by Joseph Badal
The man groaned, “Are you kidding?”
Morrell continued to thread the wire into the cylinder.
Michael said, “I wouldn’t kid about something like that.”
“Is that really a nuclear bomb?”
Morrell glanced quickly at Alizadeh. “What do I do now?”
“How much of the wire have you threaded into the warhead?” Alizadeh’s voice now sounded hoarse.
“About fourteen inches.”
“That’s good. You’ve hit the back of the sphere. Just keep threading the wire forward. It will start to back up on itself and create a bundle of wire, which is exactly what we want.”
Morrell continued to work with the wire. He said, as he stared into the head of the cylinder, “Sailor, go topside to the pilot house and get Ensign Salazar on board your chopper. Make sure he shuts down the tanker’s engines and drops the anchors. We’ll be right along.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the man said. Then he rushed out of the room and beat the sounds of bass drums with his feet on the metal ladder up to the deck.
“Lot of praying going on here lately, General,” Morrell said.
“Not a bad thing.”
The helicopter pilot radioed the command center on the U.S.S. Andrew Jackson and said, “I’ve got Ensign Salazar on board the bird. The ship’s engines have been shut down and anchors deployed. It’s 2235 hours. What are my orders?”
Admiral Wyncourt shook his head and said, “Your orders were to leave the tanker at 2230 hours. You’re five minutes late.”
“But General Danforth and Sergeant Morrell are below. There’s a nuke down there that’s set to detonate at 2300 hours.”
“Lieutenant, let me explain something to you,” Wyncourt said. “Even if you leave that ship in the next second, if that bomb goes off, you could be within range of both the blast and the subsequent radiation.”
There was a brief delay before the chopper pilot said, “Then I guess it’s six of one, half-dozen of the other. We’re dead either way. I’ll wait for the general.”
Wyncourt wondered if anyone in the military had ever received the Navy Cross after being courts-martialed for disobeying an order.
Then he shook his head again as he looked at his XO. He knew he had no choice but to order the tanker’s destruction before 2300 hours.
“General, perhaps you should escort Mister Alizadeh up to the deck.”
“No way, Sergeant. I’ll leave when you leave.”
Morrell shook his head and continued to thread wire into the weapon.
“Alizadeh, what time is it?” Michael asked.
The Iranian looked at his watch, mumbled something in Farsi, and said, “10:45.”
Alizadeh had barely given the time when a “tick-tick-tick” sounded in the room. The ticking noise continued unabated.
“Merciful Allah,” Alizadeh said.
“What is that?” Morrell said in a whispered hush.
“It’s the timer. That bastard Boukali must have adjusted it.”
Alizadeh moved around the device to look at the timer on the warhead. He gasped and said, “He not only changed the time on the nuclear weapon, he also changed the time on the H-E explosives. Even if we short-circuit the nuclear warhead, the high explosives will still go off.”
“You mean the bomb will explode before 2300 hours?” Morrell asked.
“The timer begins a countdown ten minutes before detonation. It will detonate at 10:55.”
The ticking seemed deafening to Michael. “Can’t you do anything with the timer on the H-E part?”
“No. Only one adjustment can be made. A second adjustment will ignite the detonator.”
Michael said, “Alizadeh, get out of here.”
The Iranian engineer took off as though his ass was on fire.
Ensign Emil Salazar sat on the helicopter’s cargo bay floor and watched a skinny, dark-complected man race toward him. The guy leaped into the cargo bay and rolled into Salazar.
“Jeez,” Salazar said, “this guy stinks.”
“We have to take off,” the little man screamed.
The pilot turned and stared at the newcomer. “We’ll wait for the others.”
“Are you crazy?” the little guy shrieked. “We’ve got to get away from here.”
“Shut up,” the pilot said.
“We’re all going to die.”
“I told you to shut up.”
“I helped build that weapon. I know every part of it. They’re almost out of time.”
Salazar turned on the guy. “You built that bomb? You wanted to kill and maim thousands and thousands of people?”
