Nucflash (13 page)

“Do you know if anyone was captured at Middlebrough?” Pak asked.

“The BBC wasn't real explicit,” Adler replied. “Deliberately so, I imagine. They don't want to tip us off.”

“I was wondering if we should evacuate this site anyway, just in case.”

Adler sighed. “I don't think that will be necessary. Even if they were able to capture the documents that point back here, it will take them days, at least, to sort through them all. And by that time, of course, it will be too late.”

“I see the work on the helicopter is still only half complete. You are behind schedule.”

“Don't worry, Major. It will be done by late tonight or early tomorrow,” Adler told him. “We could fly it to our alternate location tomorrow afternoon if necessary, but I don't think that will be necessary. And after tomorrow, of course . . .” He let the thought trail off.

“Perhaps, then, our sacrifice of the safe house will have a good effect,” Pak said. “It should provide something for the British government and security forces to worry about, while we complete our plans here.”

“Ja,
” Adler said. “My thought exactly. There is, however, one other disturbing piece of news.”

“What is that?”

“This afternoon I received a cipher from Wiesbaden. The usual source.”

“Yes?”

“There's been an . . . incident. Berg and two others have been captured by the German police. And Waldemar is dead.”

“That . . . is not good.”

“Damn right it's not. The two were freelancers hired for the occasion and knew nothing, but Berg and Waldemar were members of the inner cells.”

“And you say that Erna Berg was captured?”

“And is being interrogated by the BKA right at this moment, as we speak. At least, that's what Ulrich tells me.”

“How much does she know? Can we get to her?”

“She doesn't know everything about the plan, of course, but she knows enough to link parts of our organization on the Continent with the operation here. She knows about me, and that I am running something here called Operation Firestorm. And . . . though she doesn't know the specific reason for your being brought over to England, she does know about you.”

Pak's normally bland and impassive face twisted with something that might have been anger, then became expressionless once again. “How did she allow herself to be captured?”

Adler looked away. “Our nemesis over there is not an organization so much as it is a machine,” he explained. “The BKA computer at Wiesbaden. You're familiar with it?”

Pak nodded. “The one they call ‘Komissar.'”

“Berg was head of a team keeping a particular BKA employee under observation, a woman named Schmidt who has some fairly high-level access to the Wiesbaden computer. We thought this person's activities might give us a clue to the nature of their investigations. Anyway, two days ago, Schmidt met with two unknown men. Our intelligence sources were unable to turn up any hard information on them, but a check of their passport records indicated that both were American, and both were active-duty members of the U.S. Navy. One was a lieutenant, the other a senior petty officer.”

“American Navy. SEALs, perhaps?”

“It is a possibility. We are checking into that, though it is extremely difficult to learn anything about that organization. It is also possible that they were members of the American intelligence community, DIA or CIA or even FBI, working under the cover of Navy passports.”

Pak grunted. “The American SEALs are very much a part of the American intelligence community,” he said. “More so, perhaps, than your GSG9 is a part of the German intelligence apparatus. This news is . . . disquieting.”

“I thought so too.”

“What were the Americans doing in Wiesbaden, then?”

“Consulting with the Wiesbaden computer's records, obviously. With Schmidt's help.”

“About what? Us?”

“There was no way to tell. Possibly the visit was simply coincidental with the onset of our operation in England. However, if the Americans are seeking information on Operation Firestorm—and it
will
strike at their interests in Europe, so we can expect them to become involved once they know what is happening—it is certain that the Wiesbaden computer would have data pertinent to their research. There is a way we could learn more. . . .”

“Yes?”

“One of the Americans, the officer, appears to have, ah, formed an attachment with the BKA employee while he was there. Spent the night with her. Understandable, of course. I gather she is quite attractive, not to mention something of a free spirit.”

“What is your point?”

“It was Ulrich's idea to try to abduct both the BKA woman and the American officer . . . and that led to the incident.”

“How was the attempt thwarted? The German police?”

“According to Ulrich's report, by the two targets themselves. The woman used karate, while the man . . . well, he appears to have been exceptionally well trained in martial arts. According to Ulrich, the fight was over in seconds.”

“Which confirms, I think, that the American officer is a SEAL, and not a CIA bureaucrat.” Pak considered the problem. “Trying to abduct an American was dangerous. And foolhardy.
Especially
if the man is a Navy SEAL! But even if the attempt had succeeded, it was not wise to focus the attention of the American intelligence apparatus on your European assets.”

Adler shrugged. “Another incident of random terrorism. I doubt that the Americans would attach any unusual significance to it. I happen to believe that the reasoning behind Ulrich's decision was sound, even if the execution was flawed.”

Pak nodded, almost reluctantly. “Perhaps. I dislike introducing random elements into a plan this complex, but the reward, if we could learn just what the enemy knows, what they are planning, would be invaluable, I agree. Can your people in Germany make another attempt against the Americans? Possibly against the other one, the petty officer.”

Adler shook his head. “Not now. Both left the country early this morning.” He shrugged. “According to my sources, they returned to London. It is possible they returned when news of the incident at Middlebrough reached them.”

“Then they may already know something about Firestorm. What about the woman?”

“The one with the BKA? So far as I know, she is still in Wiesbaden. She has had a bodyguard assigned to her since the abduction attempt, but she is maintaining her old schedule. Are you suggesting that we try again to abduct her?”

“If she can tell us about the Americans, about why they are here, yes. And if she was giving the Americans information from the Wiesbaden computer about us and our operation, then it might be worthwhile to interrogate her. We could learn exactly what they know about us.”

“It would be risky. We mustn't alert them to our interest in their activities too soon.”

