Edge of Apocalypse (5 page)

When he was done, Joshua started to type furiously on his laptop, setting the laser coordinates for the two nukes, using GPS data fed directly into his computer from defense satellites. With Ted and Carolyn looking over his shoulder, Joshua checked his work and leaned back. Then they reviewed his commands line by line.

"Are we go?" Joshua asked.

Ted answered, "We're go."

Joshua looked at Carolyn.

Carolyn nodded. "Yes. We're go."

Joshua turned back to the videophone.

"Commander, is the launch sequence complete?"

The commander turned to his weapons officer, nervous perspiration rolling down his face. "Yes, sir," said the officer, his voice cracking.

Joshua turned back to his laptop and punched a key. A red screen flashed "PROTOCOLS LOCKED. LASERS ARMED. READY TO FIRE."

SEVEN

On the bridge of the
Daedong
the crew tried to go about their duties as if nothing had happened. The body of the captain had been dragged away, but his blood was still streaked across the area where he was shot.

The admiral huddled with the XO over the radar officer's station, the gun still clutched in his hands. He grimly cheered on the tiny green blips on the screen as the two nukes continued their trajectory toward Manhattan. The seventy-two-year-old man was beyond ecstatic. Even as a child he had never known a united Korea. He'd always lived with the hated enemy occupiers just to the south, so close you could almost reach across the DMZ and put your hands around their throats. He'd dreamed about driving the Americans from his sacred homeland since he was a boy, but the nuclear tripwire had always prevented each side from making the first move. But now they'd tripped that imaginary wire, and, as fate would have it, it had fallen to him to restore the honor of his people and his country. As for the captain, he had been weak. The weak needed to be exterminated when they stood in the way of valiant men of strength and courage like himself.

Exactly one minute had passed since the Joshua-I missile left the launch silo on the
Tiger Shark.
Sixty seconds, the longest sixty seconds in Joshua Jordan's life.

As with all launch-based missile-defense systems, there was a narrow range of time when the weapon could effectively engage its target and deploy its defense system. This was usually within the first thirty to sixty seconds of flight. But they were at seventy-five seconds now, and the Korean missiles were still tracking steadily toward Manhattan.

Several of his team members couldn't hold back their emotions any longer. Tears began streaming from their eyes.

Down in the
Tiger Shark,
the weapons officer, eyes fixed on his radar screen, was cursing under his breath, "Stop 'em, stop 'em, do it, do it..."

The commander standing over him was gritting his teeth hard. So hard that everyone on the weapons deck could hear the sickening, grinding sound.

On the top floor of the Jordon Building in New York, Joshua and his team stared in stunned silence at the videophone waiting for some change, some hope, some chance.

Nothing...

Joshua turned away and pulled out his Allfone. He punched up Abby's cell number. At least he still had time to say good-bye to his wife and daughter. Tell them he was sorry. Try to explain he had failed them, failed everyone. Maybe he could even get through to his son. He certainly owed him an apology. Actually, he owed him several. Where would he start?

Joshua couldn't believe he was about to say good-bye to his wife and family...forever.

When his wife answered the phone, he could tell she had been crying.

"Abby...," he started to say, but the words began to catch.

He couldn't go on, there was nothing more he could say, but just knowing she was there on the other end was something at least...something to hang on to until everything exploded into a fiery hell for all of them.

"Colonel!" the voice was the commander's coming over the videophone.

Joshua wasn't used to being called by his former military rank. At first he didn't connect the voice to himself...that the man on the other end was talking to him.

"Colonel Jordan!" the voice shouted again.

Joshua spun around and stared at the monitor.

"I think..." But the commander didn't need to finish his sentence. The radar-tracking screen clearly showed the two North Korean missiles looping around in a perfect duet and heading in the opposite direction, back toward their point of origin.

The weapons officer couldn't control himself. "Li'l jammer got 'em!" he yelled out.