“It is our time. The new caliphate has been prophesied. The Islamic State will change the world.”
“You know what else has been prophesied?” Salazar said just as he saw General Danforth and Sergeant Morrell race from the stairway door onto the main deck. It was 2252 hours.
The little guy looked at him with wide eyes. “What else has been prophesied?” he said with venom and scorn in his voice.
Salazar punched the guy in the face and said, “That tomorrow you’ll have one hell of a headache.”
Michael and Morrell sprinted to the open helicopter bay door and dove inside.
“Go! Go! Go!” Michael shouted.
The pilot raised the bird off the tanker’s deck and dropped to feet above the water. He flew the chopper toward the aft end of the huge vessel and skirted the water as fast as his aircraft would fly.
Salazar yelled about the noise of the rotors, “Are we about to die, sir?”
Michael shook his head and looked at his watch. The hour hand was pinned on 11; the minute hand straight up north at 12. The second hand twitched toward 12. He silently counted down: 8-7-6-5. He took a deep breath and then slowly emptied his lungs. When the second hand overlaid the minute hand on his watch, he felt the concussion of a huge explosion. He craned his neck outside the helicopter’s bay door and marveled at the pyrotechnics on the tanker they had just left. The massive vessel now listed to its port side.
SUNDAY
JUNE 29
CHAPTER 83
Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi had felt an adrenaline surge up to the stroke of 11 p.m., Greek time. But now his whole body seemed to feel weak and his legs and arms shook. He crumpled the press release his public affairs man had prepared. The news of the destruction of the aircraft carrier would have been a message to the world that the Islamic State was a serious, powerful player in international affairs. But the news had been bad. The tanker Kerkira had exploded in Piraeus Bay under mysterious circumstances. There were no reports of a nuclear incident, and there was little environment damage because the ship had just offloaded its crude oil cargo. He slid down onto the couch and placed a hand over his eyes. The disappointment he felt was like a physical, living thing—a palpable reminder of failure.
He pushed himself from the couch and shouted, “Raza.”
His aide entered the office. “Yes, Sayyid.”
“Summon General Kashkari.”
“Now?” Raza asked.
“Of course, now, you ignorant goat turd.”
Al-Baghdadi reclined on the couch in his office and attempted to meditate away the headache that seemed to want to explode his brain. The tension inside his head had nearly subsided when his cell phone rang.
He pulled the phone from a robe pocket and answered, “Yes.” He tried to put strength in his voice but he knew the one-word answer had been delivered weakly.
“It is Heinrich Steiner. The German police raided the Gerhardt Anlageberatungs offices in Berlin. The senior staff members were taken into custody.”
Al-Baghdadi jerked upright and quickly considered the implications of what his German lawyer had just said. “This shouldn’t be a problem. There is no way the authorities can identify our accounts there. Our funds will be safe.”
Several seconds passed before the lawyer responded, “That’s not quite accurate. The police froze all of GA’s accounts. It a
ppears that Herr Gerhardt is cooperating with them. The government plans to perform a forensic audit of all GA accounts, including reverse engineering them to track the flow of funds. In the meantime, clients will not be able to access their accounts.”
“You must prevent this.”
“It’s only a matter of a few days before the authorities investigate every person whose name is on a GA account, including those listed as persons ‘of service.’ I am the lawyer of service for your accounts.”
“What does all this mean?”
“It means your funds will not be available to your . . . organization.”
“You already told me that. But when will our funds be released?”
“You don’t seem to understand. When the authorities discover that GA traded for you, charges will be brought against them for violation of international banking and securities laws, including aiding a known terrorist organization. Your funds will be permanently confiscated. And, because trades were made on all major stock and bond exchanges, this will not be just a German or EU investigation. The Brits, Americans, Chinese, Japanese, among many others, will be involved.”
“I need you to—”
Steiner cut off al-Baghdadi. “I think it would be best if we immediately severed our relationship.” Then he cut the connection.
