by Ted Halstead
Shaking his head, Hamza pressed a button under his desk, and two armed soldiers immediately entered and escorted Ehsan out of Hamza’s office. It happened so quickly, Ehsan barely had time to react, let alone speak.
That was fine with Hamza. He’d heard enough from General Ehsan Monir.
Now, what was he going to do about the Americans?
United States Space Command, Colorado
Captain Walt Addison looked up from his notes as a monitor in the far corner of his office awoke from sleep mode, accompanied by a harsh buzz designed to attract attention.
Well, it was working, he thought irritably, as he hit a switch, making it go silent. Coupled with the irritation was excitement. Was something real actually happening?
Addison had been promoted to Captain just in time to select his next assignment. When he picked Space Command, he’d been thrilled to find the job of Nuclear Event Watch Officer not only available but easy to get.
He didn’t yet have enough experience to ask why it was so easy to get.
Now that Addison only had two months left in his assignment, he knew the answer to that question.
Nothing. Ever. Happened.
At one point, Iran had been sprinting towards nuclear testing. No longer. The same was true for North Korea.
The nuclear missile accident in 2019 that had killed at least seven Russians, and probably many more, appeared to give its leaders second thoughts about a renewed arms race. At least, so far, there had been no more Russian nuclear explosions, accidental or otherwise.
So that left Addison drafting proposals to improve U.S. detection capabilities for events that weren’t happening. The U.S. defense budget was big. Some of its detractors had even called it “plump.”
Even Addison knew, though, that it wasn’t infinite. No officer built a record towards promotion, or even a decent next assignment, on project proposals that would never be funded.
After all, existing U.S. detection efforts weren’t cheap. Billions had been spent on detecting nuclear events worldwide, including undersea and underground testing.
The alert Addison had received was from the Integrated Operational Nuclear Detection System (IONDS). While earlier detection programs such as the Vela Hotel program relied on dedicated satellites, IONDS’ instruments were placed on the NAVSTAR satellites used to transmit GPS navigation information. This approach both reduced costs and provided genuinely global coverage.
The instrument that had generated this particular alert was a bhangmeter. It searched for the double light flash, with the flashes milliseconds apart, that were the characteristic signature of nuclear bursts.
Walt frowned as he looked over the data collected by the IONDS’ instruments. In nearly every respect, they made zero sense.
Great, Addison thought to himself bitterly. A bogus alert set off by either instrument malfunction or some natural phenomenon. Either way, he’d have to identify and explain the problem, along with finding a way to avoid a repeat for whoever was lucky enough to follow him in this job.
OK, so first, let’s list the reasons why the instruments haven’t identified a nuclear test. Most important, it’s in the middle of a populated area called Risalpur.
Addison frowned for a moment as he cross-checked a list of Pakistani military bases, and saw there was one in the Risalpur area. Then he relaxed as he saw it was the Pakistani Air Force Academy. Just about the last place they’d have live nuclear weapons.
In any Air Force, you trained with live nukes only after graduation.
Next, Addison checked to see if the readings could somehow be caused by a problem with a nuclear power plant. No, though Pakistan had five, the nearest one at Chashma was over three hundred kilometers away.
So, it had been decades since Pakistan last tested a nuclear weapon in 1998. The energy produced by that test had been much larger than the tiny yield from this supposed explosion, which the bhangmeter insisted had been nuclear.
What about a non-nuclear explosion?
A quick search of news alerts provided the answer he needed to tie this up. The Pakistani government had just reported an explosion at a chemical factory in an industrial export area, along with an evacuation to clean up chemical contamination. A cross-check confirmed that the site of the explosion detected by the bhangmeter had been at something called the…Risalpur Export Processing Zone.
Making the notes he’d need for his report, Addison realized there was just one detail left. Why had the bhangmeter incorrectly reported this as a nuclear detonation?
Addison’s best quality was that he was thorough. He’d done the required checks, and any of his superiors would have agreed they showed this was a non-event, probably due to instrument failure. They’d happened before.
There was an optional check left to perform. American imaging drones and satellites only obtained data in response to specific taskings, but in almost every mission, data was collected that was excess to needs.
So, Addison was sure that nobody had asked for image collection of the Risalpur Export Zone. But Pakistan and neighboring Afghanistan were routinely imaged for a long list of reasons. With rare exceptions, only imaging data relevant to a specific tasking was ever reviewed.
Maybe some of those images could help Addison determine with absolute certainty whether or not this had been a nuclear event.
Addison was one of the very few people outside the National Security Agency, Defense Intelligence Agency, or Central Intelligence Agency to have the ability to do a query against those images. He’d never done it before and had to look up the steps.
First, he had to create a Nuclear Event Incident Report record, complete with GPS coordinates. That was fine since he had to do that anyway.
Next, Addison had to enter all of his user details, including clearance level, for system confirmation. Well, he’d been vetted very thoroughly indeed for this job and had the highest level clearance he’d probably ever get in his Air Force career.
