Nucflash

9

The rumble of the generators and spray painter air compressors was deafeningly loud within the enclosed space of the hangar, and as the two of them walked across the hangar floor toward a small office in the back, Adler had to pitch his voice louder to make himself heard.

“I was afraid you’d all been taken,” he told Pak. “Have you been listening to the news these past few hours?”

“No. The car had no radio. In any case, I would have expected a news blackout as soon as any assault was begun. Have you heard anything?”

Adler nodded. “Came over the television on the BBC evening news an hour ago. The government claims the Army assaulted a flat in Middlebrough, but the details are still sketchy. Was it the SAS?”

Pak shrugged. “I wasn’t there to see. But I would be surprised if it was not. Did they identify who they were attacking?”

“Just ‘presumed IRA terrorists,’ though the announcer also mentioned the Red Army Faction once. Typical news botchup.”

“They won’t know yet. About the People’s Revolution.”

“If by ‘they’ you mean the government, I doubt that they would tell the press anything anyway. The BBC was taking a lot of wild guesses on this one, none of them particularly accurate.”

“It would be helpful to know just how much the government does know,” Pak said thoughtfully.

“Know your enemy,” Adler said. “Say, where’s your girlfriend? Did she get out of Waterfront Rise with you?”

“She… we thought it best that she stay behind, to ensure that incriminating documents were destroyed. Some of the papers you people insisted on keeping include sensitive information that could have led the authorities here.”

Adler nodded, admiring the calm, the analytical detachment in Pak’s voice. The man was cold as ice. “I know. Maybe that was a mistake, keeping those records… but what we’re trying to do here, it’s so big. We needed to keep track of the details, or else something small would have tripped us up.”

Past the helicopter and the painting crew, the noise wasn’t so bad. Adler opened the door to the office and ushered Pak through.

Inside was a desk piled with papers that would, if inspected, demonstrate that Cranston Moor was indeed a small private airfield that tended to struggle along in the red, with far more bills than income. A bulletin board on the wall by the door included cards advertising flying and skydiving clubs. On the adjacent wall was a detailed topological map of the area, a calendar hanging beneath a photograph of a World War II Spitfire in flight, and several pinups of provocatively posed naked women torn from various pornographic magazines.

“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.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Murdock said. He was a warrior, a profession that frequently demanded brutality. Two days earlier he’d killed a man with precision and efficiency, and very nearly killed a woman the same way, would have killed her had he needed to.

But he didn’t at all like this tinkering with a person’s soul.

“We also had something faxed through from Wiesbaden, Lieutenant,” Dowling-Smythe said. “About those four people you pegged the other day.”

“Yes?” He’d been expecting a distillation on the dossiers of the people who’d attacked him and Inge. “Anything useful?”

He shrugged. “Not much. They say that there were fairly complete dossiers in the Komissar computer. The two men who were captured were small-time thugs. Members of a criminal gang based in Hamburg. Bank robbery, extortion, but never any connection with terrorism.”

“Freelancers,” Wentworth suggested. “Hired muscle.”

“A distinct possibility. Our source over there says they’ve questioned them, of course, but they claim not to know who they were working for. Their contact they knew simply as Ulrich.”

“Chances are they wouldn’t know,” MacKenzie put in.

“True. But there was a difference with the other two.” Dowling-Smythe pulled a folded sheet of paper from the inside of his uniform jacket and handed it to Murdock. “This came through for you, Lieutenant. From someone named… Inge?”

Murdock smiled, accepting the sheet. “A friend.”

Swiftly, he scanned the faxed copy of a typewritten, singlespaced sheet. Inge’s letter was curt and to the point, promising full dossiers to follow later.

“The man you killed, Lieutenant,” Dowling-Smythe continued as Murdock read, “was Rudie Waldemar. The woman you captured was Erna Berg. According to Komissar, those two were members of the old Red Army Faction beginning in the middle 1970s.”

“I thought as much,” Murdock said, continuing to scan the information. He’d already described the woman’s H&K tattoo to both men.

“Lately, of course, the German RAF is pretty much dead. Has been for ten years or more. But this strongly suggests that there’s something new afoot. We’ve been hearing rumors for some time that the RAF and some of the other old terrorist groups on the Continent were banding together into something called variously the People’s Party or the People’s Revolution.”

“This says that all four may have been working for something called the People’s Revolutionary Front,” Murdock said. He looked up, handing the paper to MacKenzie. “Is there a connection between that and our North Korean friend in the next room?”

“Hard to say,” Wentworth said. He walked over to the two-way transparency and stared into the next window for a time. “We know that a large number of the terrs we put down in Middlebrough this afternoon were either known Provos — mostly hotheads who wouldn’t accept the latest truce — or Red Army Faction. And both Waldemar and Berg were RAF once. I’d say it’s a fair guess that the old RAF is changing its stripes, turning into the People’s Revolution… that or it’s backing the PRF, bankrolling it and providing personnel and shooters.”

“And importing two North Koreans with experience handling nuclear materials,” Murdock continued. “One of whom has been handling nuclear materials within the past few days.”

MacKenzie whistled. “Fuck, Skipper. I don’t much like the sound of that!”

“I think,” Murdock said quietly, “that we’d better make a full and complete report to Washington.”