Fatal Thunder

4 REASONING

Joanna Patterson had gotten used to it. First President Myles, then Secretary of State Lloyd when he arrived a few minutes later, and now Secretary of Defense Geisler, newly arrived, listened to her report, shook his head, and said almost the same thing: “I was hoping for a different result. I suppose this has been verified?”

Glancing over toward Myles and Lloyd and smiling, she replied, “Twice.” Although she was the national security advisor, Patterson had been a scientist first, and was perfectly capable of explaining the report — defending it, actually. Politicians were often reluctant to abandon their opinions when confronted with unpalatable facts.

The other two had already heard her spiel, but it wouldn’t hurt for them to hear it again. Their fault, really, for not wanting to wait for the SECDEF in the first place. “The ground samples from the blast area still can’t tell us exactly which country made the bomb, but they can tell us about the method used to produce the fissionable material in the bomb. The Indians and Pakistanis produce plutonium using the same method, a heavy-water reactor; the plutonium from the Kashmir detonation came from a different type of reactor, a light-water-cooled, graphite-moderated one. Traces of the elements left from the explosion also show the bomb contained both uranium and plutonium. India has only used plutonium in their nuclear weapons, while the Pakistanis have historically gone down the highly enriched uranium route. They have yet to detonate a plutonium weapon.

“The nuclear forensics also confirm it was a thermonuclear explosion — a hydrogen bomb, not an atomic bomb. There were minute traces of lithium deuterate, a substance that creates tritium when under the exposure of high-energy neutrons.” That got Geisler’s attention. “Neither Pakistan nor India has ever built, to our knowledge, a successful hydrogen bomb. I doubt the Indians would test the first one on Kashmiri territory.

“And the biggest bomb the Indians have ever claimed to have detonated was fifty kilotons — seismic data from that test suggests the yield was far less. Imagery analysis and ground-based mapping of the Kashmir explosion matches the seismic data we already have, this explosion was at least five times larger than anything we’ve ever seen from either country — a hundred and fifty kilotons.”

Patterson watched Geisler as he processed the information. He stated flatly, “This couldn’t have been an Indian bomb, or a Pakistani one for that matter. That at least explains why nobody could figure out why the Indians dropped the thing. They didn’t.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “So it’s likely from Russia or China. But Russia has nothing to gain by doing so — they don’t have a dog in this fight. And while China is supporting both Pakistan and the LeT terrorists, there’s nothing to be gained, and much to lose by giving the terrorists nuclear weapons.”

Patterson looked over at the president and Secretary Lloyd. Myles was mouthing the words, “Wait for it…”

“So the real problem isn’t an irrational Indian escalation, it’s a loose Russian or Chinese nuclear weapon. Wait a second! Didn’t you say, Joanna, that we use the same type of reactors to produce plutonium? I mean, God forbid, could it have been one of our own weapons?”

Patterson raised a finger; she already had the answer to his question. “We have some 150-kiloton warheads, and they’re all cruise missile payloads currently in the reserve stockpile. I had STRATCOM conduct an inventory; all W80 and W84 warheads are accounted for. The rest were disassembled years ago under joint U.S. and Russian observation. It’s impossible that the weapon came from us.”

“Which gets us right back to Russia and China, with the former a more likely source of the weapon as the intelligence community doesn’t believe China has a weapon of this yield,” concluded Geisler. “But regardless, the bottom line is still the same. At least one, possibly more, nuclear weapons have slipped out of someone’s control.”

“And into the hands of a powerful terrorist organization, at least until it exploded,” Myles completed. He nodded toward the secretary of state. “Andy and I were hoping you would come up with a different conclusion than we did.”

“I think I liked the ‘irrational India’ scenario better,” Geisler replied, still absorbing the implications. Patterson thought he looked a little walleyed.

Myles asked, “This particular weapon is no longer a problem, but the obvious question is, do they have any more?”

