by TR Kenneth
It was horrifyingly small. Stag could hardly get his head around the fact that it could take out a city. The world’s nuclear arsenal was thousands of times stronger than Little Boy, but its use was deterrent only. A rogue bomb could change all that forever.
“There’s one very unsettling aspect about this type of bomb, Stag. Being a gun-type, Little Boy used one firing mechanism, while Trinity and the Nagasaki bomb used implosion from several coordinated blasts surrounding the atomic core—much more complicated.”
Stag gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not following you. Sorry. This whole nuclear stuff is Greek to me.”
“Let me explain the whole thing in a nutshell. Nuclear material in and of itself isn’t explosive. The blast of an atom bomb is set off by traditional explosives. They, in turn, force the nuclear material into a collision with itself. That, in turn, creates the chain reaction that causes the immense scale of an atomic detonation.”
“Okay. I get it.”
“The trouble with this gun-type lying around decaying somewhere isn’t in the nuclear material. A leak of nuclear material isn’t great for the environment but it’s not Hiroshima. No, the problem is that a gun-type bomb takes much less sophistication and luck to detonate it. It doesn’t require a coordination of several explosives as in the Nagasaki bomb. That was an implosion device. No, a gun-type, only requires one. There’s a very high level of chance that it could detonate on its own. A fall could do it. Static electricity from lightning could do it.”
Stag’s stomach knotted. “Jesus.”
Jake continued. “I took a lot of comfort in the fact that the early bombs the USA had were very high maintenance. The trigger mechanism used a battery that only lasted about a month before the entire device had to be disassembled and the battery recharged.” He paused. “I was thinking this gave it a good chance of being a dud, with the battery dead.”
“Yes, that is good news.”
“Uh, well, not really. My research definitely points to Heydrich having the intelligence network to make a ‘wooden bomb’.”
“A wooden bomb? Why the fuck would they make a nuke out of wood?”
“It’s not made of wood. It’s a term they started using in the fifties when the US desired less high-maintenance atomic bombs. The military wanted bombs that could sit on a shelf for years; decades even, like a plank of wood, inert and ready to go. Sandia Laboratory couldn’t figure how to make bombs with a shelf life of more than thirty days because their batteries died.” Jake frowned. “So Sandia began to study the war interrogations of the German scientists that made the V-2 rockets for the Nazis.”
“What’d they find?” Stag hated to even ask. He sure as fuck knew he wouldn’t like the answer.
“Georg Otto Erb. During his interrogation, he revealed how the molten salt battery works. It can’t be recharged or reused, but you don’t really need that on an atomic device. You only need to use it once.”
“How long’s the shelf life of this battery?”
“Conceivably, centuries. Until the salts completely evaporate, which, as you know, takes a damn long time.”
Stag was speechless. Heydrich might not have gotten his hands on this kind of technology early enough to make use of it. But then again, he might have. His fingers were in every pie in the Reich. Walter Schellenberg, Head of Foreign Intelligence of the Third Reich, described Heydrich as “the hidden pivot around which the Nazi régime revolved.” Himmler wrote Heydrich about Heisenberg, the lead scientist of the German nuclear weapon project, telling him not to lose or silence Heisenberg. There was no doubt Heydrich knew everything.
In which case, there was a bomb out there, armed and ready to go. “Wooden.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, Stag, but I think you’re going to have to go to the authorities with this information. This thing needs to be in the hands of those who can disarm it.”
“I still don’t know where it is.” He didn’t mention the fact that he still didn’t know who to trust. Especially after the Kiwi.
“What do you think happened to it?”
“I think Heydrich was having it moved somewhere. For his own personal leverage, frankly. The guy wasn’t selfless, and he wasn’t stupid. If he thought this weapon could be brought under his sole control, he would do everything he could to make sure that happened.”
“But where could he hide it? Salt mine?”
