"You see these five metal cylinders on this table, Kapitan?"
"They look like large aluminum salad bowls welded together. These are bombs?"
"Yes. Actually each of these is a thermonuclear device. Within each cylinder are two half-spheres of the plutonium 239 taken from the Russian ship. We carefully molded the half-cylinders in each cylinder and left a small space between each half-cylinder. Dynamite will be placed outside each cylinder and detonated from a remote detonation switch.
"The dynamite ignites, slamming the half-cylinders of plutonium together, creating an atomic chain reaction!" Excitement overcame Salman as he thought of what would happen next. "This chain reaction ignites a hydrogen-fusion reaction, and in one great flash the Al Alamein becomes the most glorious ship in history!" Laughter poured from his mouth at the thought of all of it.
"More famous than the Titanic?"
"Oh, Kapitan, in one swoop we shall eclipse the single destructive power of the Pacific tsunamis, of Mount St. Helens, and of the greatest earthquakes ever to strike the earth." Hot and cold flashes shot through his body.
"What are all these strange-looking glass jars that I am seeing on the table?" the captain asked.
"Ah. Good question. Fusion is at the heart of the H-bomb process. Several A-bombs are detonated at the same time to create the extremely high temperatures necessary to fuse a substance called lithium deu-teride into helium.
"In our case, Kapitan, we will be using five small atomic bombs, all laid out here on the table before you, which will create a massive temperature of one hundred million degrees Celsius. We will instantly become the sun floating upon the water. Such an extreme thermonuclear temperature is necessary to fuse lithium deuteride into helium.
"The glass jars that you see on the table will be filled with the lithium deuteride and will surround the five A-bombs in their casings. When the fusion begins in the A-bombs, and when one hundred million degrees is reached, then the lithium nucleus slams into the deuteride nucleus, and voila. This begins our hydrogen bomb detonation."
More hot and cold chills shot through Salman's body. An incomparably powerful weapon of mass destruction was now nearly complete. Aside from a few select weapons in the arsenals of the American and Russia militaries, this was the most powerful device in the entire world.
The captain asked a question. But Salman did not hear it. His mind was on the sublime. Allah had made him feel like a god. In a way, with such awesome destructive power at his fingertips, he was a god!
"My apologies, Kapitan. What was your question?"
"I asked, Salman, where is the detonation switch?"
"Ah, but perhaps this is the best news of all. I am rigging the detonation switch to the bridge. You and I, with your permission of course, will be topside, looking through the windows, out at the target. In fact, Kapitan, because you are the highest-ranking man on this great ship, I feel that is only appropriate that you yourself do the honors. I believe Allah would be pleased."
The captain paused, looking at the hydrogen bomb in the bowels of his ship. He looked at Salman. "We will throw the switch together, my boy. And together, we will watch Allah's glorious work from paradise."
CHAPTER 26
FSB headquarters
Moscow, Russia
You are making quite a few headlines in America and around the world, Commander." The FSB agent stood just outside the steel bars that barricaded Pete from the rest of the world. His English was perfect. "Your countrymen are not too happy with your cowardice in surrendering your crew and your submarine so quickly."
"Did you have a question?"
"Of course such allegations are unfair. You were only doing the chivalrous thing. To surrender a billion-dollar piece of machinery for a few children. Your press is so horrible and misrepresentative of the truth. Of course, they don't know that you sabatoged it and sunk it. They think we've got your submarine. And they say you and your crew have defected."
"I don't believe that."
"Ah. So you have confidence that your press always reports the right story, do you?"
"Our press isn't perfect, but I have more confidence in a free press than the propaganda that stems from this place."
The FSB agent laughed. "Perhaps if you help us understand the truth of what really happened we can set the record straight and quash all those unfounded rumors that you have become – what is the phrase they're using – a communist?" The agent unleashed a devious sneer. Pete wanted to jump through the bars and take his head off.
"You know, " Pete said, "this type of interrogation is prevented by the Geneva Accords."
"Ah, the Geneva Accords." The FSB officer struck a cigarette. "I was under the impression that the Geneva Accords applied to prisoners of war – not to terrorists." A satisfying puff. "Your own government made this argument to justify its maltreatment of Arab citizens at prisoner facilities at Guantanamo Bay. And as far as I know, our governments are not at war yet. And because you are a terrorist, the Geneva Accords do not apply here."
"You can use that garbage to mistreat me all you want. Just don't mistreat my crew."
"My dear Commander Miranda. You will not be mistreated. You will have a fair trial!" A snicker and another puff. "Now if you are convicted, I cannot say what treatment you will receive." The agent dropped the cigarette on the floor and stamped it out. "Perhaps you will enjoy your extended stay in the Russian Republic. At least here you will not have to face young Coley Miranda, who was on the television last night crying because his father is a traitor to America."
"Liar!"
"Am I?"
Pete rushed at the bars, shaking them with all his might. "How do you know my son's name?"
Another sinister laugh. "Why, Commander, everyone who has seen the boy's tears over his father's cowardice knows the name of Coley Miranda." The agent blew an obnoxious cloud of smoke into Pete's cell. "Just as your daughter Hannah looks into the cameras and says that she hopes her traitorous father never comes home." The agent lit another cigarette. "What did she call you? Benedict Arnold?"
Pete pounded the bars with his fists. The words knifed his heart. "Cut the propaganda. You're a liar."
"Am I?" More putrid smoke blew from the agent's mouth. "You are of Chilean heritage, are you not? Your father was Chilean. Pinochet is dead. Michelle Bachelet, the first woman president of Chile, was a member of the East German communist party. Your actions are clear now to people in America. At least that is the way your press is portraying the reason you delivered an American submarine to a government with a rich communist heritage."
"That's a lie. My family supported Pinochet. Pinochet put an end to socialism in Chile, at least until the election of Bachelet."
The agent laughed. "Try telling that to your countrymen. Try convincing your children. You haven't seen your children in a year. You'rea traitor to them. Why should they not believe that you are a traitor to your country?"
"Why don't you step behind these bars and tell me about my kids man to man?"
"Aahh… a sensitive area? Hah. Just think what your children will think when their cowardly father is hanged for all the world to see." The agent threw the cigarette stub at Pete and walked away.
Office of the president of the Russian Republic Staraya Square, Moscow
I am not satisfied with the Army's inability to find the missing plutonium!" President Vitaly Evtimov thundered from behind his desk, boring his stare at General Anatoly Petrov, the Russian Army chief of staff. General Petrov had been called into the cabinet meeting to represent the Army in the place of former Defense Minister Giorgy Alexeevich Popkov.
"My apologies, Comrade President, " the general said. "Unfortunately, Minister Popkov never developed our battle plan prior to his unfortunate death."