by Don Brown
She had tried telling her Russian interrogators about the cargo transfer. But they responded as if she were the criminal.
"Do you realize that Kapitan Batsakov was a hero of the Soviet navy?" asked the scruffy one, with a burning cigarette dangling from his mouth. "And you seek to impugn his name?" He blew a cloud of stifling smoke. "The entire world is watching this, and impugning the reputation of a Soviet naval hero gives propaganda to the Americans."
The second interrogator, the fat, balding one, had been more accusatory. "I hope you are not attempting to blackmail the kapitan's estate or the Russian government for money, Miss Katovich. Do you know that blackmail is a felony under Russian law?"
She had to get the truth out.
The Russians had threatened to prosecute her if she talked, and they wanted to cover the matter for propaganda purposes. She had only one option.
The Americans.
The Allisons had claimed that prayer was talking to God.
Softly, she spoke into the biting wind. "God, show me what to do and let it be right. In Jesus' name."
She looked around. No one was there. At least she saw no one in the immediate vicinity. Only the wispy wind blew leaves in a circle.
The Russians had told her to be back at the courthouse in forty-eight hours. She was to report in every two hours. The bells in the church steeple chimed eleven times. She had one hour. Once she did not report, they would search for her – if they were not already looking for her.
She glanced across the wide boulevard, past the zooming cars at the opening in the tall brick wall.
Behind that wall was America. Through the Internet and through the Allisons, she in many ways felt that she knew America already. But could the Americans be trusted with this information? After all, she nearly died because of their attack. Dima nearly died. Oh, Dima!
On the other hand, if the Americans had not attacked, Batsakov and his crew would have murdered her. And the Americans did not let her children die. The Americans rescued them.
But what if they did not believe her? Suppose they did not give her a chance to talk, but kicked her back on the cold streets of Moscow? Would she be interrogated for going to the Americans first?
If her request for asylum was denied, then what?
"Help me, Jesus."
She pressed the walk button just in front of the embassy, bringing traffic to a halt. Quickly she stepped out onto the boulevard, walking across from the church to the compound. Better not to look around, she thought, so as to appear inconspicuous.
Her better judgment waned as she approached the middle of the boulevard. She looked back over her shoulder. Two stone-faced young men in black suits stepped rapidly into the crosswalk. They had to be Russian FSB.
She quickened her pace. The light changed as she reached the side of the road just in front of the U.S. embassy. Brakes squealed. A loud horn. The men were running for her in front of ongoing traffic!
She dashed toward the embassy, where several U.S. Marines were standing guard.
"Asylum! Please! I request asylum!"
The Marines grabbed her, twisting her arm behind her back. "Please, asylum."
"Sergeant, Corporal. Take her inside. Notify the political officer."
Masha looked over her shoulders as the Marines rushed her toward a guard shack.
The two young men in black suits were at the entrance to the compound. Other U.S. Marine guards stood at the entrance, blocking their way.
The White House
This is a travesty!" The president of the United States stood, pacing again. His Security Council had rushed into the Oval Office for yet another emergency session, and they were agape at images beamed from Moscow.
These were the images of an American submarine commander standing before a Russian military tribunal, then being hustled out of a Russian courtroom.
"They're calling it an attack against civilians, Mr. President, " the secretary of state said. "They have no idea still that the freighter had plutonium on it. They still think the plutonium is somewhere in Chechnya."
Mack picked up the Washington Post, whose headlines read, "Russians Capture U.S. Sub Crew – War Fever Hot Among Superpowers. " "This is just great." He tossed the paper back down on his desk.
"Why don't we approach the Russians about a prisoner swap?" the secretary of defense said. "We release the MiG pilot shot down over Georgia, and they release our crew."
"I don't think it'll work, " the secretary of state said. "They've got the grand prize, and they want to make hay out of it with the international community."
"Why not try?" Secretary Lopez retorted. "In 1960 when the Soviets shot down our U-2 spy plane, they swapped the pilot, Gary Powers, for a KGB colonel, as I recall."
