, would stop functioning. The aircraft especially could suffer horrible consequences, since many would fall to the ground before their crews could take manual command."

"And there are also the mundane everyday devices we take for granted," said Jordan, "that would also be affected, such as microwave ovens, video cassette recorders, and security systems. We've come to rely so heavily on computer chips that we've never considered how vulnerable they are."

The President picked up a pen and tapped it nervously on the desk. His face was drawn, his expression distraught. "I cannot allow that curse to paralyze the American people well into the next century," he stated flatly. "I have to seriously consider a strike, nuclear if necessary, on their warhead arsenal and detonation command center."

"I advise against it, Mr. President, said Jordan with quiet conviction, "except as a last resort."

The President looked at him. "What's your angle, Ray?"

"Suma's installation won't be on-line for another week. Let us try to devise a penetration plan to destroy it from within. If successful, it will save you enormous fallout from a hailstorm of international condemnation for what will be looked upon as an unprovoked attack on a friendly nation."

The President was silent, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he said slowly, "You're right, I'd be forced into making excuses no one would believe."

"Time is on our side as long as no one but our MAIT team and the three of us knows what's going down," Jordan continued.

"Good thing," Kern muttered. "If the Russians knew their landscape was littered with foreign warheads, they wouldn't hesitate to threaten a full-scale invasion of Japan."

"And we don't need that," the President said quietly.

"Nor do the innocent Japanese, who have no idea of Suma's insane threat," said Jordan, hammering in another nail.

The President came to his feet, ending the briefing. "Four days, gentlemen. You have ninety-six hours."

Jordan and Kern exchanged tight smiles.

The assault on Suma had been planned before they walked into the Oval Office. All it took was a phone call to set it in motion.

At four o'clock in the morning the small landing strip on a government reservation near Woodmoor, Maryland, looked to be deserted. There were no lights bordering the narrow band of asphalt. The only guide to a pilot making a night landing was a triangle of blue mercury vapor streetlights arched over an intersection of two dirt roads that pointed to the south end of the runway.

Then the early morning stillness was broken as the whine of throttled-back jet engines cut the still air.

A pair of headlights flashed on, their beams falling across the center of the landing strip. The Gulfstream jet transport with CIRCLEARTH AIRLINES painted across the top of the fuselage touched down and taxied to a stop beside a Jeep Grand Wagoneer station wagon.

Less than three minutes after the passenger door opened and two men and their luggage were on the ground, the plane rolled toward the end of the runway and was airborne again. As the roar faded in the black sky, Admiral Sandecker shook hands with Pitt and Giordino.

"Congratulations," he said warmly, "on a very successful operation."

"We haven't heard the results," said Pitt. "Did the photos of the painting Mancuso transmitted match an existing island?"