Overkill (59 page)

‘Really?’ Richter said. ‘Let’s hope it’s in a good mood.’

Reilly chuckled. ‘OK,’ he said, a couple of minutes or so later. ‘Systems check complete, we’re ready to roll. Remove your pins, please.’

As briefed by Peter Marnane, Richter extracted one safety pin from the ejection seat, arming it, and another from the MDC – miniature-detonating cord. This is a single filament cord which
runs longitudinally down the centre of the canopy. In the event of an ejection, the cord detonates and blows a hole in the canopy to permit the ejection seat to pass through it.

‘Normally the navigator would input start position data into the navigation computer,’ Reilly said, ‘but Peter has already done that, and it really doesn’t matter much
anyway, as Gibraltar’s a bit too big to miss.’

As the Tornado moved along the taxiway, Richter looked at the two screens in front of him. The one on the right was showing a track display, while the left exhibited a plan view of the intended
route of the aircraft. At the end of the runway Reilly stopped the aircraft while he waited for take-off clearance, then turned the aircraft on to the runway and lined up. He ran the engines up to
maximum cold power, holding the Tornado on the toe brakes, then engaged full afterburner and simultaneously released the brakes.

Just over ten seconds later, as the airspeed indicator reached one hundred and forty-five knots, Reilly rotated the aircraft ten degrees nose-up and they climbed away. Within another few seconds
the Tornado’s speed had built sufficiently to allow him to disengage the afterburners, and the noise level dropped considerably. At three thousand feet he levelled out, turned the aircraft
south, and instructed Richter to select three one seven decimal six megahertz on the UHF radio box beside his right thigh.

‘I’ll be off intercom for a couple of minutes,’ Reilly said. ‘I have to talk to Mazout Radar to advise them we’re now en route for Gibraltar and to get clearance to
climb.’ A couple of minutes later the intercom crackled. ‘Back with you,’ he said. ‘We’re going up.’ The aircraft’s nose pitched higher and they continued
the climb to twenty-three thousand feet and increased speed to five hundred knots, heading south in the deepening night.

North American Aerospace Defense Command, Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

Construction of the Cheyenne Mountain base began in 1958, following the launch of Sputnik by the Russians, but the base did not become operational until 1966. Workmen used
a million pounds weight of explosives and removed nearly seven hundred thousand tons of granite to create the four-and-a-half-acre site. The entrance is located about seven thousand feet above sea
level, and leads into a tunnel fourteen hundred feet long. The tunnel cuts a curved path through the granite, and is designed to let the pressure wave from a nuclear detonation traverse its length.
More or less in the centre of the tunnel, and parallel to the direction of any blast, are two immense steel doors, each over three feet thick and weighing twenty-five tons, fifty feet apart and set
into concrete pillars. Behind these doors lies the NORAD complex; fifteen steel buildings, interconnected by steel walkways, and each resting on huge steel springs designed to resist the effects of
shock waves. The complex is effectively self-contained. Electric power is provided by six diesel generators with fuel supplies for about thirty days. Drinking water, food and sleeping accommodation
are all available on site.

On a normal day, Cheyenne Mountain is occupied by about eight hundred staff. When Brigadier-General Wayne Harmon had assumed the watch at two that afternoon, the staff tally list showed that
twelve hundred and forty-three people were in the complex, either on duty or waiting to relieve duty staff. Harmon heard the murmured conversations of Air Force officers of the North American
Aerospace Defense Command, and the clipped, precise messages they were relaying over their radio and satellite links. NORAD had already passed alert and update messages to its worldwide network of
early warning radar sites. These included Fylingdales in Yorkshire, England, Diyarbakir in Turkey, Shemya and Clear in Alaska, Thule in Greenland and the thirty-three sites of the Distance Early
Warning system – the DEW line – the ageing warning stations that stretch across the entire width of the northern Canadian border.

General Harmon took a last look around the active suites, then turned and walked into his private office. He sat down in his leather swivel chair and loosened his tie. Despite the air
conditioning it was hot, and it had already been a very long day.

