Forty Days to Armageddon
By Reynold Jay
Copyright 2012 Reynold Jay
Wattpad Edition
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The novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher. The Author and the Publisher specifically disclaim any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, which is incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly, of the use and application of any of the contents of this work.
Armageddon: 2013
Copyright 2012 by Reynold Jay Anshuetz
Confectionery World: Publishing Division
3024 Blossom Circle
Saginaw, Mi 48603
All rights reserved
1st edition
~*~
I’d like to thank all those who have assisted in the writing of this novel. My readers offered helpful feedback resulting in revisions that made dramatic improvements to the story. I offer a big thank you to Herta Kedzierski, Jim Rynes, Jann Weishunn, Lynn Kolhagen, and Carla Hickie. I picked up new friends and associates, Jed Fisher and Anita (Susan) Hodgkins who did the marvelous final edit.
James E. Rhyne
“… a real page turner, with a Tom Clancy style, leaving out all the technical details, using multiple plots all leading to the climax. Mr. Jay has the unique story telling ability like great writers such as John Grisham, David Baldacci, Clive Cussler, Joel Rosenberg and Raymond Khoury, just to name a few, that literally keeps you on the edge of your seat, turning page after page waiting for the climax…”
Michele Benner
“As a huge fan of political thrillers, I'd put Jay's novel in the ranks with anything by David Baldacci, Robert Ludlum, or Allan Folsom. Houston Robinson, aka Watchdogg, would make a spectacular movie character, and President Landenberger is tangibly human in this novel…”
Anita Hodgkins
“…action-packed eye-opening book.”
The Players
· The President of the United States
· Marshall Landenberger
· The Vice President of the United States
· Steven Prottenger
· The Cabinet
· Michael Costanzo National Security Advisor
· Willard (Willy) Bumgardner Secretary of Defense
· Stefano Morrell Secretary of Energy
· Melissa Farnsworth Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs
· Senior Administration Officials
· Houston Robinson Watchdogg unofficial position
· James Shaughnessy White House Chief of Staff
· Kenneth Fegan Junior Advisor
· Harold Whittman White House Press Secretary
· Larry Deshano Director of Central Intelligence
· Ethiopia
· Commander Ishaq commander of the Ethiopian militia
· Abdullha Ash Prime minister of Ethiopia
· Iran
· Khalilullah 'Abd al-Wahhab President of Iran
· General Hanbal Iran general
· Ishaq Al-Awzai Commander of the Revolutionary Guard
· Israel
· Amir Harazi Prime Minister
· Arkady Dazdraperm President
· General Ali Alabbar 5 star general
· Russians
· Georgiy Kuznetsov Tolstoy President of the Russian Federation .
· Mikhail Vissarionovich Dostoevsky Russian Foreign Minister ,
· General Dimochka Sergeievich Russian General
· Somalia
· Jamal Sheikh Sharmarke Prime Minister of Somalia
· Admiral Mustafa Mahdi Leader of the Somalia Marines
· Ahmed bin Al-Awzai assistant to the Prime Minister in Somalia
· Al-Bukhari Twasana gang leader
· Captain Edward Schmitzer Commander of the USS George H. W. Bush
· Carol Turner Red Cross worker.
· Tanisha Wagner Red Cross worker
· Venezuela
· Alejandro Santiago President of Venezuela
· Red Dog I Miguel Rio the new interim president of Venezuela
· Captain Davis Commander of the USS Gerald R. Ford
· Others
· Richard Stambaugh Navy SEALS
· Chris (The Wizard) LE Blanc cyber criminal
~*~
Prelude
The Past
An Mi-8 chopper hovered twenty-five miles northwest of Lake Baikal sometimes called the “rich lake” near Irkutsk, and landed on a rocky forest of pine and elm. Two figures emerged, one sporting a leather coat, felt hat and Ray-Ban Aviators, the other a military uniform with gold and silver medals emblazoned across his chest.
“This is the place, then?” inquired the Russian president while he watched his breath drift off in the frosty air.
