End Game

by Alex Lukeman

  Anyone foolish enough to explore the ruins was risking his life. Everything looked deserted, but it was an illusion. Akhmad knew the progress of his truck through the site was being tracked.

  Once past the perimeter fence, the overgrown road led to the main building, an uninspired block of stone. Walls that had once been white and clean were covered with trailing vines and green mold. All of the windows were gone. The roof of the building had collapsed. Trees grew inside the office where a succession of Soviet commanders had waited for the signal to launch the fires of Armageddon .

  Akhmad continued past the headquarters building toward the back of the base, past the crumbling barracks and sealed missile silos, toward a large building with a high, metal door. As he neared the building, the door opened. Akhmad drove in and continued down a long ramp that ended in a cavernous room fifty feet below the surface, dimly lit by bulbs strung overhead. Traces of green paint peeled away from concrete walls seeping with damp. Now that he was underground, Akhmad heard the distant sound of a generator providing power. Several tunnels led away from the room. Some of them led to the silos, others to underground offices and quarters.

  He parked and shut down the truck. Two bearded men emerged from one of the tunnels, armed with AK-74's. Not the latest version of Kalashnikov's famous rifle, but every bit as lethal as the newest models.

  "It's good you're here," the first man called.

  Akhmad climbed down from the cab and stretched. Sixteen hours on the road had left him tired and sore. Stimulants had kept him awake, but now the effects were catching up with him. He had only stopped to eat and pray.

  The men came forward and embraced him.

  "Are the others here yet, Beslan?"

  "Everyone except Ruslan. And Aslan, he'll be here in a few days."

  "Ruslan had to go on to Constanta. What about the American?"

  "We've kept him entertained. It has been difficult hiding our true feelings from him. He is an offense to Allah."

  "He's an infidel. What would you expect?"

  "I will be happy when we are done with him."

  "As soon as he has shown us how to arm the bombs, you may send him to hell."

  "We gave him a woman."

  "The whore can go with him," Akhmad said.

  Beslan nodded .

  "Let's get the crates unloaded," he said. "Aiza, get the forklift."

  The second man walked over to a yellow forklift parked by the wall. He started it up and drove to the back of the truck. Akhmad and Beslan lowered the tailgate. The bombs were strapped to pallets in wooden crates labeled as automobile parts.

  One by one, Aiza used the machine to take the crates from the truck. He stacked two of them on the floor.

  "Take the last one to the room where they will be modified, then come back for the others, " Akhmad said. "Beslan, is the American sober?"

  "Yes. Once I knew the bombs were coming, I made sure he would be in a condition to work on them."

  "Good. Where is he now?"

  "With the woman."

  "Go to him and tell him it is time for him to earn his pay."

  "I will enjoy seeing the look on his face when he realizes what he has earned," Beslan said.

  Chapter 22

  Former Air Force Captain Bobby "Boo-Boo" Butler was tired of hanging out in this godforsaken shithole with a bunch of bad smelling Russians or whatever the hell they were. He had to admit they'd done their best to keep him comfortable. The dope they provided was good, Maria was better. She was one hot piece. Still, there was a limit to everything. At least she wasn't the kind of woman who would get him into trouble.

  Women had always been trouble for Butler. A woman had gotten him kicked out of the Air Force and his cushy job at Dyess. All he'd done was pat her on the ass as she went by. Maybe it would have been better if she'd been an officer, but she was enlisted. She'd made a stink, and his career went into the toilet.

  It was unfair.

  They'd given him an "Other Than Honorable" discharge, bad enough to create problems in civilian life. He'd been ready to get out anyway. Screw them.

  Ever since he could remember, life had been unfair to Butler. He'd been bullied in school, cried in front of his peers. His nickname had stuck with him all through high school and college. Then someone at Dyess had found out. Butler figured they must've come across a high school class book, or maybe they knew someone he'd gone to school with. Pretty soon people were calling him Captain Boo-Boo behind his back .

  He hated them. He hated the military bullshit. He'd joined out of college, seduced by slick images of high-powered jets screaming through the air, of bad ass looking pilots wearing cool helmets and dark goggles. Only it turned out there were about a hundred reasons why he'd never get near one of those jets, unless he was looking at it from the outside. He could have been a pilot, he knew it, if the Air Force had just given him a chance.

  Dyess Air Force Base was where many of America's B-1 and B-2 nuclear bombers were stationed, along with their payloads. Before they'd kicked him out, Butler had been in charge of the service department maintaining the weapons. His job required complete knowledge of how the bombs worked. It wouldn't do to have one dropped on an enemy and fail to detonate. He'd been good at his work, but it didn't mean shit at his court-martial.

  After he was forced out, he rented a studio apartment in Dallas and looked for a job. It turned out there wasn't a lot of need in the world for someone who knew everything there was to know about the B-61. He was down to his last few hundred dollars, when the little guy with the beard showed up and offered him this job. Butler didn't know how his new employers had found out about him, but it hadn't taken long to accept. Hell, it was a no-brainer.

