Radiant Angel (18 page)

Gorsky nodded appreciatively and dragged Urmanov off the boat and onto the dock.

Petrov closed the watertight lid on the trunk and snapped the padlock onto the hasp. He pulled his Makarov and fired eight rounds into the hull and watched as water spurted from the bullet holes. He gathered Urmanov’s bag and the two arming devices and jumped from the sinking boat onto the dock.

Gorsky had taken a coiled line from the dock and bound Urmanov’s arms to his side with his hands behind his back, tied to a cleat. Urmanov was now in a sitting position, facing the boat with his legs dangling in the water. Gorsky said to him, “You can stare at your bomb until eight forty-six tomorrow morning. Then you should close your eyes so you are not blinded by the incandescent flash.” He crouched beside Urmanov and asked, “Were you trying to destroy the device? Or detonate it?”

Urmanov did not reply.

“Well… perhaps you yourself don’t know.”

Petrov said to Gorsky, “Shut off the lights, but leave the underwater lights on so we can monitor this space.”

Gorsky went quickly to the connecting catwalk and turned off the indirect lighting, leaving the garage bathed in the shimmering underwater lights.

Petrov watched the lifeboat as it sank under the weight of the nuclear device. No air bubbles rose to the surface, indicating that the trunk was indeed waterproof. The lifeboat settled on the deck of the garage beneath two meters of water.

Petrov took a last look around the garage. “It is done.”

Gorsky agreed, “It is done.”

As they were leaving, Urmanov shouted, “
You
are the monsters! Monsters!”

Petrov stopped and turned. “
We
are monsters? Perhaps, but you, Doctor,
you
are the monster’s creator. Think about that as you wait for your creation to kill you.” He added, “Good evening.”

Petrov and Gorsky left the garage and closed the doors behind them.

W
e made the border crossing from the Shinnecock Nation to Southampton, and my former trainee suggested some shortcuts to Tamorov’s house, trying, I suppose, to make herself useful.

She asked, “Are you still angry?”

I didn’t know if she meant angry at her or angry at Buck, but thinking back on all those conversations with her when she was conning me, maybe I felt a little foolish, and thus angry at myself. I mean, if they’d sent a guy instead of a good-looking woman I would have just clocked him.

Ms. Faraday advised me, “Anger gets in the way of good judgment and good performance.”

“I liked you better when you were a clueless trainee.”

“No you didn’t.” She changed the subject and told me, “I can see why Buck wanted me to work with you.”

“Then you can also see why I don’t want to work with either of you.”

“Well, you should know that it was Buck who first got onto this.” She explained, “About two months ago, the Russian Foreign Ministry notified the State Department that Pavel Fradkov was to be assigned to the Russian U.N. Mission. Buck’s job is to vet these guys. He’s one of the last of the SDI Cold Warriors and he knows all there is to know about the former Soviet Union. He even wrote a memo on Vladimir Putin from when Putin was a KGB officer, saying to watch this man closely.”

Clearly Ms. Faraday was impressed with old Buck, which colored her perception of him, just as mine was colored by his double-cross in Yemen.

She went on, “So Buck saw the photo of Pavel Fradkov in the diplomatic visa application that the Russians submitted to the State Department, and though Fradkov had aged and altered his appearance, Buck recognized him as Dr. Arkady Urmanov, a nuclear weapons physicist from the days of the Soviet Union.”

“Buck is smart,” I agreed. “But whoever let the nuke guy in the country was not so smart.”

“Sometimes we can turn these guys. We actually have a program where we buy Russian nuclear physicists and give them a job in the U.S.”

“How about Gorsky and Petrov? Do you have jobs for them?”

She didn’t reply for a second, then said, “We—someone—wanted to see what they were up to.”

“Well, now you know.”

She had no response to that and asked me, “What happened in Yemen?”

I was sorry I’d lost my cool with Buck while she was standing there. “I may have misinterpreted what happened.”

“I’m sure you did.” She let me know, “Buck is a patriot.”

So was Adolf Hitler. And so is Vasily Petrov.

I ended the conversation by calling Scott Kalish. He answered, and I said, “I’m driving, on speaker with a Federal trainee, Ms. Tess Faraday.”

“Okay, I’ll speak slowly.” He let me know, “I’m at Timber Point,” meaning the Suffolk County Marine Bureau Headquarters. I felt guilty about pulling him away from his Law and Order reruns. I asked, “How’s it going?”

“Not so good. I thought this amphibious craft would show up someplace.” He tried to assure me, “In addition to the sea-and-air search, we’ve issued a BOLO—be on the lookout—to the Bay Constables and local PD for all the marinas, yacht clubs, public docks—”

“The craft is sitting on the deck of a ship by now, Scott. You need to find that ship.”

