Читать книгу Perilous Cargo - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

As Hal Brognola, the director of the Sensitive Operations Group based at Stony Man Farm, walked down the silent hallway, he knew that whatever was waiting for him in the Situation Room probably wasn’t something he wanted to hear. He sighed and stopped in front of the door, where a silent Marine guard waited. Brognola removed his Justice Department ID card, held it up for the Marine’s brief inspection, then swiped it through the reader. The Marine opened the door for him, then stepped aside smartly. “Good evening, sir,” he said.

“Want to bet?” Brognola growled under his breath.

Stony Man Farm was a covert operations base whose existence was known by a very few and whose director answered directly to the President. Its missions were varied, ranging from domestic anticrime and terrorism to foreign intelligence operations—anything that the United States couldn’t officially be seen—or get caught—doing. Brognola had been in charge for a long time, which perhaps explained why he went through so many antacids in a given day and certainly explained why he knew that a call from the White House at two in the morning wasn’t good news.

Inside the Situation Room he’d expected to find a large assortment of military brass, but he was startled to see only one man: the President himself. At the moment, his back was to Brognola as he watched some spy satellite footage playing on one of the many video screens in the room. He turned when the door shut.

“Hal,” he said, pausing the feed. “Thank you for coming in.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” he said. The two men shook hands. “What’s the situation?”

The President laughed. “You always come straight to the point, Hal. It’s one of the reasons I like you.”

“You don’t call me at this hour if there isn’t a situation, sir. Usually a bad one.”

“True enough, and this one is more precarious than I’d like, Hal, which is why the only people here at the moment are the two of us. If the Joint Chiefs heard about this, we’d have no way to contain it. As it is, I’ve had to seal everything with ‘Presidential Eyes Only,’ and anyone else who’s seen it has been sent on a long vacation with direct orders to keep their mouths shut.”

“That doesn’t sound precarious, Mr. President,” Brognola said carefully. “That sounds like an end-of-the-world kind of problem.”

“The truth is, Hal, we could be looking at a major disaster, but I think—with your help—we might be able to get on top of it.” He turned and restarted the video feed at the beginning. “This is a clip from one of our satellites as it passed over Kathmandu about twelve hours ago. Routine surveillance, so the angle isn’t very precise. The analyst who saw this come through cleaned it up and damn near wet himself.”

Brognola didn’t speak but took up a position next to the President and watched the screen. The blurred images solidified, showing a mobile launching platform, complete with a nuclear warhead and rocket, moving away from a large building. Guards were shooting at the vehicle, but it was heavily armored and kept right on going, hitting the road and then disappearing from the frame. The data analyst was clearly on his game because the next sequence showed the truck on a deserted highway, heading away from the city. Then it was lost again.

“Did he do any still image enhancement?” Brognola asked.

The President nodded and typed in the commands, bringing up the slides. The side of the rocket was in shadow, but the markings were unmistakable. They were Russian.

Brognola nodded thoughtfully, then took a seat at the conference table. After the Cold War, the Soviets had either lost or hidden a large number of nuclear weapons, though which one this represented was impossible to say. “I was right, Mr. President,” he said. “Precarious was an understatement. Who else knows about this?”

“The director and deputy director of the CIA, the Vice President, and you,” he said. “Plus the soon-to-be-vacationing analyst.”

Brognola cleared his throat. “Don’t let the analyst go anywhere,” he advised. “In fact, have him brought in on some pretense. Arrange for him to be held until this is over.”

“You’re afraid he’ll talk?”

“If he hasn’t already, yes, I am. Let’s find out for sure if he’s made any calls or spoken to anyone since his debrief, and hold anyone he’s even said good-night to. He knows there’s a nuclear missile roaming around in Nepal or Tibet. I’d suggest we take him out of circulation immediately.”

The President glanced at his watch. “He’s still in with the deputy director, going over it all one more time. Give me a moment.” He picked up a phone, dialed, then spoke softly into the receiver. “It’s done,” he said. “They’ll keep him at Langley for the time being.”

“Good. Now, who else knows?”

“I already told you, Hal—”

“Excuse me, sir, I mean which countries?”

“Well, we’ve got to assume the Russians know—it’s their damn missile that’s been stolen.”

“Did we have any indication that they were housing arms in Kathmandu?”

“There were plenty of rumors at the end of the Cold War, of course, but that’s all they were at the time—rumors. The intelligence coming out of the former Soviet Republic was terrible. The CIA didn’t have anything concrete or we’d have moved on it long ago.”

“But the CIA had something?”

“One field agent offered up an unconfirmed report, but it was little more than something he’d heard.”

“Based on what we’re seeing here, I’d say it’s been confirmed,” Brognola said.

The President stood and paced while Brognola gathered his thoughts.

“Sir, if China finds out...” he started.

“Then any hope we have for Tibet is lost,” he finished. “Worse, if that damn nuke gets launched into China...”

“Then we could be looking at World War III.”

“Exactly,” the President said. “That seems like a pretty good reason to kick you out of bed, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No complaints, Mr. President.”

“All right, so what do you recommend?” he asked.

“Have we had any contact with the thief? Any ransom or other demands?”

“No, and I think that’s more troubling than anything. Someone after money and power we can negotiate with, but a true believer of some kind or another...”

“In Nepal or Tibet?” Brognola asked. “Is there anything happening with the Chinese that might have motivated this from inside either country?”

“Not that we’re aware of, but I’ll dig a little deeper into that and see if they’ve managed to keep something from us. We don’t know yet what we’re dealing with. If the person who stole it has an agenda, then we’ve got nothing to give them and no room to negotiate. So I’ll ask again, Hal—what are your recommendations?”

“We go in fast and quiet. Striker’s the best man for this kind of job—hell, he’s the only man for this kind of job.”

The President nodded. “Fast and quiet it is, then,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and we can put a lid on this before we’ve got every warlord and criminal in the region going after the warhead, let alone China.”

“It’s possible,” Brognola said. “Anything else, sir?”

“I want to add one to your team,” the President replied. “An expert on the region and in the field. Two is better than one on this hunt in case something goes wrong.”

“Sir, Striker doesn’t always work and play well with others. It’s just his nature.”

“He will this time, Hal,” the President said. “And that’s not nature—it’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.” Brognola got to his feet.

“Oh, and Hal?”

“Sir?”

“Let’s not drop the ball on this one, okay? I’d hate to have to be the first President since Truman to be responsible for a nuclear holocaust.” The President was staring at him very intently, his eyes clear and focused.

“You know that Striker has never dropped the ball, sir,” Brognola said. “And he won’t now.”