agreed.
Hollingshead nodded. Then he glanced at his watch. “We’re waiting on a third. Someone with information we need. They’ll be here in a few minutes, but first—I need you to tell me something. Tell me everything you know about the Dead Hand.”
Chapel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He sat down at the table. “Well, two things, I suppose. I know what it is.”
“Go on.”
Chapel shrugged. “A computer system. The Soviets built it back in the eighties in a secret location south of Moscow. It was supposed to be one of the biggest and most complex computers in the world, at least for the time. It was wired into their nuclear arsenal, with links to every missile silo they had.”
“And its purpose?” Hollingshead asked.
Chapel nodded. “It was called the Dead Hand because it was supposed to be similar to the dead man’s switch on a train—a switch the train’s driver has to keep constantly touching or the train won’t go. If the driver has a heart attack or something, he’ll let go of that switch and the train will automatically stop. Except the Dead Hand was designed for the opposite purpose. It was designed to constantly monitor the region around Moscow. If the Kremlin were destroyed—say, by an American nuclear attack—the Dead Hand would turn itself on. And then it would launch every missile the Soviets had at the United States. It was designed so that even if we successfully decapitated the Soviet command structure, they could still have their revenge and make sure we didn’t survive World War III. A completely automated retaliation system.”
Hollingshead fiddled with the one-time pad on the table in front of him. “Like the Lernaean Hydra, wouldn’t you say? You cut off the head, and a new one grows back—it only gets more dangerous. The ultimate deterrent. We wouldn’t dare attack Moscow, knowing the price we would pay.”
“That was the theory,” Chapel said.
“You said you knew two things,” Hollingshead prompted. “What was the other?”
“I know it doesn’t really exist.” Chapel sat up straight in his chair. “It was a ruse. Nobody sane would ever build something like that—a machine that could destroy an entire country with no human input. The possibility of a computer error could never be ruled out. The Soviets floated the story of the Dead Hand as a kind of engineered urban legend. They wanted us to think it existed. But of course after the fall of the Soviet Union, when Russia became our ally, the story wasn’t necessary anymore. A number of Russian officials have denied categorically that the Dead Hand was ever more than a thought experiment—they claim it was never built, and never got past the drawing board.”
Hollingshead nodded. He wasn’t meeting Chapel’s eye, which was a bad thing, usually. “You know two things,” he said. “One of them is correct.”
“You don’t mean—”
“Son, this may come as a surprise to you, but when you say nobody sane would ever create such a thing, well, that group doesn’t include the leadership of the Soviet Union in the 1980s. They were paranoid enough to build the damn thing. It is very real, and it was designed for exactly the purpose you describe. It went online in 1983.”
Chapel felt like the temperature in the room had just dropped twenty degrees. “And if we’re sitting here talking about it—”
“It went online in 1983, and it has been functional ever since. It’s still there, still doing its job. Ready to launch every missile in the Russian arsenal at the United States, at a moment’s notice. Nobody ever turned it off.”
THE PENTAGON: JUNE 14, 08:28
“You’re kidding me. This thing is still active? It’s a loaded gun pointed right at our heads, and it’s still active?”
“Yes,” Hollingshead said. “Even though the politics have changed, the launch codes have not.” The director sighed deeply. “It’s an existential threat to the United States, to the, ah, well,
Hollingshead nodded. Then he glanced at his watch. “We’re waiting on a third. Someone with information we need. They’ll be here in a few minutes, but first—I need you to tell me something. Tell me everything you know about the Dead Hand.”
Chapel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He sat down at the table. “Well, two things, I suppose. I know what it is.”
“Go on.”
Chapel shrugged. “A computer system. The Soviets built it back in the eighties in a secret location south of Moscow. It was supposed to be one of the biggest and most complex computers in the world, at least for the time. It was wired into their nuclear arsenal, with links to every missile silo they had.”
“And its purpose?” Hollingshead asked.
Chapel nodded. “It was called the Dead Hand because it was supposed to be similar to the dead man’s switch on a train—a switch the train’s driver has to keep constantly touching or the train won’t go. If the driver has a heart attack or something, he’ll let go of that switch and the train will automatically stop. Except the Dead Hand was designed for the opposite purpose. It was designed to constantly monitor the region around Moscow. If the Kremlin were destroyed—say, by an American nuclear attack—the Dead Hand would turn itself on. And then it would launch every missile the Soviets had at the United States. It was designed so that even if we successfully decapitated the Soviet command structure, they could still have their revenge and make sure we didn’t survive World War III. A completely automated retaliation system.”
Hollingshead fiddled with the one-time pad on the table in front of him. “Like the Lernaean Hydra, wouldn’t you say? You cut off the head, and a new one grows back—it only gets more dangerous. The ultimate deterrent. We wouldn’t dare attack Moscow, knowing the price we would pay.”
“That was the theory,” Chapel said.
“You said you knew two things,” Hollingshead prompted. “What was the other?”
“I know it doesn’t really exist.” Chapel sat up straight in his chair. “It was a ruse. Nobody sane would ever build something like that—a machine that could destroy an entire country with no human input. The possibility of a computer error could never be ruled out. The Soviets floated the story of the Dead Hand as a kind of engineered urban legend. They wanted us to think it existed. But of course after the fall of the Soviet Union, when Russia became our ally, the story wasn’t necessary anymore. A number of Russian officials have denied categorically that the Dead Hand was ever more than a thought experiment—they claim it was never built, and never got past the drawing board.”
Hollingshead nodded. He wasn’t meeting Chapel’s eye, which was a bad thing, usually. “You know two things,” he said. “One of them is correct.”
“You don’t mean—”
“Son, this may come as a surprise to you, but when you say nobody sane would ever create such a thing, well, that group doesn’t include the leadership of the Soviet Union in the 1980s. They were paranoid enough to build the damn thing. It is very real, and it was designed for exactly the purpose you describe. It went online in 1983.”
Chapel felt like the temperature in the room had just dropped twenty degrees. “And if we’re sitting here talking about it—”
“It went online in 1983, and it has been functional ever since. It’s still there, still doing its job. Ready to launch every missile in the Russian arsenal at the United States, at a moment’s notice. Nobody ever turned it off.”
THE PENTAGON: JUNE 14, 08:28
“You’re kidding me. This thing is still active? It’s a loaded gun pointed right at our heads, and it’s still active?”
“Yes,” Hollingshead said. “Even though the politics have changed, the launch codes have not.” The director sighed deeply. “It’s an existential threat to the United States, to the, ah, well,
Similar Books
