The commander's head snapped around as though driven by a steel spring. “What? What do—”
Ghosn held up his hand. He spoke softly, but positively. “What I am sure of, Commander, is that this is the explosive portion of an atomic bomb. An Israeli atomic bomb.”
“Impossible!” the Commander whispered.
“Touch it,” Ghosn suggested.
The Commander bent down and touched a finger to it. “It's warm, why?”
“From the decay of alpha particles. A form of radiation that is not harmful — here it is not, in any case. That is plutonium, the explosive element of an atomic bomb. It can be nothing else.”
“You're sure?”
“Positive, absolutely positive. It can only be what I say it is.” Ghosn walked over to the bombcase. “These”—he held up some tiny electronic parts—“they look like glass spiders, no? They are called kryton switches, they perform their function with total precision, and that kind of precision is necessary for only one application found inside a bombcase. These explosive blocks, the intact ones, note that some are hexagons, some are pentagons? That is necessary to make a perfect explosive sphere. A shaped charge, like that for an RPG, but the focus is inward. These explosive blocks are designed to crush that sphere to the size of a walnut.”
“But it's metal! What you say is not possible.”
'Commander, I do not know as much as I should of these matters, but I do know a little. When the explosives go off, they compress that metal sphere as though it were made of rubber. It is possible — you know what an RPG does to the metal on a tank, no? There is enough explosive here for a hundred RPG projectiles. They will crush the metal as I say. When it is compressed, the proximity of the atoms begins a nuclear chain-reaction. Think, Commander:
“The bomb fell into the old man's garden on the first day of the October War. The Israelis were frightened by the force of the Syrian attack, and they were immensely surprised by the effectiveness of the Russian rockets. The aircraft was shot down, and the bomb was lost. The exact circumstances don't matter. What matters, Ismael, is that we have the parts of a nuclear bomb.” Ghosn pulled out another cigarette and lit it.
“Can you…”
“Possibly,” the engineer said. Qati's face was suddenly cleared of the pain he'd known for over a month.
“Truly Allah is beneficent.”
“Truly He is. Commander, we need to think about this, very carefully, very thoroughly. And security…”
Qati nodded. “Oh, yes. You did well to bring me here alone. For this matter we can trust no one… no one at all… ” Qati let his voice trail off, then turned to his man. “What do you need to do?”
“My first need is for information — books, Commander. And do you know where I must go to get them?”
“ Russia?”
Ghosn shook his head. “ Israel, Commander. Where else?”
Representative Alan Trent met with Ryan in a House hearing room. It was the one used for closed-door hearings, and was swept daily for bugs.
“How's life treating you, Jack?” the congressman asked.
“No special complaints, Al. The President had a good day.”
“Indeed he did — the whole world did. The country owes you a debt of thanks, Dr. Ryan.”
Jack's smile dripped with irony. “Let's not allow anybody to learn that, okay?”
Trent shrugged. “Rules of the game. You should be used to it by now. So. What brings you down on such short notice?”
“We have a new operation going. It's called NIITAKA.” The DDCI explained on for several minutes. At a later date he would have to hand over some documentation. All that was required now was notification of the operation and its purpose.
“A million dollars a month. That's all he wants?” Trent laughed aloud.
“The Director was appalled,” Jack reported.
“I've always liked Marcus, but he's a tightfisted son of a bitch. We've got two certified Japan-bashers on the oversight committee, Jack. It's going to be hard to rein them in with this stuff.”
“Three, counting you, Al.”
Trent looked very hurt. “Me, a Japan-basher? Just because there used to be two TV factories in my district, and a major auto-parts supplier has laid off half its people? Why the hell should I be the least bit angry about that? Let me see the cabinet minutes,” the congressman commanded.
Ryan opened his case. “You can't copy them, you can't quote from them. Look, Al, this is a long-term op and—”
“Jack, I didn't just get into town from the chicken ranch, did I? You've turned into a humorless SOB. What's the problem?”
“Long hours,” Jack explained, as he handed the papers over. Al Trent was a speed reader, and flicked through the pages with indecent speed. His face went into neutral, and he turned back into what he was before all things, a cold, calculating politician. He was well to the left side of the spectrum, but, unlike most of his ilk, Trent let his ideology stop at the water's edge. He also saved his passion for the House floor and his bed at home. Elsewhere he was icily analytical.
“Fowler will go ballistic when he sees this. They are the most arrogant people. You've sat in on cabinet meetings. Ever hear stuff like this?” Trent asked.
“Only on political matters. I was surprised by the tone of the language, too, but it might just be a cultural thing, remember.”
The congressman looked up briefly. “True. Beneath the patina of good manners, they can be wild and crazy folks, kind of like the Brits, but this is like Animal House… Christ, Jack, this is explosive. Who recruited him?”
“The usual mating dance. He shows up at various receptions, and Chief of Station Tokyo caught a whiff, let it simmer for a few weeks, then made his move. The Russian handed over the packet and his contractual demands.”
“Why Operation NIITAKA, by the way? I've heard that before somewhere, haven't I?”
“I picked it myself. When the Japanese strike force was heading for Pearl Harbor, the mission-execute signal was ”Climb Mount Niitaka.“ Remember, you're the only guy here who knows that word. We're going onto a monthly-change identification cycle on this. This is hot enough that we're giving him the whole treatment.”
“Right,” Trent agreed. “What if this guy's an agent provocateur?”
“We've wondered about that. It's possible, but unlikely. For KGB to do that — well, it kinda breaks the rules as they are understood now, doesn't it?”
“Wait!” Trent read over the last page again. “What the hell's this about communications?”
“What it is, is scary.” Ryan explained what he wanted to do.
“Fifty million? You sure?”
That's the one-time start-up costs. Then there's the new communicators. Total annual costs after start-up are about fifteen million.'
“Pretty reasonable, actually.” Trent shook his head. “NSA is quoting a much higher price to switch over to their system.”
They have a bigger infrastructure to worry about. That number I gave you ought to be solid. M ERCURY is pretty small.'
“How soon do you want it?” Trent knew that Ryan quoted hard budget numbers. It came from his business experience, Al knew, which was pretty thin in government service.
“Last week would be nice, sir.”
Trent nodded. “I'll see what I can do. You want it 'black,' of course?”
“Like a cloudy midnight,” Ryan answered.
“God damn it!” Trent swore. “I've told Olson about this. His technical weenies do their rain dance and he buys it every time. What if—”
“Yeah, what if all our communications are compromised.” Jack did not make it a question. “Thank God for glasnost, eh?”
“Does Marcus understand the implications?”
“I explained it to him this morning. He understands. Al, Cabot may not have all the experience you or I would like, but he's a fast learner. I've had worse bosses.”