“I have a map. At least, I think that’s what it is. The references are to diamonds, though. Not a bomb. Frankly, I don’t know if it pertains to this at all.”
“Industrial diamonds, perhaps? Used for making the bomb fittings?”
“Maybe. I’ve thought of that. I’ve got to get back to Germany.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Stag let out a long breath of air. “I have to tell you, Jake, I’m not making any friends with this. It’s dangerous.”
“You need some help. And I’m the only one old enough to keep his mouth shut.”
Stag snorted. “You’re not making this easy.”
“I’ll beat you to Berlin.”
“You probably will.” Stag paused. “Thanks, Jake.”
“If this really is what we fear it is, we’re going to need a lot of help. God save us.”
CHAPTER FORTY
STAG WAS ON the plane back to Singapore when she took the seat next to him. He couldn’t actually say he was surprised. No matter how much he covered his tracks, he was, after all, an amateur.
“How does it feel, Mr. Maguire, to be the most sought-after man on the planet?”
He looked at her, her thin vintage suit, this time in white cotton, set off the faint suntan. Angelika Aradi had followed him to Bali.
“You’re the only one who can find me. Why is that?” Stag now realized how odd it was for a flight from Bali to Singapore to be almost empty. He wondered if Ms. Aradi had managed to buy most of the tickets so they could speak.
“My father was a pickpocket in Hungary, my mother was Bosnian.” She smiled darkly. “They both gave me skills not necessarily found in those assigned to my job.”
“And what job would that be? Spy? Assassin? NATO-destroying subcontractor? What do you do, Ms. Aradi? In fact, what the fuck does Tarnhelm even do?” His guard was up. She was a singular woman. He feared her and was fascinated by her in equal measure.
She raised one eyebrow. “You don’t know?”
“No. Enlighten me.”
“Tarnhelm starts wars. There’s money in that, don’t you see?”
He rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, I got that.”
“What Tarnhelm does is deal in secrets. The enemy is the truth. Truth makes people very hard to control.”
“Then count me as the enemy.”
“They already have.”
“How much do they pay you to start wars?”
“I’d rather they pay me to stop them. But right now, my fee is my daughter’s life. She’s in a study. Cancer-free.” She paused. “She’s not yet five years old.”
Stag had nothing against a little kid, particularly one with cancer, but it didn’t settle well that Tarnhelm had sicced this woman on him only to find out she was a mama grizzly in disguise. How did you ever win a round with a mother protecting her cub?
“I guess there’s no point in offering you a bribe then,” he bit out.
“Mr. Maguire—Stag—they think you know where the bomb is. Once they get your information and find the bomb, Tarnhelm will sell it and kill you.”
“I’ll be happy to take the information to my grave then.”
“That’s their worst fear.”
“I know. So go tell them.” Stag’s anger was rising. “And fuck off.”
She stared at him. “You need to trust someone.”
“And I’m going to trust you?”
“No. But I know someone you can trust at NATO—”
“What? Are you telling me you’re some kind of ‘double agent’? Tarnhelm by day, NATO by night? Bullshit.”
>
“What I’m telling you is that Tarnhelm is very powerful, more than most of the world knows. Its tentacles are everywhere. But you can trust my contact—”
“How do I know the person you refer to is not reporting back to Tarnhelm for a nice set-aside?”
She didn’t toss back a smug answer.
Finally, she said what sounded a little too much like the truth. “Because I don’t want my daughter in Tarnhelm’s world, that’s why.” Her words were calm. “She’s fought too hard. She’s too pure. I may be filthy from what I’ve had to do, but I’m telling you the truth. I work for Portier. He is the one who paid for the study that cured my daughter. I have an allegiance to him. But I don’t want my daughter in a world where nuclear arms are bought and sold to the highest bidder.”
He stared at her. His back was up. She was good. Damn good. He almost believed her.
“Do you really understand what you’re dealing with?” she said. “A rogue nuclear device with the force of a Hiroshima, to the highest bidder? Untraceable to any nation, group, or corporation? I can’t think of anything more coveted on this earth except immortality.”
