Radiant Angel (John Corey Book 7)

by Nelson DeMille

  And maybe, I thought, Petrov collected some tools of his and Gorsky’s trade at Tamorov’s house that they couldn’t carry in their car. But that supposed Petrov was up to something. I mean, did he take off out the back door in a boat to give his DSG followers the slip because he was up to something? Or did he take off in a boat because he had another party to go to? That was the question.

  Buck closed his eyes and I thought the old guy had nodded off, but he said, “I tried to convince my colleagues that the Russian threat was not being taken seriously. The intelligence establishment and the military and diplomatic community are funneling vast resources into the war on Islamic terrorism because of 9/11. And they are ignoring the awakening bear.”

  I’d expect that from Buck, whose glory days were behind him. But I agreed with him that the Cold War was back and no one was paying attention.

  Meanwhile, he wasn’t giving me the promised briefing, so I asked, “Is Petrov going to whack someone tonight?”

  “I’ll get to that later.” He changed the subject and said, “I’ve also had the Coast Guard alerted, and they’ve agreed to send some boats and a helicopter to conduct a search. But as I discovered, their resources are limited compared to what the police have at their disposal.”

  I nodded. Even in this age of counterterrorism and drug smuggling, the United States Coast Guard was being scaled back. The Suffolk County Police Marine Bureau, on the other hand, had about twenty watercraft of various sizes and capabilities and four helicopters for search, rescue, and law enforcement. Plus there were local harbor constables who also had watercraft that could be deployed at sea. Bottom line here, Scott Kalish had more air and sea resources at his disposal than the U.S. Coast Guard. Which was why I called him.

  Buck said, “Tess told me that Petrov and his friends carried three overnight bags onboard the amphibious craft.”

  “Correct.”

  “Nothing larger? Like a suitcase?”

  Before I could ask why he asked, I heard footsteps and saw Tess coming toward us.

  She looked at me, then at Buck sitting under the tree.

  Buck said to her, “I believe we’re almost finished here.” He smiled. “John has decided not to kill me.”

  “Today,” I explained.

  Tess looked at me. “Do you understand how important this is?”

  “Not really.”

  She looked at Buck, who said, “I haven’t yet gotten to Pavel Fradkov.”

  “Then,” I suggested, “let’s get to Pavel Fradkov.”

  Buck stood, looked at me, and said, “I understand that all your surveillance vehicles are equipped with portable radiation detectors.”

  That is not what I wanted to hear.

  He continued, “And Ms. Faraday tells me she heard no beeping, even when you were very close to Petrov’s vehicle. So I suppose it’s already on the ship that Petrov rendezvoused with.”

  “What is on what ship?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Indeed I did.

  There is little that spooks me, but atomic bombs are at the top of my very short list. I cleared my throat and said, “I assume you mean a nuke.”

  “Correct.” He added, “Probably a suitcase nuke.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because Vasily Petrov is a psychotic mass murderer. And he, like his father, and like his megalomaniacal president, yearns for the glory days of the Soviet Empire. And all that stands in his and his president’s way is us.”

  Buck saw I wasn’t buying all of this, so he tempered his concerns a bit and said, “We’re not sure this is what’s happening tonight, but if you put it all together, then what you saw today at Tamorov’s party doesn’t make sense except in that context.”

  I thought back to all that had happened since Petrov went mobile, and I couldn’t come to any conclusion that involved a nuke. I said to Buck, “There’s a piece missing. Fradkov.”

  “Correct. Pavel Fradkov, whose real name is Arkady Urmanov, is a nuclear physicist.” Buck informed me, “He once worked on the Soviet nuclear weapons miniaturization program. Suitcase nukes.”

  Holy shit.

  “Miniaturized nukes,” Buck informed me, “are temperamental and need periodic… well, tune-ups.” He continued, “The fear that they could get into the hands of terrorists is real. But no one knows if they’d actually detonate if they hadn’t been regularly maintained over the thirty years since most of them were made.” He concluded, “To be sure of that, and to properly arm the device, it’s good to have a knowledgeable nuclear weapons scientist on hand.”

