Perilous Panacea (23 page)

Advanced Bomb Designs

by Bootstrap Bombers

The slide show was really a narrated video, and when the next slide flashed on the screen showing a complicated mechanism it was accompanied by the voice on the digital recorder who described the mechanism as a finished bomb without the nuclear material. As new slides flashed on the screen, the narrator kept up a detailed technical description of what was being displayed.

The first series of slides showed how this bomb mechanism was built, including the addition of conventional explosives used to detonate the nuclear explosion. Complicated calculations used to verify the placement of the conventional explosives were described, and a slide showing the calculation setup was displayed along with graphs and a table of results.

Videos followed, the first one showing containers of nuclear material, supposedly taken from the hijacked trucks. They could easily check that, Saul thought, as he pulled out his notebook. The video led the viewers through nuclear handling facilities that the narrator claimed were used to handle the radioactive material safely. The video panned around a computer room filled with an eight-node computer cluster used for the computerized machining of nuclear material.

The video of the facilities completed, slides of nuclear material in various stages of processing followed, from the liquid solution right through the machining of solids to the point where the material stood ready for insertion into the bomb. Finally, there were slides showing diagrams of atom-bomb designs, for which the narrator rattled off results of modeling studies on a supercomputer to produce calculations of explosive yields for the different designs. Tables and graphs were used to demonstrate the bomb specifications and characteristics. The narrator indicated that more detail on the various designs described could be seen on the accompanying blueprints and the contents of the three-ring binder.

Throughout the video presentation, Sukiomo and Lassiter carried on a rapid-fire conversation, using terms Saul didn’t understand.

The demonstration ended like it started, with a slide of the assembled bomb mechanism. This time, however, the slide showed it next to the wooden box that stood in front of them with machined uranium set on top of the box.

The voice said, “Now all that remains is for the uranium to be inserted into the bomb mechanism. Once the uranium is installed, we can deliver a bomb anywhere in the country…or the world. This ends our demonstration.”

Before anyone could move or say anything, the slide with the bomb mechanism changed to one that read:

A FINAL DEMONSTRATION OF OUR SINCERITY WILL BE AVAILABLE IN A SHORT TIME AT THE CHICAGO ART INSTITUTE

They seemed to have a fascination with Chicago museums, Saul thought, remembering his phone conversation.

As soon as the screen went blank, Sukiomo and Lassiter began jabbering. Saul groped his way back to the light switches, wondering where the bomb makers were leading them. Some BD lyrics floated into his head:

When you’re lost in Juarez,

And it’s Easter time too.

And your gravity fails you,

And your negativity won’t pull you through…

Spanner paced around the box, looking at the blueprints and binder the recorded voice said would provide further proof for the validity of their design. Spanner turned to the two scientists. “So what do you think?”

“It could be, very well could be,” Sukiomo said.

Lassiter nodded. “We wondered about the triggers, figured they wouldn’t be able to get any. In 1990 after Iraq tried to buy some, the government made them impossible to get. These guys built their own. They’ve got them. I believe they can do it.”

“What’s next?” Spanner asked.

Lassiter answered. “We’ve got orders to get all this information back to Washington as soon as possible. A committee of experts has been convened for tomorrow morning to evaluate the data.”

The door in the back of the room crashed open, and Marshall rushed in. “George, we just got a call on the radio that there’s been an explosion down on Michigan Avenue in front of the Art Institute. A car blew up. Evidently blew the hell out of the front of the building as well as some buildings across the street.”

Spanner looked at the two scientists, then at Saul. “A car bomb. They exploded a goddamned car bomb right in the middle of Chicago.”

Chapter Thirty

BOMB MAKERS CLAIM RESPONSIBILITY FOR CHICAGO MUSEUM EXPLOSION

Sheena Mosely

Chicago (AP) An anonymous informant to AP claimed a connection exists between persons who stole enough nuclear material for fifteen to twenty atomic bombs and the car-bomb explosion that rocked downtown Chicago last night. The explosion, which injured eleven people, caused extensive damage to the Chicago Art Institute and shattered windows in buildings as far as three blocks away.

When the explosion occurred, President Gordono was delivering a speech at the Hilton Hotel, less than four blocks from the explosion. The President was rushed by helicopter to O’Hare Field, from where he flew back to Washington on Air Force One. As yet, the White House has not commented on these developments beyond a press release saying that government experts were analyzing this new turn of events.

