In the Darkness of Shadow Moses : The Unofficial Truth, By Nastasha Romanenko
A biographical and complete review of the Shadow Moses, the events leading up to and the results of the mission
"I dedicate this book to the casualties of Shadow Moses as well as to all those who suffered the tyranny of the nuclear weapons -- and to Richard Ames." - Nastasha Romanenko
PROLOGUE
Shadow Moses Island: XX•ZXX'N , XX•ZXX'W. Even the local fishermen rarely venture to this outcropping of land. Yet the incident of all incidents took place on this remote isle, north of Alaska's Fox Islands. A number of confirmed facts undermine the U.S. govern- ment's denial of the entire affair. Among those are the sudden appearance of the Ohio-class nuclear submarine USS Discovery off Shadow Moses, far away from its designated position, and an official record that shows that a squadron of six fully-armed F117 Nighthawks departed from Galena Air Force base for Alaska a scant sixteen hours later. In another possibly related event, an E-3C AWACS on emergency deployment to the Alaska area is said to have had none other than the then- National Security Advisor Jim Houseman as its on-board VIP.
What exactly happened on Shadow Moses? There was no lack of rumors to account for this series of unusual military activities: an armed incursion, a coup attempt by a branch of the military and other theories made its way to the public table. I can state unequivocally that none of them came close to the truth. What actually took place was the single greatest terrorist incident in modern history. It was an act of political violence on a scale the world had never seen, a blow that threatened to send the Damocles' sword of nuclear warfare into a free-fall. Most significant of all, the attack stemmed from several so-called 'Black Projects' which the U.S. government had been conducting in top secret, away from public scrutiny. I have in my hand two optical discs. One contains the entire record of events that took place on Shadow Moses Island that fateful day: the takeover of a nuclear weapons disposal plant by an armed group.
Other key points of this incredible record are: - The identification of the perpetrators as the government's own genetically-enhanced next-generation commandos and a covert special forces squad, FOXHOUND, with a long dark history of secret intervention - The existence of one Metal Gear REX, a bipedal nuclear-capable tank whose development was one of the most classified projects of all time - The discovery of a massive government conspiracy - The activities of a former FOXHOUND operative who single-handedly took on this daunting situation and averted the crisis, a man who is known only by his code name: Solid Snake The other remaining disc holds the details of Project FOXDIE, a massive cover-up, which the U.S. government planned and executed in order to prevent exposure. There are, after all, forces within the U.S. government who seek to maintain the military power structure established in the last century, and will not hesitate to resuscitate the terror of nuclear arms in order to achieve that end.
My intent is to expose their activity, and the entirety of the Shadow Moses Affair, through this book. Only then can we hope to free the coming generations from the damnosa hereditas of the 20th-century nuclear arms race. I looked up from the mass of documents at the sound of the doorbell. On the monitor in front of me was a half-finished status report on the resurgence of nuclear arms development in a certain Middle Eastern state. The UNSCOM (United Nations Special Commission) had officially requested a survey by the UN weapons inspectors, and had been refused entry; tensions were once again running high in the Gulf. As a military analyst whose specialty was nuclear arms, I was under contract from a think tank to produce a study of the situation. It was due the day after the next, and interruptions were definitely not welcome. I ground out my cigarette in the ashtray and stepped out of the study. All visitors to my house are checked via a surveillance camera and then let in through the heavy gate. The property itself is surrounded by a high wall.
It may seem like overkill for a beach community, but security is a necessity in greater Los Angeles, if only to keep out the legion of swimsuit-clad tourists. However, there was nobody to be seen at the gate. It was either a prank, or the camera was malfunctioning. Reluctant to investigate but feeling unsettled nevertheless, I headed back to the study and sat back down at the computer to continue my work. Just then, someone spoke behind me. "You always were a little careless." I spun around, kicking my chair over. There was a man standing at the entrance of the study, slouching in a well-tailored suit. "Richard!" He caught my eye and grinned. Ignoring my surprise, he strolled into the room, gazing around at the pile of books and papers. "And still as disorganized as ever." He shrugged his shoulders in a familiar gesture, triggering a wave of memories laced with bitterness.