“The pipeline will pass over that ridge.” General Dimochka Sergeievich pointed to the north. “We were careful to move it far from LakeBaikal as originally planned. The Tomsk Oblast and Khanty-Mansi fields will pump into it and from there it will branch off into three separate lines that will feed the Asian markets including one directly to China. New fields discovered here can be fed into it if we make it large enough.”
LakeBaikal, “The Blue Eye of Siberia,” had waited silently for this moment for more than three hundred million years. The Triassic, Jurassic, and Cenozoic periods were but a blink of an eye for the largest inland lake in the world, larger than all of the Great Lakes combined. Great behemoths drank its waters and roamed in the forested woodlands then one day it rained fire from the heavens and they disappeared forever. As the waters rested, its surrounding lands matured and secreted a vast hidden reservoir of blackened sludge that was much larger than the lake.
Millions of years later an upright walking mammal had developed an unquenchable thirst for the blackened sludge that hid beneath the surface.
Mankind had discovered that the “black gold” held within it, the power of the life giving sun. And in the end—the survival of the clans came to depend upon it. There was nothing they would not do to acquire it, no act to inhumane to defend it.
Nations rose and fell depending upon their ability to acquire and defend the great oil fields. Those who controlled the natural resource flourished, the others fell to the wayside. The quest for survival depended upon it.
“How long will it take to get it operational?”
“It is thousands of miles of pipe. In seven years we will have the largest pipeline in our country on line.”
“We will rebuild our country with the revenues, then?”
“Most certainly, Mr. President—the Saudis and the Iranians will look like a tiny drop in the ocean if we continue to find the new fields as we have planned. Add to it the fields off the Pacific, the Baltic and others and we will be able to supply much of the entire world soon.”
“I want this completed in five years. Do whatever it takes to get the manpower up here.”
“Yes sir, Mr. President. I’ll relay your order to Transneft. I am sure we can easily complete this in five years.”
“Great. Do it.”
The pair boarded the chopper and flew back to the Kremlin.
Chapter One
The Present
February 6—11:59 A.M. The IranianDesert
In one minute every living thing within fifty kilometers would be incinerated.
And there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Ishaq Al-Awzai, the commander of the Revolutionary Guard, sat in the command bunker on the phone with Khalilullah 'Abd al-Wahhab, the president of Iran, waiting for the go-ahead.
“NgAm, All is good.”A half smile curledacross his lips while a crimson scar above his temple pulsated like a writhing serpent. “Allah has blessed us today.”
He glanced at the bank of towering screens that lined the wall, all fixed upon the blast site. The command center had a spit clean look to it. A gaggle of high tech equipment spread across the bunker while a hundred or so technicians, scientists, and military brass sat behind computers listening to the countdown.
“Thirty seconds and counting….”
“It is a great day for Iran and Allah shines upon us.”
General Hanbal tapped him on the shoulder and handed him another phone. “Tehran is on the line, sir.”
“Shokran.”
The Supreme Leader inquired. “All is in readiness?”
“FIFTEEN SECONDS….”
“We will know shortly.”
Pause
“TEN AND COUNTING…. ”
Commander Al-Awzai held his breath and murmured a prayer.
“EIGHT. SEVEN. SIX. FIVE. FOUR. THREE….”
The ground mushroomed up like a bubble about to burst. Then it fell back—perhaps it had changed its mind. Waves of earth moved as though it was liquid—a stone tossed into ethereal water sending spasms in all directions. Shock waves, not unlike an earthquake, shook the bunker while the lights and screens sputtered, went dark for a brief moment.
When the rumbling subsided, the crew cheered then jumped up and down like children while embracing each other.
One held up a graph and shouted, “It is over forty megatons—ran clear off the charts! It is nearly the largest WMD in the world!”
“Our prayers have been answered.”
The Supreme Leader possessed a fatherly compassionate voice and appeared on one of the overhead screens. “You have done well my sons. Your country and Allah gives thanks to you and all who have worked so hard for this glorious day.” He raised his arms to give his blessing to all. “The full glory of Allah will soon shine upon us.”
All bowed to Mecca and chanted the prayer. “There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his prophet.”