Even after all that, Addison found he could request an image search solely for the GPS coordinates in the Nuclear Event Incident Report record. Addison smiled since that was all he wanted. Having the GPS coordinates provided by the bhangmeter pre-populated in the search field even saved him a step.
Addison saw that the time search field had been pre-filled as well from his report, from one hour before to one hour after the incident. Well, that was fine too. He figured he’d need just a few minutes before and after the explosion.
After hitting the “send” button, Addison returned to the notes he’d been working on before the alert. He guessed that soon he’d get the response that no images matched his request, and Addison could include that he’d performed the additional check in his report.
Less than five minutes later, there was a soft chime announcing a response to his search. Addison’s eyebrows rose as he saw the answer had a file containing images attached.
Then he frowned as he saw that there were zero details attached to the file. Addison wasn’t surprised that the associated mission wasn’t included since that was no business of his. He had expected, though, to at least learn which satellite or drone had collected the images.
Addison shrugged. At least now, he might get some answers.
First, he adjusted the image resolution until he could see the buildings that occupied the GPS coordinates. Huh. The structures looked more like warehouses than a factory.
Then Addison shrugged. He was no industrial expert. No reason they couldn’t be manufacturing inside warehouse buildings, he supposed.
Addison started to scroll through the image file to get to the detonation but then saw some dark objects zip across the screen that made him slow down.
The image resolution wasn’t the best Addison had seen, but not far from it. He zoomed in and saw the men on the screen seemed not to be factory workers reporting to their jobs, since at least some of them appeared to be carrying rifles. Others looked like they were pushing a wooden crate of some kind.
Nothing else happened for the next twenty minutes, so Addison began to speed up the playback again, and so almost missed the next two arrivals. Catching the movement on the other side of the building, he backed up until he saw their vehicle arrive, and then two people emerge and cross the street.
Addison frowned. The first group had walked into the building as if they owned it. These two were moving quickly and making every effort to avoid detection.
One looked like…she?…was wearing a uniform. Addison wasn’t sure why he thought it was a female officer. The fluid way she moved? Quite a contrast with the other person, who was struggling to keep up with her.
Addison slowed down, but nothing else happened. OK, time to speed this up again, he thought.
Realizing that the explosion, even a chemical one, would be bright, Addison was looking away from the screen when the playback reached the time the bhangmeter had reported for the detonation.
The room flooded with light as the expensive, high-quality monitor did its best to reproduce the Nasr warhead’s partial explosion.
“Whoa!” emerged involuntarily from Addison’s lips at the same moment he said a silent apology to the bhangmeter. It looked like it had been right, but he still needed to be sure.
In spite of looking away from the monitor, Addison’s eyes needed a moment to refocus. By the time he was able to look again at the screen, what he saw was a whirling cloud of dust.
OK, to be expected from any explosion. Let’s fast forward to when it settles.
When Addison saw…nothing. Not smoking debris. Just…nothing. Bare ground.
Then Addison expanded the field of view to include the adjoining buildings and caught his breath.
They were gone too.
Finally, once he drew back enough to include the next rank of buildings, he saw ones that had just been damaged. Heavily damaged.
OK, this was no chemical explosion. It was definitely nuclear, but Addison had never heard of a test so small.
Then he shook his head. No, nobody would test a weapon in an industrial district with people in it.
So, not a test. Not a reactor accident. Not a military facility, so not some mistake in weapons’ handling made by the Pakistani military.
What did that leave?
Addison shook his head again. It was time to stop guessing and get his boss in here. Maybe he’d have some ideas.
Chapter Twenty
Peshawar, Pakistan
Mullah Abdul Zahed looked over the frantic activity that seemed to occupy every corner of the warehouse and shook his head. All of the work that had led up to this day, and all the work still to come.
And instead of the eight nuclear weapons he’d hoped for, he had just two.
Abdul had hoped that sacrificing Hashmat Mohebi and the other Taliban fighters would have been repaid by the deaths of many Americans. But the trap he had set for the “Seal Team” had failed.
The American media was better than having spies at Bagram Airfield. Not, of course, that Abdul didn’t have those too.
Yes, there had been a rush of hope when his spies had reported the arrival of medical evacuation helicopters at Bagram Airfield. But the twenty-four-hour American cable news networks had an exact casualty count for him long before he heard any further details from his spies.
Four soldiers injured, all expected to make a complete recovery. No fatalities.
Abdul had sincerely hoped to make a real dent in the number of special forces troops sent to hunt for him and his precious cargo. He knew how the Americans worked, and that it would have taken time for their replacements to have arrived in Afghanistan.
Well, Abdul thought as he squared his shoulders, he had other distractions planned. In the meantime, they would have to carry on.
Abdul walked up to his nuclear weapons technician, Ibrahim Munawar, who was standing next to one of the warheads. Abdul noticed that the outer casing had been removed from this warhead, unlike the other one sitting on a wooden table about ten meters away.
Abdul could also see that Ibrahim was writing rapidly on a piece of paper. From where he was, he couldn’t read it, but the long column he could see immediately made him think of a shopping list.