“As national security advisor, I agree that is the most urgent question, but I can think of plenty more: How did LeT get the weapon in the first place? Where did they plan to use it?”

“We’ll make a list,” Lloyd interjected. “Joanna, who else can figure this out, that it’s not an Indian nuke? The Russians? The Chinese? I’m guessing the Indians can’t, or they’d have said something by now as proof of their innocence.”

Patterson nodded agreement. “The Indians have the science, but not the assets to collect the samples.” She paused, considering. “The Russians can do it, but their aircraft can’t get to the area and I haven’t seen anything that said they collected ground samples. The Chinese can get all the samples they want, and they have science. But they have no reason to tell anyone.”

“Why should they?” Lloyd replied. “They have to be loving India taking the blame for this.”

“Which is why we are going to declassify and publish these findings as soon as possible — today, if we can,” Myles declared. “Let’s get rid of the anti-India hysteria. It’s a distraction we can do without.”

Geisler shook his head, disagreeing. “With respect, sir, releasing those findings will look like we’re defending India. That will hurt our neutral standing at the peace talks.”

Lloyd shook his head. “Not really, Malcolm. India doesn’t trust us because we’ve worked with Pakistan to fight terrorism, and we interfered with the Littoral Alliance war. Pakistan doesn’t trust us because we’ve sold weapons to India and we keep hounding them about hunting down their radical kinsmen. Besides, it’s the truth, and we could all use a little of that around here.”

“And it will silence a lot of those fire-eaters in the House and Senate,” Myles added. “Too much heat and not much light to show for all of it.”

“It’s early,” she replied. “I can have an unclass version ready for the five-o’clock daily briefing.”

There was a knock on the door and Ms. McDowell, the president’s secretary, opened the door as Greg Alexander, the Director of National Intelligence, hurried in. “I’m sorry, sir, I was across town when I received Joanna’s message and your summons. What have I missed?”

The release of the information on the Kashmir bomb did not calm the media storm; it only transformed it. It was one thing to blame India for a violent, irrational act, but now the shock and fear arising from the detonation had no clear target. The reality of rogue nuclear weapons had raised speculation about the explosion to hysterical levels.

As national security advisor, Joanna Patterson was well briefed on the current terrorist threat. One of the greatest concerns the U.S. national security community had was the possibility of a nuclear weapon falling into the hands of a terrorist group. Now it had happened, and only good fortune had prevented it from being used against an innocent target.

Yet innocents had still suffered, and the Lashkar-e-Taiba still existed. Their camp in Kashmir, although important, was only one of many large and small establishments scattered throughout the region. And there were other terrorist groups, as well. LeT was just the largest and best organized. It didn’t comfort Patterson that LeT’s intended victim was likely some large Indian city, and not one in the United States. A mushroom cloud over a Mumbai or a Delhi, with the two warring countries already so close to the nuclear threshold, would almost certainly bring on the catastrophe they all feared — a nuclear war between India and Pakistan. And their apocalypse would be the world’s disaster.

It wasn’t like the U.S. hadn’t been aware of the problem. Many terrorist groups had declared their desire and intent to buy — or, if they had to, build — an atomic bomb. Good luck with that, Patterson thought. As a scientist, she understood just what was needed to construct even a crude atomic weapon. Buying a nuke was a much more likely and therefore dangerous option.

So while a good part of the U.S. counterterror effort went toward watching the actors, another focused on looking for people who might have provided, or could provide, nuclear weapons.

Her mind flashed to an important time in her life. She’d already been involved in nuclear science, then politics, campaigning for the environment at the national level, when she’d organized an expedition to the Barents and Kara Seas, close to the Russian coast.

She’d come up with the idea of using a U.S. nuclear submarine to survey the waters there for leaks from nuclear waste dumped there by the Soviets. The problem had already been reported, but only partially. With the endurance and resources of a nuclear sub, they could thoroughly document the problem, and present the Russians with hard evidence that would compel them to clean up their mess. It would be both an environmental and a political win.