Gibraltar

At eleven thirty-three local time the Tornado banked to port as Reilly turned left base leg. There was no view ahead, because the pilot’s seat completely obscured
it, but out of the left-hand side of the cockpit Richter could see the lights of Gibraltar, with La Linea just to the north, the two complexes separated by the dark mass of the airfield, its
landing and approach lights barely distinguishable at their present range. The Tornado was at four thousand feet over the Bahia de Algeciras, about two minutes from touchdown.

Five minutes later the whine of the engines stopped as Reilly applied the parking brake in the dispersal area they had been allocated. A C–130 Hercules was parked about a hundred yards
away, so Richter assumed that the SAS had arrived. Richter replaced the seat and MDC pins, on Reilly’s instructions, then unstrapped, opened up the storage locker and grabbed the pistol and
toolkit, and clambered out. The ground marshaller gestured towards a Sherpa van with ‘Air Traffic Control’ written on the side, and they walked over to it and climbed aboard.

Thursday
HMS
Rooke
, Gibraltar

‘Before we start I think we should just establish the ground rules, as it were,’ Richter said, looking across the Wardroom dining table at Dekker and the
senior SAS officer, Major Ross. ‘My instructions in this matter are quite specific. We are to seize that vessel, and we are to disarm the weapon it carries. All other considerations are
subordinate to that. If we encounter any resistance we are to overcome it using whatever force we consider necessary. That’s the official terminology. In real terms, it means that we shoot
the bastards, starting with any sentries they’ve got posted and finishing with the ship’s cat. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Like crystal,’ Ross nodded.

‘Right, Major,’ Richter said, ‘where’s the
Anton Kirov
?’

The ship was alongside the North Mole, which made the approach easy. If it had been at anchor in the bay or alongside the Detached Mole – an elongated hyphen almost linking the encircling
concrete arms of the North and South Moles – they’d have needed boats.

Ross considered two different attack strategies. ‘As I see it we have only two choices,’ he said. ‘Either we try a diversion – a fire or something on or near the Mole
– which might allow us to get aboard undetected or we go for a straight frontal assault. Let me clarify that – a quiet straight front assault. Colin – your
recommendations?’

‘I agree about the two options, but I don’t favour a diversion,’ Dekker said. ‘It would either involve additional personnel who might get in the firing line, and who we
haven’t got anyway, or we would have to use some of our troopers which would deplete the number available for the assault. And diversions tend to attract attention. I wouldn’t want to
wake up the entire crew of the
Anton Kirov
to watch a bonfire on the Mole, say, on the doubtful grounds that while they’re watching that they aren’t going to be watching out for
us.’

Ross nodded, then turned to Richter. ‘Mr Beatty?’

‘I agree with Colin. Don’t forget that, according to Modin, the crew have been instructed to defend the vessel against any possible assault. The crew are experienced
Spetsnaz
personnel who probably outnumber us by slightly more than two to one – if we start a major diversion, my guess is that at least some of them will realize that it is a diversion and actually
expect an attack. And that’s the last thing we want.’ He paused. ‘However,’ he added, ‘perhaps a minor diversion would assist.’ Ross nodded, so Richter told him
what he had in mind.

Autoroute A26, vicinity of Couvron-et-Aumencourt

‘At last,’ Modin muttered, as the Russian convoy, now equipped with new tyres and with Gendarmerie vehicles in front and behind, was finally waved out of the
parking area, en route to Calais. The articulated lorry was still there, waiting for the arrival of the tug and escort that had been sent from Britain.

‘Where will they take it?’ Bykov asked, glancing back at the lorry as the limousine pulled away. He had been very subdued since the convoy had been stopped, worried, Modin supposed,
about his future career. Modin wasn’t worried. He knew his own career was over.

‘Britain, I expect,’ Modin said. ‘No doubt they will want to examine the weapon.’

‘I wish,’ Bykov said, ‘that we had been able to contact Moscow. The Minister will want to be informed.’

‘I’m sure he will,’ Modin replied. Minister Trushenko would not, he hoped, be informed about the seizure of the London weapon for some hours yet. Once he found out what had
happened, Modin was not at all sure what Trushenko might do.

