"The divisions sweeping south from Volgograd are not there yet. At this point we think, sir, that Chechnya is their destination, although there's a danger that they could be headed farther south, into the Middle East. We've intercepted radio traffic which corroborates our theory that this is a massive move into Chechnya, and I'll defer to the director of Central Intelligence for that portion of the briefing."
"Very well." Mack turned to his CIA director, Mitch Winstead. "Mr. Director?"
"Thank you, Mr. President. I'm sorry to say that ground intelligence in the North Caucasus area in the last forty-eight hours has brought about more alarming news, sir."
"Talk to me, Mr. Director."
"Well, sir, from what we've heard on the streets, the Russians seem to have misplaced several pounds of weapons-grade plutonium."
"What?" Mack raised his voice slowly. "Repeat that, Mr. Director."
"Sir, the Russian government, like the Soviet government before it, is stone-faced and tight-lipped, but their subordinates on the street don't do a very good job of guarding state secrets."
Lord, please don't let this be true. "Mr. Director, I want to know exactly what you've been hearing."
"Approximately eighteen hours ago, around midnight Caucasus time, rebel forces, probably Chechen, ambushed a Russian military truck in the Russian Republic of North Ossetia. Our sources say the truck was under guard and carried weapons-grade plutonium 239. The driver and the two guards were killed. The plutonium is gone."
"How much is missing?"
The CIA director whipped out a handkerchief and patted his forehead. "Mr. President, bear in mind that we do not know the precise amount, but we believe that at least fifty pounds was taken."
"Fifty pounds?"
"Yes, sir."
"So how much firepower is that?"
The director cleared his throat. "That's more of a military question, Mr. President. I think I should defer that question to the secretary of defense."
The president glared at the secretary of defense. "Well, Mr. Secretary? How much firepower are we talking?"
Secretary Erwin Lopez met the president's eyes. "That's enough to build four or five small thermonuclear devices or…" SECDEF's voice trailed off.
"Out with it, Mr. Secretary."
"Or, Mr. President, they could package the fuel to build a small hydrogen bomb of approximately five megatons."
"So what would five megatons do, Mr. Secretary?"
The secretary of defense hesitated. His brows furrowed. His eyes shifted around the Oval Office.
"Out with it, Erwin, " the president said.
"Five megatons, if they were able to build such a device, would vaporize" – the secretary looked down – "any major city on the entire Eastern seaboard, and then some."
Shudders swept Mack's body. Only the ticks and tocks of the grandfather clock near the entrance of the Oval Office punctuated the respite of silence.
"Lord, help us, " the president said.
"We think the Russians believe that Chechen rebels smuggled the plutonium to Chechnya to build a nuclear device. But frankly, sir, we think the Russians are wrong."
"Go on."
"As you know, Mr. President, you directed the CIA and Department of Defense to develop contingency plans to sink the Russian freighter Alexander Popovich, the ship used in the kidnapping of Jeanette L'Enfant."
"Yes, I remember that directive. Go on."
"We've recently traced a five-million-dollar transfer from the radical Islamic organization the Council of Ishmael to the captain's Caribbean bank account. Mr. President, that had to be a payment for something – transportation of stolen plutonium would be worth that kind of money."
"Any other reason to suspect the Alexander Popovich?"
"Sir, we've maintained surveillance on Alexander Popovich. It's home-ported at Sochi, Russia, which is not that far from where we believe the nuclear fuel was heisted. About three o'clock in the morning, just three hours after the attack, a truck showed up with a delivery for Alexander Popovich."
Mack mused on that. "Two questions, Mr. Director. First, how did we just happen to have someone in place to see this delivery, and second, how do we know that this mysterious truck that showed up in the middle of the night was carrying the plutonium?"
The CIA director and the secretary of defense exchanged glances, and then SECDEF spoke up. "I'll take that one, Mr. President. First, we've been watching Alexander Popovich as a result of your directive to devise a secret battle plan to sink it. Since we believe it is connected to terrorist activities, we've had agents on the ground there keeping a close contact on the ship's in-port activities.
"In addition to our CIA operatives on the ground in Sochi, NCIS special agents in Sochi report that Alexander Popovich is in port taking on supplies. That report is corroborated by satellite photos. She could be ready to sail in weeks or even days."
SECDEF continued, "Our agents personally watched all this last night from a remote point with binoculars."
Mitch Winstead, the CIA director, spoke up. "In other words, we've already tracked this ship to terrorist activities, and we believe that this ship is being retained for another mission."
Another brief moment of silence followed.
"And I suppose that mission is to take this weapons-grade plutonium that nobody has actually seen, then sail off with it so that some terrorist group can blow up the United States?" This was the voice of Secretary of State Robert Mauney, who sat cross-armed to the president's left.
"Mr. Secretary, " Winstead shot back, "in the intelligence world, we can never be one hundred percent sure about anything. What you have said is true. Nobody – at least nobody that we have in our intelligence camp – actually saw what was in that crate hauled on the ship. But mathematically speaking, given the intelligence data we currently have, I'd say that odds favor that, sir."
"Then why are the Russians sending their forces to Chechnya? Do they know something we don't know?" Mauney wrung his hands. "Doesn't that tell us where the plutonium is?"
"With all due respect, Mr. Secretary, " Director Winstead replied in deliberate tones, "this is more likely a matter of us knowing something that the Russians don't know."
"Elaborate, Mr. Director, " the president said.
"The financial trail, Mr. President." Director Winstead leaned forward. "It goes back to the deal that Commander Brewer cut with Commander Quasay when we prosecuted those Islamic fighter pilots. Quasay gave us information in exchange for our not seeking the death penalty. That information led us to financial accounts which have allowed us to track cash flow from radical Council of Ishmael accounts to accounts controlled by this Russian captain – Batsakov."
"You don't think the Russians know about this ship's activities?"
"They may have some notion that the skipper is lavishing around in a lot of cash, but I doubt they know about this five-million-dollar infusion of cash into his Caribbean account, or that he even has such an account."
"Mr. President." The secretary of defense fidgeted with his cufflinks.
"Yes, Secretary Lopez."
"Sir, this underscores the need to sink that freighter. We know it has been used by terrorist organizations, that it will be used again by terrorist organizations. It is now most likely carrying enough plutonium to blow up New York City, Los Angeles, or Washington, D.C. The Russians either condone it or have turned a blind eye to it."
"With all due respect, Mr. Secretary, " the secretary of state responded, "that idea is too risky." Robert Mauney looked at Mack. "Please, Mr. President, I strongly urge you to give diplomacy a chance."
"Diplomacy?" Secretary of Defense Lopez spoke up. "Our diplomatic relations with the Russians are as low now as they have been since the Cuban Missile crisis. What are we supposed to do? Just say to the Russians, 'Excuse me, but you've got it all wrong on Chechnya, and one of your freighters is carrying the nuclear material you're looking for.'