Pak shrugged. “Having already gambled with one attempt, it will be worth the additional risk to try again. We have only another forty-eight hours, yes?”

“Less than that, now.”

“Then I suggest that you talk to your people in Germany. They could arrange it with a minimum of risk.”

“Very well. Where do you want her? Not here. And it wouldn't be safe back at our Hamburg site.”

“No,” Pak agreed. “You will have to arrange to have her flown to the operation, once it begins. She could be kept aboard the
Rosa.
Or on one of the targets, once we have them secured.”

“Consider it done.”

 

Murdock and Chief MacKenzie stood side by side in the close and darkened room, staring through the two-way mirror. Alone in the brightly lit room next door, the North Korean woman sat on a straight-backed chair, looking frail and alone in the institutional gray slacks and shirt she'd been given. The only other furniture in the room was an empty table and one other chair.

“She must know we have her under observation, Skipper,” MacKenzie said, watching her. He whispered, though the observation room was heavily soundproofed. “A mighty cool customer.”

“So,” Murdock said, turning to the other two men in the darkened spy chamber. “What have you learned so far?”

“That this lady is very well trained,” Major Dowling-Smythe said. “She's not going to tell us a damned thing.”

“She's already told us one thing unawares,” Wentworth told Murdock. “When they brought her in here, she was under some rather close scrutiny by some of your NEST chaps. They went over her and her clothing meticulously, with some fairly impressive equipment flown in from Washington just for the occasion.”

“And?” Murdock prompted. Knowing something about Chun's background, he was the one who'd originally suggested summoning a NEST—a Nuclear Emergency Security Team—in the first place. The ultra-secret NESTs had been organized under the aegis of the U.S. Atomic Energy commission back in the 1970s, when it had first become apparent that the threat of nuclear terrorism might soon become a reality. They were trained to respond to any type of nuclear-related emergency, but their more secret tasks included monitoring for smuggled or hidden radioactive materials—such as the homemade nukes that might be employed by terrorists or by foreign nuclear powers.

“Your guess was right, Lieutenant,” Wentworth said. “Definite traces of radioactivity, more than could be explained by the background count. There wasn't much, but their estimation was that she could well have been exposed to a secondary radiation source within the past few days . . . a week at the outside.”

“Secondary radiation?”

“She wasn't in direct contact with plutonium or U235 or anything like that,” Dowling-Smythe explained. “But I gather the radiation from something like that can trigger secondary radiation in other materials if they're dense enough.”

“Cascade radiation,” Wentworth added.

“That's the stuff,” Dowling-Smythe said, nodding. “If they had a bomb that didn't have real good shielding, for instance, she could've picked up a dose from the lead or whatever they had protecting it.”

“God help us,” Murdock said quietly. “Then they
do
have a bomb.”

“Not necessarily,” Wentworth said, shaking his head. “They could have plutonium, which they're planning on dispersing with conventional high explosive . . . or by dumping it in someone's water supply. Or she could simply have come in contact with something else that had been exposed to radiation. For all we know the woman's just come back from having her chest X-rayed. . . .”

“Different kind of radiation here, Colonel,” Dowling-Smythe said. “And a lot stronger too.”

“Enough to pose a danger?” Murdock asked. “I mean, to people who've come in contact with her.”

“Your men weren't at risk, Lieutenant,” Wentworth said. “We're talking about very, very small doses.”

“Good.”

“This woman had a substantial and recent contact with a radioactive source,” Dowling-Smythe said. “The doctor who supervised her physical said she hadn't received a lethal dose, but there was a definite possibility of complications down the line. Leukemia, that sort of thing.” He shuddered, his shoulders drawing up and forward as he shook his head back and forth. “If the North Koreans were involved in some sort of homegrown basement nuclear program, they must not be taking adequate precautions when they're handling sensitive material. That's scary.”

“These are scary people we're dealing with, Major,” MacKenzie said.

“I take it you've tried the usual tricks on her,” Murdock said. “Tell her we got her boyfriend, that sort of thing.”

Wentworth nodded. “Oh, yes. Told her we knew all about the bomb too, but that's such an old trick I'm surprised she didn't just laugh at us. She's just been sitting there and not saying a word.”

“What will you do?” Murdock asked.

“Oh, we'll get her,” Wentworth promised. “Sooner or later, we'll wear her down.”

“What, torture?” MacKenzie asked.

Wentworth looked pained. “Oh, please. What do you colonials take us for anyway?”

“Outright torture tends to be counterproductive,” Dowling-Smythe said, “especially when the person being interrogated is as well trained and mentally prepared as this one is. The victim tends to hang on for the sake of whatever he's already suffered. No, we'll wear her down bit by bit. Good cop, bad cop, that sort of thing, going on for hours on end. Disorientation, repeated questionings. Getting her to make small admissions, and building those into something more substantial.”

“The problem is,” Wentworth said, “is that all of that will take time. And standing back here watching her with the interrogators, I get the distinct impression that, well, time doesn't matter for her.”

“What do you mean?” Murdock asked.

“Hard to put a name to it, Lieutenant. But I have the feeling that she figures she can stand anything because she won't have to last through it for long. Do you know what I mean? Like she's expecting a rescue.”

“Or,” Dowling-Smythe added, “because she knows that whatever it is she's protecting, some operation, some mission, will be too far along for us to do anything about it before we could possibly break her. Since she knows she can hold out that long, she's at peace with the world.”

“Maybe she thinks her friends will try to set up an exchange.”

“Could be,” Dowling-Smythe said. “Though your people back in Washington have shown a keen interest in this bird, Lieutenant. Fairly champing at the bit to have a go at her. Doubt that they'll be too keen at letting her slip through their fingers.”