The newly elected President Huber had signed off on the idea, and given her the submarine Memphis for the work. She’d learned a lot, both about submariners and herself. Lowell had been captain of Memphis, she remembered fondly.

But they’d found far more than just radioactive waste. A barge deliberately scuttled off the east coast of Novaya Zemlya had contained dozens of nuclear warheads, reentry vehicles for Russian missiles that should not have existed, weapons hid in secret, in violation of the nuclear disarmament treaties, and then presumably dumped after the fall of the Soviet regime.

She and the others aboard Memphis had spent hours trying to puzzle out the motives of the ones who had loaded and sunk the barge. It was reasonable that if the warheads had been built “off the books,” then the Soviets would be eager to get rid of them as quickly and quietly as possible, to avoid any repercussions that would come with the warheads’ discovery.

But it was more complicated than that. While divers were recovering two of the warheads and bringing them back to Memphis, they’d discovered an acoustic sensor nearby, planted on the seabed. Somebody in the Russian government was keeping watch over the barge, and had the resources to send surface ships, aircraft, and even a nuclear sub in pursuit.

Memphis had run, and fought for her life. Patterson still remembered precisely how scared she’d been. In the end, they’d escaped, bringing the warheads home. They’d all been thoroughly debriefed, and of course warned not to discuss the matter, and as far as she knew, the matter had stopped there. Nothing had ever appeared in the public arena. The Russians had never complained about somebody stealing their warheads. The U.S. had never challenged the Russians on them, either. Not much to gain, and it would reveal too much about what the U.S. knew.

As national security advisor, she could now ask the different intelligence agencies if they’d found out anything more about the source of the secret warheads.

And the answer would probably be nothing. The only place they could look for clues about the warheads’ origin was inside Russia, and she could imagine no Russian secret more sensitive or closely guarded than this. The mere act of searching risked compromising those involved, and might reveal to the Russians that the U.S. knew about the barge and its frightening contents.

Still, she couldn’t ignore the possibility.

Jerry had let Samant pick the place. He wanted the Indian to feel comfortable, in a place he’d chosen. And it looked like the guy liked Mexican. Ortega’s was a family restaurant, very close to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. It was a popular place, evidently — almost full at dinnertime with a mix of customers in uniforms and civilian clothes. Jerry was in mufti.

He had a photo of Samant from the dossier he’d gotten months ago, when the Indian submariner had been an opponent, possibly an enemy. He’d reviewed the file again on the plane flight from Guam: The top performer in any situation, the only Indian to graduate from the British “Perisher” submarine command course. One of India’s best. Having maneuvered and fought against him, Jerry respected his skill and aggressiveness, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why Samant wanted to meet face-to-face.

He was grateful for the photograph; it was a good likeness, and he spotted the Indian officer in a booth. Samant was studying his smartphone as he approached, and Jerry could see what looked like a photo of him.

Samant stood as Jerry approached and offered his hand. His smile seemed a little forced, but Jerry was sure his was the same. He said “Thank you for coming” as they shook hands.

Jerry sat as Samant slid a menu across the table, and a waitress showed up almost immediately. Grateful for the distraction, Jerry ordered. He noticed that the Indian ordered quickly, sure of his choice. “Have you had Mexican food before?”

“Yes,” Samant answered quickly. “There are several Mexican restaurants in Vizag, or Visakhapatnam, the city where I live, although this is much better. At my hotel yesterday, someone recommended this place, and I had dinner here last night as well. It’s quite good.”

He paused for a moment, then picked up something hidden from Jerry’s view and placed it on the table, in front of the American. It was a small, flat box, wrapped with silver string. “A small gift, to thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

As Jerry picked it up, Samant added, “And also an apology, for trying to kill you.”

