Countdown km-2

by David Hagberg

  “They can only guess” Potok argued. “And if they guess correctly they cannot know for certain that this is a storage depot”

  “A guess is less damaging than a certainty” Dr. Avral asked. I “Of course” Potok replied, his mind for just that moment elsewhere.

  Rothstein’s background so far was coming up clean, as was Asher’s. But there was no doubt that it was Rothstein who had crawled down through the intake air ducts and had let himself into the main vault. The blood on the louvered panel and inside on the floor of the air duct matched Rothstein’s, and the man had received a severe dose of radiation. So he had been to the vault and seen with his own eyes what it contained. The question was, had he had time to use the telephone in the gas station to call someone? His fingerprints were on the telephone. But had he had the time? “We were right on his tail, Major” the team leader-had reported.

  “He wasn’t in that gas station for more than twenty or thirty seconds.

  Time enough to make a call? Potok wondered. The shock waves of the possibility had reached the prime minister, and were coming back on them now. The depot must be moved, even though it would be impossible in under a year’s time without completely blowing security. “Then so be it” And now the UN’s Non-Proliferation Treaty Team had come knocking at their front door again. “Let’s get back” he shouted to the pilot, and the chopper peeled off to the south… God help us all if the secret was out, Potok thought. II would probably mean war. A war in which all the Arab State would almost certainly participate.

  Dr. Lorraine Abbott sat in the backseat of the Mercede-, with Scott Hayes whom she had joined in London. He was with the British arm of the NPT Inspection Service. They’d been together almost continuously for twenty-four hours. First the briefings and then the travel to Israel, and she decided that she didn’t like him very much. “A waste of time”

  he grumbled from where he sat slouched against the door. “They’re not going to tell us a bloody thing” Hayes was short, and dumpy-looking with long hair, a scraggly beard, and dull gray eyes. He was reputed to be a fair nuclear physicist and engineer and was a Greenpeacer, a combination Lorraine found oddly out of synch. “At least they’ll know that we’re interested, and that we’re keeping on top of things” she replied. Hayes looked at her with a little smirk. “Do you think they’ll bloody well care” Lorraine, who held her Phd. in theoretical physics from Berkeley, presently worked at the Lawrence Livermore Laboratories and was on call by the NPT Inspection Service as a field observer, a job which took her away from home half a dozen times each year. She was tall, slender, and attractive, with light California blond hair and wide green eyes. Her colleagues were always surprised by her chic appearance the first time they met her. “You don’t look like a physicist” they would invariably say. Her response, if she were feeling irascible, often would be: “You do”

  “They definitely care she answered Hayes, but she didn’t bother pointing out the helicopter which had just turned to the south toward the En Gedi Nuclear Research Facility a few miles off. “So what are you going to ask them: “Say, old chum, mind telling us where you’re keeping the goodies these days” Lorraine smiled. “Something like that” she said. “Bloody hell” Hayes responded and looked out the window, a petulant set to his shoulders. Lorraine opened her purse and with long, delicate fingers took out a cigarette and lit it, drawing the smoke deeply into her lungs. Her former fiance, a surgeon at the UCLA Medical Center, had always been on her back about her one vice. “You’re too bright for that, Lor” he’d said. She hadn’t minded, though, even if he was right; his one vice was his harping. No one was perfect after all.

  The NPT had gotten its preliminary report that something might be amiss here at En Gedi from the National Security Agency at Ft. Meade. An unusual amount of activity had been observed from one of the KH-series flyby satellites. Photos had been sent over to the National Photographic Interpretation Center, where analysis suggested that some sort of an alarm might have been set off two and a half days ago, around three in the morning, local time. There had been no apparent damage, no fire, and certainly no detectable radiation leaks. In addition, the Israelis had so far made no announcement about any trouble at their research reactor facility-though it would have been highly unusual for them to do so.

  They had been extremely tight-lipped about their involvement with nuclear energy. Still, they had not seemed overly surprised to learn that an NPF team was being sent out to look over the situation. Her instructions were simple, as they had been for each of her inspection trips: Keep your eyes and ears open for anything out of the ordinary.

  Israel had the capacity to produce plutonium from her two research reactors, and presently she had operational one enrichment plant, one heavy water plant, and one reprocessing plant, so she also had the capability of producing weapons grade material. The question was, of course, had Israel actually taken the next step? Had she constructed a nuclear weapon or weapons? The NPT wanted to know. God only knew, she thought to herself as their driver brought them over the crest of a hill, the En Gedi plant off in the distance, they had the reason to build such weapons heir survival.

  The En Gedi Nuclear Research Station was about average for a facility of its nature. The reactor itself was housed beneath a four-story fiberglass dome inside a slightly larger reinforced concrete containment building. To the east was a small venturi-shaped cooling tower. On the north side of the installation, which was enclosed behind a double line of tall electrified fences, were the various research laboratories and the main administration center. To the west were a small dispensary, dining hall, and housing units for the science and technical staff and the squadron of military guards. Syria, after all, wasn’t very far away.