Richard Ames and I were married, once upon a time. We were both young, and working for the DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency). We spent much of our brief marriage in disagreement over virtually every issue, and just as I came to realize that our union was a mistake, he disappeared from my life. A while later, I received the paperwork for divorce from his lawyer. There was a generous alimony offer involved, which I refused. Not only did I find the thought of owing him anything intolerable, I also wanted to prove that he was not the only one who could walk away without an explanation. The divorce was finalized without us ever meeting face-to-face, and we were legally strangers once again. In the five years since, I quit the DIA and became a freelance analyst. I had not seen Richard at all, nor even heard of his whereabouts. "How did you get in here?" I demanded.
After all, attempting to scale the wall or force the front door would immediately trigger the security system. But he refused to be ruffled. "If you're going to use a flimsy lock like that, may as well not bother. I'd recommend a more professional security setup." "Does the term 'breaking and entering' mean anything to you, Richard?" "You know law isn't my field of expertise," he replied nimbly and peered over my shoulder at the report on the computer display. "Radio isotope projectile separator... uranium-235 production feasibility for high- speed gas centrifuge... This must be about that Middle East nuke development. Looks like your career is going well. That's great." I pushed Richard aside and asked him flatly. "What do you want?" He took a step back and regarded me with a slightly mischievous smile. "What, you afraid I came back to give us another chance?" He let the silence linger as if to relish my reaction. Then, suddenly formal, he continued, "It's an official request from the DIA." He placed a folder on the desk.
"I'm asking for your cooperation as a member of NEST." NEST stands for Nuclear Emergency Search Team, a group that operates on the Department of Energy budget. It was established in 1974 to provide technological support to the FBI in areas of intelligence, investigation, site securement, damage containment and medical response during incidents involving criminal threats of nuclear weapon use. Call it a band of experts on nuclear terrorism, if you will. NEST consists of independently contracted scientists from federally funded research entities like Los Alamos and Lawrence Livermore, and military specialists from groups dealing with nuclear arms issues. I happen to be one of the latter group. Richard was opening the file folder. "You've heard of Shadow Moses Island, I assume." I nodded assent. I had indeed heard of the remote place, north of Alaska's Fox Islands. Though it was hardly public knowledge, the island was home to a nuclear weapons disposal facility.
According to the terms of the START2 (Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty), the total number of tactical nuclear warheads owned by the U.S. and Russia were reduced to some- where between 3000 and 3500 in the later decades of the twentieth century. The outcome was a massive number of warheads in need of disposal when there was already a shortage of storage space for radioactive materials. As a result, warheads had to be kept somewhere before they could be dismantled and their radioactive elements extracted for long-term storage. The Shadow Moses facility was the answer. It was the crystallization of the forces of nuclear proliferation, political engineering that gives preference to delaying a solution rather than producing one and a hidden military agenda to preserve what it could of the old nuclear stockpile. Richard took out several photographs from the folder and handed them to me. They all appeared to be satellite captures of the nuclear weapons disposal plant on Shadow Moses Island, perhaps acquired from the NRO (National Reconnaissance Office).
There were multiple human figures around the building structures. Richard broke the silence. "The disposal plant was seized by terror- ists." I looked up sharply at the news, but his next words left me speechless. "And the ringleaders are FOXHOUND members." An "irregular" team of the best commandos the military has to offer, armed with cutting- edge technology. That was FOXHOUND. The best of the best, and completely unknown to the public they ostensibly serve. Their function was to intervene in the kind of low-intensity conflicts the U.S. could not officially touch. They were the shadow soldiers of numerous regional conflicts and civil wars, shaping history with sabotage, selective assassination and other covert acts of war. Richard had more to say. "It's not just FOXHOUND that's involved in this. FOXHOUND was conducting joint exercises with the next- generation special forces, and they're a part of the takeover as well."
The next-generation special forces is an aggressive anti-terrorism squad deployed to counter acts of political violence involving weapons of mass destruction such as nuclear, biological and chemical warfare methods. The combat philosophy is derived from the one used for Force 21, and most of the recruits come from a mercenary background. The men are intensively trained in VR environment, and their combat capability is estimated to be well beyond even those of Delta Force or the Night Stalkers. While the government categorically denies the accusation, there are persistent rumors that the men have been genetically enhanced to increase tactical advantage. FOXHOUND and the next-generation special forces. They were without a doubt the most skilled group of fighting men produced by the U.S., and they had hijacked a nuclear arsenal. Richard had more bad news.