Senator Stanley Hughson, a member of the Senate Armed Services Committee, did have a comment after he arrived at the damaged Art Institute last night shortly after the explosion. He said that this incident invalidates his previous speculation that an enemy of the United States might be building a bomb that could then be kept inside the United States until hostilities broke out between the two countries. He now believes that whoever has the bomb intends to make terrorist demands on the U.S. Government. According to Hughson, the Chicago demonstration was meant to insure that when those demands are presented, the government will know that there is a bomb somewhere in the country. Hughson called on the President to join Congress to explore ways to head off a possible catastrophe.

The explosion, which demolished the two stone lions in front of the Art Institute as well as doing extensive damage inside the museum, was estimated by Chicago Police Chief Ben Westman to have contained…

- - - - -

Applenu set down the phone and leaned back in his chair. He tried to concentrate on the CAD/CAM drawing on the monitor that went with Reedan’s latest program, but his mind remained on the phone conversation. It was that pesky local newspaper reporter again wanting to know when they would begin operation and how many people they would employee. He talked to her several months ago, when she called wanting information on the new business in town. Even after he gave her answers she liked and allowed her to write an article, she wanted to come out and interview him, tour the plant, and take pictures. He suggested she call at the end of next month. By then he hoped to be well away from this place.

A key rattled in the outside door, and Lormes strolled in carrying a newspaper. What did he want? Applenu wondered, since he rarely showed up at the plant. He assumed it wasn’t a social call at this time of the morning, because he usually hung around his apartment or was off on some trip, never saying where he was going. Applenu didn’t ask or care, as long as his people were available when needed.

“What in hell are Sherbani and Hearn up to?” Lormes asked, waving the newspaper. He unfolded it and pointed to the front-page story by Sheena Mosely.

Applenu had seen it. “Hearn and Sherbani say it’s a smoke screen to keep the FBI busy and distracted. That way we can finish our work and cut away.” That’s what they said, Applenu thought, but could you believe them? Applenu argued against making that video or having Beecher take pictures of their operation.

Lormes pulled a chair next to the desk and sat. “I’m all for keeping them off our ass,” he said, “but I know something about bombs, and that one in Chicago was a warning. He’s saying, ‘We can do the same thing with the atom bombs we’re building.’”

Applenu nodded. They didn’t need Lormes upset. “That’s the message, but it’s just to keep the FBI chasing their bloody tails.”

“You think so? Hey, I’ve killed some people who needed killing, and I’ll probably do it again. Along the way, some innocent people got whacked, like the ones that died when we hijacked this nuclear stuff. That’s regrettable. But there was always a reason. You know, ends justify the means. But I don’t want anything to do with exploding an atomic bomb in this country, killing a lot of people like those bastards did on nine eleven. Hey, I love this country. It’s done a lot for me.”

Applenu pointed to the newspaper. “You’ve got to admit he’s got the FBI so they don’t know bugger all about what’s happening. One day they’re in Saint Louis, the next day it’s Chicago. If they’re in Chicago, they’re not banging our door down.”

Lormes nodded. “They’ve used the Mosely broad to our advantage, but one thing doesn’t sit right. I was told that the material we stole would be smuggled out of the country after it was machined. Once they had it in your country, they would safeguard it from the U. S. and Israel, and after that they wouldn’t be pushed around by those countries.”

Lormes wasn’t supposed to ask such questions. He was hired to do the job and collect his large fee, not to analyze foreign policy.

“Sherbani talks about negotiating from strength,” Lormes said. “Once they get the material out of the country, it’ll be up to the diplomats to calm things down and get Sherbani’s country the respect he thinks they deserve. But this shit with the car bomb makes you wonder what they plan to do with the atomic bombs.”

“I’ll speak to Sherbani and Hearn about your concerns.”

Lormes stood and started for the door. “You do that. Tell them I’m not going to let them explode any atomic bombs in this country. That wasn’t in the deal.”

The deal, Applenu thought. What about his own deal? All he really wanted was a professorship at Ohio State, or even one back in England, say at the University of Birmingham where he started. He never thought dirty old Birmingham would look so good.

Lormes paused at the door and looked back. “You are doing good on getting rid of the British accent. Only problem is, you still say ‘bloody’ a lot.”

- - - - -

Surling stared across the table at Applenu and wondered what brought the bastard here this time. He just invited himself to lunch for the first time, saying there were things to discuss. Then again, maybe it wasn’t bad news, since none of his goons came with him.

Surling glanced at Reedan, who’d been quiet throughout the meal. He’d been quiet ever since the last time they sat across the table from Applenu. Reedan had been through it alright: first Drafton, then his wife. Slapped the shit out of her, felt her up good, and let him see and hear it. Based on how Beecher acted and talked when he stopped the video, they did a lot more than just feel her up, and Reedan knew it.