The entire office erupted in one tremendous unified roar, the cheer carrying down the hall like wildfire until the whole top floor was celebrating...it was New Year's Eve, Mardi Gras, and the Super Bowl all rolled into one. People began hugging each other, jumping up on tables, laughing, weeping for joy, happy to be alive.

Then Joshua remembered Abby.

"Abby!" he yelled into his cell phone.

"Joshua?" There was still a question in her voice.

"I just wanted...I wanted to tell you I love you so much," he shouted at the top of his lungs for all to hear. "So very, very much. We're going to be fine baby, fine, all of us, just fine!"

"Admiral..." The XO spoke urgently, breaking into the admiral's thoughts of North Korean triumph.

He pointed down at the radar screen. Something was wrong, something incomprehensible.

"Is the radar broken?" the admiral asked as he stared at the two blips on the scope, the radar screen clearly showing the two Korean missiles heading back toward their ship.

The radar officer was too overwhelmed to answer.

"What does this mean?" demanded the admiral.

"They're coming back, sir," offered the XO.

"Coming back?"

"Yes, sir. The missiles are...they're returning..."

The two men were huddled over the radar officer's station, talking in hushed whispers. The rest of the crew was looking over their shoulders from their posts, not sure what to make of this strange anomaly. Within moments, however, they would come to understand that they had all stepped into a collective nightmare. And it was quickly unfolding in front of them.

"How can this be possible?" The admiral's voice was deeply distressed and guttural.

"I don't know, sir, but they're coming back. Very close..."

"I don't understand...when did your radar pick this up..."

"Just now, sir. The Americans must have jammed our incoming radar detection system..."

"What do we do?" The admiral queried with a tragic astonishment that was still rooted in denial.

The XO stood there, afraid to speak, he had no answer.

"What do we do?!"

This time the admiral yelled for the whole bridge to hear. Suddenly everything had grown very quiet with the only sound being the beeping of the radar as the green blips inched closer and closer to the digital image of their ship.

"What...do...we...do?"

Still no one offered up an answer.

The admiral looked at the faces of the men surrounding him on the bridge. In their vacant stares and their look of shock, the admiral now understood something...he realized he was asking the wrong question.

"What have I done?"

The words fell from his mouth like an indictment.

The men didn't respond. They just stood at their stations, waiting for an answer that would never come.

The admiral straightened his uniform jacket and saluted crisply as he walked across the bridge. With eyes held high, gun still clutched in his hand, he moved past the bloodied area where the captain had been executed. Without a glance, he stepped out onto the upper deck. Once alone in the open sea air, he looked up into the sky as if to try and see the missiles as they headed back to their home.

"What have I done?" he said, now in a hoarse whisper, speaking only to himself.

He didn't wait for an answer this time. He immediately placed the gun's barrel into his mouth.

Whether the admiral saw the blinding white megaton flash before pulling the trigger was inconsequential, as it would have been only a matter of milliseconds. The twin nuclear explosions vaporized the ship and all its crew in a merciless tornado of fire and cataclysmic concussion.

By Sunday, the shock of that day, the nuclear attempt against New York City, and the stunned news reports about the nukes incinerating the North Korean ship, were starting to abate slightly, but only slightly.

Up in the pulpit of the Eternity Church in Manhattan, Pastor Paul Campbell was standing silent before his congregation. The sanctuary was packed. Overflow chairs had to be added. It was the first Sunday service following the near strike. A nervous anticipation rippled through the crowd, as all eyes where transfixed on the pulpit. Campbell knew why these people were here, some with fear, but all with expectation on their faces. Waiting for some word of comfort, some truth, or maybe both, about a world that seemed to be careening out of control.

Pastor Campbell looked over the crowd. He saw a number of new faces. But he also recognized some familiar ones. Abigail Jordan, a regular attender, was seated five rows from the front on the aisle seat.

Looking down at the open Bible on the pulpit stand, Campbell fixed his eyes on the verses he had marked there. The Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-four. His mind was weighted down with the immensity of the subject of his sermon. But more than that, his heart was pierced by the empty gazes of those who had wandered in from the street that morning to hear...anything. Lost looks and vacant stares. Troubled souls.

