Primary Threat

by Jack Mars

  “Why would the Russians be interested in this mosque?” Ed Newsam said.

  “It may be a safe and convenient cover for them,” Trudy said. “The Israeli pullout five years ago was seen as a major victory for the Shiite terrorist group Hezbollah. South Beirut is a Hezbollah stronghold. Hezbollah’s major sponsors are Syria and Iran, who are close allies with Russia, or if you prefer, Russian client states. If you ever want to find out who is really pulling Hezbollah’s strings, you need to look to Moscow.

  “Since 2000, Hezbollah has been consolidating its stranglehold on Beirut, and Lebanese society for that matter. Hezbollah’s military wing is considered more powerful than the Lebanese military, by a lot. And the Hezbollah religious leadership is seen as more legitimate in many people’s eyes than the elected politicians of Lebanon.

  “This year in Lebanon has been the year of the car bomb, and the truck bomb. Former Lebanese Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri was assassinated by a massive truck bomb back in February, an attack that killed twenty-two people. Hariri was a prominent critic of Syria, and an opponent of Hezbollah. Since then, it’s been a sort of open season. At least fourteen more car and trucks bombs have gone off, mostly in Beirut, but also in other parts of the country. The security situation in Beirut right now is bad. The Russians could be exploiting this to run a secret operation out of a condemned mosque.”

  “A little paint,” Luke said. “A few boards and some nails.”

  “Sure,” Trudy said. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. You know how special ops people are. They don’t really shop at Pier One Imports.”

  “But you do,” Swann said.

  “Keep it rolling, kids,” Don said. “Every second of banter is a second wasted.”

  Don was irritated. Luke could hear it in his voice. His overseers had come in and taken his toys away. Luke felt that. He also recognized the respect he had for Don.

  A lot of people would lie down in this situation. Don doubled down instead. His bosses didn’t like him organizing clandestine missions? Okay, he would organize another one.

  “That’s most of what I have on the mosque,” Trudy said. “Swann has pulled down satellite imagery of it, and there doesn’t seem to have been any activity there in months. There is an old overgrown parking lot at the top of the hill, with a couple of junked cars sitting there. It looks like a perfect spot to touch down a helicopter, and if it were up to me, I’d suggest going in there and checking the place out. You guys are already in Greece, and Lebanon is just across from you. You could launch a chopper out of Cyprus, pop in, and pop right back out again.”

  “Pop in and pop out,” Murphy said. “I like the ring of that. Unfortunately, it so rarely works that way in real life.”

  “Agreed,” Trudy said. “And I’ll leave that to the military minds here and the people who would actually have their skin in the game. Next up is the nuclear weapon.”

  “It’s big,” Ed Newsam said.

  “If real, it would be the biggest nuclear weapon ever built, and probably ever conceived. We know that the Soviets detonated the largest weapon in a test during the fall of 1961. That one is often called the Tsar Bomba, a hydrogen bomb that was exploded in the air over a distant part of the Russian Arctic. It delivered a blast equivalent to just over fifty megatons of TNT, about thirty-five hundred times the size of the Hiroshima blast. The specs of the bomb in the drawing suggest a potential yield of nearly a hundred twenty megatons. My calculations suggest that if it were a ground burst, it would be enough to wipe out an area twice the size of Texas.”

  “Do you believe this thing exists?” Ed Newsam said.

  Ed was a weapons expert. He seemed disturbed by the very idea of that bomb.

  “I don’t have enough information to form an opinion,” Trudy said. “It’s a drawing with some specs. There’s no delivery system indicated. Is it a warhead that mounts atop a cruise missile? It seems too large for that, given current technology. Is it a bomb that drops out of an airplane? If so, then a bomber would have to be specifically built or retrofitted to carry it. Some of the giant cargo planes could carry it, but I doubt they could drop it, or get a safe distance away before it detonated.