  At the back of his mind he knew what they were asking him to do was treason, but it hadn't been difficult to justify his actions. He didn't owe his country anything, not after the way they'd treated him. Besides, the little guy and his friends had assured him the bombs were not going to be used against America. He didn't know where they were going to use them. He didn't want to know. He didn't ask .

  Butler had a natural gift for complex electronics, if such a thing existed. The firing mechanism for a B-61 nuclear bomb was sophisticated, but not unduly complicated. What was complicated were the safety protocols that prevented the bomb from being armed without equipment that included a special strike enable plug and a second, coded connection called a permissive action link, PAL for short. As if that wasn't enough, there was a battery encased in the bomb that was designed to fire off and fry all the critical circuitry unless the proper procedure was followed.

  It wasn't supposed to be possible to arm the bomb without the proper equipment. Because it wasn't supposed to be possible, no one thought it could be done.

  Except Bobby "Boo-Boo" Butler. He knew it could be done. It wasn't easy, of course. That's why he was getting paid a million dollars to do it. In hindsight, he should have asked for more, but it was too late now. Something told him that if he tried to raise the ante it wouldn't go over well. He hadn't failed to notice the weapons these men carried with them all the time.

  No, it was better not to get greedy. A million dollars would go a long way in some nice, warm country with a beach and willing women. Thailand, maybe.

  It was still early. Maria lay next to him, asleep and snoring, smelling of last night's booze and sex. He thought about waking her, then realized he didn't want to. She bored him. Maybe they could get him a different woman, if he was going to be here much longer. He got up, pulled on his shorts and got ready for the trek down the hall to the toilet. There was a knock on the door. He opened it to see the one called Beslan standing there.

  "The package has arrived," Beslan said. "Please get dressed. It's time for you to go to work."

  "At last," Butler said. "Okay, I just have to take a piss and put on some clothes. You got my coffee ready?"

  "Yes, coffee is waiting. "

  "I'll be right there."

  Beslan watched the
arrogant American walk down the hall and suppressed the desire to kill him right there and then. First the bombs. There would be time to take care of him later.

  Chapter 23

  Elizabeth looked up as Stephanie burst into the office, excited.

  "I've identified the ship that took the bombs. I hacked into one of the Chinese satellites that was over Texas at the time. It shows what happened. There was a trawler down the coast from Palacios the day before the bombs were stolen. It left the dock and headed up to Palacios and docked there. The terrorists transferred the bombs onto it."

  "A trawler? They wouldn't get very far with a trawler."

  "They didn't need to. The trawler met up with a freighter out in the Gulf. At that point the satellite moved out of range, but they must have transferred the bombs to the bigger ship."

  "That makes sense. Where's the trawler? We might get forensics from it that could tell us who they were."

  "The trawler is gone," Stephanie said. "There's no sign of it anywhere. My guess is they sent it to the bottom of the gulf once the bombs were on the freighter."

  "If they did, it's another indication they have money to burn. How did you identify the ship?"

  "I had Freddie compare the satellite photo with everything in the area at the time. There was only one vessel configured exactly the same way, a tramp under Liberian registration called the Luwanda. "

  "Where is it now?"

  "I don't know yet. I've got Freddie looking for it. Sooner or later, they have to put into port. When they do, the ship will show up on someone's records."

  "That could take a while," Elizabeth said.

  Fear not, Elizabeth. I have tracked the vessel to Romania.

  "Fear not?"

  I have been reading heroic adventure novels. I sensed disappointment in your voice and wanted to reassure you .

  "Thank you, Freddie. I feel very reassured. Where in Romania is the ship?"

  The ship is currently docked at the port of Constanta.

  "Finally, something we can work with," Elizabeth said. "That's on the Black Sea. But why go there?"

  "Do you think they unloaded the bombs there?"

  "I don't know, but it seems unlikely they would choose a regular port with inspections and customs. I suppose it's possible. It's also possible they stopped somewhere along the way to offload them. Freddie, can you look for satellite coverage that picks up that ship before it gets to Romania?"

  Certainly, Elizabeth. Fear not.

  Stephanie rolled her eyes.

  "Romania. That's the last place I would've thought of. What are they up to?"

  "They can't use the bombs like they are. They need someplace where they can modify those weapons," Stephanie said.

  "Sure, but why Eastern Europe? They could go anywhere. All they need is somewhere to hide the bombs. A barn would do."

  "They can't go lugging those bombs around forever," Stephanie said. "We have to assume they'll salvage the plutonium and use it as a dirty bomb. They have to repackage the nuclear components into something they can move around with fewer problems. Eastern Europe is as good a place as any to do that. Romania is off the beaten track. They don't have the kind of surveillance you find in the West."

  Elizabeth tapped her pen on her desk.

  "I don't think they'd choose something near a populated area. If they're using an abandoned site, my guess is it would be out in the country somewhere, away from prying eyes."

  "Without more information, we're not going to find where they took those bombs anytime soon," Stephanie said .

  "Then we'd better get that information," Elizabeth said. "Depending on where they set it off, they could kill thousands."

  "What if they don't want a dirty bomb? What if they have a way to make a real bomb?"

  "Then we're in big trouble," Elizabeth said.

  "That might qualify as the understatement of the year," Stephanie said.

  "Any luck on tracking down this Ruslan character?"

