The Thirty Minute War

By Elwyn M. Grimes, MD

Environmental contamination following a terrorist-orchestrated nuclear accident results in a genetic disorder, "The PeDay Syndrome". The syndrome is characterized by high intelligence coupled with homicidal behavior. To preserve human fertility after the emergence of this syndrome, the government implements measures to force sterilization and gene therapy for everyone.

The National Biotechnical Institute is the laboratory of choice. But an invisible intruder bypasses all security and steals a vial of the deadly virus. While investigating the theft, Sadee Digmond, chief of operations, juggles her relationship and a surprise pregnancy, and discovers that her boyfriend is hiding a secret. Too late for gene therapy and her decision not to undergo forced sterilization, her decision will have ramifications for the world...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514402160

Elwyn M. Grimes, MD

Elwyn M. Grimes, MD, was born in Woodville, Mississippi. As a pioneer in the field of reproductive endocrinology and infertility, he authored multiple scientific publications in his field. He had his fellowship training at Harvard, Peter-Brent Brigham Hospital, Boston, Massachusetts. He was a graduate of MeHarry Medical College, Nashville, Tennessee. He served as chairman of several departments of obstetrics and gynecology at renowned medical/academic institutions. He served as medical director of reproductive endocrine and fertility consultant at Midwest Fertility Foundation/Sperm Bank in Kansas City, Missouri.

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Section I: The Thirty-Minute War Revisited

Just past midnight

July 4, 2020

Bering Sea, Southwest of Anchorage, Alaska

T he Fourth of July party aboard the Midnight Sun had been booked for a year. Hollinger Limited had concocted the special cruise to honor the recently elected Democratic governor of Alaska. It had been marketed as a special half-price cruise. Hollinger’s CEO had gambled on the slim odds that a Democrat would break the 50-year tradition of a Republican in the governor’s mansion. So when John Barrett, a nouveau riche oil speculator, won the election, Hollinger had no choice. The party was on. One hundred fat politicians from all across the United States and Canada had reserved this two-day Aleutian Islands excursion because of its reputation for exquisite service and whale watching. Their expectations were high. There would be no short cuts.

Jacob Morris, veteran captain of the Midnight Sun, paid dearly to maintain this reputation. For five years, he had worked long hours and had rarely seen the two-year old son who bore his name. He had single-handedly infused his staff with a simple but nonnegotiable dictum. Give ’em what they want. That’s all that matters.

So when Captain Morris left the Fourth of July revelers singing the Star Spangled Banner in the Grand Ballroom, the crew knew he’d had enough. He needed a break. Minutes later he appeared in the captain’s lounge with five Swarovski toasting flutes and a bottle of Dom Pérignon deftly secured under his right arm. Morris trusted his staff and shared an occasional toast with them, despite the rule—no drinking when on duty. At this moment, the co-captain was in charge, the radar and satellite reads were clear for 500 miles, and a second backup staff was on standby.

Time for a little break from work…let’s celebrate, Captain Morris shouted, too far from the snobbish passengers to be heard. His audience was five staffers who were both exhausted and bored.

First I would like to thank you guys for making this trip almost perfect. Considering the asshole dignitaries on board—and we only say that after we have provided our best service—this could’ve been a royal disaster. But it’s been great. Many thanks to you, my crew, for a job well done. So, glass up! I think you’re entitled to one glass of champagne with your captain. Besides, its twenty-nine minutes past midnight.

He then stripped away the decorative gold foil, unwound the loop of the wire cage, and removed the cage and metal cap. He twisted the cork and bottle in opposite directions and eased out the cork, releasing it just in time to preserve the expected pop. He grasped the first flute and filled it gracefully and purposefully. The white linen towel on his forearm never moved and was as dry as it had been when first draped across his arm.

Not a drop of champagne landed anywhere except in the flutes, all five filled with a seemingly seamless pour.

Captain Morris handed a flute to each of the waiting staffers, while the bubbles in each of the waiting glasses reflected the subtle flashes of yellow light from the outer deck.

Raise your glasses… Here’s to a perfect staff, those on duty and who’re resting. Here’s to each of you for commitment far beyond what is required. Cheers! Cheers! And more cheers!"

Captain Morris was not usually so jovial. Had the staff not known better, they would have suspected that he had already consumed a bottle before he arrived. One by one, Charles, Joyce, Marty, Winston, and Mark said, Thank you Captain, Happy New Year.

Mark Miller, the co-captain of operations who was new to the crew, loosened up a bit, untied his tie, and raised his glass. Here’s to Cap’n Morris, a fucking good cap’n from beginning to end.