"There are also civilian hostages involved. Two of them happen to be the DARPA chief, Donald Anderson, and Kenneth Baker, the president of ArmsTech, Inc." The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency is the research satellite of the U.S. Defense Department, charged with planning and leading the development of new weapons technology; AT happens to be one of the top three defense contractors in the country. There is no such thing as a coincidence, especially the kind that involves the head of these two organizations meeting in an out-of-way nuclear weapons disposal plant. I decided to be direct with Richard. "There was something going on in that 'disposal' facility, I take it? Let me guess -- a demonstration of a new weapon." "How should I know? Shadow Moses is also a prime Northern Lights observation locale, you know." Whatever Richard knew, he wasn't telling. But his evasiveness only confirmed my suspicions. Whatever was going on, this was no ordinary terrorist incident.
With that in mind, I moved onto another point. "What are their demands?" "They want a body. Not just any corpse though -- they want FOXHOUND's founder, Big Boss. Legendary soldier, best fighting man of the twentieth century, the whole works." "His body? Why would they want something like that so badly?" "No idea, but unless they have it within 24 hours, they'll launch a nuclear strike." Richard glanced at the watch coolly. "So we have about 19 hours." "You don't seem too worried." "The DOD is already working on the situation." Just as I'd suspected. Richard always has a plan in place and the machinery in motion before opening up to someone else. All he asks from others is approval after the fact. "Shadow Moses is completely locked down.
We had to rule out deploying an entire assault team. Instead, we're inserting a single operative to free the hostages and prevent the nuclear strike." "Impossible." "Possible -- for Solid Snake." Solid Snake...! The former FOXHOUND, a legend among mercenaries for single-handedly bringing down the fortress cities of Outer Heaven and Zanzibar Land. Yes, with Solid Snake in thepicture, there was a possibility of success. But still... "USS Discovery, an Ohio-class nuclear submarine, is already in place with Snake aboard." So the plan was already a go. I looked Richard in the eye and held his gaze. "And what do I have to do with all this?" He grinned. "Snake may be a legend, but he knows jack about nuclear weapons. Which is why I'm asking you to be a part of mission support. We'll have you set up in no time." Right on cue, two men started to move a large piece of hardware, apparently communi- cation equipment, into the study. Richard nodded towards the bulky load. "I'd like you to be available to Snake for consultation via satellite linkup." As soon as the equipment was in place, an engineer type started to make adjustments. I could see another group of men setting up a satellite dish in the backyard. They were all in civilian clothes, but not a few of them had the build and the oddly-fitting jacket that marked them as armed military personnel.
Clearly, refusal was not an option. But there was still something that puzzled me. NEST has a small investigative team, SRT, on standby at all times for immediate response. They were stationed at Nellis AFB in Las Vegas, just over in Nevada. Clearly, they were the natural choice for this assignment. And if not the SRT, the DIA also had a number of qualified nuclear weapon specialists. Richard had started to direct his men on where to set up the equipment, but I inter- rupted him. "Why me?" He turned and answered without missing a beat. "I need people I can trust. There's too much at stake." It was a lie. The Richard Ames I knew trusted no one. But it was clear that whatever the reason, he did not intend to tell me. "It's a good thing I was in. What would you have done if I weren't?" "You have to be somewhere. We would have located you." "I'm sure you would have." "So are you in?" I took a deep breath. "Of course."
I don't enjoy being a pawn, especially Richard's, but I had no intention ofstanding by while nuclear terrorism was in progress. A nuclear strike takes an untold number of lives, all in a blink of an eye. Adults and infants, women and men, it kills indiscriminately. If there was a chance that I could do something to stay the hand on the nuclear button, I had to do it. "So everything is set..." Richard slapped a fist into the other palm. "Insertion was a success. Snake is on Shadow Moses." Richard walked into the study with the update he'd just received from one of his men. The study was almost unrecognizable, thanks in part to the racks of communication hardware. Cables snaked across every square inch of available space, and engineers and DIA agents were coming and going in controlled chaos. The place looked like what it now was -- a temporary mission control room. Richard laid a hand on my shoulder. "You should be hearing from him soon. You're clear on how to use the radio?" I nodded assent.
