Project Cyclops Part 37

"They'd d.a.m.ned well better take an interest," Briggs declared. "If these terrorists plan a demonstration bombing, they could just be thinking about the air and naval facility at Souda Bay. Which would mean taking out the western end of Crete. Every anti-American in the world would doubtless cheer. They'd claim that our presence in a country makes it a military target. There'd be a groundswell of sentiment worldwide to send us packing. Everywhere."

The chief of staff was thinking. "Do you suppose these f.u.c.kers have really got a bomb? What did he mean about checking with our closest allies?"

The President had already been pondering that. "Well, the Israelis have a nuclear a.r.s.enal, of course, but they also have enough safeguards to take care of anything. They even shot down one of their own planes once when it accidentally strayed over the Dimona plutonium-reprocessing facility. n.o.body is going to steal one of theirs. The same goes for South Africa."

"So who does that leave?" Stubbs asked. He had a feeling he already knew.

"Let's save the obvious for last," Hansen answered. "And let me give you a quick briefing on who's in the bomb business on this planet. It just happens to be a particular interest of mine."

He leaned back. "In the Middle East proper, only one country presently has full capability. That is, obviously, Israel. They have, in fact, a lot more bombs than anybody realizes. Their plutonium-reprocessing plant at Dimona extracts plutonium from the spent fuel in their research reactor there, and CIA claims they've got at least two hundred strategic nuclear weapons. Normal plutonium bombs need eight kilograms of the stuff, but we think they've come up with a sophisticated way to make one with five. Then there're the tactical nukes. They've got nuclear artillery sh.e.l.ls, nuclear landmines in the Golan Heights, and hundreds of low-yield neutron bombs. That's more or less common knowledge, but what's less well known is that they've also got fusion capability-- H-bombs. Which, G.o.d help us, I a.s.sume is not our problem here today. Then there's Libya, though they're still trying to get enough enriched uranium together to become a credible threat. Having only one or two bombs means that if you start anything, somebody else is going to finish it, so you need a lot before you get going. Iraq, thankfully, has been put out of business. Of course, there's still India, which has plenty of unrestricted plutonium and they've even claimed they could make a bomb in a month. We happen to think they've already done it. Because . . ." He paused. "Because we know d.a.m.ned well Pakistan has."

"There's your non-Caucasian in the fuel supply," Davies noted. "The f.u.c.kers."

The special a.s.sistant for national security affairs, Theodore Brock, who happened to be black, did not find Davies' Alabama good-old-boy remark especially amusing.

"Exactly," Hansen continued, wondering when he would have a good public excuse to send Davies to greener pastures. 'That's got to be the 'ally'

the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was talking about. It's a Muslim country, and their controls are a joke. It's the obvious choice."

Brock agreed solemnly. "We can start with an inquiry through their emba.s.sy. But it's going to be sticky."

The President nodded, wis.h.i.+ng he had a hot line to the desk of every head of state in the world. It would make this kind of crisis so much more manageable.

Part of the problem, he thought, was how do you ask somebody if they've lost something that they've never admitted having in the first place? A marvel of diplomacy was in order. Still, he would have to do it. At worst, a denial wouldn't prove the terrorists did not have a bomb, but if the answer was affirmative, then knowing the size of the device could be crucial.

"We're receiving the enhanced satellite photos now." Briggs was pulling the first sheet off the machine. "Looks like ten-meter grids." He scanned over it. "But I don't see much. There're two big rockets here, but they seem to be all right."

"Which is in line with their threat to use them," Hansen observed dryly.

"I don't suppose a surgical air strike is possible?" Briggs wondered aloud. If the Gulf War had shown anything, it was the power of air superiority.

Hansen tried unsuccessfully to smile. "You're asking me to go to the Greek government and ask them if they would mind terribly if we bombed one of the islands in their Aegean tourist paradise, their cash cow.

And, by the way, we'd probably kill a few hundred Greek civilians in the process. But we'd explain that we need to do this because I got an unsettling phone call. With no proof of anything." He sighed. "Keep thinking. This has to be a commando insertion. And, frankly, I'd just as soon Athens got a phone call after it happened, not before. For a lot of reasons."

"You know, there's something funny right here." Briggs was bent over, squinting. "Here, next to what appears to be a radar complex." He looked up. "Gentlemen, I think I've located our Hind. Or what's left of it. Looks like it was smashed into the side of the mountain, just below where the radars are."