Caught off guard, Morris raised his glass with the others and said, Thank you Mark, while other staffers grinned sheepishly. Mark had had a few before midnight, it seemed.

Turn those glasses up everybody… Here’s to all assholes on board, all their baggage, and the bullshit we put up with every day.

With that, everyone joined in, and for a moment they let go. They all said, Cheers! Yeah, cheers to us.

Captain Morris held back ever so slightly and thought, I’ve got a problem. But, before he could congratulate himself on achieving what he set out to do, the call came.

Captain Morris! Captain Morris! Code black! This is the co-captain.

Jolted back into reality, Morris pushed the receive button of his PDA and said, Yes Roger, What is it? The moment of conviviality was about to be shattered. He only wondered how bad it would be.

Magadan, Russia and Anchorage, Alaska were just hit by a massive tsunami. The damage was severe. Lots of dead. Just picked it up on radar. Never seen anything like it. It’s at least a 100-footer and headed due south. We have less than fifteen minutes.

Morris was silent despite the staccato alarms and the piercing red flashes of the upper deck lights. Although the roar of closing storm shutters had muffled the co-captain’s words, Captain Morris had heard it all.

And in the momentary silence he already knew what the wave would bring.

Captain, Roger said again, It will hit us in less than fifteen minutes. Captain, I’m changing our course to due north. Warnings are out to staff and guests, and we’re trying to clear the ballrooms. Storm shutters and windows are closing. The engines are on full throttle. Do you have other suggestions?

Morris was numb. Roger knew he was thinking, trying to come up with a solution. Morris thought of President George W. Bush in the hours after 9/11. For the first time in his life he was speechless. It was just a matter of where he wanted to die, along with the others. The frantic staffers were now yelling Captain, Captain!

And for just an instant his mind flashed to the boy who bore his name.

And then a bank of black appeared at the horizon, due north, rapidly mounting in the short distance that remained. It looked like a giant octopus with outstretched tentacles, black, foreboding, reaching to the sky. The captain knew quite well what the co-captain was thinking and doing. He could feel the bow turning directly into the death wave to avoid a rollover, he hoped. In his mind, Jacob Morris said,

Oh God, we don’t have a chance.

For the first time in his long career, he had no solution to offer. He pushed the open communicate button for his PDA and began running to the bridge with staff in tow. It was then, moments before impact, in the panic of lights, bells, horns, screams, and the groans of the big ship being turned too fast, that the co-captain realized what Captain Morris already knew. He muttered, Oh shit, this isn’t good!

In the moment that followed, Captain Morris and his co-captain seemed to be screaming over the emergency channel in unison: Full code black! Code black! Full code black! Activate all emergency procedures.

By the time the echoes of these words reverberated in his brain the ship was already rolling, the grand ballroom was on fire from candles falling on starched linens, while bloodied men and women, young and old alike, collided with furniture and fixtures jolted from the ceiling and with each other.

The storm shutters failed as the swell of water ripped away walls, tore windows from their moorings, and threw frantic passengers about like rag dolls. Then the ship rolled in the opposite direction, pausing for a single moment in time before the stern began a slow ascent, just before the massive ship fragmented like a child’s toy. For Captain Morris, this had been a déjà vu moment since he had watched Titanic on Turner Classics only the evening before.

* * *

What no one on the Midnight Sun knew was that at precisely midnight, four renegade missiles from the secret Sargus Project had detonated their nuclear warhead over Kiska and Kagami mountains, the largest and westernmost of the Rat Islands in the Aleutians, and the Islands of the Four Mountains.

The explosions that followed created a ripple effect throughout the Aleutian Islands and caused old volcanoes to reawaken. The multiple mushroom clouds seemed to link heaven and hell.

The massive tsunami had arisen from the belly of the Bering Sea, 1,500 miles from the Russian outpost of Magadan and 2,000 miles from the Gulf of Alaska. While the Midnight Sun sank without survivors, the 500-mile per hour wave sped toward the Alaskan and California coasts. Inhabitants of Vancouver and Queen Charlotte Islands never rose from their sleep.

The serpentine currents of the jet stream turned black. F5 tornados spread contaminated rain across the continental divide, from Anchorage to Miami. Refusing to die, the killer wave swept radioactive silt down the North American west coast, from Vancouver to Los Angeles.