While the engineers were busy setting up the equipment, I had been briefed on its use as well as the mission. Snake had been delivered to the general area of Shadow Moses Island by USS Discovery, an Ohio-class nuclear submarine. He was then ejected from the submarine on a swimmer delivery vehicle (SDV), which he abandoned once within the range of under- water listening devices located near the disposal plant. He would swim the rest of the way, in the freezing cold Bering Sea water. This last leg of the insertion struck me as nothing short of suicidal until I learned that Solid Snake was outfitted with a state-of-the- art sneaking suit and had been injected with a compound designed to prevent the onset of hypothermia. In addition, while Snake would be the only field operative involved, he would be in radio contact with a support team during much of the mission. The members of this support team drew from a wide range of backgrounds.
The mission control officer was Colonel Roy Campbell, who would remain aboard the USS Discovery. I knew him by reputation alone. He was a former FOXHOUND commander, and Solid Snake's CO during the quelling of the 1999 Zanzibar Land uprising. He had retired soon after, but from the looks of things, he had been called out of retirement for this mission. Dr. Naomi Hunter, a genetic engineering expert on a temporary assignment from the gentech giant ATGC, was also on the team. She had apparently been leading the bio- engineering program for FOXHOUND. Richard matter-of-factly confirmed that both FOX- HOUND and the next-generation special forces had been undergoing genetic manipulation to enhance their combat capability. I have a difficult time grasping what we have come to -- modifying a person's essential genetic structure for the sake of creating a better soldier.
Also aboard the Discovery was Mei Ling, the inventor of the new radar and communication system deployed for this mission. She was something of an engineering wunderkind, an MIT student who managed to turn the current protocol of secure communication completely on its head. The last of the support team was McDonnell Miller, a former survival instructor for FOX- HOUND. Unlike the rest of us, he had volunteered his services upon receiving news of the incident on Shadow Moses. Like myself, he was working via satellite linkup from his home in Alaska. The five of us were more than equipped to support Snake from our respective areas of expertise, but Snake was still the lone field operative and the mission was a desperate one. Despite that, Richard maintained that this was the most workable plan produced by the DOD situational analysis. In hindsight, perhaps I should have suspected something then. The signs of a conspiracy were there, cleverly disguised as it was in a seemingly reckless mission plan. But we failed to see it, and both Solid Snake and I were to regret our folly bitterly.
"It's time, Nastasha," Richard called out as the call signal came on. The line was already live as I nodded to him and took my position. I could feel myself growing keener, more on edge. "This is Nastasha Romanenko. Good to meet you, Solid Snake." "You the nuke expert that the Colonel was talking about?" The voice that responded over the radio was, above all things, calm. Here was a man operating alone out of a deeply hostile territory, and I could sense nothing resembling tension or impatience in his tone. Instead, it was as level and unruffled as someone answering a routine telephone call at their office desk. Impressed, I continued on. "Correct. If you have any questions about nuclear technology, all you need to do is ask. My department is military analysis, so I should be able to provide support with weapons information as well. I was called into this mission as a Nuclear Emergency Search Team (NEST) consultant, and I'd like to emphasize that my cooperation was freely given.
I have no intention of allowing any nuclear strikes on my watch, let alone the rogue kind. Let me work with you on this one." "...You get to the point fast, don't you?" "There's a missile that's about to fly. A nuclear strike can never be someone else's problem, and I'm not good at standing around twiddling my thumbs... Not that I can do little more than advise in this case." That fact was all too obvious. Snake was the one who was putting his life on the line in Alaska, and I was safe and sound in California. All I could do was talk over the radio. Snake's voice became less abrupt. "It may not seem like much, but it's enough. No one's asking you to come out here and fight. That's my job... Anyway, Nastasha, I'll be counting on your help." It was a strangely comforting voice, a voice that inspired trust. "Same here." As I answered, I resolved to myself to do everything in my power to help him complete this mission. "The nuclear weapons disposal plant on Shadow Moses dates back to 2002.
It was built solely for the purpose of temporarily storing nuclear warheads slated for disposal..." I started to brief Snake on the background of the disposal facility, running through the points he needed to know.