Jerry laughed as he untied the string and opened the box. Inside was a flat silver pendant, covered with an intricate, interwoven design. Samant explained, “Aleksey Petrov said your wife is expecting your first child soon. The pendant has a mehndi design, normally applied in henna to the hand or foot. It’s a Hindu custom to draw designs like this on the expectant mother at the baby shower. This particular design is a charm for a healthy birth.”

Jerry was surprised and moved. His mind flashed to Emily, back in Guam. Every calculation had shown that radiation from the Kashmir blast would never reach that far east, but new fathers don’t need a reason to worry. Did Samant understand his concern as well? “Emily will love it, I’m sure. Thank you for such a thoughtful gift.” He added, smiling, “Apology accepted.”

Samant’s face echoed the smile, but it still looked forced. He explained, “I find I am still angry at how your submarine frustrated so many of my attacks. I know you were doing your duty, just as I was mine. While logic and reason say it was nothing personal, I don’t like to lose.”

“No good submarine skipper does, Captain. You were a formidable opponent, and as I recall, I ended up running away with my tail between my legs a couple of times. I’m glad it’s over.”

Samant scowled. “The problem is, it may not be over. Our war with Pakistan continues, and now the Kashmir explosion reveals a new danger that could be even worse.”

“What?” Jerry was confused. “But the news has been good! The samples my government collected prove India could not have made the bomb. Now we are looking for loose nukes, which is still bad, but it’s not India’s fault, and no obstacle to the peace talks resuming. And my first name is ‘Jerry,’ by the way.”

Samant sighed, leaned forward, and spoke more softly, “Captain Jerry, I believe we are involved in the Kashmir explosion, at least indirectly.”

Warned by the Indian’s manner, Jerry managed to stifle his immediate response, but after a moment, asked in the same quiet tone, “So your government is using bootleg nuclear…”

“No, no, not the government, but perhaps some within my navy, possibly even higher in the military hierarchy. A conspiracy.” He described Vice Admiral Dhankhar’s strange actions right before, and after, the blast, and his own unexpected early transfer off Chakra. Then he added what Petrov had told him about Chakra’s refit — including his discovery of the recently ordered modifications to the combat system consoles. He finished with his concerns about Evgeni Orlav, the Russian weapons specialist.

Jerry’s mind reeled with the information, if he could call it that. Disjointed facts that made little sense by themselves did not reveal any deeper meaning when connected, except that whatever was going on could not be good.

Their food arrived, and they both ate, with only a few comments about their meals, while Samant gave Jerry space to consider what he’d been told. They were almost halfway through their dinner before Jerry said, “Have you told anyone in your government about your concerns?”

“No.” Samant shook his head sharply. “Everyone is suspect, especially those near Vice Admiral Dhankhar. He is a popular and powerful officer and there have to be others, perhaps even more powerful. That’s why I’m here, telling you.”

“Does Alex plan to tell the Russian government?”

Again, a quick negative. “No, there is so little to tell. There is no smoking gun, only circumstantial evidence, and his country doesn’t want any troubles with this refit. Aleksey’s supervisor is not open to anything other than staying on schedule. But our conclusion is alarming. The warheads to be used on whatever weapon is being modified may be Russian, and then there is Orlav’s name.”

“And you feel that whatever is going to happen will be in early April?”

“Chakra has orders to sail on the tenth, bound for who knows where.” With intensity, he added, “I don’t want my boat, my old crew involved in this!”

“I will pass everything you’ve told me to our intelligence people. But there’s little they can do inside India…”

“The Kashmiri bomb came from outside India, and both Aleks and I think there are more bombs involved, otherwise why would Dhankhar have everybody working so feverishly?”

Jerry struggled to imagine the possibilities, which were many, and the potential threat, which was frightening. “I don’t know what my government can do with this, but I promise I’ll make sure they understand the danger.”

Samant’s face mirrored Jerry’s anxiety. “I want someone besides Petrov and myself to know about this. It may come to nothing, but I must do all I can to protect my boat and my country.”