* * *

The precipitating events were not nature’s vengeance but rather its reaction to man-instigated, deliberate evil. They began with the conflicts that arose in the Islamic world when U.S. President H. W. Bush pushed Saddam Hussein out of Kuwait. Throughout the Islamic world, it was as though a four-headed dragon sprang forth from an ancient glacier, ferocious, gaunt, bold, and driven by the hunger of a thousand years.

The flames that engulfed the American flag lingered, along with the anti-American rhetoric. And after the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center were vaporized, George W. Bush pursued fictitious weapons of mass destruction. Young men on a wild goose chase faced an uncertain future, fraught with death and dismemberment deep in the bowels of Iraq and Afghanistan. Bin Laden, Al-Qaeda, and youthful fighters saw the onslaught as the embodiment of the Crusades of old, a path to redemption.

And while the Sargus Project and its Thunderbolt anti-missile system were clandestine, they were not unknown to those who needed to know. The Quantum attack had been anticipated for months, its beginnings dating back to 2011, with a rebirth of more sophisticated post-Bin Laden terrorist strategies, ostensibly via the Internet.

In response to the sporadic introduction of viruses that penetrated key components of U.S., British, and Russian security, G-25 countries had developed the Sargus Project in 2015 as a global anti-war system. Its nuclear warheads, strategic laser, electromagnetic weaponry, and spy cameras were capable of identifying and killing a single marked individual or terrorist nerve center anywhere in the world, unless they were protected by sophisticated, mobile, kill-proof bunkers, or military-grade active camouflage.

During the hours before midnight, more than a thousand feet below ground zero of the Pentagon, U.S. President Marshall Potts had been tethered electronically to other G-25 strategic partners.

During the past twenty-four hours, virus probes directed at Sargus Project computers had triggered this state of maximum alert. To his dismay and that of U.S. allies, a global crisis had developed during the previous hour.

Quantum terrorists had hacked into the controls of the Sargus Project satellites that controlled the multinational Thunderbolt Nuclear Missile Defense System.

What followed was the longest thirty minutes ever recorded. Quantum terrorist hackers waged war via the Internet against the world’s most sophisticated warrior hackers—TecNukes of the CIA. In the half hour that these computer nerd warriors battled for the launch and guidance controls of four nuclear warhead armed missiles, the world’s first computer war was fought and lost.

Based on the trajectory of the new renegade missiles, self-destruct was the only option if destruction of a key American, European, or Asian city was to be avoided.

The G-25 world leaders quickly chose the Bering Sea as a zone of least collateral damage. They hadn’t anticipated the cataclysmic activation of dormant volcanoes along the Aleutians Islands chain. And as nuclear fallout spread across the United States and Canada, the muddled G-25 leaders reserved their electronic tethers and contemplated Armageddon.

American and Canadian Scientists Debate About New Radiation—Induced Disease

Washington Post Feature Article

July 15, 2030

Darell W. Denkins, Editor

I N 2012, VARIOUS medical registries began reporting an increasing incidence of a new disorder heralded by the lectures and publications of Dr. Charles PeDay, director of environmental research at the National Institutes of Health. When the exposition on the PeDay syndrome appeared as the final entry in the June 2015 edition of the Journal of Environmental Medicine, his colleagues screamed scientific blasphemy. Since publication of the provocative report had been delayed by editorial board deadlock, it was not a surprise when the review by Harvard’s Dr. Jacob R. Jones denied the existence of PeDay syndrome.

Dr. PeDay’s research suggested that the disease is caused by radiation-induced point mutations of chromosome 21.

The syndrome shares features with the previously common Down’s and Alzheimer’s syndromes, except that PeDay syndrome occurs spontaneously, not requiring an extra chromosome as in Down’s syndrome.

Oddly enough, the condition is sometimes associated with superior intelligence. It is known that genes influencing the features of Down’s syndrome and Alzheimer’s mental instability and premature aging are located at specific locations on chromosome 21. In PeDay victims, both chromosomes display problematic gene abnormalities. For unknown reasons, this is associated with a peculiar and unpredictable tendency toward sadistic and homicidal behavior. To the dismay of medical experts, this heretofore-un-known disease usually develops along with or immediately following puberty and is almost always fully developed by early adulthood.

It is then followed by the almost certain emergence of uncontrollable homicidal tendencies and institutional dependency. Mental capacity frequently remains normal; the initial manifestation of disease is a catastrophic homicidal event. PeDay cases have overwhelmed the capacity of many hospitals.

The death penalty has been reinstated in all fifty states.

Scientists at the National Biotechnical Institute (NBI) in Washington, D.C. have confirmed that the increasing abortion rate, reduced fertility, and increasing incidence of PeDay are all linked to the nuclear accident. NBI researchers discovered that the freezing of eggs and sperm, followed by storage in lead-lined refrigerators, reduces continuous exposure to background radiation.