"But remember, Mr. Secretary, " the secretary of state said, "the Soviets agreed to the prisoner swap after they first tried Powers on international television, convicted him of spying, and sentenced him to three years in prison and seven years hard labor. The Eisenhower Administration could do nothing about it."
"Well, if they insist on trying our sub crew, maybe we should try their pilot, " the secretary of defense said.
"Mr. President, " the secretary of state said, "we've gotten a request for individual military council this morning from the Russian embassy. Commander Miranda has requested that a JAG officer represent him."
The secretary of defense said, "Why should we go along with this kangaroo court idea?"
"Because we have a ser viceman that needs help, " the vice president said.
"Plus the Russians have offered it, " the secretary of state added. "And taking them up on their offer shows at least we have some respect for their system, which might lead to meaningful negotiation out of this crisis. At least it's more than they offered in the Gary Powers spy trial back in 1960."
"Admiral Ayers, have you spoken with the judge advocate general about all this, and if so, does he have a recommendation?"
"Yes, Mr. President. Admiral Stumbaugh, the Navy JAG, highly recommends Lieutenant Commander Brewer for the job. He's the best we've got."
"Hmm." Mack let that thought resonate for a moment. He knew Zack Brewer personally. Zack had prosecuted three of the most famous courts-martial in U.S. Navy history. In perhaps the most famous, he prosecuted three Islamic U.S. Navy chaplains for treason, securing the death penalty against internationally acclaimed defense attorney Wellington Levinson in what the press called "the court-martial of the century."
"Okay, stay on it, " the president said. "Personally I like the idea of Brewer too. I have total confidence in him in any international crisis. He's a proven commodity."
"Yes, sir, Mr. President."
"Okay." Mack eyed the secretary of state. "What's this about an asylum request?"
Secretary Mauney spoke up. "From a young woman claiming to be on board the Alexander Popovich when she sunk. The woman was the chaperone for these orphans. Claims she overheard a conversation between the captain and crew about transferring some illegal cargo at sea to an Egyptian freighter. Claims that there was actually a transfer of some small crates just a few hours before the sinking. Makes me wonder if it was the plutonium."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" The president stood and slammed his fist on the desk. "Don't tell me we've sunk a freighter full of orphans and lost the plutonium to boot!"
"We're checking it, sir, " the CIA director said. "We've asked the Turks for a roster of Egyptian freighters going into and out of the Bosphorus the last couple of days. One freighter, the Al Alamein, never made it to any ports that we know of, and sailed back out of the Bosphorus within eighteen hours of entering."
"So where's this freighter now?"
"We think in the Mediterranean somewhere, Mr. President, " the secretary of defense answered. "The Med's a big place. We're watching Gibraltar and the Suez Canal, which are the only ways out of there. Plus we've alerted the Brits, and they've agreed to let us know if they see anything pass by Gibraltar. Even if we find
her, the plutonium may not be on board. I mean, we don't know how credible this lady is."
"All right, ladies and gentlemen, " the president said. "I want the State Department to follow up with this Russian offer to have military counsel present for Commander Miranda. Meantime, the Statement Department will offer a prisoner exchange of their pilot for our crew. I don't think it'll work, but at least it's still talking. We will also propose a partial cease-fire, whereby Russians will pull back all divisions but one from Chechnya and we would pull out everybody except the 82nd from Turkey."
"The Turks won't like that, Mr. President, " Lopez said.
"That's tough, " Mack said. "The Turks aren't president. I am. Right now, we've got American and Russian nuclear forces on high alert. That's hair-trigger danger. Besides, we will maintain the overflights of Georgian airspace. That'll keep both the Georgians and the Turks happy.
"Meanwhile, Secretary Mauney, Admiral Ayers" – the president looked at his defense secretary and Joint Chiefs chairman – "find that Egyptian freighter. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. President, " the responses came in unison.
