Guardian of Lies: A Paul Madriani Novel

by Steve Martini

  As he had suspected, Alim’s own nuclear expert tried to hitch a ride on the early morning truck with Maricela and her two guards. He was plucked off the truck by one of Alim’s men. The technician offered some lame excuse about supplies he needed to obtain in Medellín. Alim told him the supplies could wait. He wanted the man close at hand to answer technical questions that Alim might have as the assembly of the device proceeded.

  By ten that morning, Nitikin and Tomas, his Colombian assistant, were locked away in the wooden hut with the innards of the gun device spread out before them on a large table in the center of the room.

  Against one wall, another table, supported by three sturdy sawhorses, bore the weight of two lead caskets. These containers shielded the two men from radiation emitted from the uranium projectile in one casket and the four uranium target disks in the other.

  The first stage, assembly of the gun itself, involved mere mechanics. Except for the precision of certain measurements involving alignment of the barrel, it was no more complicated than installing minor motor parts in an automobile. The work should have taken less than an hour. It stretched out, consuming more than two hours because of the constant need to communicate with Alim through the walkie-talkie and to answer the endless stream of questions he posed through the interpreter.

  Nitikin knew what Afundi was up to. He was having one of his men write it all down, so that if he needed to, he could dispense with the Russian’s services whenever he wanted. Except for one thing; Nitikin had no intention of telling him everything. He would let the Iranian know this only when he was finished with the preliminary assembly of the device.

  There were certain aspects of the process involving safety features and final arming that only Nitikin would know. Yakov had no intention of allowing them to take the device that he had guarded for decades, and detonate it at some undisclosed location without his express consent and participation. Alim and his men might kill him when they were done, but not before.

  Gun-type devices, while being the most rudimentary and reliable of nuclear weapons, were also the most dangerous. The simplicity of design was what made it hazardous. A plutonium implosion device, unlike Nitikin’s, while potentially far more destructive, required the intricate and precise alignment of a number of elements before criticality could be achieved. The failure or inhibition of any one of these would neutralize the bomb. But a single subcritical uranium projectile, like Nitikin’s, being fired down a tube at high speed by a conventional explosive charge into a larger target of uranium, meant that a simple premature detonation of the firing charge would result in a full-yield nuclear explosion.

  Alim had insisted on installing two items himself: the cordite charge, which involved the simple removal of a breech plug from the back end of the gun tube and the insertion of the cordite; and the setting of the timing device that would initiate the firing of the gun. Nitikin had warned Alim not to install the newly acquired cordite charge in the chamber of the gun, behind the uranium projectile, until the last moment. This would be done on-site and could be performed by virtually anyone. In fact, Yakov did not even have possession of the cordite. That was held by Alim.

  Apart from a full-yield detonation, the next fear was a high-explosive fizzle. This could occur in the event that the projectile slides down the barrel at a reduced speed. It could happen as a result of gravity if the projectile is not properly installed, or because of kinetic energy following a collision with the vehicle transporting the bomb. In actuality the risk of this happening to Nitikin’s device was virtually nonexistent because of its design, though this was not something Yakov shared with Alim.

  Nitikin’s device incorporated safety features, including compression bands installed around the projectile to secure it firmly in the gun barrel, and a mechanical saving device that blocked the projectile once it was installed in the barrel. This saving mechanism had to be disengaged before firing, and only Nitikin knew the proper sequence for doing so.

  Once the safety device was in place, if the gun was fired, the worst that would happen was a fizzle. The device would be blown apart before the two elements of uranium could achieve critical mass and establish a chain reaction. The explosion would kill anyone in close proximity to the device. Depending on the force of the blast, wind velocity, and other factors, it could shower any person within hundreds and up to thousands of feet with a deadly dose of radiation.

  The problem was that none of these safety features could be installed until after the uranium target was bolted in place and the projectile was prepared and inserted down the muzzle of the smooth bore tube.