Back in his hotel room, Jerry, still jet-lagged from his flight from Guam, forced himself to lie quietly in bed. He’d done everything he could to relax, from a brisk walk to a hot shower, and even a nightcap at the hotel bar, but his mind still whirled. Meeting Samant was enough by itself, but his information — correction: his warning — managed to be both vague and scary at the same time.

The alarm woke him, and Jerry realized he must have finally gotten a little sleep. He was washed, dressed, packed, and out of his room in minutes, headed back to the airport. He was already booked on an early-morning flight to Washington, D.C., where he would report to the CNO’s office for debriefing. He wasn’t looking forward to another long plane flight, but he wanted to deliver Samant’s message. He knew it wouldn’t be the end of the problem, but at least it was a start.

On arriving in Washington, Jerry had phoned the CNO’s office and been told to report immediately. He’d taken the Metro straight from the airport to the Pentagon and after passing through security, made a beeline for the Navy’s head office on the first floor, E-ring.

All the senior U.S. commanders had their offices on the ground floor of the Pentagon, which not only had five sides, but five concentric rings, lettered “A” through “E” from the center to the outside ring. The E-ring offices were the only ones that had windows with a view of anything besides concrete.

The E-ring also had its own security post, because of all the senior officers, and not only did Jerry have to show his armed-forces ID and building pass, but the sentry checked the list for Jerry’s name. “Yes, sir,” the Marine guard said. “You’re expected in Room 1E240.” He pointed. “Down there past the first angle, on the left. You can leave your suitcase here if you’d like, sir.”

At his destination, another enlisted man, a navy petty officer, was guarding the door, and asked to see Jerry’s ID before letting him inside.

It was a conference room, and he almost turned around when he caught a glimpse of the occupants, thinking he must be in the wrong place. Admiral Hughes, the Chief of Naval operations, was there, at the head of the table, but so were Secretary of Defense Geisler and CIA director Foster, sitting across from Joanna Patterson. She was speaking, but stopped and started to rise when she saw Jerry, a smile lighting up her face. She saw his uncertainty, and so did Hughes. He waved and said, “You’re in the right place, Commander. Please sit down.”

Jerry might be a decorated senior officer, and the captain of a nuclear submarine, but he suddenly felt very small in a room with a large part of his nation’s national security command structure present.

Still a little confused, Jerry let Patterson usher him to a seat between her and Admiral Hughes, at one end of the table. Geisler and Foster sat across from him.

As he sat, Admiral Hughes said, “We’ve got a lot to talk about, Commander, and I’ll get right to the most important question. How’s Emily?”

The surprised expression on Jerry’s face was enough to make them all burst into laughter, including Jerry, after a moment.

After he’d drawn a breath, he answered, “She’s doing fine.” That didn’t seem to satisfy the high-ranking government officials, who briefly glanced toward Patterson, who wore a stern expression. Jerry amplified, “She’s well into the second tri now, and is eating again. She had a checkup while I was at sea, and her e-mail said the doctor was pleased with her weight gain. They scheduled a sonogram for next month.”

Patterson sat back, smiling, pleased, and evidently satisfied with his report. “That will do for the moment,” she replied. “I’ll get all the details at dinner tonight.”

Hughes said, “Thank you, Mr. Mitchell. Your news reminds us that the world does indeed keep spinning, and also why we’re all here. We need a little perspective in light of recent events. Now, please tell us about your meeting.”

Jerry told the four everything he could remember of his conversation with Captain Girish Samant. He was careful to repeat the Indian’s words verbatim, or as close as memory allowed, and Jerry had been paying close attention. He even mentioned their seemingly irrelevant dinner conversation about it being Samant’s first visit to the United States, and news about their mutual friend Aleksey Petrov.

As he spoke, he watched their expressions change from interest to concern, then outright confusion. Jerry finished, and waited silently for any questions.

