Authors: David Hagberg
"All right, Mr. McGarvey, what was bin Laden's response?" the President asked.
"We set up the meeting through our embassies in Pakistan and the Sudan, and Trumble went to see him in Khartoum. It only lasted a couple of minutes, but bin Laden said that he was willing to talk, but only to someone higher in rank than a CIA chief of station. That's the report Alien brought back with him. Along with a serial number."
"Five days later bin Laden had him killed," Berndt said.
"We don't think so," the FBI director said. "The one terrorist left behind was Egyptian, and he'd been in this country for more than three years working for a company that had only a brief association with bin Laden's interests. And that was more than five years ago."
"Oh, come on, Herb, that's a load of crap and you know it," Berndt said. "Maybe bin Laden didn't actually pull the trigger, but he was responsible."
"I haven't heard anything yet to change my mind," Admiral Halverson said angrily. He turned to McGarvey. "You said yourself that the bastard was probably planning something big. Maybe this action was meant to keep us busy, keep our attention and assets focused in one direction while he hits us someplace else."
"Can we pinpoint his location?" Berndt asked.
"The CIA is working on it," McGarvey said.
"Fine," the national security adviser said as if the decision had already been made. "As soon as we have that, we strike him with cruise missiles."
"It didn't work in 'ninety-eight," McGarvey pointed out softly.
"Because of faulty intelligence information," Berndt shot back. "If you do your job right this time, we'll be able to do ours."
"How soon can we be ready to make such an attack?" the President asked Admiral Halverson.
"The Carl Vinson and her battle group are already in the Indian Ocean. They could be in striking range in the Arabian Sea within forty-eight hours."
"Is that enough of a force to deliver a decisive knockout punch?"
"Providing we know exactly where bin Laden is hiding, yes, sir. We can put upwards of one hundred fifty cruise missiles on target in under twenty minutes." Admiral Halverson looked at McGarvey as if he were expecting to be challenged. "If need be we can finish the job with air launched smart bombs."
The President's lips compressed. "Okay, that's an option. Mr. McGarvey, comments?"
"There is another consideration, Mr. President, perhaps the only consideration." McGarvey brought Rencke's briefing file up on the screen at the end of the room. The three dimensional engineering diagram appeared. "This is the Russian version of our Mark XVII nuclear demolitions device. The serial number that bin Laden sent back with Trumble matches the serial number of a Russian device that is missing."
The entire room was stopped dead. Even the President was at a loss for words.
"We believe with a high degree of confidence that bin Laden purchased it from Russian caretaker officers at the Yavan Depot near Dushanbe, Tajikistan, for thirty million dollars. We think that it was taken across the border into Afghanistan near Nizhny Pyandzh two months ago where it disappeared. Currently the Russian FSB is conducting an investigation to find out what happened."
Everyone around the table stared at the image on the screen. The President was the first to look back at McGarvey.
"This is a nuclear weapon?" he asked, subdued.
"Yes, sir."
"Officially they don't exist," Secretary of Defense Turnquist said uncomfortably.
"They were supposed to have been destroyed," Secretary of State Eugene Carpenter explained softly. Nearing eighty he was the oldest man currently serving in a position of power in Washington. His quiet, studied views were well respected here and abroad, especially in countries like China where old age was venerated. "Do you understand what could happen if you're correct, and this madman has one of the things?" He shook his head because of the enormity of what they were facing. "We have no defense."
"We built a hundred of them," McGarvey said. "We think the Russians built a similar number in the mid to late seventies. Ours were designed at Los Alamos and put together at the Pantex facility in Texas, and so far as I know, Mr. Secretary, they still exist."
"And you're telling us that bin Laden has one of these things?" The President glanced at the diagram again. He was shaken to the core. "What's he going to do with it? Doesn't he need a missile or something to deliver it?"
"No, Mr. President, because it's not a bomb in the conventional sense of the word. It only weighs about ninety pounds, and it fits into a suitcase-size package. They were designed for behind the lines sabotage to take out major
bridges, dams, submarine pens and hardened bunkers for fighter aircraft."