  To make things worse, all of this had to be done with precision and speed. During training, in his youth, Yakov had performed the procedure at least eight times and had done so each time in under eight minutes.

  While Nitikin and his helper would have the protection of lead-lined suits and gloves, including hoods, face shields, and breathing apparatuses, these garments only provided partial protection. Once they opened the lead coffins containing the uranium, their bodies would begin absorbing radiation.

  According to Nitikin’s calculations, they had slightly more than twenty minutes to bolt the target in place, prepare and load the projectile, install the saving mechanism, and seal the gun tube assembly inside its lead-shielded case. Anything beyond twenty-five minutes and the burden of radiation their bodies would be absorbing could become lethal.

  Nitikin and his helper had practiced the procedure for four days, using a short section of three-inch pipe for the gun tube and wooden mock-ups of the uranium components.

  Yakov liked the young Colombian. Unlike some of the older FARC commanders who had lost sight of the goal of social change and had become warlords presiding over narco empires, Tomas, like most of the young rebels, adhered to revolutionary principles. He would lay down his life in a minute if he believed it would advance the cause of the revolution. In this way he was fearless, but not foolhardy.

  Tomas learned quickly and asked questions that made it clear he understood the most critical parts of the procedure and the risks involved. Most of all he understood the time constraints.

  After assembling the parts of the tube and the steel anvil that would form the base for the target, Nitikin placed an old alarm clock on the sill of the window directly above the two lead caskets. The clock was set with both hands straight up, twelve o’clock.

  Nitikin spoke in Spanish, but his Russian accent destroyed any trill to the Spanish rs. “I will set the alarm for twenty minutes. When the alarm goes off, or if it fails for any reason, when the big hand reaches four, Tomas, you are to exit the hut and get as far away from the building as fast as you can, no matter whether we are finished or not. Do you understand?”

  “Sí.”

  “You are not to argue with me, talk to me, or ask any questions, just go. Understood?”

  “Yes, seńor. I understand.”

  They donned their lead-lined suits, pulled the hoods over their heads, gloved their hands, and began breathing through the respirators. They had only practiced with the suits once before, but they wore the thick gloves each time. The gloves made it difficult to manipulate the tongs that would be used to pick up and carry the subcritical uranium components and to hold them in place as they were fastened down or fitted with other parts.

  Within less than a minute, Tomas and Yakov began to feel the drag of the heavy lead as gravity began to pull on their bodies.

  Nitikin used a ratchet-and-socket set to unscrew the four bolts from the lid of the first casket. He reached up with his gloved hand, took the clock from the windowsill, reset the hands to twelve, flipped the alarm lever, and put the clock back on the sill. Then he reached down with his hands and lifted the heavy lid off the casket, setting it on the table.

  The target elements of uranium, four of them, rings stacked upside down, forming a V-shaped cup, looked like lead to the naked eye.

  Tomas took the tongs and grasped the top ring. Sure-footed and steady, he moved to the t
able and quickly aligned the first ring. This was the bottom of the cup-shaped target. It fit perfectly in the prepared bed of the high-carbide steel anvil.

  Nitikin tried to explain the procedure to Alim through the interpreter, using the walkie-talkie. Because of the hood, the translator was having difficulty understanding him. Alim kept coming back, asking for clarification.

  Tomas repeated the process and the second ring of the target was in place.

  Nitikin tried to explain this. The question came back, “How many is that now?”

  “Two,” said Nitikin.

  “What did you say? Repeat one more time.”

  “Two target disks installed.”

  “How much time remaining?”

  “I don’t have time to look right now.”

  “Give us an estimate.”

  Nitikin ignored them. He could see that the constant static and shouting from the walkie-talkie was making Tomas nervous. If he dropped one of the elements on the floor and deformed it, the device could well be useless.

  Without any air-conditioning in the hut, the suits had become stifling. The small glass lens inside Nitikin’s hood through which he could see began to fog up.

  “What is happening now?”