  “The truth is, any overheated nineteen-year-old physics student could dream up specs like the ones we’re looking at. But could someone build it? Would a government have the will to do it, or set aside the funding? Or could someone—this Oleg Marmilov, for example—have the pull to make something like this in secret? I just can’t say. But my experience in this business does suggest that if someone can find a way to do something, they will do it.”

  She paused.

  “That’s all I know.”

  “Next,” Luke said. He took a long sip of his beer. He found himself impatient to get underway.

  “There appears to be a small Russian base or outpost in the far Arctic. There’s an airfield, a cluster of temporary buildings. There’s also a dome of some kind. This post, if it still exists, is on the ice over wide-open ocean. As far as we know, the images we have of it are the only ones that exist. Swann?”

  “Yeah,” Swann said. “They’ve got some sort of clever jamming setup going on. The place is so small, blends in with its surroundings so well, and is so remote, that unless you knew where to look, you would never stumble across it.”

  “But you did know where to look,” Murphy said.

  “Exactly. So I commandeered a satellite going that way and tried to get a couple of snaps. As the satellite passed the area, there was a short burst of microwave interference, just enough that by the time the camera came back online, the chance to take the imagery was gone. I thought that was strange, but maybe it was just a coincidence. So I waited a couple of hours and tried again. Oops. Same thing happened. That’s good enough to tell me they don’t want anybody taking pictures. I didn’t want to alert them to my presence, so I stopped trying.”

  “It’s the kind of thing no one would ever notice,” Trudy said.

  “Right,” Swann said. “Satellites are cataloguing the entire surface of the Earth, but they go down all the time, for one reason or another. Then they come back on. There are glitches. No one has any reason to look in that corner of the Arctic. It’s a blank white canvas up there. Your mind fills the emptiness in by itself.”

  “Don?” Big Daddy said. “What are your thoughts?”

  “I think Trudy’s right,” Don said. “If you boys are up for it, I think we go to Beirut first. It’s close. We go in there tonight, before dawn, and see if we can scare up some clues. Maybe it’ll explain everything. Maybe it won’t explain anything. As a backup, we prepare to go to the Arctic.”

  Luke looked at Murphy. Murphy’s eyes gave away nothing. He took a long slurp from his beer.

  “I love the Arctic,” he said. “I want to live there.”

  “Can you put together the resources for this?” Don said.

  Big Daddy nodded at the spider. “I can get you some gear, a chopper, and a couple of crack pilots to put you on top of that mosque. If need be, I can get you a plane to the Arctic, and maybe even some guys to fall out of it.”

  “What’s the Agency going to say about all this?” Don said. “Because I’ve got a problem here with information sharing.”

  “Describe it,” Big Daddy said.

  “As soon as Luke and Ed grabbed that hard drive, I found my offices full of G-men. They knew we had a Serbian laptop. That’s okay. But they didn’t just come for the laptop. They came for everything—all of our communications. To me, that stinks like a rotten fish. It smells like there’s a mole somewhere, directing things behind the scenes. Is it a Russian mole? I don’t know, but I don’t like it. We need to have our ducks in a row before we talk to anyone about this. I hate to say it, but I suspect if we talk to our own people, the Russians will be tipped off. So we’re trying to keep this under our hats, as much as we can.”

  “Well, you’re in luck,” Big Daddy said. “The CIA and I are not on speaking terms at this moment. I’m not eve
n sure if I have a job anymore. The only resources I can offer are my own.”

  Luke smiled. “Big Daddy, you are a country all to yourself.”

  Big Daddy shook his head. “To be honest, it’s a lonely feeling.”

  In the corner, Murphy tilted his head back, downed his entire beer, and then crushed the can in one hand. He didn’t even seem to be listening to the conversation.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  11:50 p.m. Moscow Daylight Time (3:50 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time)

  Premier Suite

  The Ritz-Carlton Moscow

  Tverskaya Street

  Moscow, Russia

  Babayev was here again, standing at something close to attention.