“A nuclear conspiracy in India…” mused Geisler.

“But with bootleg Russian nuclear weapons,” Foster completed. The CIA director turned to Jerry. “Is it your assessment that Samant was sincere? Did anything in his manner or his story ring false?”

Jerry shook his head. “No, sir, although he could be a good actor. This was the first time I’ve met him in person. But given what I know of him, I’d have to say he seemed genuinely concerned.”

Geisler cut in. “That doesn’t make sense, Randall. What good would planting a story like that do India? Besides, they owe us big-time right now. We just proved they didn’t bomb Kashmir. I can’t see them running an op against us right now.”

Foster answered, “Maybe it was Samant they were testing.”

Patterson said, “That doesn’t work either, Doctor. It’s still spreading stories about a nuclear conspiracy. And with us as the target for the disinformation? That’s the last thing they’d want. But let’s assume Jerry’s — Commander Mitchell’s information is true. First, we had an irrational India bombing Kashmir, then nuclear warheads in the hands of terrorists, and now something in between: A country that already has nuclear weapons now has bootleg Russian bombs?”

“Not a country,” Geisler countered. “A conspiracy within the country’s military; just a different group of terrorists, in my opinion. And if a sub is involved, then they want to use them someplace a sub can go.”

“And because it’s the ultimate stealth platform. Pakistan’s the obvious target,” Hughes said.

“But they already did, sort of,” Foster replied. “Was that an intentional attack? If it was a mistake, it makes me wonder how well organized these guys are.”

Patterson sat up a little straighter. “We all agree that nothing pops out immediately. We’ve gotten more pieces to the puzzle, but still no hint as to what the picture might be. For the moment, we will presume that the information Mr. Mitchell has provided is correct. Dr. Foster, Secretary Geisler, I know your people are already working hard on this, but here are some new leads to run down.”

Geisler added, “We must also be very discreet with our investigation. Even with so few facts, or maybe because there are so few facts, if this became public, it would become an uncontrollable mess. We’d probably never get to the truth.” Everyone nodded complete agreement.

Patterson turned to Hughes. “Admiral, if you’re done with the commander, Senator Hardy and I would like to conduct a more extensive debrief this evening.” Smiling, she added, “There’s a new restaurant in Georgetown we want to show Jerry.”

“Of course, Doctor.” As they stood to go, the three men each shook Jerry’s hand, thanking him for his report. Admiral Hughes added, “I’m looking forward to seeing you here in Washington soon. I have several billets in mind that you might find interesting.”

Jerry forced himself to smile, and tried to make some sort of noncommittal reply, but the CNO cut him off. “Don’t try to lie about looking forward to shore duty, mister.” He grinned. “But we need people like you here, and you’ll just have to endure it like the rest of us.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Jerry left, following Patterson, and after collecting his bag at the security station, they headed for the Mall entrance, where her car was waiting. As they got in, he heard her tell the driver, “Back to my office, please.”

He was a little confused. In her e-mail, Patterson had insisted that he stay with her and Hardy at their place in Georgetown, after dinner. As they pulled away, she explained, “Slight change in plans, Jerry. I’d like to show you something, and ask your opinion.”

She filled the drive to the White House with questions — not only about Emily, but about Guam, where he’d moved her after his boat was transferred there, and even about Commodore Simonis, his squadron commander, and the other submarine captains in Submarine Squadron Fifteen.

She seemed to be hurrying as they passed through the gate and more security on the way to her office in the West Wing of the White House. Jerry focused on answering her question about the repairs to his new quarters in Guam, while telling himself that the White House was just another government office building.

It was late afternoon, almost evening, but there were still many people working. She greeted everyone by name, but rushed on without introducing Jerry to anyone, not even her secretary Kathy, who started to offer her boss a handful of message slips, but stopped when Patterson said, “No visitors until I say so, and please contact Lowell. Ask him to come here.” Kathy nodded, and reached for the phone.