When cold storage of eggs and sperm is combined with compulsory sterilization before the age of eighteen years, PeDay is usually prevented. It appears that the government will begin subsidizing sperm and egg freezing and early sterilization as soon as adequate facilities are available. NBI will take the lead under the direction of Dr. E. P. St. George.

Despite controversy, embryonic gene therapy is being advocated by some scientists as an alternative treatment. The absence of governmental subsidy for treatment has curtailed widespread implementation, except for the well-to-do.

During the worldwide AIDS pandemic of the 1990s, it was discovered that viruses, especially retroviruses of some common diseases, could be used as vectors or transporters for gene treatments into the DNA of diseased human cells.

This treatment influences cells of embryos or other tissues to produce either protective or corrective genes. Gene therapy for PeDay syndrome is based on the same principles. Despite their usefulness, viral vectors are associated with a small risk of an unexpected or an unknown disease.

This risk seems to have been readily accepted by the public. For the masses, alternatives are few.

Were it not for the widespread implementation of Buster Water Filters, deep well-water mining, and finally sperm/egg cold storage in the decades following the Aleutian Islands disaster, the children of North America would now be sterile.

Chapter 1

Monday, June 25, 2067

3:00 a.m.

Potomac Park, Maryland

T he photosensitive glass panes of the guest room at 4000 West Roanoke vibrated rhythmically in response to the brisk pre-dawn winds of the Potomac River Valley. Despite the maximum light-shield setting of the expansive wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, the panoramic view of Deadman’s Falls was breathtaking. Although diminutive when compared with Niagara Falls, Deadman’s Falls had been created in 2030 when the excessive flooding of eastern Virginia was solved by shunting water from the Triadelphia Reservoir into the Potomac River through Great Seneca Creek. Ghostly nocturnal shadows were created by the hot spring-fed Seneca water as it bathed stone outcroppings just before it met the cold Potomac, 150 feet below. The effect was accentuated by alternating red, white, and blue lights imbedded in the cliff walls.

Despite the usual hypnotic effect of this scene, solace eluded Dr. E. P. St. George, director of the National Biotechnical Institute, Limited (NBI). While a modern Vanderweil clock on an antique armoire projected a greenish holographic 4:00 a.m., he paced back and forth in front of the large patio doors next to his guests’ bedroom. Unaffected by the view or the long-awaited silence of his personal communications unit, or PCU, St. George was drawn to the unruffled bed with its covers turned down. Constance had again thoughtfully predicted his circumstances.

Although usually unruffled when faced with adversity, St. George was approaching the end of his rope. This night had been exceptional.

The last of hourly tête-à-tête exchanges with Sadee, his operations supervisor, ended at 2:00 a.m. Hungry for the sleep that eluded him and dreading the approaching dawn, he rubbed his puffy eyelids, which resembled the symmetrical bulges of a Chinese fortune cookie. Cold compresses and artificial tears had not made a difference when he reluctantly admitted his current attack of insomnia.

The hourly telephone calls from Sadee, which had begun at 11:00 p.m., had prompted him to quietly move to the guest room. He always tried to protect Constance from the disruptions of frequent late night calls. Dr. St. George had also been on line with BIOX, NBI’s advanced robotic computer. He periodically had nagging doubts the technology that he himself had installed. A year ago, when he had advised upgrading the entire computer system, his request had been denied. Since 11:00 p.m., he had used virtual access to speed the review of reports continually upgraded by BIOX.

BIOX, Sadee, and Dr. St. George couldn’t explain the persistent irregularities in the center’s continuous quality improvement report.

The appearance of irregularities, now labeled thermo-glitches, had begun two weeks earlier. Before midnight, BIOX had reported ten thermo-glitches that he and his staff couldn’t explain. Both Dr. St. George and Sadee feared a meltdown. Stolen from the era of nuclear energy, the term meltdown was now used more literally to refer to unplanned thawing of frozen biological specimens. He wasn’t sure that human fertility could be preserved in this fashion.

Dr. St. George desperately tried to find a comfortable position among soft synthetic down pillows that served a surrogate for Constance’s presence. He longed for Constance but didn’t want to awaken her again. Falling asleep without the warmth of her presence was always difficult. Tonight his insomnia was worse. In desperation, he opened the nightstand drawer, obtained a set of earphones, and activated a from-the-womb audio.