Gibraltar Harbour

The black combat suit supplied to Richter by 22 Special Air Service Regiment wasn’t exactly Savile Row. The bulletproof vest was bulky and heavy, but the Smith in
its shoulder rig nestled comfortably under Richter’s left armpit. As well as a Hockler MP5SD – the version of the 9mm MP5 fitted with a silencer – on loan from 22 SAS, Richter
carried a grey nav-bag he had borrowed from Peter Marnane. Inside that he had stowed Professor Dewar’s wire-cutting pliers and the contents of his socket set, carefully wrapped in four linen
napkins borrowed from the HMS
Rooke
dining room. In their steel box, Ross had said, they rattled, and he was very keen on not having anything around him that rattled.

Ross had also made it very clear that he was as far as possible to stay out of harm’s way, which Richter thought was an excellent idea. Richter had briefed Colin Dekker on the disarming
sequence for the bomb and given him copies of Professor Dewar’s notes, in case he did get taken out, but Dekker hadn’t looked enthusiastic about doing the job himself.

They were ready to go at one twenty. Richter rang Air Traffic Control and extracted a slightly sleepy promise to send the van to the Wardroom immediately. It arrived ten minutes later, and by
one fifty they were all assembled at the harbour. There was virtually no moon, and there was a good deal of cover on the North Mole – piles of crates, cables, wires and even a few cars and
vans – and they got to within about seventy metres of the
Anton Kirov
without any possibility that they had been spotted from the ship. Ross, Dekker and Richter crouched behind a large
crate that smelt strongly of fish, even through the filtering effect of their anti-gas respirators, and studied the target through night-vision glasses.

The Russian freighter was moored bow-on to them, a rather rusty ship that looked deceptively peaceful through the glasses. Richter could see no sign of life on board, but Colin Dekker had better
eyes. ‘Two sentries,’ he said quietly, his voice sounding hollow through Richter’s earphones. ‘One on the bridge – I saw his cigarette – and one aft, by the
gangway.’

‘Options?’ asked Ross.

‘The bridge is sealed, and the glass is armoured – against the weather, not bullets, but the effect is much the same – so we can’t take him out from here. I think the
decoy option offers us our best chance.’

‘Agreed,’ said Ross. He turned and waved a hand.

A minute or so later a couple of SAS troopers staggered past them, arms round each other’s shoulders, and exhibiting all the characteristics of a pair of happy drunks, even to the loud and
tuneless singing. Their combat outfits were discreetly hidden beneath dark blue Royal Naval raincoats that Richter had liberated from the cloakroom at HMS
Rooke
. They watched in silence as
the two men approached the ship. Richter saw a flash from behind the bridge windows and tapped Dekker on the arm. ‘Got it,’ Dekker murmured, and focused the night-vision glasses again.
‘We aren’t the only ones using these,’ he said. ‘The bridge sentry is watching our two amateur thespians very carefully.’

The two men had reached the stern of the
Anton Kirov
and appeared to be having an argument, the sound of their voices carrying clearly in the still night. Richter saw the second sentry
for the first time as he moved into the glow of the deck lights. The men clutched each other, weaved about, and then began making their unsteady way up the gangway. The sentry immediately moved
forward to stop them. Dekker was ignoring the drama and still watching the bridge through the glasses. ‘The bridge sentry’s gone,’ he whispered. ‘With any luck he’s on
his way down to help the guy on the gangway.’

The three men met more or less in the middle of the gangway, and Richter could clearly hear the Russian’s voice as he remonstrated with the intruders. ‘This wrong ship,’ he
said, in heavily accented English. ‘You must get off.’

‘It’s a bloody foreigner,’ one of the troopers said, in a thick Glaswegian accent. ‘Where’s Jock? He should be on duty tonight.’

‘What have you done with Jock, you German bastard?’ shouted the other, and lunged clumsily at the Russian. Richter saw a second figure approach the gangway from the deck, and as he
reached the side of the ship the decoy operation was completed. Richter heard two almost simultaneous subdued coughs from the silenced Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistols carried by the troopers, and
both the sentries fell.

Camp David, Maryland

‘Anything?’ the President asked, walking back into the underground bunker, the Marine major on Football detail a respectful five paces behind him. The
President had been spending a few minutes up in the house with his wife as the children were put to bed.