During lunch, Applenu did most of the talking, directing his conversation at Surling, talking about processing the nuclear material and the imminent success of the project. He was working hard at losing the British accent, although on occasion he slipped up by interjecting a “bloody” or some British slang into the conversation. He was growing his black beard again, after being clean shaven for a week or so.

With lunch over, they sipped coffee. Then Applenu dropped the bomb. He looked at Surling, smiled, and said, “It looks like we’re through with your part of the project, Professor. You did a good job, and we quite appreciate it. You can pack this evening, and later tonight we’ll get you on your way back to Philadelphia.”

It couldn’t be. Not yet. They hadn’t made alternate escape plans. Surling tried to plan, but Reedan was too preoccupied about his wife and AIDS.

Surling tried a smile and happy act at the news. “You’re really going to let me go?”

“We’re sending you home to your…” Applenu laughed. “I was going to say wife.” He turned to Reedan. “Did he tell you he’s grinding two women? Three, if you count his wife, although from what I hear, he hasn’t shagged her for awhile.”

“How did you know about them?” Surling asked while forcing a man-to-man chuckle. These bastards had done their homework, okay. But then he made their job simple: Bill Surling, the original dirty old man. Just hire a whore to smile at him, pull his dick out of his pants, suck it, and he’ll follow her anywhere. Jesus, when would he learn? Why did he keep on doing it? They probably found out all about him by asking around the campus. How many people back there knew?

“We investigated you, Professor.” Applenu turned back to Reedan. “On most days for lunch he goes home with a secretary from the Civil Engineering Department. They tell me the bird’s young enough to be his granddaughter. Then he’s got a widow, forty-something. Sees her every Wednesday night and Sunday morning when his wife’s at church. She thinks he’s interested in marrying her. They say he’s been chatting up one of his graduate students, a bit of fluff by the name of Nancy Gleason. Has she come across yet, Professor?”

Surling’s face burned, and he knew it was red. Why should it be? He’d been acting a damn fool for almost twenty years now.

“I’ll tell you, Professor, we hesitated getting you for this project. With all the time and energy you spend humping, at your age and all, we wondered if you still knew anything about chemistry. But you didn’t disappoint us.”

Applenu turned to Reedan. “Did you know he was a child prodigy? He was the youngest scientist on the Manhattan Project. Only seventeen, but he already had a year of graduate school when he went to work on the project in 1944. He’s mentioned in all the books on the Manhattan Project. He’s written a few of his own, in fact. There’d be more, if he applied himself. People figure he buggered it all away when his son killed himself.”

“We’re turning you loose,” Applenu said, “but you know what you’re going to have to do.”

“I won’t go to the police.”

“If you do, your wife and daughters see those pictures and find out about your lunch hours and your Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings. You saw how Beecher and Maxwell operate. Need I say more? But to make it easier for you to keep quiet, we’ll give you the two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars we promised you.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody will ever hear anything from me.”

- - - - -

After five days of checking for the big black car in the parking lot, Lori began to doubt what she had seen. Did they really get out of their car and go into the apartment building? Or did she lose them somewhere on the Turnpike and follow another car, assuming it was them? After all, it was dusk, and she was in pain. God, she didn’t want to think of that day again.

She wondered if she was checking the right parking lot, so today she drove through parking lots for several identical buildings in the vicinity of where she thought she knew they had parked. She found no big black car with out-of-state plates in any of them.

She got home at six-thirty, exhausted, frustrated, and angry. While Beth went to watch TV, Lori read the newspaper account of the Chicago bombing. Why couldn’t the FBI catch them?

Beth’s scream erupted simultaneously with the doorbell. “Mommy! It’s them! It’s those men again,” she yelled as she ran up the steps and into the kitchen. “Let me stay with you, please.”

Lori’s breathing accelerated. She crouched down to hug Beth. “Everything will be okay. You can stay at the top of the steps and watch when I answer the door. Okay?”

Beth nodded, sending a shower of tears onto Lori’s arm.

The doorbell rang again.

Lori inhaled deeply: Dad’s advice to calm herself before she shot; it was her remedy to ready herself for a big exam. She grabbed her shoulder bag from the table and dug into it, fingering the cool handle of the pistol before coming out with a tissue to wipe Beth’s face. After setting the shoulder bag on the bottom step, she checked the chain lock. If they made one move to come in, she would go for the gun.

A red-headed man stood on the porch. He held out a badge for her to inspect. “Mrs. Reedan, I’m Jerry Fortner from the FBI. I’d like to ask you some questions about your husband.”