Six billion would soon discover that this was the beginning of the end.
In a microsecond the world had changed forever—there was no going back. It was the dawn of the new world order.
~*~
As usual, the news was nearly all bad.
President Marshall Landenberger sat alone at his desk in the Oval Office looking over the reports. The economy was still in the dumpster; inflation was out of control since the moment he took over the previous year. The stock market was struggling along and the usual criticisms of the government filled the airwaves twenty-four hours a day. Worst of all, his approval rating had dropped another point while he was on his South American goodwill tour.
Goodwill tour. Crap! He tossed the Wall Street Journal in the trash. It was late and time to get some shuteye. He stood and stretched his arms.
The intercom light was flashing. It was the end of his quarter hour of solitude. “Yes.”
“Willy and the VP say it is urgent….”
Willard Bumgardner, the SecDef and Steven Prottenger burst through the door, both looking grim.
Prottenger pulled a stick of gum from his pocket, “The Iranians set off a bomb—a WMD of immense proportions!” He unwrapped the pink stick, popped it into his mouth, and stuffed the wrapper in his pocket.
“When?”
“Forget the duds that North Korea set off.” Willie began the briefing and with a nod of his head indicated that they would escort him down the hallway to the White House Situation Room. “Those were firecrackers at a Sunday School picnic next to this baby. They set it off a half-hour ago and the IRIB is running videos of it. The CIA picked it up twenty minutes ago. It’ll hit the airwaves here in a few minutes.”
The trio headed past the steel bomb-proof doors, then down three flights of stairs to the Sit-Room subterranean chamber. Others joined in behind and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room as staff members were handed steaming cups as they entered. It could be an all-nighter. Michael Costanzo, National Security Advisor, Melissa Farnsworth, Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs, and Harold Whittman, White House Press Secretary, were engaged on phones along with a dozen others.
High-tech equipment was scattered around the perimeter, plasma screens lined the wall with the footage of the bomb blast from NBC, CBS, ABC, Fox, CNN, MSNBC, and others—all live broadcast. The hot line—the infamous red phone sat in a corner on a polished black walnut table.
“Where’s Shaughnessy?” he wondered out loud, referring to the White House Chief of Staff.
“I believe he is out of town.” Houston Robinson, nicknamed “Watchdogg,” smiled and offered to get him on the phone.
Landenberger waved it off as not that urgent and observed the youngest member of his team. A mere forty-one years, he surmised the man was probably sharper than all of them put together. Handsome too; finely cut features, a tall sturdy frame—he could have stepped out of GQ magazine. He had been an assistant to Schwarzenegger for a short stint and that had propelled him into the limelight. Too intelligent to remain at the low end of the totem, he snapped him up and soon had Houston scouting the world, sniffing around like a hound dog, seeking out the underbelly of the political climate in the capitals throughout the world.
Officially, Robinson did not exist on his staff. Reporters inquired from Harold Whittman, the White House Press Secretary, as to who was this mysterious person that suddenly appeared on the scene?
“His name is Houston Robinson. There is no official position for him, as all the cabinet positions are filled, and rather than boot out someone, we simply slipped him in between the cracks. To say the least, he is a gifted individual with many talents. He is a former CIA, speaks five languages, and is the most charming man you could ever hope to meet.”
“What exactly does he do?”
“He does whatever the president tells him to do.”
This received a chuckle from the press. “Seriously, we expect to send him around the world talking to world leaders. Often we receive urgent calls that the president is needed face to face with a world leader and the president simply can’t pick up and leave the country because of previous commitments. Robinson will fill that gap in our diplomacy.”
Landenberger took a seat at the head of the conference table. “Let’s hear what everyone has to say.”
Willy Bumgardner seated himself on the left of the president and began the conference. “There is no immediate threat to us at this hour. I imagine it will be some time until they set off another one.” He opened a folder marked “classified” and placed wire rimmed spectacles to his eyes. “Having a large WMD means little without the means to deliver it. How large was it?”
“They are reporting it somewhere around forty megatons, maybe more,” Robinson answered. “It shook the entire Middle East.”