  “Listen to me. You can either have a bomb or a description of how to make one, but you cannot have both. Do you understand? You must decide,” said Yakov.

  A few seconds passed, then the translator’s voice. “Afundi says he wants to come in and see for himself.”

  “Tell him to come ahead as long as he is prepared to die,” said Nitikin. He turned off the walkie-talkie and tossed it on the table.

  As Tomas moved back to the casket one more time, Yakov realized there was only one uranium element left in the storage case. The Colombian grabbed it with the metal tongs and quickly placed it on top of the others as Nitikin took up the ratchet and two of the bolts from the lid of the empty casket along with two steel washers. The uranium target disks had been milled with two small holes. These lined up precisely with threaded holes in the base of the anvil. Now that the target disks were stacked and aligned, they were ready to be bolted down.

  Avoiding any contact by his gloved hand with the uranium, Yakov put one bolt through a washer and dropped it into the first hole, then did the same with the second bolt. He used the ratchet to carefully tighten them, making certain not to deform the soft uranium.

  The moment he was done he turned and looked at the clock. The most critical part of the process was still before them. They had used up seven minutes, including precious time wasted arguing with Alim over the walkie-talkie.

  Yakov moved to the second casket and started loosening the bolts. Less than a minute later he had the lid off. The smaller portion of highly enriched uranium, the bullet, lay before them, cradled in a shaped cavity cast in the bottom lead casket.

  Tomas moved with the tongs, gripped it, and picked it up. He hadn’t cleared the top lip of the casket when the slick cylindrical projectile slipped from the tongs and fell back into its case and settled again in the cavity in the bottom.

  Tomas stopped and looked at Nitikin. Yakov could tell he was rattled. He reached over and took the tongs from him. Nitikin delicately reached in and lifted the projectile from the bottom of the case. Gripping the tongs tightly with both hands, he rotated the object up close in front of the thick glass lens of his hood, examining it for any deformation or dents.

  “It’s all right.”

  Tomas nodded.

  Nitikin set it back down in the case, handed the tongs back to Tomas, and retrieved another smaller set for himself. Using the smaller tongs, Yakov picked up a brass ring, banded metal, with a fused neoprene seal along the center of the outside of the ring.

  Tomas picked up the projectile again, this time using both hands to squeeze the tongs. Holding it firmly, he set the base end on the table so that the bullet rested upright, like a missile on a launch pad. He used the tongs to steady it near the bottom, at its base, as Nitikin carefully slipped the brass ring over the tip of the projectile.

  To the naked eye, the bullet looked perfectly cylindrical, but it wasn’t. The circumference was imperceptibly larger at the bottom than the top, so that the ring slid down the projectile to the bottom third and stopped. Yakov tested it with the tongs to make sure that it was properly seated. The ring didn’t move.

  He checked the clock. They were sixteen minutes in. Quickly he picked up the second ring and slipped it over the projectile. This time the slightly smaller ring slid only halfway down before seating itself against the side of the projectile.

  Yakov grabbed a can of lubricant, pried open the lid, and with a small brush, dabbed a bit of the viscous clear liquid on the outer neoprene gaskets fused to the two brass rings.

  “Ready?” said Yakov. He steadied the projectile with the small tongs while Tomas gained a more secure purchase with the larger tongs.

  “You have it?”

  “Sí.” Tomas picked it up with both hands, turned, and carried it toward the table. He allowed Nitikin to cross in front of him so that he could keep the projectile as far as possible from the uranium target already bolted in place.

  Separated, neither of the two portions of uranium-235 possessed sufficient mass to reach criticality. But together, either in close proximity, or, god forbid, should they make contact, the nuclear reaction, and the burst of radiation, would be deadly.

  Tomas continued to hold the projectile up, away from his body, as Yakov steadied the tube of the gun’s barrel with his gloved hands.