Jerry followed her into her office. It was spacious, and as Jerry had expected, tastefully furnished. “Make sure the door is locked behind you,” she asked, and Jerry made sure the door had latched before turning a substantial-looking deadbolt.

She was rummaging in a safe built into her desk, and pulled out a fat folder with brightly colored security markings. She handed it to him and pointed to a chair as she sat down. “Remember that?” she asked.

Jerry looked at the label on the file, and was so surprised he sat down a little harder than he normally did. The chair took the hit without ill effect, and he hardly noticed the impact.

In the middle of the warning labels and prohibitions, the tab on the folder had a single word: “Rainfall.” It was intended to be meaningless to anyone who wasn’t supposed to know anything about it, but Jerry knew all about it.

He opened the file, and paged through material he hadn’t seen or thought about in many years. There was the track of USS Memphis in the Kara Sea, pages of testimony from the officers and crew, and eight-by-ten photos of the two nuclear warheads they’d removed from a barge that had been deliberately sunk by someone who’d wanted to hide not just two bombs, but dozens of them, weapons that weren’t supposed to even exist. It was a thick file, with photos of them all, looking more like mug shots, including one of Emily, Patterson’s assistant on that mission. She’d worn her hair shorter back then.

He probably paused for too long on Emily’s photo, because Patterson said, “There’s an exploitation report all the way in the back, by Sandia Labs.”

He found it, a spiral-bound booklet with Sandia’s blue thunderbird logo on the cover. Even the title was classified as Top Secret/Sensitive Information: “Analysis of Russian Nuclear Warheads Recovered by USS Memphis, March, 2005.”

Some of it was familiar to him. Memphis’s XO, Bob Bair, had actually identified the bombs from markings on the cases. They were reentry vehicles for the SS-20 Saber intermediate-range ballistic missile. The Russian name was “RT-21 Pioneer.” The analysis confirmed that, and other obvious facts, before getting very, very technical. There was a section on the casing, with photographs, and he realized that they were disassembling the warhead, taking photos as they went. He wondered how they’d dealt with the anti-tamper devices. Half of him wished he’d been there to watch, and the other half was very glad he hadn’t.

After that were sections on fusing…

“Find the section on ‘fissile material,’” Patterson instructed.

It was marked by a tab, and Jerry opened the booklet to that page, which showed a color photo of polished dull-colored metal surrounded by an intricate framework. It was an actual piece of the bomb’s core, exposed during the disassembly.

“The next page has an analysis of the material,” she prompted.

He found it quickly enough. It was even marked with a sticky note with the word “Mixed.” After a description of how the material had been removed and analyzed, it listed the chemical composition of the metal: isotopes of uranium and plutonium, lithium, traces of chemicals that had been used in the extraction process. Jerry understood it well enough. It was the same physics he’d studied learning how to run a reactor — just applied to a different purpose.

Patterson leaned forward and offered Jerry another document, with its own colorful security markings. “Here’s the report on the air and soil samples from the Kashmir explosion. Look at the table on page fifteen.”

Jerry studied the table in question. It listed the substances in the samples, and the two key elements, uranium and plutonium, both present, and in exactly the same proportions. But it was the yellow sticky note that drove it home; the plutonium isotope ratios were identical to the ones of the material in the Russian reentry vehicle.

He sat back in his chair, trying to fit this into what he already knew. “We were still at sea when I saw the news reports about the blast not being from an Indian weapon. That meant rogue nukes, and of course I thought about the ones we found, but this proves it.”

“It’s from the barge, or one just like it,” Patterson replied.

“I’d bet on the barge,” Jerry answered, “but I don’t know if it’s much help to know where the weapon came from.”

Patterson nodded. “You’re right. In fact, the only thing it really tells us is that we’re probably dealing with more than one loose nuke. Master Chief Reynolds said there were dozens on that barge.”