  Tess added, “Especially one who hasn’t had a drink all night.”

  The evidence, as we say in criminal investigations, was mounting—and pointing in one direction.

  I said to Buck, “I assume Petrov and his pals rendezvoused with a Russian ship.”

  “I would assume so. And on that ship could be a nuclear device.” He informed me, “If it’s a suitcase nuke, it could be the biggest model, about the size of a steamer trunk, which would yield about ten kilotons of atomic energy.” He further informed me, “For comparison, the Hiroshima bomb was estimated to be between twelve and sixteen kilotons.”

  I glanced at Tess, wondering when she knew all this.

  Buck said, “We should also assume that this ship that Petrov and his friends rendezvoused with is heading for New York City.”

  I didn’t reply, but that was a good assumption.

  Buck continued, “The ship will enter the harbor, and at some point, before or after docking, the nuclear device will detonate and the fireball will completely destroy everything within a quarter-mile radius and incinerate structures within a half mile of ground zero.” He added, “And then there is shock wave damage, radioactive fallout, loss of communication and services, and mass panic.” He further added, “Over half a million initial deaths, followed by at least another half million more in the aftermath.”

  Again, I didn’t reply.

  He continued, “Assuming the target is Wall Street, the entire southern end of Manhattan Island will be gone, including the financial and government district—along with your offices at 26 Federal Plaza, and also the World Trade Center construction site. Also gone will be port facilities, bridges, tunnels, and subways and the entire historic district, all of which will be a nuclear wasteland for years. Not to mention the Statue of Liberty and collateral damage to the Brooklyn and New Jersey port facilities.” He added, “This would be a crippling financial and psychological blow to America, from which it will take decades to recover.”

  “I get it.” I informed him, “It’s very difficult—actually impossible—to get a ship that’s emitting radiation past the harbor forts that aim radiation detectors at passing ships.” I further informed him, “Also, the NYPD Harbor Unit patrol boats have radiation detectors, as do the Coast Guard cutters.” I also told him, “And if the Russians tried to get a suitcase nuke off the ship and into the city, they wouldn’t get it past Customs, who also have radiation detectors on the piers.”

  “I’m sure the Russians have a plan.”

  Indeed they must. But it occurred to me that a Russian ship, such as a cargo ship or a luxury liner, would be subject to extra scrutiny at Ambrose Buoy, the security checkpoint, before it approached New York Harbor. It also occurred to me that the Russians wouldn’t want to be caught with a suitcase nuke aboard one of their ships. And if the nuke did go off, it could be determined that the Russian ship was ground zero, and that could start a nuclear war. So some of this wasn’t computing.

  Also, why did Petrov, Gorsky, and the nuke guy, Urmanov, have to take an amphibious craft out to rendezvous with this Russian ship that had a nuke onboard? They could have boarded the ship in Russia. So maybe Buck got this wrong, and Petrov was now having a vodka on a party boat with Tasha on his lap. And that’s what I’d conclude—if it wasn’t for Urmanov.

  Buck broke into my thoughts and said, “We don’t know if Petrov and his frie
nds have a plan to escape the detonation, or if this is a suicide mission.” He added, “I think a man like Petrov would like to see the result of his work, so he may have a plan to get clear of the explosion, along with his two companions. But for the young ladies and everyone else aboard whatever ship they rendezvoused with, this is a suicide mission, though I’m sure they don’t know that.”

  And never will, I thought; they will become one with the universe at the moment of the Big Bang. More importantly, I hoped this wasn’t a suicide mission for Petrov, because suicide missions, like 9/11, were more likely to succeed than missions where the perpetrators need an escape plan. Lots to think about. Especially the things that weren’t computing.

  Buck may have thought that I needed more evidence. But he didn’t have any, so he told me a story.