“Hundreds of ships out there.” He let me know, “We have all four of our choppers flying search patterns, using infrared thermal imaging, and the Midnight Sun—the searchlight. But none of the choppers have spotted the amphibious craft you described, either on the water or onboard a large ship.”

This was not looking good.

Kalish continued, “I’ve got ten harbor units deployed and they’re running search patterns east and west of Tamorov’s house, from the shore out to the Fairway—the shipping lane—which starts about twenty miles offshore.” He further informed me, “Basically we’re covering about a thousand square miles. And the search area is getting bigger as time passes.”

“I understand that.” I let him know, “The Coast Guard has been called in to assist.”

“Okay, we’ll coordinate.” He reminded me, “We don’t even know how fast this ship is traveling or what direction, or what it looks like.”

“It looks like it has an amphibious landing craft on its deck. If it’s covered with a tarp, use the infrared imaging.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

I ignored the sarcasm and informed him, “We have some info that this ship is heading west, destination New York City.”

“How do you know that?”

I know that because if there’s an atomic bomb onboard, New York City is ground zero, as Buck so vividly explained. But in the world of compartmented information, I wasn’t sure I could share that with Scott Kalish, so I glanced at Tess, who shook her head.

I said to Kalish, “I can’t say. But trust me on this.”

“Okay… we’ll concentrate on westbound ships.”

“Good. And call your counterpart in the Nassau County Marine Bureau and ask them to begin a sea-and-air search to pick up where yours ends. Also, someone will need to call NYPD Harbor.” I further suggested, “Get the rest of your fleet out.”

There was silence on the phone, then Kalish said, “I don’t mind helping you out, John, but this has turned into a budget buster.” He asked, “How important is this? And am I covered?”

I again glanced at Tess, who held out her hand for the phone and I gave it to her.

She said, “Captain Kalish, this is Tess Faraday of State Department Intelligence.”

He didn’t reply, probably wondering how the trainee got promoted so fast.

She continued, “We have reason to believe that the amphibious craft rendezvoused with a ship that could be harboring a number of armed terrorists.”

There was a few seconds of silence, then Kalish said, “I thought this was about an amphibious craft with a bunch of Russian hookers onboard, going out to a party ship.”

“I can’t say anything further, Captain, but I will have someone in Washington contact you directly.”

“That would be good. Soon.”

Tess handed me the phone and I said to Kalish, “So that’s the deal, Scott. This got big and ugly.”

“Okay… but for all we know, the target ship could be a hundred miles south of the shipping lane. Or it could be at anchor, waiting to make its run.”

“That’s true…” Basically we had no information, and what information we had was old by this time. I said, “It would make sense that this ship is Russian registry.” I asked, “Can you find out what Russian ships—commercial or private—are due into the Port of New York?”

He thought a moment, then replied, “Yes and no. Yes if the ship has its Automatic Identification System transmitter operating. Then the Coast Guard can look on a screen and see the location of every approaching vessel, with all its info—its name, where it’s from, its cargo, and so forth.”

“Sounds good.”

“But if the ship is up to no good, it might turn off its AIS transmitter.” He added, “Like an aircraft would do if it was up to no good. But the difference is that aircraft will show up on radar as unidentified, but the sea is not so well covered by radar.” He further added, “A ship at sea can theoretically disappear by going electronically silent.”

“I understand.” But I still didn’t understand how Petrov thought he could get a ship emitting radiation past all the patrol craft, or past the old harbor forts that were equipped with very sensitive radiation detectors. I couldn’t use the word “nuclear,” so I asked, “How could a ship harboring terrorists get past all the checkpoints? Give me some scenarios.”

“Okay… well, a ship can theoretically slip past the Coast Guard and past the Ambrose checkpoint if it has shut off its AIS transmitter. And I suppose it can go right into the harbor unseen, especially at night.” He added, “But eventually the ship has to dock somewhere to unload the terrorists.”

Actually the ship only had to make it into the harbor, then detonate the nuke as it approached Manhattan.

Scott Kalish, however, was thinking it was a boatload of guys from Sandland, armed with AK-47s and hand grenades or something, so he said to me, “I’m not understanding Russians and terrorists in the same sentence.”

“Not all terrorists are named Abdul.” I further clarified my bullshit, “Maybe saboteurs would be a better description.”

Kalish still wasn’t satisfied and he said, “I’m not getting a clear picture of the threat or the mission.”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

He continued, “I assume if there are terrorists—or saboteurs—onboard this ship, we need to approach with caution and be prepared for an armed confrontation.”

“That’s a good assumption.”

“I would have appreciated this information sooner.”

“Right. Well, now we’re sure.”

“Well, I’m still not sure about the mission or the threat.”