  His knock had been quiet, as all knocks must be, but tonight it didn’t matter. Tamara was no longer here. Marmilov had sent her back to her agency. He had given up on her as hopeless case. Some of these young people were too far gone already. Marmilov could be of no further service to them.

  Marmilov wore his brown robe, as always, and sat in the semi-darkness of the living room in his suite on the top floor of the Ritz-Carlton. He had been drinking since early evening, and was a bit drunk.

  “So Babayev, give me the news,” he said. “Leave nothing out, please.”

  “Everything was done to your specifications, sir,” Babayev said. “The weapon reached its destination two days ago, and has been mounted in its proper place. We ordered the initiation sequence launched, and it was done as ordered. Immediately afterwards, everyone associated with the research and development phase of the project was eliminated.”

  Marmilov was enjoying the matter-of-factness of Babayev’s delivery. Babayev was proving to be an exceptional liaison to the project. He had brought himself up to speed quickly, and he carried out orders with no hesitation. Given time, he might turn out to be as cold-blooded and ruthless as Marmilov himself.”

  “When was the initiation sequence launched?” Marmilov said.

  “Just less than four hours ago, sir.”

  “Which means the weapon will detonate in eight hours from now?” Marmilov said.

  Babayev nodded. “Yes. Give or take a few moments.”

  The scientists who had worked on the project insisted that the initiation include a twelve-hour countdown. Their reasons for this were several. It would give any personnel near the weapon ample time to leave the area. It would give anyone deploying the weapon ample time to change their mind and put a stop to it. It would give the Russian government time to anticipate and respond to the fallout from the project—this last was not a valid reason, since the Russian government knew nothing about the weapon.

  Most of all, the twelve-hour mandatory delay protected against a mistaken or hasty deployment. It protected against the weapon being seized and deployed by rogue elements.

  Marmilov sighed. He supposed the delay would give him time to prepare himself for the next steps. He could even sleep a bit, and wake refreshed and ready to tackle the unfolding crisis.

  During the design phase, the delay was considered not to have a downside, since enemies were unlikely to know about the weapon, find it, and stop its detonation. That had proven false—enemies had probably discovered the existence of the weapon, and they might be able to reach the detonation site in time. But it was very, very unlikely. They didn’t know if the weapon was real or not. They didn’t know the launch sequence had been initiated.

  “Tell me more,” Marmilov said.

  “Sir, I have deployed a squad of seasoned militiamen to protect the mosque in case there should be any attempt at infiltration. These men are religious fanatics. They do not fear death, and in fact welcome it. Should such an infiltration occur, the militiamen will allow the enemy to enter the mosque before attacking them and trapping them inside.

  “A young mujahid has been selected for a martyrdom operation. With the opponents inside the mosque and pinned down, he will drive a truck laden with explosives to the mosque site, and detonate. This will take down the mosque itself, and may collapse the underground levels, obscuring any evidence of activity that has taken place there.”

  Marmilov nodded. “Very good. What else?”

  “Three platoons of highly trained Spetsnaz troops have been deployed to the Arctic base to protect it. They understand that they are involved in a highly classified operation, and are sworn to secrecy. They will defend the base with their lives.”

  “They are willing to defend the base despite knowing of the weapon?” Marmilov said.

  “Sir, the men do not know the weapon is there. They know only that the base may be attacked, and it is their mandate to defend it at all costs. I removed all the men who knew of the weapon.”

  Marmilov thought about a group of soldiers, standing atop the largest nuclear weapon ever detonated as its timer counts down to zero, defending it against all comers, and not even knowing it is there.

  “They will all be killed,” Marmilov said, testing his new associate.

  Babayev nodded. “I am afraid so, sir. I could not think of another way to deploy a squad of non-Muslim men for a suicide mission. I think it must be for the best.”

  Marmilov smiled. Babayev had passed the test with flying colors. The soldiers, as elite and highly trained as they might be, were also but so many pawns in a chess match.