Ibrahim looked up, and his gloomy and worried expression was instantly replaced with a brilliant smile.
“My friend!” Ibrahim said excitedly. “I am happy to see you! How many others will be joining us?”
Abdul said nothing. Instead, he shook his head.
Ibrahim’s expression switched back to gloom and worry even more quickly than it had brightened.
“Are you sure that no one else made it? Maybe some of them are still hiding!” Ibrahim said, looking every bit as desperate as he sounded.
Abdul shook his head again, even more firmly this time. “No. We have our sources within the Pakistani military. The four larger cruise missiles were destroyed in the fighting, and a Nasr warhead was recaptured as our men tried to leave the industrial park.”
Abdul paused. “Another Nasr warhead was destroyed in Risalpur, though I’m not sure exactly what went wrong there. So, I am certain there will be no more warheads.”
Ibrahim said nothing and looked close to shock.
Hoping to snap him out of it, Abdul said briskly, “Well, these warheads seem to have made the trip in good shape.”
Ibrahim’s reaction was…alarming. He crumpled over and began quietly sobbing.
The frantic activity around the warehouse ceased, as every eye turned towards Ibrahim.
“Come, come. I’m sure it’s not so bad!” Abdul said with all the confidence he could muster. “Just explain the problem to me, and we’ll fix it together.”
Abdul had to work hard to keep what he was thinking from reaching his face. That the soft middle-class life led by this youth had left him too weak to face a real challenge.
Well, Abdul reminded himself, none of his far more hardened fighters had any chance of landing a blow matching the destruction that would be produced by two nuclear weapons.
Ibrahim slowly pulled himself together, and a quick gesture from Abdul was enough to get everyone else moving again.
“OK, this has to be a long explanation,” Ibrahim began. Abdul nodded gravely, though he groaned internally.
Long was never good.
“As I told you before, I have worked on both the Babur and Nasr weapons. I didn’t tell you that I only worked on the Babur’s warhead component because I didn’t think it mattered. Generally, Pakistani nuclear warhead design stays the same from one weapon to another, except for size. Every document I read confirmed this,” Ibrahim said.
Abdul noted Ibrahim’s defensive tone and was barely able to keep from sighing aloud. They didn’t have time for this.
Aloud, he gently prompted, “But…?”
Ibrahim swallowed and said in a rush, “The warhead is the same design. But the control interface is a nightmare! I think what happened is that someone high up was worried about a nuclear weapon this small ending up in hands like…well, ours.”
Ibrahim waved at the forest of wires leading out of the warhead’s core to the rear of the metal casing, where they disappeared from view.
“The Babur’s warhead had far fewer of these wires connected to the rear casing. You see, five wires are hanging loose from the warhead. These are the ones that are also present in the Babur, and I know what they do. They transmit information of different types from the control console in the TEL to the warhead.”
Abdul nodded. “I see the problem. You think if you try to remove the warhead’s core so you can rig an alternate means of detonation, cutting any of these other wires will trigger an explosive charge hidden in the rear of the casing.”
Ibrahim spread his hands, taking in the warhead and all the wires spilling out from its nuclear core. “It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. I know how to disable these trigger wires, but it will take a substance I don’t have here.”
Abdul restrained his impatience with difficul
ty. The Pakistani military’s search for the stolen weapons was shifting into high gear, and if they stayed in Pakistan, it was only a matter of time before it succeeded.
Well, if this warhead blew up and took the other one with it, that would be bad too.
Gritting his teeth, Abdul asked, “What is this substance?”
“Liquid nitrogen. It will disrupt the connection between the warhead’s core and the trigger sensors I suspect are in the rear casing, but not in a way the sensors should be programmed to recognize,” Ibrahim said.
Abdul nodded. “You mean, like simply cutting the wires with a knife.”
Ibrahim smiled shakily. “Exactly. And I know where to get some, along with the attachments I’ve written down on this list. I had a friend who used the supercomputer at GIK, and he told me they use liquid nitrogen to cool it.”
Abdul frowned. “GIK?”
Ibrahim shook his head. “Sorry. The Ghulam Ishaq Khan Institute of Engineering Sciences and Technology. It’s at Topi. Since GIK is a private institute, it shouldn’t be too hard to get through its security.”
Abdul grunted but said nothing. Private security guards in Pakistan could be armed, but it was true that security would probably have been tighter at a government facility.
The best news, though, was that Topi was in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa bordering Afghanistan. As the home of the Pakistani Taliban, it should be easy to organize the theft of the liquid nitrogen and its transport. There might even be Taliban living in Topi itself.
Abdul started to reach for his phone but stopped as another question occurred to him.
“How much of this liquid nitrogen do you need?” Abdul asked.
Ibrahim shrugged. “Not much. Tell whoever’s taking it to grab whatever container it’s in with well-insulated gloves, and to be sure the container remains sealed while it’s being moved. Liquid nitrogen will freeze skin on contact.”
Abdul shook his head. “Good to know,” he said, as he looked up the number of his contact in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.
Just how many obstacles were going to be placed in their path before final victory?