"Was it meant to be carried by a man?"
"A strong man, or maybe two of them to switch off. They could sneak up to the target in the middle of the night, hide the package somewhere close to their objective, and then withdraw."
"How powerful is it?"
"About one kiloton, enough to do a very considerable amount of damage wherever it was fired."
"Just how much damage?"
"Mr. President, if it were loaded in the cargo hold of a commercial airplane and detonated over Washington, or New York, or Los Angeles, or any other large city, as many as a million people would die either from the actual blast and heat, or from the aftermath fires, or the long-term effects of radiation poisoning. Roads, schools, government buildings, radio and television stations, telephone towers and exchanges, power plants and distribution centers, satellite antennae--a major portion of a city's infrastructure would be totally destroyed or heavily damaged in just one terrorist attack. It would make the Oklahoma City incident look like a toy popgun."
"Just wait a minute," Berndt broke in. "You don't just walk up to an international airport carrying a nuclear weapon and board the first flight to New York."
"It might not be carried aboard, but it might get through customs disguised as electronic equipment, machinery or even office supplies. And unless it was damaged it wouldn't leak radiation so it'd be invisible to most airport security measures. Even bomb sniffing dogs wouldn't be able to sense it. Nor would our satellites, or NEST (Nuclear Explosives Search Teams) units. It could be moved anywhere around the world almost as easily as a case of beans or a sack of rice."
FBI Director Herbert Weissman shook his head. "We have scenarios in place to deal with anthrax or nerve gas or a
dozen other biological and chemical attacks, but not this. Not something this portable."
"Until now there've been tight controls on the things," McGarvey said.
Even Berndt was subdued. "Assuming for the moment that bin Laden has this weapon, and that he can get it here, how is it fired?"
"It's exceedingly simple, sir. Almost foolproof. It can be set off by a simple turn of the key, by a timer, or even by remote control up to a mile away depending on conditions. Or, the signal to detonate could even come from a satellite, one disguised as a simple telephone call."
"Christ," Sec Def Turnquist said. "Can we get any cooperation from the Russians?"
"I doubt it, sir," McGarvey said. "They won't even admit they ever built the things, let alone they lost one. They were never included in any of the SALT treaties. Neither were ours, for that matter."
Berndt sat forward, "I think I know what Art is trying to get at. If we can get the Russians to help us, why couldn't we send the signal to detonate the thing right now, while it's still in Afghanistan?"
"No," the President said sharply.
"It's better than taking the risk that the crazy sonofabitch will actually try to bring it here."
The President looked to McGarvey. "It could be anywhere by now, is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan, or in Kabul itself. Or even here in Washington?"
"Yes, sir," McGarvey said.
"Then we're at the bastard's mercy already," Berndt observed. "All the more reason to hit him with cruise missiles as soon as we can. Dead men don't give orders."
The President ignored his NSA, his eyes locked on McGarvey. "You have our attention, Mr. McGarvey. What do you think we should do?"
"Bin Laden wants to talk, so that's exactly what we do."
"Your man in Riyadh tried it, and it got him killed," Berndt pointed out.
"Alien was probably killed on the orders of one of bin Laden's followers. A fanatic. Someone who wants to use the bomb against us."
"But bin Laden doesn't necessarily agree," the President said. "Are you saying that he got it as a bargaining chip?"
"I think that's a possibility we have to consider, Mr. President."
"Okay, who do we send?"
"Me," McGarvey said. It was a bombshell around the table, even to Murphy who saw it coming. As DDO McGarvey was the third most powerful man in U.S. intelligence, bagging him would not only be a major coup for a terrorist such as bin Laden, but it had the potential of harming the U.S. even worse than Aldrich Ames had done. Ames had spied for the Russians in the eighties and early nineties. Because of him nearly all of our deep cover assets in the Soviet Union were blown, most of them assassinated. The CIA still was not fully recovered. "He wants to talk, so I'll go talk to him."