He still said nothing.
“You’re in deep. You’re going to need allies. And you don’t know who to trust.”
“I sure as fuck don’t trust you. According to Interpol, you’re wanted for questioning concerning the death of a NATO official.”
It was her turn for silence. But she didn’t look surprised by his accusation. If anything, she just looked more weary. Like she’d heard it all and seen it all.
“Here’s the contact.” She handed him a business card. “He’s expecting you at any time.”
“How do you keep finding me when all the rest can’t?”
“Tarnhelm has face-recognition spy satellites, but you can’t use it in subways or buildings. Sure, they’ve hacked into most Visa and MasterCard networks, but they can’t trace cash. Sometimes, like the military, they find themselves in love with the technology and fail to get the man on the ground to do the old-fashioned legwork.” Her hand slid to the part in his jacket. He looked down. There was the micro GPS he’d suspected she’d put in his sleeve. Her brushing against him on the Pariserplatz was just a diversion for the other hand to slip the GPS between his buttons.
“If I have to kill you in order to save my daughter, I will kill you.” She rose from her seat when the captain put on the seat belt sign for their approach into Singapore. “Do everything you can to prevent that.”
The plane’s lighting lit the wasting beauty on her face, and she turned and walked to the rear of the plane.
“Stag!” Jake called out from the lobby.
Stag had never been so happy to see someone in his life. He went to him as fast as he could through the expanse of the Berlin Sony Center.
“The apartment’s upstairs. Let me take your bag.” Stag gripped the older man’s shoulder in camaraderie. They walked through the enormous complex just south of the Tiergarten. Stag had found the place on Airbnb.
When they had settled into the stark, modern two-bedroom, Jake was the first to speak. “I’ve got the Königssee information. There’s a historian there—a Herr Professor Hoening—I’ve already spoken to him. He says there have been rumors of Nazi stash around Königssee since late ’42. But he was adamant that there was nothing in the lake. It’s too clear and too easy to explore. It’s a dead end.”
“Maybe it’s not the Königssee. Maybe I’m off-base on that one.” Stag frowned.
“Perhaps, but there’s a lot of abandoned military equipment that was there at the end of the war. He said most of it has been picked off, but there are a few places in the mountains inaccessible. They’ve been left virtually intact.”
“I need to go there. But first, I have to figure out if I have all the pieces in Berlin. There’s an apartment here …” Stag’s voice wandered off. He still couldn’t figure out what bothered him about it. “I think the first thing to do is have you get over your jet lag. Then dinner tonight. With an acquaintance.”
“Acquaintance?”
“Yes. I don’t really trust him, but I think he just may tell us the truth. Besides, I’m kind of running out of friends in Berlin.”
Jake nodded, then headed to his bedroom to rest.
“I am interested in an apartment,” Stag said into the new GoFone he’d bought. The number would be unrecognizable to Kronbauer and whoever might be tracing calls at the Dresdenhof, but he hoped Kronbauer would recognize his American accent and voice even though he spoke German.
There was a long pause at the other end of the line.
“I am sorry. We have nothing available,” Kronbauer said slowly.
“I would like to meet with someone anyway. If in the future—”
“I will pass your number on to the appropriate person. Thank you very much.”
Stag heard the click at the end of the line. He wasn’t sure if the message got through. The only thing he could do now was wait.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“NUCLEAR WEAPONS CAN be detonated using two different methods: ground burst and air burst. Hiroshima and Nagasaki were both air burst detonations. Their energy was more evenly distributed over a wider plot of ground. To kill the most people beneath it. However …” The retired US Army Lieutenant General “Red” Doyle paused, frowned, and continued. “Ground bursts are recommended when contamination by nuclear fallout is warranted. They are much more deadly. They can suck up enormous amounts of dust in their cloud and disperse it contaminated with alpha particles over many times the area of an air burst ignition.”