While he usually resisted artificial sleep, he sometimes benefitted from what had been learned about the relaxing effects of sounds from the uterus of a pregnant woman. During times like these, he no longer debated whether the brain impulses of a loved one could have a direct effect on mental state and healing. In this regard, he remained a renegade among his peers.

While hovering halfway between sleeping and waking in the subdued light, he found that details of the past had not recently broken through his mantle of consciousness.

He clenched his fists at these untimely intrusions. He realized he was grinding his teeth. Persistent insomnia was fueled by memories that fought against being revisited. Reluctantly, he admitted defeat. Moments later, he entered a twilight sleep in which the memories he feared most broke through. His face twitched, and beads of sweat covered his brow, saturating the foam pads of the headset.

He did not awaken. Instead, the recurring dream resurfaced the dream of his parents’ death and what he had been told about the Thirty-Minute War the computer war of 2004 and the tsunami that had wrecked a Norwegian cruise liner off the coast of Alaska, leaving him alone and desolate.

The techno-war of 2005 and World War III followed decades of conflict crystallized by the Persian Gulf wars. Swift and deadly as they were, the wars that some viewed simply as continuations of the same battle never seemed to end. Cloaked in a multinational disguise, the aftermath revealed itself through many acts and in numerous faces.

In his dream, St. George sat at the screen of a rapid viewing/rapid synchronization computer. He was looking for something that had eluded him. He remembered the memento on the wall of his home office—a large framed front page of the Washington Post whose headlines read Terrorists Sabotage Thunderbolt Missile Defense System. The smaller print alluded to the International Justice Clan, which had become the most notorious hybrid terrorist organization in the world, surpassing previously known religious or political boundaries. He muttered the date of the sub-head-line aloud, December 25, 2005.

And in his dream, the familiar narrative floated before his eyes.

Inflamed by continued perceptions of interference with Middle Eastern affairs, ostensibly an insult to Islam, the International Justice Clan and al Qaeda had perpetrated terrorist attacks using sophisticated technology and human bombs. No nation was immune.

Terrorist attacks on the Pentagon and the twin towers of the United Nations complex displayed the threat in real time. While adamantly denied by NASA, the Columbia disaster was cloaked in suspicion among those who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001. Previously unprecedented, this new era of accelerated domestic and international terrorism was orchestrated by religious and political fundamentalists for whom the advocacy of violence became esprit de corps. Encrypted internal communications allowed international consolidation. Despite antiterrorist actions of the Group of Seven and hesitant political partners, random bombings continued and innocents became political pawns.

In the United States, England, Africa, Indonesia, Kuwait, Israel, and elsewhere, remote-controlled arachnoid robots with concealed payloads of plastic explosives replaced suicide death rides. Internationally, miniaturized smart bombs with lethal payloads linked to long-distance drones upgraded the tools of terrorists, who quickly abandoned self-sacrifice. The distance between the saboteur and his victims grew ever wider.

Following the creation of the Global Antiwar Consortium, or GAC, in June 2004, the existence of ten satellites equipped with cameras that could monitor renegade military activity throughout the globe was admitted. These satellites were fitted with one nuclear warhead and megapulse lasers that could vaporize selected targets within minutes. Eventually dubbed Thunderbolt, the system temporarily halted arms proliferation. Use of this nuclear arsenal could be triggered as a last resort, only following a majority vote of the United Nations Global War Council.

The encrypted controls for the nuclear missiles could not be bypassed without simultaneous, computer-integrated agreement of all members of the council. Only the chief programmer for the now international Thunderbolt Missile Defense System, or TMDS, was aware that hackers could penetrate the system if the codes of ten of the fifty nations were known.

During the hours before the Thirty-Minute War, terrorist Quantum hackers coordinated their efforts from camps along the banks of the Euphrates and among the jagged mountain peaks of Afghanistan. Their goal was to create a massive onslaught by one thousand hackers bombarding the TMDS control centers simultaneously. As part of a pain-stakingly planned plot, a mole had been placed inside the international program. It was envisioned that targeted nuclear explosions in the major financial districts of the world would trigger financial and political chaos. Shifts in power would follow, all to the detriment of the nations that supported what some conveniently called wars against Islam.

At midnight on December 25, 2005, techno-warriors of the CIA, NASA, Interpol, the Kremlin, and other international security agencies received the first red alert.

The resulting scramble took only thirty brief seconds. Intruders had breached the firewalls of multiple nerve centers. Five warriors at each of fifty concealed nerve centers in the United States, Great Britain, Japan, France, Saudi Arabia, Russia, and Israel joined the fray.

They had been programmed for this war.