“Stopped it?” Ryan shrugged. “I just wouldn't — it was a lie, Ali. I was lucky I guessed — no, that's not true. I didn't know that until later. It's just that I couldn't put my name to it, that's all. Your Highness, that's not important now. There are some things I have to do. Sir, will you help us?”
“With anything, my friend.”
“Ivan Emmettovich!” Golovko called. And to Ali, “Your Royal Highness.”
“Sergey Nikolay'ch. Avi.” The Russian walked up with Avi Ben Jakob at his side.
“Jack,” John Clark said. “You guys want to get to a better spot? One mortar round sure would waste a lot of top spooks, y'know?”
“Come with me,” Avi said, who led them inside. Golovko briefed them on what he had.
“The man is still alive?” Ben Jakob asked.
“Suffering all the pains of hell, but yes, for another few days.”
“I cannot go to Damascus,” Avi said.
“You never told us you lost a nuke,” Ryan said.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. The press doesn't have that yet, but they will in another day or two. Avi, you never told us there was something lost out there! Do you know what that might have meant to us?” Ryan asked.
“We assumed that it had broken up. We tried to search for it, but—”
“Geology,” Dr. Lowell said. “The Golan Heights are volcanic, lots of basaltic rock, makes for a high background count, and that means it's hard to track in on a hot spot — but you still should have told us. We have some tricks at Livermore we might have used, stuff not too many people know about.”
“I am sorry, but it is done,” General Ben Jakob said. “You fly to Damascus, then?”
They used Prince Ali's plane for that, a personal Boeing 727 whose flight crew, Jack learned, was exclusively composed of former drivers from the President's Wing. It was nice to travel first class. The mission was covert, and the Syrians cooperated. Representatives from the U.S., Soviet, and Saudi embassies attended a brief meeting at the Syrian Foreign Ministry, and then they went off to the hospital.
He'd been a powerful man, Jack could see, but he was wasting away like dead, rotting meat. Despite the oxygen line under his nose, his skin was almost blue. All his visitors had to wear protective gear, and Ryan was careful to keep back. Ali handled the interrogation.
“You know why I am here?”
The man nodded.
“As you hope to see Allah, you will tell me what you know.”
The armored column of the 10th Armored Cavalry Regiment ran from the Negev to the border of Lebanon. Overhead was a full squadron of F-16s, and another of Tomcats from the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The Syrian army was also deployed in force, though its air force was staying out of the way. The Middle East had taken its lesson on American air power. The display of force was massive and unequivocal. The word was out: nobody would get in the way. The vehicles drove deep into the small, abused country, and finally onto a valley road. The spot had been marked on the map by a dying man anxious to save what remained of his soul, and only an hour's work was needed to determine the exact location. Army engineers found the entrance and checked for booby-traps, then waved the others in.
“God Almighty,” Dr. Lowell said, swinging a powerful light around the darkened room. More engineers swept the room, checking for wires on the machines, and carefully checking every drawer of every table before the rest were allowed farther than the door. Then Lowell went to work. There was a set of plans that he took outside to read in the light.
“You know,” he said after fifteen minutes of total silence, “I never really appreciated how easy this was. We've had this illusion that you really needed to—” He stopped. “Illusion, that's the right word.”
“What are you telling me?”
“It was supposed to be a five-hundred-kiloton device.”
“If it had gone off right, we would have known it had to be the Russians,” Jack said. “No one could have stopped it. We wouldn't be here now.”
“Yeah, I think we have to adjust our threat estimate some.”
“Doc, we think we found something,” an Army officer said. Dr. Lowell went inside, then returned to don protective clothing.
“So large as that?” Golovko asked, staring at the plans.
“Clever people. Do you know how hard it was for me to persuade the President that — excuse me. I didn't, did I? If this had been a big one, I would have believed the report.”
“And what report is that?” Golovko asked.
“Can we conduct a little business?”
“If you wish.”
“You're holding someone we want,” Jack said.
“Lyalin?”
“Yes.”
“He betrayed his country. He will suffer for it.”
“Sergey, first, he gave us nothing that we could use against you. That was his deal. We only got the take from THISTLE, his Japanese network. Second, except for him and what he gave us, we might not be here now. Turn him loose.”
“In return for what?”
“We have an agent who told us that Narmonov was being blackmailed by your military, and that your military was using some missing tactical nuclear weapons to make it stick. That's why we suspected that the weapon might have been yours.”
“But that's a lie!”
“He was very convincing,” Ryan replied. “I almost believed it myself. The President and Dr. Elliot did believe it, and that's why things got so bad on us. I'll gladly hang this bastard out to dry, but it's betraying a confidence… remember our conversation in my office, Sergey? If you want that name, you have to pay.”
“That man we will shoot,” Golovko promised.
“No, you can't.”
“What do you mean?”
“We've cut him off, and all I said was that he lied to us. He gave us stuff that wasn't true, even in your country it does not constitute espionage, does it? Better not to kill him. You'll understand, if we can make this deal.”
The First Deputy Chairman considered that for a moment. “You can have Lyalin — three days. You have my word, Jack.”
“Our man has the codename of SPINNAKER. Oleg Kirilovich—”
“Kadishev? Kadishev!”
“You think you're disappointed? You ought to see it from my side.”
“This is the truth — no games now, Ryan?”
“On that, sir, you have my word of honor. I wouldn't mind seeing him shot, but he's a politician, and in this case he really didn't commit espionage, did he? Do something creative with him. Make him dogcatcher somewhere,” Jack suggested.
Golovko nodded. “It will be done.”
“A pleasure doing business with you, Sergey. A shame about Lyalin.”
“What do you mean?” Golovko asked.
“The stuff he was giving us — both of us — it's really too valuable to lose…”
“We do not do business to that degree, Ryan, but I admire your sense of humor.”
Dr. Lowell emerged from the structure just then, carrying a lead bucket.
“What's in there?”
“I think it's some plutonium. Want to take a closer look? You could end up like our friend in Damascus.” Lowell handed the bucket to a soldier, and to the engineer-commander he said, “Move everything out, box it, ship it.