"It's a suicide mission," Admiral Halverson said. "If you're wrong, and bin Laden did order Trumble's assassination, you'd be walking into a hornet's nest." He shook his head. "Hell, even if you're right, and it was one of bin Laden's followers, what would stop him from ordering your death the moment you set foot in Afghanistan?"
"Considering what we're faced with, it's a risk I'm willing to take, Admiral," McGarvey said. "The same risk your people signed on for when they put on a uniform."
The comment stung, and the admiral sat back, chastised.
"I don't think we have any other choice now," Secretary of State Carpenter said in his studied way. "But what would you say to the monster that would make any sort of difference?"
"I'll tell him that we got his message about the bomb, and ask him to turn it over to us," McGarvey said. "I can't think of any other reason he gave the serial number to
Trumble. He wants to make a deal with us. We'll give him back his assets, lift the bounty and try to get the Saudi government to let his family come home. At least that'd be a start."
"We've been over that," Berndt said.
"There's something else he wants. I don't know what it is, but it's something he wants badly enough to agree to talk to us."
"Kill him," Berndt said flatly.
"Another failed missile attack could drive him into using the bomb," McGarvey said. "None of us want that."
"I mean if you actually get close to him, kill the man."
McGarvey went eye-to-eye with the President's national security adviser. "Are you giving me that order, Mr. Berndt?" The room was quiet. "Because if you are, I would like it in writing."
"Dennis, we're a long ways from ordering a suicide mission assassination," the President said. "If we strike his camps with cruise missiles the mission will be to deny him the capability to wage a war of terrorism. We will not specifically target the man."
It was a very fine point, barely within American law, and no one missed it, nor did anyone offer comment. Assassination as a political weapon was not an option, although if bin Laden were to be killed in a missile raid, then so be it.
"How sure are you that he's not simply setting a trap?" the President asked. "It comes down to that."
"If he is, he wouldn't have killed Alien. He would have waited for someone like me to show up. He wants something, and I have to meet with him."
"How soon could you set it up?"
"We'll put the word out, and if he responds it'll be within the week, maybe two," McGarvey said.
"Safeguards?" the President asked.
"We have some limited resources in Kabul."
"Assuming he's still in Afghanistan, how would you get there? Government transport is out."
"Ariana Airlines, through Dubai," McGarvey said. "For
the moment it's the only reliable carrier to Kabul. From there I would expect he'd send someone for me."
The President shook his head. "I don't like this, but I don't see any other alternative under the circumstances."
"No, sir," McGarvey said.
"General?" The President turned to Murphy.
Murphy gave McGarvey an odd, almost pensive look. "He'll have to go in clean. If we try to set something up for him, some kind of a backup, and bin Laden finds out about it, Mac will be a dead man."
The President looked around the table. "Have there been any leaks yet?" To this point the media was accepting the FBI's story that the shooting in Orlando was a case of mistaken identity in a drug cartel war. The eye witnesses said that the shooters were slightly built and dark-skinned, which was a close enough fit to generalize that they were Colombians. Bari Yousef's identity and Alien Trumble's real employer were being kept secret.
"No, sir," Berndt assured him.
"Then we'll keep it that way," the President said. He looked again at McGarvey. "Do it," he said softly.
"Yes, sir," McGarvey said. A whisp of something from Voltaire came to him: I am very fond of truth, but not at all of martyrdom. Before he put himself into the lion's den he would try to even the odds as much as possible. He wanted to stop bin Laden, but he also wanted to make it up to Trumble's family.
The Oval Office
Berndt and Admiral Halverson remained behind as the others filed out of the room. When everyone was gone they followed the President upstairs. On the way in he told his chief of staff to push everything back for another ten minutes, then he went to his desk.
"We can monitor McGarvey's movements into the Afghan mountains, am I correct in this?"
"To within a few meters," Berndt confirmed.
"Okay, if he actually comes face-to-face with the bastard, and if bin Laden so much as farts, I will order the immediate missile attack on his camp once McGarvey is clear."
"Or dead," Berndt said darkly.