"Very well. This meeting is adjourned. Be back in twelve hours."
The Al Alamein
Mediterranean Sea
There, Kapitan, that should keep you safe." Salman Dudayev snapped the last few buttons on the radioactive protection suit that would allow the commanding officer of the Al Alamein to inspect the top-secret engineering marvel that was being built in the bowels of his ship.
"We are working with raw, exposed plutonium which could expose us to lethal doses of radiation. There are a number of sharp objects in the lab. So we must be careful not to puncture our suits."
Captain Sadir nodded his head, and the men stepped into the sterile laboratory, lit by hanging fluorescent lights, where three other scientists in protective suits were working.
The bomb was being constructed on a long table, twenty feet in length. Metal cylinders were stretched out in a line along the table.
"Shall I explain the mechanics of all this, Kapitan?"
"Please, " the captain said.
"Now that we have obtained the materials that we need, the mechanics of a hydrogen bomb are relatively simple. At the heart of a successful hydrogen bomb is a successful atomic bomb. Or actually several atomic bombs.
"You see these five metal cylinders on this table, Kapitan?"
"They look like large aluminum salad bowls welded together. These are bombs?"
"Yes. Actually each of these is a thermonuclear device. Within each cylinder are two half-spheres of the plutonium 239 taken from the Russian ship. We carefully molded the half-cylinders in each cylinder and left a small space between each half-cylinder. Dynamite will be placed outside each cylinder and detonated from a remote detonation switch.
"The dynamite ignites, slamming the half-cylinders of plutonium together, creating an atomic chain reaction!" Excitement overcame Salman as he thought of what would happen next. "This chain reaction ignites a hydrogen-fusion reaction, and in one great flash the Al Alamein becomes the most glorious ship in history!" Laughter poured from his mouth at the thought of all of it.
"More famous than the Titanic?"
"Oh, Kapitan, in one swoop we shall eclipse the single destructive power of the Pacific tsunamis, of Mount St. Helens, and of the greatest earthquakes ever to strike the earth." Hot and cold flashes shot through his body.
"What are all these strange-looking glass jars that I am seeing on the table?" the captain asked.
"Ah. Good question. Fusion is at the heart of the H-bomb process. Several A-bombs are detonated at the same time to create the extremely high temperatures necessary to fuse a substance called lithium deu-teride into helium.
"In our case, Kapitan, we will be using five small atomic bombs, all laid out here on the table before you, which will create a massive temperature of one hundred million degrees Celsius. We will instantly become the sun floating upon the water. Such an extreme thermonuclear temperature is necessary to fuse lithium deuteride into helium.
"The glass jars that you see on the table will be filled with the lithium deuteride and will surround the five A-bombs in their casings. When the fusion begins in the A-bombs, and when one hundred million degrees is reached, then the lithium nucleus slams into the deuteride nucleus, and voila. This begins our hydrogen bomb detonation."
More hot and cold chills shot through Salman's body. An incomparably powerful weapon of mass destruction was now nearly complete. Aside from a few select weapons in the arsenals of the American and Russia militaries, this was the most powerful device in the entire world.
The captain asked a question. But Salman did not hear it. His mind was on the sublime. Allah had made him feel like a god. In a way, with such awesome destructive power at his fingertips, he was a god!
"My apologies, Kapitan. What was your question?"
"I asked, Salman, where is the detonation switch?"
"Ah, but perhaps this is the best news of all. I am rigging the detonation switch to the bridge. You and I, with your permission of course, will be topside, looking through the windows, out at the target. In fact, Kapitan, because you are the highest-ranking man on this great ship, I feel that is only appropriate that you yourself do the honors. I believe Allah would be pleased."
The captain paused, looking at the hydrogen bomb in the bowels of his ship. He looked at Salman. "We will throw the switch together, my boy. And together, we will watch Allah's glorious work from paradise."