  Security here was, of necessity, very tight. They were met at the front gate by a husky, goodlooking Army officer in a major’s uniform, a hard hat on his head. “Lev Potok” he introduced himself. “I’m the Crises Management Team Supervisor. Welcome to En Gedi, Dr. Abbott, Mr. Hayes”

  They shook hands. “We understand you had a little trouble the other night” Lorraine said. There was no use beating around the bush. In that, at least, she agreed with Hayes. Potok managed a tight smile. “It was nothing, actually. But I expect you’ll want to see for yourself”

  “Naturally” Hayes said sharply, and Lorraine shot him a warning glance which he ignored. “If you will come along, then, our facility director and chief engineer are waiting to meet you” Potok said. They had gotten out of the Mercedes. The heat at this hour of the afternoon was intense.

  Potok gave them hard hats, radiation badges, and visitor tags, and they climbed into his waiting jeep and were whisked across the facility to the three-story administration building. Inside they were ushered into a conference room where two men looked up from a set of blueprints they’d been studying. One was a much older man with longish white hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and the bemused look of a college professor. He was the facility’s director, Dr. Moshe Ben Avral. Lorraine had heard of him.

  He’d done a number of papers on the development of nuclear power sources for the third world.

  “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Avral” she said, shaking hands. The other, much stockier, much younger man, was Samuel Rosen, the facility’s chief engineer. “A Brooklyn transplant” he said with a smile and a thick New York accent. “A report has been sent along to Washington, Dr. Abbott, so we’re just a little surprised that you’re here” Dr. Avral said gently.

  Although Israel had never signed the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty of 1969 (of course at that time they had had no immediate plans for entering the nuclear race), they had come to an informal agreement with the United States to inform her ally what she was doing, and to submit to NPT inspections. “I haven’t seen that report” Lorraine said. “Nor have I” Hayes added. Dr. Avral nodded patiently. “No, of course you would not have seen the report. By the time it was sent, you were unfortunately already in transit” Rosen was looking at Lorraine, an odd,
almost anxious expression on his face. He was hiding something, she decided. She turned to him. “You didn’t experience much of a problem, then” she asked. “Not really” Rosen said. “It was a nonradioactive steam leak”

  “There was an alarm” Hayes said. “Yes. You can’t believe the safety networks and backups we’ve got here. A valve chatters and a dozen alarms go off. “Your team was called in” she asked Potok, who had so far maintained a stony silence. “SOP” Potok said. “We’re dealing with nuclear energy here, Doctor. It scares a lot of people”

  “Me included” she said. There was an awkward silence, which Hayes finally filled by stepping forward and glancing down at the blueprints spread out on the conference table. “We might just as well take a look at this supposed leak, then, all right”

  Rosen and Potok exchanged a look, which Lorraine caught. Again she had the impression that they were hiding something. Perhaps something important. I “Yes, of coursedr. Avral said, and he stepped aside to let the engineer take over. For the next fifteen minutes Rosen went over in detail exactly what had happened the night when a steam line valve had supposedly popped loose. Lorraine stood back and pretended to study the diagrams while in actuality she was watching Potok and Dr. Avral.

  There was more here than met the eye. Potok was concerned and Dr. Avral was frightened.

  On the way back to Tel Aviv she told Hayes that she thought the Israelis were lying. “I don’t think so” the Britisher said smugly. “That Rosen isn’t bad, for a Jew. He knows his engineering” There was more than a simple steam leak” Lorraine said. Hayes looked at her with renewed interest. “Are you going to put that in your report”

  “Yes. I I “On what basis”

  “I don’t know” she said softly. She looked up at him. “But I’m going to find out”

  RAMSTEIN AIR FORCE BASE

  Kurshin sat in the officers club finishing the last of his steak. It was two in the afternoon. He’d taken a shower, changed into Allworth’s uniform, made a brief telephone call to town, and had his driver, a young airman, take him on a brief tour of the base before dropping him off at the club. He’d dismissed — the young man, but kept the car. “Colonel Allworth” someone said at his elbow and Kurshin looked up, an automatic smile painted on his face. “Yes”

  “Tom Mccann. I’m your number two” Mccann was a youngish-looking man with a baby face and bright red hair. He was wearing a pair of tan slacks and a light blue pullover sweater. They shook hands and Kurshin motioned him to have a seat.

  “Is it captain” Kurshin asked. He knew nothing about the man.

  “Major” Mccann grinned. “The OD heard you were on base and called me.

  The old man will be up in Berlin until Monday so I thought I’d stop by and welcome you aboard”

  “I appreciate that, Tom. As a matter of fact I was going to come snooping around myself as soon as I finished lunch”

  “You want to do some homework before you see the Boss”

  “Something like that” Kurshin thought the younger man’s expressions were boyish. “No sweat, Colonel. Your clearance won’t be posted until Monday, but if you don’t mind tagging along with me on a visitor’s pass, I’ll give you the tencent tour” Kurshin nodded. He pushed his plate away, finished the last of his beer, and looked Mccann directly in the eye. “What if I was an impostor” he asked with a straight face. “You’d give me the keys to the bank vault just like that” Mccann’s grin widened. “We got your package six weeks ago” he said. “Including your photograph. If you’re an impostor, Colonel, then you’re Brad Allworth’s twin. Are you ready”

  “Just have to make a quick phone call” Kurshin said.

