“Well, that’s possible. But if they got caught at it, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Russians and Americans agreed to nuke them for that. That is a very dangerous game to play.”

It was, and if you were a country with skin in the game, like China or Russia, you’d think twice about it. But if you were a rich, private, and crazy individual sitting in the mountains, you might want to amuse yourself with an ELF transmitter. I pointed out to Commander Nasseff, “You said these ELF waves could be monitored, so I assume the transmission source can also be located.”

“That is a good assumption. But the truth is no. Remember, the Earth itself has become the antenna, so the signals seem to emanate from all around you.”

“Like a cosmic message?”

“Well… it would be more like the ground shaking because of an earthquake. The signal would seem to be coming from everywhere.”

“So there’s no way to trace the origin of an ELF signal?”

“Not in the sense that you’re thinking of. But ELF receivers could get a general idea of where the transmission source was by comparing the effective radiated power that they were receiving at their site. Like all energy sources, the farther away from the origin you are, the weaker the signal becomes. That’s how we learned about the Russian Zevs transmitter-we suspected that the Russians had an ELF transmitter to signal their submarines, so we put a receiving station in Greenland, and this station received strong signals. After a while, we were able to home in on its general location in the Kola Peninsula, and spy satellites confirmed. But that was only because the Russians happened to be transmitting continuously while we hunted for the signal source.”

I thought about that, then asked, “Was the Navy ever able to figure out where those bogus launch signals were coming from?”

“I have no idea. Although I would suspect not, or everyone involved in naval communication would have heard about it, officially or unofficially. I never heard about it.” He reminded me, “But again, these bogus transmissions may never have occurred.”

Well, I thought they had, and I suspected that Commander Nasseff thought so, too. I also thought I knew the source.

He switched to a happier thought. “Well, thank God the Cold War is over.”

“You can say that again.”

But he didn’t. “Anything else?” he asked.

I thought of Mikhail Putyov. “Would a nuclear physicist be at all involved in extremely low frequency technology?”

“Not at all. He’d probably know less about it than you do.”

“Hey, I’m an expert now. No one’s going to try to sell me an ELF wave oven.”

“Why,” asked Commander Nasseff, ignoring my joke, “would ELF concern the Mideast Section of the Anti-Terrorist Task Force?”

Kate and I exchanged glances, and she wrote on my pad, “You’re the bullshitter.”

Thanks, Kate. I replied to Commander Nasseff, “Well, as it turns out, based on what you’ve told us, we may be… well, on the wrong wavelength.” I chuckled for effect and explained, “We’re actually working on a case involving this environmental terrorist group called the Earth Liberation Front. ELF. Wrong ELF. Sorry.”

Officer and gentleman that he was, Commander Nasseff didn’t dignify that bullshit with a response.

Kate, who knows how not to ask a question that tips off the person being questioned, said to Nasseff, “John, I’m looking at my notes, and I think you said that the only suitable U.S. location for an ELF antenna and transmitter is this geological area in Wisconsin and Michigan called the Laurentian Shield. Do I have that right?”

He could have been snotty and asked what that had to do with the Earth Liberation Front, but he answered, “I think that’s right… Hold on… here’s another place in the U.S. where you can locate an ELF transmitter.”

Neither Kate nor I asked where, but John Nasseff informed us, “You’re actually standing on it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

We sat on the enclosed porch, which was warmed by the sun coming in the big windows. Outside, leaves fell, ducks swam on the pond, and fat Canada geese waddled across the lawn without their passports.

We were lost in our own thoughts, which were probably similar. Finally, Kate said, “Madox has a big electrical generator, and an ELF antenna on his property, and he probably has a transmitter somewhere in his lodge. Maybe his fallout shelter…”

I tried to lighten the moment. “So, you think Madox is exploring for oil?”

She wasn’t in the mood for my humor and asked, “Do we think Madox was the person who sent those ELF transmissions to the submarine fleet fifteen years ago?”

“We do.”

“But why?”

“Let me think. Hey, he was trying to start a thermonuclear war.”

“Yes, I understand that. But why?”

“I guess he was just rolling the dice, crossing his fingers, and hoping for a happy ending.”

“That’s insane.”

“Right. But he didn’t think so.” I said to her, “You may be too young to remember, but there were people in this country in those days-Mr. Madox, I’m sure, among them-who wanted to push the button first and get it over with. They truly believed that the Soviets would be caught napping, and that Soviet technology and weapons systems were faulty, and that we could survive whatever they threw back at us.” I added, “Radioactive fallout is overrated.”

“Totally insane.”

“Well, fortunately, we’ll never know.” I thought a moment and said, “Madox obviously had some inside information about military ELF codes and decided to use it. The technology to build the transmitter and antenna, as we heard, is not secret, and at some point, about twenty years ago, Madox knew he needed the right piece of real estate, and before you know it, he’s shopping for land in the Adirondack Mountains.” I added, “Best investment he ever made.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I guess that’s what happened… but it didn’t work.”

“No, thank God, it didn’t, or we wouldn’t be here talking about it.”

“Why didn’t it work?”

I went over it in my mind and replied, “My guess is that he underestimated the sophistication and complexities of the computers and the software, which are obviously an integral part of the coded ELF transmissions. And at some point, he was warned by his inside guy that if he kept trying to get the launch code right, the government would make an all-out effort to discover the source of these bogus transmissions, and the FBI would be breaking down the door of the Custer Hill Club. So he gave up on his interesting hobby.”

“Or maybe God intervened.”

I gave that some consideration and said, “I have no doubt that Bain Madox believed he was on God’s side, and God was on his.”

“Well, He wasn’t.”

“Apparently not. Meanwhile, what is the connection between ELF and Mikhail Putyov, former Soviet nuclear weapons physicist, currently a professor at MIT, and houseguest of Mr. Madox?”

Kate thought a moment, then replied, “Maybe… maybe this time, Madox is going to try to get our subs to launch against predesignated targets in the Mideast, China, or North Korea.”

I processed that and said, “That sounds like the Bain Madox we know. Interesting possibility. But it still doesn’t explain Putyov.”

Kate thought about that and probably about things she never dreamed she’d be thinking about yesterday. She asked me, or herself, “What the hell is this guy up to?”

“I think he’s up to Plan B, and I have no idea what that is, except that it’s a version of Plan A, which didn’t work fifteen years ago.”

I looked at my watch and stood. “Here’s what I want you to do, Kate. Go online and see if there’s anything else we need to know about ELF waves. Also, Google Mikhail Putyov, and while you’re at it, Bain Madox.”

“Okay…”

“And this is important-get the laptop back to Wilma before six-thirty.”