  “Excellent, Babayev,” he said. “I am very pleased with your work. And I look forward to watching the fireworks.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  11:30 p.m. Eastern European Daylight Time (4:30 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time)

  Royal Air Force Station Akrotiri

  Akrotiri, British Overseas Territory

  Cyprus

  “What are you planning to do with all that?” Luke said.

  Ed Newsam looked like he was preparing for World War III. For starters, he had an M79 grenade launcher—it resembled a sawed-off shotgun with a wooden stock, but packed a lot more punch—and three boxes of grenades to go with it, four to a box.

  He also had an MP5 machine pistol and two ammo belts looped over his shoulders. He had two Glock nine-millimeters, matte black, strapped around his waist. He had a curved and serrated six-inch dagger.

  Newsam shrugged. “You know, man? The last few days have been kind of unpleasant. I’m hoping if I can stay alive one more day, this will all be over.”

  “Keep dreaming,” Murphy said. “It’s never over.”

  The helipad was a concrete platform on a rocky bluff away from, and overlooking the rest of the installation. Below them, the low-slung buildings of the Royal Air Force station and the larger flight control tower squatted in the night.

  In the daytime, the chopper pad probably gave views of the surrounding mountains. Right now, there was very little out there but shadow, with a few lights dotting the hillsides. The warm wind was swirling, the windsocks on the pad shifting directions every few minutes.

  An RAF fighter jet took off a half mile away, its engine noise a shriek that seemed to rip open the night. A moment later, the jet reached the sound barrier. If the takeoff was loud, the roar of the sonic boom was nearly deafening. Luke, Ed, and Murphy all covered their ears as one.

  The three men stood in a rough semicircle among a small pile of duffel bags and rucksacks full of weapons. Murphy was pawing through the weapons. He came out with an Uzi submachine gun and a couple of long magazines for it. His other hand came out with a night-vision headset.

  “It’s like a Christmas grab bag in here,” he said. “You’re not quite sure what you’re going to find.”

  Luke smiled. He felt pretty good. Truth be told, this was the best he had felt in a long while. He had spent most of the day relaxing at the hotel in Athens. He had taken a swim in the rooftop pool. He had dozed on and off. He had eaten a couple of real meals. He had even caught a few winks on the plane ride over here from Greece.

  Even better, he, Murphy and Ed had each dropped a Dexie a few minutes ago.

  That was goi
ng to do the trick.

  He gave his men the once-over. Ed looked fine. Ed rarely changed. He was big, broad and physically imposing, but his body always seemed fluid and relaxed.

  “Ed? How you doing, man?”

  Ed looked at Luke. He flashed a smile—bright white, perfect teeth. “Ready to rock. Naturally.”

  “Murph?” Luke said.

  Murphy looked a little tired, but he had been traveling all day. He gestured at Ed with his chin. “What he said.”

  Luke shrugged into his heavy tactical vest. The weight settled onto him. He fastened the vest’s waistband, taking a little of the weight off his shoulders. His cargo pants were lined with lightweight Dragon Skin armor.

  On the ground at his feet was a combat helmet with facemask attached. Also there was a Remington pump shotgun and an Uzi to match Murphy’s. Luke picked up the guns. He felt the heft of them. They were heavy. The weight was reassuring.

  The Uzi had armor-piercing rounds. If there were bad guys at the mosque—and Luke hoped three weren’t—the rounds should punch through any body armor they might be wearing. He had half a dozen magazines loaded, just in case he needed them.

  Luke put his helmet on. Instantly, a voice was speaking in his ear.

  “Test, test… Luke Stone is in the zone, why he never answers phone?”

  Swann.

  Luke nearly laughed. He began to stuff the extra mags into his vest pockets.

  “Stone? Do you read? Luke Stone.” There was a muffled knocking sound, like a Master of Ceremonies on stage, tapping the microphone. “Hey! Is this thing on?”

  “I hear you, Swann.”

  “Why were you ignoring me?”

  “I wasn’t. I just put the helmet on now.”