  “Not far from here,” he began, “is a place called Nassau Point.” He asked, “Have you heard of it?”

  “Been there.”

  “So was Albert Einstein, who spent the summer of 1939 there in a rented cottage.”

  “He deserved a break.”

  Buck continued, “In July of that year, Einstein received a visit from two well-known physicists, Eugene Wigner and Leó Szilárd, who convinced Einstein that he needed to write a letter to President Roosevelt alerting the president to the threat of the German atomic bomb program.”

  I’d actually read the famous Nassau Point Letter, so I knew where this was going, but Buck likes to tell stories, so I let him continue.

  “In that letter, Einstein says something that… well, is a warning from the past to us in the future.” Buck looked at me and said, “Einstein wrote to Roosevelt, ‘A single bomb of this type, carried by boat and exploded in a port, might very well destroy the whole port together with some of the surrounding territory.’ ” Buck stayed silent a moment, then said, “I believe that day has arrived.”

  Well, I thought, the nuclear nightmare seemed to have begun in the minds of scientists long before anyone else even knew what nuclear energy was. Einstein was a smart guy.

  Buck said, “Roosevelt took this seriously, and so should we.”

  That seemed to be the end of the pointed story, and Buck asked me, “Do you take this seriously?”

  “It’s credible.”

  “Not everyone thinks so.”

  “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  He didn’t respond to that and asked me, “Any word from Captain Kalish?”

  “No.”

  Tess said to me, “We’d like you to call the Suffolk PD and get some detectives to accompany you and me to the Tamorov house.”

  “All right.” I guess I’m the front guy and the go-to cop. But before going to see Tamorov, I asked Buck, “What do you know about Georgi Tamorov?”

  “Not much more than everyone else knows. He’s made billions from oil and gas and he has financial interests all over the world, including America. He’s close to Putin and he’s a globe-trotting playboy. He owns a Falcon 900 that flies him to the playgrounds of the world.”

  “Does he own cargo ships or luxury liners?”

  “Good question, but no.” Buck added, “Though I’m sure he knows people who do.”

  I nodded and asked, “Personals?”

  “Tamorov has been married to the same woman for about twenty-five years and they have a son and a daughter, both at university in England.”

  I said to Buck, “I seem to remember that Tamorov has a place in Manhattan.”

  “Yes, he has a townhouse in Tribeca and offices near the former World Trade Center.”

  “He won’t have either if a nuke incinerates Lower Manhattan.”

  “Correct. So I can’t imagine that Tamorov knows what his guest is up to.” Buck added, “Also, Tamorov’s wife is currently in New York.”

  And Petrov’s wife isn’t.

  So, I was off to see Georgi Tamorov, and also Dmitry the driver, both of whom knew something.

  Buck gave me the standard warning. “What you’ve heard tonight is need-to-know and SCI—Sensitive Compartmented Information—not to be repeated to anyone under any circumstances.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “We know you can keep a secret, John, as you did in Yemen. We trust you.”

  Sorry I can’t say the same.

  Buck said to me and to Tess, “Let’s pray that we are wrong, and that we are misinterpreting what we see.”

  Right. Just like in Yemen. I said, “I will leave you two to pray, and I’ll call when I have something.” I added, “Good powwow.”

  Tess said, “I’m going with you.”

  “You’re fired.”

  Buck interjected, “I’m afraid I have to insist that you take Tess with you.”

  “Really?”

  “Please.” He explained, “Tess has contact information for resources that you may need at a moment’s notice.”

  That might be true, but Buck also wanted his colleague to keep an eye on me. So, knowing I could dump her anytime, I said, “All right.” Buck wasn’t telling me what his next move was, and I didn’t ask. Maybe he was going to take a nap.

  Buck wished us luck and offered me his hand, but I didn’t take it, and reminded him, “We have unfinished business.”

  Tess and I walked through the graveyard back to the Blazer.

  She asked me, “Do you believe what Buck is suggesting?”