  At the moment, the two-foot-long barrel of the gun’s tube was swung out on a hinged device of heavy forged steel. Once the projectile was loaded in the tube, the barrel would be swung back and locked into position so that the muzzle was directly aligned with and nearly touching the open cup of the target. The slight gap between the two would be filled with a three-inch disk of uranium-238, a neutron deflector that was nonfissionable and reflected neutrons back to their source. The disk would keep the two portions of highly enriched uranium separated and corral their neutrons even if the projectile accidentally slid down the barrel. It was the final safety mechanism that Yakov would have to remove before the bomb could be detonated. But the safety disk couldn’t be inserted until the projectile was properly loaded and the barrel was swung back into position and locked.

  Nitikin checked the clock. They were closing in on nineteen minutes.

  “Ready?”

  Tomas nodded.

  “Go ahead.”

  The Colombian reached over with the tongs and aligned the base end of the projectile with the muzzle of the gun’s barrel. It passed through the opening until the neoprene gasket reached the muzzle. Tomas tried to force it. The tongs slipped on the slick, soft uranium.

  “Don’t. Stop,” said Yakov.

  Tomas eased off.

  “Do you have it? Can you hold it?”

  “Sí. I think so.”

  The neoprene on the brass rings was designed to compress against the inside of the barrel. But as Yakov looked at it he realized that the first ring, toward the base of the projectile, was jammed in the muzzle at a slight angle.

  “Do you think you can ease it out?” said Nitikin. He took hold of the tube of the barrel with both hands as Tomas tried to lift the projectile out. The tongs began to slip.

  “Stop.” Nitikin was afraid that if Tomas lost his grip with the tongs, the projectile might come loose from its own weight and topple onto the anvil and the uranium target.

  “Don’t push it, just hold it steady,” said Yakov. “Give me a moment to get the tool.”

  The tool was a two-foot-long steel ramrod with a conically shaped concave tip. It was formed precisely to fit the bullet tip on the projectile.

  As soon as Nitikin could grab the ramrod, he would be able to grasp the uranium bullet by its pointed end. Then he could use the leverage of the ramrod to line it up and push it with uniform pressure down the barrel. After that, he and Tomas could button up in less than thirty seconds, slip in the safety disk, and
close the entire gun assembly inside its lead-lined bomb case. The case was designed to shield the radiation in the gun from the outer electronic components, including the detonator. Once the lead case was sealed, you could safely approach the bomb without protective gear.

  Yakov scanned the hut quickly, turning his head and peering through the fogged lens of his hood searching for the ramrod. He didn’t see it. Then he remembered. He had handed it to one of Alim’s men that morning when they were setting up. He’d asked the interpreter to tell the man to carry it to the hut. The idiot hadn’t done it.

  Nitikin looked through the window. He could see Alim down on one knee, the technician, the interpreter, and Alim’s cronies all huddled around him under the trees a hundred meters away. He grabbed the walkie-talkie, turned it on, and shouted into the mouthpiece, “The ramrod I handed to your man this morning. Where is it? We need it now!”

  He watched through the window as the message was translated for Alim and his men. Afundi got to his feet, turned, and looked at one of them. The man turned up his palms, shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head. Then he suddenly turned his head to the right and pointed. Nitikin followed the trajectory of the man’s outstretched arm and finger to a tree perhaps thirty yards away. There against the trunk of the tree, propped up, was the two-foot-long steel ramrod.

  “Get it now! Bring it here!” Yakov screamed into the walkie-talkie. He watched as Alim looked at the man and pointed toward the tree. The man shook his head. He took two steps backward, his hands held out, palms open. He was refusing to take the ramrod to the hut, afraid of the radiation.

  “Hurry,” said Tomas. “I cannot hold it much longer.”

  Nitikin watched in stark silence as Alim pulled something from his belt. There was a spray of red from the man’s head, followed a second later by the report of the shot as the man’s legs turned to rubber and he collapsed to the ground. Alim quickly turned the gun on one of his other followers. This time the man ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the tree, grabbed the ramrod, and raced toward the hut as if he were running an Olympic trial.