  "Maybe."

  "What did you find out?"

  "Langley has been hearing rumors of a new terrorist group in Chechnya. That's all they are, rumors, but the Russians appear to be taking it seriously. One of the names that pops up is Ruslan. He's not the leader. The leader is someone called Isidrov."

  "What do they call themselves?"

  "I can't pronounce it. It's a combination of words that mean holy war and vengeance."

  "Lovely," Elizabeth said. "Another group of fanatics that think they're doing God's will on earth by killing people."

  "It might not be them."

  "Maybe not, but it's our best lead so far. That's good work, Steph."

  "I wonder where they got the money?" Stephanie said. "Ten million for the mob, plus whatever it took to get the freighter and everything else they needed to pull this off."

  "We'll find out," Elizabeth said. "Money leaves a trail. No matter how good they are at hiding it, eventually we'll track it back to the source."

  "I'll get Freddie on it."

  "Let's assume this group is behind it. Find out everything you can about them. I'll give Langley and NSA a heads up. For once, everyone is cooperating."

  "Nothing like nukes in the hands of terrorists to bring folks together," Stephanie said.

  Chapter 24

  Bobby Butler removed an inspection panel from the first bomb, using a special tool designed for the purpose. Ruslan had provided the complete government toolset used to service the weapon. It made things easier.

  Beslan, Ruslan, and Akhmad stood nearby.

  "Well?" Akhmad said. "What do you see?"

  "This is a standard MOD 11 type bomb," Butler said. "What we call a FUFO."

  "What does this mean, FUFO?"

  "Full Fusing Option. It means the yield of the bomb can be dialed up to a max of four hundred kilotons. It's a strategic weapon. You've heard of Hiroshima?"

  "Of course I have. I am not an ignorant peasant."

  If Butler heard the annoyance in Akhmad's voice he gave no sign of it.

  "That bomb had a yield of around fifteen kilotons. This one is more than twenty-six times as powerful. It makes the one that took out Hiroshima look like a firecracker."

  The Chechens looked at each other and smiled.

  "How long will it take you to make it ready?" Beslan asked.

  "I can't tell you exactly," Butler said. "I have to take my time. First I have to make sure the battery doesn't turn all the circuitry into toast. That part won't be difficult. It's not designed to kick in unless someone tries to arm the bomb without the right codes. But we're not trying to do that, not yet. I'm going to remove the arming mechanism, take everything apart and then put it back together again in a way that allows us to trigger it. Then I have to combine that with the nuclear components."

  "How large will it be? "

  "The key components can't be downsized. This is a big bomb. The final package won't be wide, but I can't shorten the length too much. It would fit inside a refrigerator. Or maybe a big toolbox."

  "How will we set it off?"

  "Once it's rigged, all it takes is an electronic signal. A cell phone would work."

  "It's that simple?"

  "You're looking at it and thinking about it as a nuke. Think of it as just another bomb. It doesn't matter if it uses C4 or plutonium. Once it's set up, all it needs is something to tell it to go boom. You have everything I requested?"

  "Yes. Everything you asked for."

  "Okay, good. I need that in here, and you need to keep everyone else out."

  "How long till it's done?" Beslan asked again.

  "Once the bomb is disassembled, I have to experiment with the circuitry before I put everything back together. Maybe a week or two for the first one. I have to make sure it's going to work. After that, the others will go quickly."

  "Good, good," Beslan said. He patted Butler on the shoulder. "Please ask if there is anything you need while you are working."

  "Now you mention it, I wouldn't mind
a different companion for the next couple weeks. You think you can arrange that?"

  Beslan suppressed his disgust. He smiled.

  "Of course, my friend, no problem."

  "Maybe you could give Maria a bonus. She's been good to me."

  "I will see that she gets what she deserves," Beslan said.

  Butler looked at his worktable, making sure he had the tools he would need laid out within reach.

  "I'm gonna begin," he said. "It will be easier if nobody's standing around watching me. I need to concentrate. "

  "No problem," Akhmad said. "We will leave you alone to work."

  They left the room.

  Beslan said, "What about the woman?"

  "Dispose of her," Akhmad said. "Ruslan, you go into town and find a replacement. Someone who speaks some English. We need to keep him happy a little while longer."

  "He seems confident," Beslan said.

  "How will we know he does not try to cheat us?" Ruslan said. "That his modifications will work?"

  "I will know if he is lying. I will have him demonstrate that the mechanism is working before he installs it."

  "I do not think he is bold enough to cheat us," Akhmad said. "He acts as though he is not afraid, but I see his fear. It's in his eyes. He's weak, a traitor to his country. We will allow him his illusions as long as is necessary. When the bombs are ready, he will receive the reward he deserves."

  Chapter 25

  Nick woke up with a headache. It seemed like he was always getting one since the injury he'd gotten in Texas. This one didn't seem too bad, more like a dull ache instead of the sharp, electric pain he sometimes got. He decided to ignore it, drive it out of his mind.

  It was early. He dressed in a sweat suit, tucked a Sig .380 into a holster at the small of his back, bent down and kissed Selena where she lay in bed.

  "I'm going for a run," Nick said.