He whispered a wordless prayer.

Then he began.

"Some of you have come here today for comfort. Others out of curiosity. Still others for a reason that is two thousand years old. Toward the end of His earthly ministry, Jesus gave a great lament over the city of Jerusalem, and then He made a startling prophecy about the destruction of the great Herodian Temple in that city, a prophecy that would be fulfilled in AD 70, just a few decades later. Leaving the Temple that day, Jesus went up to the Mount of Olives, overlooking Jerusalem, and He sat down with His disciples, perhaps under the shade of one of the trees, and they asked Him two questions. First, they wanted to know when the Temple would be destroyed. But they also asked Him another question, one that may be on your minds and hearts today. They wanted to know what the signs would be of Christ's second coming and what signs would mark the end of the age, that final chapter of the world as we know it."

Campbell laid his finger down on his Bible next to verses six through eight.

"Jesus said that nation will rise up against nation and kingdom against kingdom. That implies worldwide conflict. We have already seen two world wars in the last century. And just a few days ago we narrowly missed what could have been the beginning of yet another one. Jesus also said that there would be famines. In our nation alone, in the agricultural breadbasket of America, we are now seeing drought and pestilence far beyond anything we had during the dustbowl years of the Great Depression. Jesus said there would be earthquakes. Now friends, look at the last six months. An earthquake in Indonesia, a ten on the Mercalli scale, with twelve being the worst. Then an earthquake that ripped through Guatemala, an eleven on the scale. And finally an eleven-point-five earthquake in Turkey."

He closed his Bible. What he would say now had been imprinted on his heart.

"Some of you listening to me this morning don't know Jesus Christ. You haven't opened the door. You haven't allowed Him to come in, to change you, save you, and fill you with His presence. For you, images of the end of the age, the cracking open of the earth, the toppling of kingdoms, these things hold nothing for you but terrifying darkness, hopelessness, and fear. But it doesn't have to be that way. You can join the assembly of those who know and follow Jesus. And while none of us relishes the idea of the destruction that is destined to occur, we have something that sees far beyond the smoldering rubble that will last only a little while. A future kingdom that will be filled with light and peace and love. We have a living hope. And so can you. You too can join that chorus in the last book of the Bible, in the second to last verse, those who can boldly shout out, 'Amen. Come Lord Jesus!'"

Several people in the crowd shouted out amens. But most of those in their seats were silent. A few who were visiting for the first time had grimaces of disgust or even cynicism. Many were deep in thought. A few, wide-eyed, had the look of those who were waiting for something but didn't know exactly what it was.

Campbell finally directed himself to his listeners, sweeping his gaze across the sea of faces.

"So those were the questions of the disciples that day. As they sat up on the Mount of Olives, looking over the city of Jerusalem."

Then he asked something else, and when he did he leaned forward and took in row after row, face after face.

"Now it's time to get honest. As you look to the future, what is
your
reaction? Fear? Or faith?"

His question reverberated through the large sanctuary with the high vaulted, cathedral ceiling.

EIGHT

Two Weeks Later

After all the political speeches and public outpouring of support and relief, New York was beginning to get back to normal. Special Agent John Gallagher of the FBI cursed the traffic as he sat gridlocked on Broadway, trying to head uptown during the morning rush. Then he thought back to the terror they had all felt that morning, popped another Ho Ho into his mouth, and was grateful to be driving through Manhattan today.

Gallagher was part of an elite counterterrorism unit. On the evening of the attack, he'd taken the ferry out to Staten Island to conduct an investigation into chatter on a popular social networking site, chatter that seemed to be targeting the Statue of Liberty. It turned out it was just some kids trying to improve their rep at a local high school by co-opting the term
terrorist,
much like wanna-be rappers used to throw around the word
gangsta
to build their street cred. Still it was his job to check it out.