I really wanted to be straight with Scott, but you don’t want to yell “atomic bomb” and scare the crap out of everyone—especially if you’re not sure. But I kept coming back to Arkady Urmanov, who was not in America to get a job. Though it was still possible that he was just partying with his pals tonight.

Kalish asked, “Anything further?”

I glanced at Tess, who was looking at me as if to say,
Don’t say it
.

“John? Anything further?”

Time to make an important decision. The code name for a radiation detection operation is Radiant Angel, which Tess might not know, so I said to Kalish, “Pray that a radiant angel will guide you.”

There was a silence, then he asked, “Are you serious?”

“Don’t worry about the budget.” A nuclear takedown of Manhattan will cost a lot more. “That’s all I can say, Scott.”

“Holy shit…” He pointed out, “If I’d known this, I’d have made sure everyone was glued to their radiation detectors.”

Join the compartmented information club, Scott. I looked at Tess, who didn’t seem happy with me, then I said to Kalish, “I just got the word.”

“Okay… well, in a way, this makes finding this ship easier… but… geez…”

To change the subject, I asked him, “Any luck with Tasha’s cell phone?”

No reply. His head was still in Nukeland. “Scott?”

“No… but the commo people are working on it.”

“Okay, I’m on my way to Tamorov’s. I need two county detectives to meet me on Gin Lane. They should look for a black Dodge minivan and my black Chevy SUV.” I also told him, “I may want to get aboard one of your choppers or boats later.”

“Okay… you can rendezvous with either at Shinnecock Coast Guard Station. Just let me know.”

“Will do.”

I was about to hang up but Scott informed me, “I’m getting a report here… hold on.”

“Good news, I hope.”

“It is… if you’re the guy we’re looking for.” He told me, “There’s a fog rolling in from the south.” He added, “Typical this time of year.”

“Keep me posted.” I hung up.

Tess said to me, “You handled that well. Until you mentioned the unmentionable.”

“He needs to do his job.”

“Then someone else will make the decision to tell him. Not you.”

I informed her, “When you and Buck asked me to work with you,
you knew what you were getting.” I strongly suggested, “Call your people in Washington and tell them to call Scott Kalish.”

She took my phone and began sending a text, telling me, “Buck is on his way to the Shinnecock Coast Guard Station. I’ll advise him to also go to Timber Point and see Captain Kalish in person.”

“Tell Buck he needs to be straight with Kalish.”

She sent the text to Buck and asked me, “What do you think Kalish’s chances are of finding an unknown ship on the high seas?”

“Not good at the moment. But at some point the target ship will get into range of a radiation detection device.”

“Can’t radiation be shielded with lead?”

“Yes and no.”

“Tell me about yes.”

“Well… from what I remember from a Nuclear Emergency Support Team class I took, if the device is encased in lead it may not emit enough gamma rays to be picked up by a detecting device—from a distance. But you will get a reading up close.”

“How close?”

“Depends on the amount of radiation being emitted, the sensitivity of the detector, and the thickness of the lead shield.” I also informed her, “The best shield is water, so the big scare is of a nuclear device riding underwater on the hull of a ship that might slip through.”

She didn’t reply to that, then asked me, “Can we get all shipping stopped at sea?”

“All legitimate ships will comply with a radio call from the Coast Guard. Unfortunately, the one ship we want stopped is not going to comply. Or respond.”

“All right… can we block the harbor?”

I’d played that scenario in my mind and replied, “It’s difficult to physically stop a large ship that’s intent on entering the harbor.” I let her know, “We have police and Coast Guard craft that can pull off a combat boarding of a large hostile ship going full speed ahead, but it’s not easy—especially if there’s armed resistance.”

“Can’t the ship be… like, blown out of the water?”

She was asking questions I’d already asked myself, and the
answers were not good. I informed her, “Even a Coast Guard cutter doesn’t carry a gun big enough to stop a large ship, and all the shore batteries guarding the approaches to New York Harbor were deactivated after World War II. You’d need a Navy warship to be in the area—or jet fighters.” I added, “In any case, do we want to fire on a ship that may have an atomic device onboard? Or fire on the wrong ship by mistake?”

She thought about all that, then said, “You’re telling me that a ship with a nuclear weapon onboard could sail directly into New York Harbor and detonate.”

“Well… it’s possible. Especially if it was a ship that looked legit. Or if it was on a suicide mission.”

She thought a moment, then said, “Whoever planned this in Moscow understood that seaport security has some holes in it.”

“Big enough to sail a ship through.”

Tess stayed quiet, then said, “Maybe, as Buck said, we are misinterpreting what we see.”

“We’d all be happy to be proven paranoid.”

She didn’t respond and we drove in silence. Indeed, it was hard to believe this was happening. It seemed like an abstract problem in a training exercise.
Find the nuke, Detective. We gave you some clues. Think. Is Abdul smarter than you?