CHAPTER 84
Lieutenant Lewis Campbell and Bob Danforth both wore headsets that tied them to the helicopter pilot and co-pilot. The co-pilot kept up a running commentary on the direction that Ahmed drove and on his location as down-linked to the chopper’s navigational equipment from an NRO satellite. There were five members of the DELTA team with Campbell, as well as two Navy SEALs, Lieutenant J.G. Patrick Riley and Marine Gunnery Sergeant Nick Roberts.
“This guy’s definitely armed,” Bob told Campbell. “We have no idea what his core motivations are. He might be a true believer who can’t wait to martyr himself, or he might be a paid operative. But you and your men need to do everything possible to keep him alive.”
“I understand, Mister Danforth. Short of killing the guy in self-defense.”
Bob nodded.
The co-pilot’s voice burst into Bob’s headset: “I’ve got eyes on the target. He’s in a dark blue Toyota Land Cruiser five point three miles this side of Corinth. The road will become crowded the closer he gets to the canal.”
“Can you find us a secluded place to set down short of the town?” Campbell said.
“Sure, Lieutenant. As long as you don’t mind our scaring the crap out of a bunch of tourists and locals.”
Campbell met Bob’s gaze. Bob nodded. “Do it,” Campbell said. “Find a spot where we can land the bird, and from where we can move to set up a roadblock.”
The pilot responded, “There’s nothing but rocks on both sides. No way I can put us down there.”
“How about on the road?” Bob asked.
“Can do,” the pilot said.
Campbell said, “As soon as you drop us off, I want you to circle back the way we came and hover a mile behind the SUV. If he tries to turn around, stop him.”
Bob’s stomach lurched as the pilot dipped the chopper’s nose and gunned the engines. Airplanes made him queasy; helicopters gave him the willies. He gripped the sides of his mesh seat and forced a smile on his face. The last thing he wanted to do was to leave the impression with the young men around him that he wasn’t up to the task. He looked around and felt proud to be in their company.
The pilot pulled the helicopter out of its steep descent and quickly auto rotated down to the road. Campbell’s team leaped through the open door. He positioned two men on each lane of the road with instructions to stop traffic. A line of vehicles had already backed up in both lanes. His men got traffic to move again, albeit at a slow pace.
Bob was pleased with where the pilot had dropped them. Because of the rocky terrain and the winding road, a driver that came from the east wouldn’t see them until he was almost right on top of them.
“If the target decides to run our roadblock,” the senior Navy SEAL, Lieutenant J.G. Patrick Riley, said to Campbell, “we will either wind up with casualties or have to shoot the sonofabitch.
Bob overheard the exchange and said, “We have to try to capture this guy.”
“Not at the expense of losing any of my men,” Campbell said. “Ahmed could be waiting for an opportunity to meet his allotment of heavenly virgins.”
Riley shrugged. “What now, Mister Danforth?”
“I’m the only one of us in civilian clothes. And I speak Greek. I’ll walk the line of vehicles in the east-bound lane like a good citizen and tell each driver there’s been an accident up ahead. When I come to the blue Toyota—”
Campbell interrupted Bob. “What if Ahmed only speaks Arabic? If I recall correctly, all his intercepted conversations were in Arabic.”
“Then I’ll have to speak to him in Arabic.”
Campbell laughed as though he thought Bob was joking. When Bob didn’t respond in kind, Campbell said, “You really speak the language?”
Bob nodded.
“I can’t allow you to confront—”
“You’ve got no say in this matter, Lieutenant. This became a CIA mission the second I came aboard. You are part of a Lone Wolf Team, which makes you part of that Company mission. And Ray Gallegos put me in charge of this mission.”
Everything Bob told Campbell was true except for the last part about Ray putting him in charge. Campbell looked as though he was about to challenge what Bob had told him.
“Dammit, Lieutenant, we don’t have time for a debate. Will you accept my authority or not?”