"Let me have a look." The President stepped over. "You mean there?" He picked up a magnifying gla.s.s. "I'm no expert, but whatever it is, it's big. It could be a Soviet a.s.sault helicopter, you're right."

"There appear to be two other choppers on the site as well." Briggs continued to study the photo. "One down here on the helipad looks to be a light commercial model. But there's another one over here, down by the launch vehicles. It's bigger."

The President looked. "You're right. I see them. That big one down by the vehicles is probably how they brought in the d.a.m.ned bomb, if they actually have one. Most likely the Hind wasn't up to the job, maybe took some fire from the Glover. So they used a second one to deliver the package. Nice logistics."

"Too d.a.m.ned nice. I'm beginning to believe this is in no way a hoax."

"Roger." Ted Brock had been on the phone and now was hanging up. "That was Special Operations Command, sir. Cutter's people want to use a Delta task force, but they'll need at least forty-eight hours to get them in place for an operation."

"Forty-eight hours!" Hansen exploded. "Our crack counterterrorist a.s.sault force needs two days just to get into position to do what they're trained for?"

"Well, we'll be using an Air Force C-130 to deploy the Deltas to Souda Bay. And then they'd need at least two Combat Talons for the final insertion. Those are all kept down at the Air Force's First Special Operations Wing, you know, Hurlburt Field in Florida."

"I know that, Ted," Hansen said.

Brock nodded sheepishly, then continued. "Well, after the insertion, they'd need support from our long-range HH-53 Pave-Low choppers, but only three are flying at the moment. And--"

"I get the picture." The President cut him off. "Transportation is lousy and half the equipment we need is somewhere else or in maintenance. Any other bad news?"

"One thing, an a.s.sault would have to be at night. It's the only way that makes any sense. Which means more special equipment. If they go in during daylight, it's going to be a slaughter of the hostages, particularly if these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are armed the way we have to a.s.sume. And from the looks of everything so far, I'd say they know how the game is played. Which means that even if we do our best, it's going to be tricky. They're going to a.s.sume we're coming. The way I figure it, even with no rehearsals, forty-eight hours would be tight."

"We invest millions training the finest counterterrorist units in the world and then they can't be deployed in less than half a week?" He exhaled angrily, remembering a cla.s.sified internal Pentagon study that claimed the best time to launch a successful a.s.sault with the least number of casualties among hostages was within twenty-four hours of their capture. "It's a G.o.dd.a.m.n outrage."

"Forty-eight hours, minimum, Mr. President. And even so, that's pus.h.i.+ng it." He squirmed. "There's a lot of paperwork that'll have to be processed, and--"

"Well, tell Cutter to get the Special Forces mobilized and moving,"

Hansen interjected. "In the meantime, our job is going to be to try and find out what happened. Do they really have a nuke, and if they do, how in h.e.l.l did they get it and what are they planning to do with it?"

CHAPTER TEN

9:22 P.M.

"It's very simple," Ramirez said to Jean-Paul Moreau. After the phone call, he had sent Mannheim to the Bates Motel and returned to Launch.

Let Was.h.i.+ngton stew awhile. They were probably now trying to figure out how to get their ant.i.terrorist units into Greece. Their nightmare logistics would be fun to watch. "We have to find them. And get him.

Alive if possible, but we can't be fussy. The time to do it will be just after midnight, when we're finished here."

Moreau disagreed. "I'd say the sooner the better. The longer they're free, the more problems they can cause." Crossing Ramirez was not something to be done lightly, but he felt strongly that the operation was not going as smoothly as it should have. It was time for a little damage control.

"Well, he's probably back on the mountain," Ramirez said calmly. "If you want to, then go on up and get him. Take the RPG-7; it's light. But be careful you don't damage anything."

He was right about the weight. At slightly over ten kilos, the RPG-7 was one of the best bangs-for-the-ounce around. It

was a guerrilla special, a Soviet-designed 40mm launcher that loosed a rocket with an oversize hollow-charge rocket-warhead 85mm in diameter.

Fired from the shoulder, it was deadly against lightly armored vehicles and structures. Used on personnel, it was lethal. They had brought along a Pakistani clone of the latest Soviet model, a two-piece version that was easy to move about, yet a.s.sembled quickly.

"But remember," Ramirez went on, "so far all we have to show for trying to take out this nuisance is a wrecked helo. Don't botch it again."

"That was because you left the work to German amateurs," Moreau remarked dryly. "This time I'll take care of it myself. Personally."

"I'm counting on that," Ramirez said, his eyes expressionless behind his gray shades.