  “Do you?”

  She walked on in silence, then replied, “It’s just so beyond anything I can imagine…”

  Well, Albert Einstein imagined it long before the first bomb was even built, and that’s why we carry radiation detectors. I asked her, “When did you know about this?”

  “I wasn’t fully briefed until I called Buck from the diner.”

  That could be true, considering she didn’t want me to crash Tamorov’s party. The problem with compartmented information is that nobody knows what the hell is going on. Or why they’re doing what they’re doing. If the police operated like that, they’d never make an arrest.

  She added, “When I told Buck that our three Russians took off in an amphibious craft, he suspected something was up.”

  “He suspected something was up long before tonight. That’s why he was in New York and not Washington. And that’s why he stuck me with you.”

  She didn’t reply.

  I always believed that 9/11 never would have happened if these people talked straight to each other. Now we were looking at something that would make 9/11 look like a bad day at the office.

  We reached the Blazer and I said, “I’m driving,” and got behind the wheel.

  Tess got in the passenger side and reached back into the rear where all the toys were kept, including the pocket-sized portable radiation detector, which she placed on the console between us.

  She asked, “May I have my gun back?”

  I handed her her Glock and her creds.

  I drove back to the road and headed out of the Shinnecock Reservation.

  I looked at the portable radiation detector. There are two ways to detect radiation. One of them is with a PRD before nuclear fission takes place, and the other is too late.

  PART III

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As the last of the twilight disappeared on the western horizon, the amphibious craft carrying Vasily Petrov, Viktor Gorsky, and Dr. Arkady Urmanov approached a long white yacht sitting at anchor in international waters, twelve nautical miles off the coast of Southampton.

  The yacht was named Hana, which Petrov knew meant “happiness” in Arabic. Happiness will be at planned time and place.

  The yacht’s portholes and decks were aglow, and Petrov noticed a green-and-white flag flying from the stern, which he knew was not a national flag, but the personal ensign of His Royal Highness, Prince Ali Faisel of Saudi Arabia.

  The helmsman brought the amphibious craft around to the starboard side of the two-hundred-and-twenty-foot super yacht, and the twelve ladies onboard became excited as they realized this was where they
were heading. Several of them stood, and the second crewman motioned them to sit.

  Petrov said to the ladies in Russian, “If you fall overboard, we will not rescue you.”

  The ladies laughed, and Petrov smiled.

  Viktor Gorsky, the SVR assassin, snapped, “Sit!”

  The ladies sat.

  Petrov looked at Urmanov sitting across from him. The man seemed far away, and Petrov said to him, “Doctor, is your mind working on mathematical formulas? Or are you seasick?”

  Urmanov looked at his compatriot, but did not reply.

  Petrov was annoyed with the man, and more annoyed at the GRU idiots who had chosen Urmanov for this mission. Urmanov was becoming a problem as he understood the reality of what he had agreed to do.

  The amphibious craft continued on a course toward the starboard side of the yacht, and as they drew closer Petrov could see a large door in the hull partly below the waterline—what was called a shell door—about fifteen meters from the stern.

  As the amphibious craft approached, the door began to open upward, letting the sea into the hull.

  This, Petrov had been told, was a unique feature of this ship. Most garage doors were above the waterline, and the tender craft was pulled into the ship’s garage by means of a ramp and a winch. But the Italian shipbuilders who had designed The Hana had devised a float-in dock for the prince so that the garage could be flooded and a small craft could sail directly in and out of the hull without the delay or discomfort of a ramp and winch. Wonderful engineering, Petrov thought, and as it turned out this special feature solved one of his and Moscow’s problems—the problem of how to mask the radiation of the nuclear device that would later come onboard The Hana. The device had a lead radiation shield that had once been sufficient, but no longer was because of the more sophisticated American radiation detectors now in use. Thousands of liters of water, however, along with the lead shield, would ensure that the American radiation detectors in New York Harbor would stay dark and silent.