Campbell looked at Riley, as though he wanted the SEAL’s opinion, but Riley just rested his arms on his slung assault rifle and raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, Mister Danforth,” Campbell said. “We’ll do it your way. But what do you think General Danforth will do to me if something happens to you?”
“You’ve got a witness in Lieutenant Riley to what I ordered you to do. Besides, that wouldn’t be General Danforth’s style.”
“Yes, sir,” Campbell said, seemingly out of arguments. “What do you want us to do?”
Bob stuck out a hand and said, “How about lending me your side arm?”
Campbell sighed and his mouth compressed to a straight line as he removed the 9mm pistol from his holster, popped out the magazine, and ejected a round already in the chamber. He handed Bob the pistol, replaced the loose round in the magazine, and then gave it to Bob. Bob checked the pistol to make certain it was clear and then inserted the magazine.
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
Bob turned to walk away but stopped when Campbell said, “If I hear shooting, we’ll come running.”
“If you hear shooting, I probably screwed up.”
CHAPTER 85
As soon as he passed the curve in the road, Bob moved to the driver side of the first car. He talked with the driver. The man asked him a question, but Bob had already moved on toward the next vehicle, a panel van. He made good progress and had a brief conversation with eight drivers in a row. The next vehicle was a large lorry with canvas sides that blocked Bob’s view of vehicles traveling behind it. While he walked toward the lorry, he reached under his poplin jacket and touched Campbell’s pistol at the back of his belt. He stopped at the lorry, informed the driver of the problem, and then moved to the back of the truck. The sight of a dark-blue Toyota SUV nearly took his breath away.
Bob strode toward the Land Cruiser and saw a suspicious look on the driver’s face. The man’s hands were out of sight. As he moved forward, Bob looked back over his right shoulder and shouted in Greek, “Stay in the truck; traffic will move again soon.” Then he turned back to the SUV driver and smiled. He said in Greek, in a friendly but authoritative tone, “There’s been an accident, but it should be cleared away very quickly.”
“Ochee . . . Elleeneeka,” the man said in badly accented Greek.
“Eengleesh?” Bob asked.
; “Yes, I have some Eengleesh. Ees problem up front?”
Bob turned slightly and pointed back toward the line of vehicles to the west as he reached for the pistol at the small of his back. “Yes, ees problem.” He pulled the pistol free from his belt and pressed the muzzle hard into the driver’s temple. “Ahmed, if you don’t place your hands on the steering wheel, I will blow a hole in your head.”
Lieutenant Campbell approached Bob while the helicopter hovered in the distance.
“I just got a call on my sat phone. General Danforth and Sergeant Morrell deactivated the nuclear weapon. They’re back on board the Jackson.”
Bob closed his eyes and thought, Thank you, God. Then he opened his eyes. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
Campbell smiled at Bob. “I knew you lied to me about you being in command of this mission.”
Bob suddenly felt his face go hot. “Why’d you go along with me?”
“I improvised.”
Bob laughed. “Thanks again, Lieutenant.” He shook Campbell’s hand and then asked, “Where’s Ahmed? I think it’s time I have a little talk with him, while we wait for the chopper to land. Can you loan me one of your Arabic linguists?”
“That would be me,” Campbell said.
One look at Ahmed told Bob just about everything he needed to know about the man. Unlike the guy who’d bitten into a cyanide capsule, Ahmed was no true believer. He was plastered with perspiration; his eyes were round, glistened with tears, and darted with a deer-in-the-headlights look; and he moaned as though in pain, even though he had suffered no injuries. He was scared to death.
Through Campbell, Bob asked, “You want to tell me everything you know about the nuclear weapon on board the Kerkira?”
Ahmed’s eyebrows went up and his mouth made an “O.”
Bob waited a few seconds. “Okay, Ahmed, why don’t I tell you what I know and then you can fill in the blanks.” There were three things that Bob wanted to know: Who orchestrated the plot to hijack the three yachts and to blow up the aircraft carrier, and were they connected? From where had the terrorists acquired nuclear weapons? Were there any other attacks planned?