CHAPTER 26
FSB headquarters
Moscow, Russia
You are making quite a few headlines in America and around the world, Commander." The FSB agent stood just outside the steel bars that barricaded Pete from the rest of the world. His English was perfect. "Your countrymen are not too happy with your cowardice in surrendering your crew and your submarine so quickly."
"Did you have a question?"
"Of course such allegations are unfair. You were only doing the chivalrous thing. To surrender a billion-dollar piece of machinery for a few children. Your press is so horrible and misrepresentative of the truth. Of course, they don't know that you sabatoged it and sunk it. They think we've got your submarine. And they say you and your crew have defected."
"I don't believe that."
"Ah. So you have confidence that your press always reports the right story, do you?"
"Our press isn't perfect, but I have more confidence in a free press than the propaganda that stems from this place."
The FSB agent laughed. "Perhaps if you help us understand the truth of what really happened we can set the record straight and quash all those unfounded rumors that you have become – what is the phrase they're using – a communist?" The agent unleashed a devious sneer. Pete wanted to jump through the bars and take his head off.
"You know, " Pete said, "this type of interrogation is prevented by the Geneva Accords."
"Ah, the Geneva Accords." The FSB officer struck a cigarette. "I was under the impression that the Geneva Accords applied to prisoners of war – not to terrorists." A satisfying puff. "Your own government made this argument to justify its maltreatment of Arab citizens at prisoner facilities at Guantanamo Bay. And as far as I know, our governments are not at war yet. And because you are a terrorist, the Geneva Accords do not apply here."
"You can use that garbage to mistreat me all you want. Just don't mistreat my crew."
"My dear Commander Miranda. You will not be mistreated. You will have a fair trial!" A snicker and another puff. "Now if you are convicted, I cannot say what treatment you will receive." The agent dropped the cigarette on the floor and stamped it out. "Perhaps you will enjoy your extended stay in the Russian Republic. At least here you will not have to face young Coley Miranda, who was on the television last night crying because his father is a traitor to America."
"Liar!"
"Am I?"
Pete rushed at the bars, shaking them with all his might. "
How do you know my son's name?"
Another sinister laugh. "Why, Commander, everyone who has seen the boy's tears over his father's cowardice knows the name of Coley Miranda." The agent blew an obnoxious cloud of smoke into Pete's cell. "Just as your daughter Hannah looks into the cameras and says that she hopes her traitorous father never comes home." The agent lit another cigarette. "What did she call you? Benedict Arnold?"
Pete pounded the bars with his fists. The words knifed his heart. "Cut the propaganda. You're a liar."
"Am I?" More putrid smoke blew from the agent's mouth. "You are of Chilean heritage, are you not? Your father was Chilean. Pinochet is dead. Michelle Bachelet, the first woman president of Chile, was a member of the East German communist party. Your actions are clear now to people in America. At least that is the way your press is portraying the reason you delivered an American submarine to a government with a rich communist heritage."
"That's a lie. My family supported Pinochet. Pinochet put an end to socialism in Chile, at least until the election of Bachelet."
The agent laughed. "Try telling that to your countrymen. Try convincing your children. You haven't seen your children in a year. You'rea traitor to them. Why should they not believe that you are a traitor to your country?"
"Why don't you step behind these bars and tell me about my kids man to man?"
"Aahh… a sensitive area? Hah. Just think what your children will think when their cowardly father is hanged for all the world to see." The agent threw the cigarette stub at Pete and walked away.
Office of the president of the Russian Republic Staraya Square, Moscow
I am not satisfied with the Army's inability to find the missing plutonium!" President Vitaly Evtimov thundered from behind his desk, boring his stare at General Anatoly Petrov, the Russian Army chief of staff. General Petrov had been called into the cabinet meeting to represent the Army in the place of former Defense Minister Giorgy Alexeevich Popkov.
"My apologies, Comrade President, " the general said. "Unfortunately, Minister Popkov never developed our battle plan prior to his unfortunate death."