“Forty megatons—that is something to reckon with—not one of those firecrackers set off by the North Koreans.”
“Forty? My God!” exclaimed Melissa Farnsworth, Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs, “Enough to wipe out half of Texas!”
“I’m afraid so my dear—possibly all of Texas and then some.” He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. “They have a Shahab-2 and Shahab-3 missile system perfected that can deliver a small warhead up to 1300 miles. They’ve been working on a larger IRBM, much like an ICBM that they call Ghadr-110, which can deliver up to 3500 miles. We don’t know when they will have it ready.”
“Where’s Deshano?” wondered President Landenberger as he glanced around the desk for the Director of Central Intelligence. “He would know.”
Robinson suggested, “I can get him on the phone for you, Mr. President.” Robinson and Deshano worked side by side during his first two years in the CIA and they often hung out together.
“Do it now—thanks, Houston.” He always called him by his first name. He often thought of him as a son—a member of the family.
“Should we move up the security alert system to orange?” wondered Melissa Farnsworth.
“That might be overreacting a bit and would alarm our citizens more than anything else,” answered the president. “This is a long range threat to our security.”
A distinctive Cajun accented voice came from the phone monitor. “Mr. President, what can I do for ya this morn’n?”
“Good morning, Larry. It is nice to hear from you.”
“Hey, I would be there with the rest of ya’ guys, however I thought it best to be in the trenches in case sump’m urgent came up. This Iran test has us all worried. We are monitoring all kinds of chatter.”
“We are all concerned and I have one question, then I’ll let you go, Larry.”
“Shoot.”
“We wonder where Iran is on the IRBM? Will it be up and running soon?”
“Yeah—that is the million dollar question and it doesn’t really matter that much. They have the Shabib-2 and 3’s and can launch them from their subs and aircraft carriers. I can call them and ask them to keep me in the loop!” He laughed. “Seriously, they won’t have this for another year—maybe three years.”
“How do you view this morning’s events?”
“Not good. You should be concerned about the Ghidar—that’s one mean stealth sub they have been trying to hide from us. They could navigate off our shore and lob most anything at us before we knew what happened.”
“Tell me more about the Ghidar sub.”
“You ain’t gonna like this.”
“We are all grown adults….”
“OK. They make these subs within their borders with parts from Russia, China, and North Korea. They have a couple hundred of these, based upon our reports. It’s a midget submarine with two to six people to operate it and it must be near larger ships if they are to make it through the day. There are no living quarters, so they must return to a mother ship. For all we know; they have a hundred or more off our shore this very moment.”
“You are right. I don’t like this at all.”
“We look for the mother ships and then we know the subs are skulking around in our ports.”
“Our ports?” This was alarming.
“Oh, yeah—they could come right into New York harbor, land on Liberty Island, enjoy a picnic, and we would never know it.”
“Good God.”
“The good news is they could not launch anything as large as the one they tested this morning.”
“I hate to ask….”
“Probably a five or ten megaton; large enough to wipe out New York in a millisecond. Ten or twenty of these in a Pearl Harbor attack and all our major cities would be vaporized in a couple of minutes.”
Everyone in the room was alarmed with the report. Someone observed, “Life as we know it would be gone.”
“They have been purchasing Kilo subs with a vengeance from the Russians too. These are the real thing, big mothers with full crews that can launch most anything you give it.”
“Do you think they are planning an attack with these subs?”
“Who knows what goes through the minds of these people?”
“I want you to access the sub purchases and get a report on my desk ASAP. Do you see a pattern that suggests an imminent attack once they begin producing nuclear weapons?”
“I’m on it right away, Mr. President. I’ll have the Pentagon send you what they have too.”
“Access any delivery system they now possess or will possess in the next two years and get it to me. I also must know how long it will be until they finish their tests and begin making final product.”
“Got it.”
“ If you went from your gut and made an assessment right now—”
“Off the record, Mr. President. Nothing you would hold me to….”
“Off the record—your gut instinct.”
“Hmm. I’d be worried. The bomb is a part of a larger plan…the subs could be a part of it—maybe not.”
“That’s all I need for now.”
~*~