  Ramstein was divided into four major sections. Near the main gate were base housing, the clubs, movie theaters, dining halls, hobby shops, class six liquor stores, and the commissary. On the east side of the base were the runways and alert hangars for the several fighter interceptor squadrons that made up the wing. To the west were the supply depots and Support functions such as electrical generating plants, communications and radar squadrons, sewage treatment plant and other housekeeping functions. Most of the sprawling wooded land area, which was enclosed by tall barbed wire-topped fencing and watched around the clock by mounted perimeter guards, served as the storage and staging area for the store of nuclear missiles including the Boeing AGM-86B Air Launched Cruise Missile, which the Air Force used, and 17 of the Army’s 108 Mobile Launched Pershing 11 missiles. Missile Control was housed in a cast concrete bunker constructed into the side of a hill. The situation room and operational control center were located two hundred feet back into the bedrock, impervious to anything but a direct hit with a thermonuclear device. No one felt really safe, however, as Mccann explained. “Doesn’t matter how much rock you’ve got overhead once you know that you’re their number-one target” They signed in with the OD, Kurshin was given a visitor’s pass, and Mccann started toward the elevators. Kurshin stopped him. “Let’s start outside and work our way back in” he said. Mccann shrugged. “There won’t be much to see”

  Kurshin allowed the smile to die from his face. “In here is support. Out there is the real thing. I want to see the hardware itself, as well as the security. I want to know who’s minding the store and just how good they’re doing their job”

  Mccann stiffened slightly. “Yes, sir” he said. It was the first time he’d used proper military address. Back outside they climbed into Mccann’s blue station wagon and headed on the main transport road into what appeared to be nothing more than an empty tract of woods, open grass fields here and there, and dirt tracks leading through the brush every few hundred yards or so. Except for the paved road there was no sign that this area was anything more than some backwoods country, the dirt tracks used by forest service people, Jaegermeisters. “What would you like to see first, Colonel, our ALIMS, or the Army’s Pershings”

  They’d been driving in silence for a few minutes, the afternoon warm and very pleasant, only a few puffy white clouds overhead. “Listen, Tom, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here” Kurshin said apologetically. Mccann glanced at him, not sure if he should reply.

  “This is an important assignment for me” Kurshin said.

  “But I’m not going to be an asshole about it, if you catch my meaning”

  “I’m not quite sure, Colonel “)you can can the colonel shit. The name is Brad. What I mean to say is that I’m sorry I was such a shit back there.

  I was out of line”

  Mccann relaxed, his grin back. “You had me just a little worried”

  “Let’s take a look around, and then get back to the club. I think by then it’ll be time for me to buy you a drink”

  “You’re on” Ten minutes later they reached the southern edge of the base just as a jeep with two Air Force Security Specialists drove down the dirt track that paralleled the fence. They disappeared into the distance as the fence jogged to the left. “How often do we have a patrol past any given point on the perimeter” Kurshin asked. “Twelve minutes tops” Kurshin shook his head. “That’s going to have to be tightened up”

  “Bob Collingwood is in charge. Do you want to see him this afternoon”

  “Monday will be fine” Kurshin said. They turned left and headed down a gravel road that opened five hundred yards later into a clearing in which a low concrete bunker was built back into the hill. A large steel door covered the opening. Trees and grass grew on the roof. “We have seventeen of these scattered around out here. Each contains a Pershing II”

  “How about their mobile launchers, and the rigs to haul them”

  “All hooked up and ready to go within five minutes’ notice or less. A couple of the teams back here can get them out in under four minutes”

  “How about the teams” Mccann smiled wryly. “There’s the rub. They used to be housed back here. These days they share quarters with the Air Wing’s on-duty alert crew”

  Kurshin sighed theatrically. “That’s going to change
as well” he said.

  He got out of the car. “Let’s take a look”

  “Right” Mccann said, jumping out of the car. Kurshin went ahead to the big steel doors beside which was a much smaller personnel hatch. It was extremely quiet out here. Even the jet sounds from the distant runways were faint. He stepped aside as Mccann came up, opened a small access panel beside the door, and punched in the five-digit entry code. The hatch lock cycled and Mccann pulled the narrow steel door open. “No one else back here” Kurshin asked. “The patrols come around once a shift”

  Mccann said, stepping inside and flipping on the overhead lights. “Have they been by yet this shift”

  “They usually do it first thing” Mccann said, turning. His eyes suddenly went wide. Kurshin was holding a silenced automatic on him.

  “Thanks” the Russian said, and he shot Mccann in the forehead.

  RAMSTEIN AIR FORCE BASE

  In missile control’s situation room a red light began to wink on one of the panels. “We have a missile bay door open indicator” the technician called from his console. The Officer of the Day, Captain Gerry Stewart, put down his coffee and came across the room. He studied the board for a moment or two. The indicator was definitely winking. It was one of the Pershing II’s. “Try the alarm test function” The tech flipped a switch and pushed a button that tested the validity of all their alarm systems. The lights across his board winked green, indicating the system was in proper working order. One of the missile bay doors was actually open.