Part 15 (1/2)
Bolan stared at the wall. ”You tell me, Aaron. Will the administration make a deal? Even if they believe Baibakov will do it?”
”No. If they do, then they've given over United States world policy to anyone who can build a crude nuclear device and smuggle it into the country.”
”That's what I'm thinking. Now, what happens if the Red Falcons go ahead and blow up Was.h.i.+ngton anyway?”
”Armageddon as far as Serbia is concerned. The American people will want blood, and they won't give a d.a.m.n that it was some splinter group that did it, either. We'd probably level Serbia with conventional weapons and turn them into the fifty-first state.”
Bolan nodded. ”I don't believe that's what the Red Falcons want, do you?”
”No.”
”So the question is, what do they really want?”
”Well, according to everything we've come up with, they want to punish the United States for its involvement in Bosnia.”
”And?”
Kurtzman sounded bemused. ”They want to break our will to fight and drive us out of Bosnia. Once the United States is out, most of the NATO forces would probably withdraw. Then Bosnia becomes part of Greater Serbia again.”
”Exactly. Now, does blowing up the capital of the United States help accomplish that goal?”
”No. It doesn't. But then again, Mack, that's a.s.suming that we're dealing with rational human beings. Not a psychopath leading a group of armed fanatics.”
The Executioner nodded slowly. ”All right, that's a given. But since we don't have any other red-hot ideas at the moment, let's a.s.sume that Baibakov and his friends are rational and they have a definite plan.”
”All right, I'll bite. What's your idea?”
”I don't have one, Beara”that's your department. I need you to get your team working, and I need an answer fast.”
”Go ahead. Shoot.”
”I need a target that accomplishes the Red Falcons' goals. Something that would make the President and the American people lose the will to stay in Bosnia, but falls short of dragging all of Serbia into a war with the United States. And it has to be a target you'd use a small nuke on.”
”Now, that is an extremely interesting set of target parameters.”
”So get on the stick. I don't think we have a whole lot of time on this one.”
”I'm on it. Kurtzman out.”
Bolan punched the link off. Svarzkova stared at him with a raised eyebrow. ”So what do we do now?”
Bolan rose from the table. ”How about a bath and food?”
Svarzkova perked up at the mention of food. ”Ah!”
Baibakov looked down at the thermonuclear device. It was roughly the size of a large suitcase and painted in the dull, nonreflective Russian military shade of green. A small panel on the top allowed access to the simple controls. It was a variable-yield device. The twist of a dial altered the efficiency and timing of the detonation, and that allowed the selection of an atomic yield between one and ten kilotons. There was a timer, arming and safety switches and little else to it. Its ant.i.tamper measures were simple but effective. Once the weapon was in place and armed, motion sensors inside the casing would detonate the weapon if they detected anyone cutting into the primary casing.
The charge itself was crude by modern standards. It was a simple gun-type nuclear device. Within the outer casing was a three-foot steel tube. At either end of the tube was a subcritical ma.s.s, which consisted of twenty pounds of uranium 235. On detonation a small charge of high explosive would fire one of the subcritical ma.s.ses down the tube like a bullet to slam into the other one. When the two subcritical ma.s.ses collided together, they would instantly go critical, and nuclear fission would occur.
Baibakov stared at the device speculatively. A nuclear-demolition charge wasn't the most effective of nuclear weapons for ma.s.s destruction. It was essentially a tool, and its military function was to blow huge holes in things. The primary targets of a charge of this type were large, solid structures such as hardened underground bunkers and dams.
The giant grinned wolfishly. The designer probably hadn't envisioned the particular use Baibakov had for the device, but the giant had little doubt that it would be totally effective. His grin faded as an unwelcome thought crept from the back of his mind. He was still disturbed that he had been unable to kill the senator. He knew that in the larger plan it wouldn't matter. Killing Senator McCain would have been a symbolic act more than anything else.
However, it wasn't the fact that Eudora McCain still breathed that sat burning in the back of Baibakov's mind. He was a hunter, and he considered himself the best that had ever lived, yet knew from long experience that not all hunts were successful. Sometimes the quarry escaped. Even he would admit that. What truly galled him was that the American commando had beaten him yet again. Senator McCain would have been an easy kill if not for his meddling. The commando had thwarted his every effort in the United States, and in the process killed almost all of the Red Falcons Baibakov had brought with him. The commando had bested him in America.
Something would have to be done about that.
Baibakov glanced over at Krstic. She stood enthralled as she looked down at the device. She stared in awe as if it were the Holy Grail. For her it was. The thermonuclear charge would be G.o.d's vengeance upon the Americans, and the first step toward a unified Greater Serbia.
The Russian put the American commando from his mind. The mission would have to come first. He needed to get more men, then he needed to transport the device and plant it at the target site. Baibakov smiled again as he imagined the detonation of the device and its consequences. America would reel with his blow; their will to fight and be ”peacekeepers” in Bosnia would be crushed.
Then, while America lay stunned, he would arrange for the American commando to come to him.
19.
Bolan sat in the mess hall at Fort Huachuca and watched Valentina Svarzkova shovel down pancakes. If the st.i.tches in her lip were causing her any pain, it wasn't slowing her down for a second. She was working on her third plateful.
Bolan sipped his coffee as he waited for the Russian agent to finish her meal. It had been seven hours since he had talked to Kurtzman. He and Svarzkova had showered, eaten, slept and were working on their second meal. The Executioner knew the computer whiz had done none of the above. He and the cybernetics team at Stony Man Farm would be working at full throttle until they came up with some kind of answer.
Svarzkova pushed her plate away with a happy sigh and looked at Bolan incredulously. ”This is military food?”
Bolan nodded. ”Yes, but it's Sunday, and you've never had creamed chipped beef on toast.”
The woman stared into s.p.a.ce for a moment as she mentally ran that through her files. ”Ah. Yes. s.h.i.+t on a s.h.i.+ngle. I have heard of it.”
Both of Bolan's eyebrows rose as he lowered his coffee. ”I'm impressed.”
”It is I who am impressed. In the Russian military soldiers do not often get meat, much less complain about it.”
The Executioner shrugged. ”Soldiers complain in every army.”
Svarzkova nodded sagely. ”Yes, this is so. However, I do not believe American soldiers have ever been exposed to ha and selyodka.”
”And that is?”
”Millet gruel and salted herring,” she replied, scowling.
Bolan sipped his coffee. ”American military service does have its benefits.”
An Air Force sergeant wound his way through the mess hall and approached Bolan and Svarzkova's table. ”Good morning. We have a priority communication for you in the message center, Mr. Belasko.”
Thank you, Sergeant.” Bolan finished his coffee and rose. ”Let's go.”