Jerry shivered at the thought. It had been years since they’d discovered the thing. Had whoever put them there gone back for some of them? All of them?

“Knowing, or having a strong suspicion we know, where the bomb came from gives us another lead to run down.”

“Straight into Russia,” Jerry completed.

Patterson’s desk phone buzzed, and Kathy Fell’s voice came over the speaker. “Senator Hardy’s here.”

As she said “Thank you” to her secretary, Patterson nodded to Jerry, who got up and unlocked the door. As he opened it, he quickly stepped to one side, and Senator Lowell Hardy (D-CT), Commander, USN, retired, stepped inside. Jerry closed and locked the door again as Hardy gave his wife a small hug and a peck on the cheek. She was as tall as Hardy, which meant they both were taller than Jerry, but he was used to that. Hardy had always been a big man, although with his retirement from the navy, some parts had gotten even bigger, and he fought a continual battle with his middle.

Hardy had been Jerry’s first skipper, aboard Memphis, and while their relationship had not started out well, Jerry now regarded the retired submarine captain as one of his closest friends and a mentor.

He greeted Jerry warmly. “It’s good to see you, Jerry. I’ll get the lowdown on Emily and the house later. I assume since you wanted me here instead of the house…” He saw the security markings on the documents Joanna offered him, and immediately sat down. Jerry took another chair to the side.

Patterson reprised Jerry’s report at the Pentagon, and then her discovery about the likely identity of the Kashmir bomb. He skimmed the sampling report as she talked. “I hadn’t seen the classified version of this yet,” he remarked after she finished. “I wouldn’t have thought to compare this with the analysis of the warheads we recovered.”

She accepted the compliment with a small smile, but her expression changed to concern. “If you agree that the barge is the most likely source for the Kashmiri warhead, then the next logical step is to tell someone. As soon as Jerry started talking at the Pentagon, I suspected the connection, but I couldn’t mention it then, because Admiral Hughes isn’t briefed in, and I had to double-check to make sure that Geisler and Foster were both on the list.” She tapped the folder for emphasis.

The “Rainfall” incident had been “deeply compartmented,” which meant that if you didn’t need to know about it, you didn’t even know that it existed. Revelation of the recovery of two nuclear warheads from a sunken barge in Russian waters, even if limited to the classified community, would create as many problems as it tried to solve. There was also the unwelcome fact that nothing stayed classified in Washington forever. They’d managed to keep Rainfall secret by ruthlessly limiting the number of individuals on the “need to know” list. If the list grew longer, the risk of public disclosure would become very real.

Hardy chewed on the idea for a moment, then observed, “Knowing where the bomb comes from simplifies the search tremendously. And everyone needs to know that there is a very real chance that more than one weapon is involved.” He stood, and then started pacing. Her office was big enough that he could go a fair distance in one direction before turning, and he made two full circuits before continuing to speak.

“You’re going to have to take this out of its box, so the community can start investigating. No choice.” He paused for a moment. “Politically, this is one secret that doesn’t embarrass anybody, except the Russians. There will be hell to pay if they find out. At least we’d be revealing it at a time of our own choosing. That lets us have a response prepared in case it does go public.”

Patterson put the documents back in her desk safe as she spoke. “I’ll be briefing the president on both of these tomorrow morning.” She turned to face Hardy. “Lowell. I have to have recommendations for President Myles when he hears about this. What do you think I should advise him to do?”

“I think you already know the answer, Joanna. Brief anyone who’s working on the Kashmir explosion into Rainfall, and keep looking for something that will corroborate or explain what Jerry’s reported. There’s a lot to do before we understand what’s going on. I’ll bet our bio on this Vice Admiral Dhankhar isn’t even current.”

She nodded. “That’s what I thought, but it’s nice to have a reality check.” She stood up, and reached for her purse. “If we head straight for the restaurant, we can still make our reservation.”