Free The Orion Protocol by Gary Tigerman Page B

beating their wingsinside each person’s brain as the group shuffled out in their boots and bulky clothes. That the crisis would be resolved seemed a bit more certain. Bertrand certainly inspired confidence.
    Whether the unexplored ancient biosphere in suspension beneath them would have to remain unexplored was harder to determine. At least for the paleobiologists and glaciologists it was still too early and too painful to think about that.

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    Old Executive Office Building/Washington, D.C.
    Sandy Sokoff had had discreet meetings with military and intelligence people at the Pentagon, at CIA headquarters in Virginia, and at the vast NSA facility at Ft. Meade in Maryland.
    Each intelligence officer or general officer questioned about Project Orion professed to have either no knowledge or very limited knowledge, operating within the limitations of institutional cutouts that prevented anyone from seeing the whole picture. And none of those Sandy interviewed were willing to speculate, at least not in front of the President’s counsel. Many had seemed more intent on pumping him for information than on illuminating matters for the White House, which Sokoff found both curious and irritating.
    Nevertheless, certain impressions were evolving, specifically that both inside and outside government, support for the building out of a vastly expensive space-based weapons system was wide, deep, and not justified by any military or terrorist threat that made any sense whatsoever.
    It was a truism that the easiest way for a terrorist to deliver a nuclear bomb to any city in America was to hide it in a shipment of dope. And against this basic street reality, as far as Sandy was concerned, all the ICBM-killing Star Wars crap in the world didn’t mean squat.
    So, why the big push for Orion, if it was just some leftover big-ticket, pre-9/11 China-containment boondoggle in Republican geopolitical drag?
    Sitting in his office in the Old Executive Office Building with the clock ticking, Sokoff stared at his list of spies, former spies, and closemouthed generals. He then consulted his computer address book, made an impulsive phone call, and booked himself on the earliest morning flight to Atlanta.

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    January 30/Atlanta, Georgia
    The next day, at a dead-end lot in one of Atlanta’s sprawling suburbs, he stood and watched as former President Jimmy Carter banged away at the frame of a two-story house with a claw-head hammer, hanging Sheetrock for Habitats for Humanity.
    The young intern who had met Sokoff at the airport said something to Carter, who just nodded and then finished knocking home the last nail before belting the hammer and wiping his hands on his overalls.
    Turning toward him, Carter smiled and looked so fundamentally happy in that moment that Sandy felt a pang of remorse for bothering him.
    But if “Jimmy,” as he was called at the worksite, was feeling bothered, it did not show on his beaming octogenarian face. Motioning Sokoff toward a Dodge pickup parked out front, he stolidly led the way.
    “Come on and step into my office.”
    Sandy followed, mindful of not getting mud on his boots as he crossed the unlandscaped yard. Climbing up into the cab of the 4 × 4, he slammed closed the passenger-side door.
    “Mr. President, we appreciate this very much.”
    “My pleasure, Mr. Sokoff.” Jimmy’s eyes twinkled as they shook hands. “What can I do for you?”
    “It’s about Project Orion, sir.”
    Carter’s cheerful demeanor faded slightly to a pensive smile as he turned over the truck engine and revved it a couple of times.
    “Well, now. Are they about to test it?”
    “A final test has been authorized, sir. The President asked me to provide some deep background before he takes any further action. But I’ve been encountering a lot of . . . well, reticence to discuss. I was hoping you might be able to help me not make a fool of myself.”
    The former Democratic President studied Sandy for a moment as if wondering what else