Portier sat at his desk with the Alps on the horizon in the window behind him. It was a beautiful day, blue-skied and sunny, the first real spring weather they’d had. It didn’t show on his expression, since he was in a foul mood. Urinating had become his Armageddon.
“Give me an example of the most destructive scenario of a single detonation, and then the least,” he said wearily.
“Most destructive?” Doyle took a moment. “FEMA believes the most destructive would be a single ground burst to Nebraska.”
“To take out missiles?”
“God no. A megaton ground burst to the most fertile part of the Great Plains would be a holocaust. Minimum effort, maximum effect. It would destroy America.”
“Why?” Portier asked.
“The radioactivity from the dust cloud would disperse and contaminate the US’s most vital food source—the Great Plains—not to mention Canada’s.”
“But surely that would dissipate. Look at Fukushima—”
“It wouldn’t be in the ocean to dissipate. It would be in the air. Alpha particles everywhere.”
“But what if Washington was hit—”
“It is a quaint notion to worry about military bases and cities being nuked. If they really want to destroy the US, take out the farms in a ground burst and pfffst! America being a superpower is gone. Not only would the famine adversely affect the US, but grain imports to Russia, China, and India would cease. Best estimates are that a billion people would starve worldwide.” He shook his head. “No. Cities, missiles, a government, can all be refashioned and cobbled together. Surprisingly in a hurry. But the ability to feed ourselves? Americans can’t eat iPhones. No matter how much the USA prides itself on technology and its economy, food is the linchpin. Otherwise the US just becomes Singapore, an island nation beholden to everybody and anybody to send them rice.”
“I still don’t understand. Nagasaki and Hiroshima have been occupied for decades with no radioactivity—”
“Yes. But again, air burst. Little Boy was detonated two thousand feet above Hiroshima. Therefore, limited alpha particle ingestion. No, what you don’t understand is there are lots of different kinds of radiation. You can play with plutonium pellets with your bare hands if you like, not that risky. Alpha radiation is so weak it cannot penetrate a sheet of paper, let alone your skin. But ingest it? Just look up the pictures of the radium girls. They painted r
adialluminescent paint on watch faces in the 1920s, and were instructed to point their brushes with their mouths. You do not want to die of radium eating out your bones. The alpha particles from a ground-burst detonation would be scattered across almost every food source. The food supply would be either tainted and have to be destroyed, or worse, it would be suspect, perhaps forever. No, that is what would destroy the US.”
“Mmmm.” Portier took the news with an inscrutable expression. “What is the least damaging scenario?”
“Air burst over a relatively arid, non-populated area. The Gobi Desert, Siberia, some place like that.”
“Air burst or ground burst—are the bombs different?”
“Not at all. In fact, they are the same. The only difference is in the timer. Does it detonate early, while still in the air? Or do they allow the bomb explosives to detonate on impact, then triggering the nuclear reaction, kicking up the dust?”
“So, if I had a bomb, any bomb, I would be the one to choose how it is used?” Portier looked interested now.
“Exactly,” said Red Doyle.
Portier contemplated this for a moment before saying, “I meant to congratulate you on your appointment. The President is getting a true patriot in his new cabinet.”
Doyle nodded. “But we aren’t going to tell him about this consult, are we? With all the problems on the staff with the Foreign Agents Registration Act, the last thing I need is for them to think I’m working outside the office.”
“Our relationship predates your appointment,” said Portier.
“Yes, but the libtards would have a field day if they got a whiff of impropriety.”
“Yes, the … libtards.” Portier smiled. Like he gave a shit.
“The bastards whine very loudly. Then hand over all their rights. I swear it’s a mental disease,” Doyle said with disgust.
“We want good relationships, General. With you and the rest of the incoming cabinet.”
The general smiled. “You have quite an operation here, sir. When I was at Blackwater, we had the luxury of openly admiring you.”