“Even in that unlikely event, it wouldn’t matter.”
McGarvey opened his eyes. “Was the bomb aboard the plane set on a timer?”
“Yes, it was,” Carrara said. “But we had all the time in the world to disarm it, because it hadn’t been set to go off for another 98 hours.”
McGarvey did the arithmetic. A little over four days. “What day would it have gone off?”
“Thursday.”
“I mean the date, Phil. What date was it set to explode in San Francisco?”
“The sixth of August.”
McGarvey was suddenly very cold. He had no idea what the date was now. “What day is it today, Phil?”
“It’s Sunday, August ninth… Oh, my, God.”
“On August 6, 1945 we dropped an atomic bomb on the seaport city of Hiroshima. Three days later, on August 9th, we dropped a second bomb on a seaport city, Nagasaki, south of Hiroshima. Nakamura’s first bomb was set for San Francisco. His second is set for Los Angeles.”
“Today,” Carrara said, amazed.
“What time was the Nagasaki bomb dropped?” McGarey asked. He looked up at the digital clock in the overhead television. It was 8:47 a.m.
Carrara was back a few seconds later. “The bomb was dropped on Hiroshima at 8:05 on the morning of August sixth. Nakamura’s bomb was originally set to go off in San Francisco at exactly that time.”
“What about the second bomb?”
“This morning at 11:02,” Carrara said. “Your time, I hope, which gives us less than two and a half hours. But where the hell is it?”
“Call the FBI,” McGarvey said, throwing off his covers and painfully crawling out of bed. “Have them standing by with the fastest plane they have to get me down to Los Angeles. I’m leaving here immediately. I know where the bomb is located-exactly where.”
“Where?” Carrara shouted.
“Aboard the Grande Dame II disguised as a sewage lift pump.”
Kelley Fuller was just climbing into a cab when McGarvey emerged limping from the hospital. He’d found his freshly laundered clothes in the closet and over the doctor’s protestations and threats had bullied his way out. Kelley fell back in shock.
“What’s happening, Kirk?”
“There’s a second bomb down in Los Angeles,” McGarvey shouted, shoving her aside and climbing in.
“What’s this about a bomb?” the cabbie demanded.
“Never mind, just get me to the airport as fast as you can. The general aviation terminal.”
“I’m going with you,” Kelley said, trying to climb in after him, but he pushed her back.
“You’re staying here.”
“I have to go with you,” she cried.
“Your friend Lana Toy is not dead.
She looked at him, her eyes suddenly wide. “What?”
“She’s in protective custody. She’s not dead, I swear it.”
“Was it Phil Carrara?” she asked in a small voice. McGarvey nodded. “Why?”
“He needed your help, and he was willing to tell you anything.” “Now you?” “I’m different.”
She looked into his eyes. “Yes, you are different,” she said, stepping back. After a moment she turned and walked away.
A Learjet with the FBI seal emblazoned on its fuselage was warming up on the apron for McGarvey when he arrived at the airport-and paid off the very impressed cabbie.
Special Agent Sam Wilke helped him aboard and even before he was strapped in they were taxiing toward the active runway, Special Agent Richard Conley piloting.
“We’ll be in L.A. in about an hour,” Wilke said as they started their takeoff roll.
“Washington wasn’t real specific about what was going on, except that you’re CIA, you need help, it’s damned important, and we need to go like a bat out of hell.”
“All of the above,” McGarvey said, sitting back. “Can you have a helicopter standing by for me?”
Wilke nodded. “Where are we headed?”
“To wherever the Grande Dame Two is docked. She’s a pleasure vessel out of Nagasaki, but registered in Monaco. Should have pulled in yesterday or maybe even this morning.”
“Do you want her and the crew impounded?”
“Negative,” McGarvey said, opening his eyes. “Under no circumstances is that ship or her crew to be approached by anyone.”
Wilke was looking at him. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good,” McGarvey said, lying back again as they climbed. He closed his eyes, and he could see the look on Kelley’s face when she’d learned that Carrara had lied to her, and that her friend was still alive. Relief. Hurt. Finally, fear.
An FBI 206 JetRanger helicopter was waiting for them on the pad at Los Angeles International Airport. Wilke came along with McGarvey and Kelley, and minutes after they stepped off the Learjet they were airborne toward the waterfront.
“The Grande Dame Two came in last night, and just cleared customs about two hours ago,” Wilke shouted over the roar. He’d been on the radio most of the way down.
“Where?” McGarvey asked.
“The Long Beach Marina. About twenty miles from here. We’ll make it in a few minutes.
But would you mind telling me what the hell is going on? Your boss said he’s on the way out.”
“What’s nearby?” McGarvey asked.
“Huntington Beach, Long Beach, of course.”
“Strategic targets.”
Wilke’s left eyebrow rose. “Long Beach Naval Shipyard, Los Alamitos Naval Air Station.”
“Anything high tech?”
“TSI Industries is building a new research unit somewhere down there, I think.”
McGarvey looked at him. “There’s an atomic bomb aboard that ship.”
Wilke didn’t know whether or not to believe him. “Set to explode when?”
“Two minutes after eleven, this morning.”
“Christ,” Wilke swore. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” McGarvey said. “I think I’ll be able to find it, but the problem might be the crew. Could be someone aboard who’ll push the button if we show up in force.”
Wilke was shaking his head. “It won’t matter,” he said. “At least it won’t in another fourteen minutes. That’s all the time left.”
The Grande Dame II was tied up at the end pier, and although the marina was very busy there was no one to be seen on deck.
The chopper had set down in a parking lot a quarter mile from the ship, and they’d commandeered a delivery truck from a confused, angry UPS driver.
Wilke remained with his walkie-talkie in the truck parked at the side of the office about fifty yards from the ship. He’d called for a SWAT team, a hostage negotiator, and the Bureau’s Interpol liaison man. A pair of nuclear weapons experts had already been dispatched from nearby Travis Air Force Base on Carrara’s orders and were expected on the scene at any minute.
McGarvey walked directly down to the ship and climbed the ladder, absolutely no time now for explanations or any sort of delicacy. Even if they tried to run, they couldn’t possibly get far enough away to escape the probable blast radius.
At the top he halted for a moment, listening, his ear cocked for sounds aboard. Some machinery was running below decks, but there were no other noises.
Nakamura’s people would have abandoned ship in time to get well away. At least they would have if they knew what they carried and when it would explode.
Wilke had given him a 9-millimeter Ruger automatic, which McGarvey pulled out of his belt an cocked. He
