“Not enough bang for their buck. I think the shipping containers were rigged before the drums were ever loaded. An inside job with security at the site. Launching an attack along the route requires them to know the route beforehand. Rigging the bombs on a simple timer or via remote detonation’s a lot easier.”
“Jesus, I hope you’re wrong,” said Fisher.
“Me, too,” said Grim. “Because look at this.”
The SMI had generated a flashing blip with concentric circles to illustrate the explosion of the lead truck on the I-70 off-ramp at Exit 361B near the bridge.
The shipping containers enclosing the barrels of thorium could withstand external temperatures as high as 1,400 degrees, but they were never designed to contain the overpressure and the chemically generated heat produced by an internal detonation of an estimated two hundred pounds of C-4 needed to fully destroy the shipment.
Windows of data opened up alongside the neighborhood map of ground zero. These boxes detailed the devastation in the immediacy of present tense:
Twenty-seven vehicles are demolished, their occupants killed outright. I-70’s overpass collapses onto N. Kansas Avenue directly below, producing an additional thirty-eight traffic fatalities.
While there is no actual nuclear yield, there is widespread window, roof, and negligible structural blast damage in residential West Meade, north across the Kansas River to Veteran’s Park. There are shattered high-rise windows as far south as SE Sixth Avenue in downtown Topeka, and all the way out to Ripley Park in the east. Flash fires erupt seemingly everywhere, initiated by falling white-hot debris.
“In powder form thorium nitrate acts as an accelerant in the presence of heat or explosive devices when detonated,” Grim said. “The same way secondary explosions of accumulated dust in air vents spread fire through ships and buildings. Check it out. It’s those secondary explosions that extend the blast area to nearly three miles in diameter.”
Fisher’s mouth began to fall open as he continued reading the data.
Topeka’s first responders are initially overwhelmed, and it will be hours before significant outside assistance can reach the city.
“What about the contamination?” he asked.
“I mentioned this earlier, but here are the technical facts: Thorium nitrate emits radioactive particles that can be breathed in or swallowed or can penetrate the skin. Most of the initial responders won’t be aware that they’re being exposed to ash and dust from a highly toxic chemical.” Grim checked another data window. “If the stuff’s ingested it can reduce the ability of the bone marrow to make blood cells and, in bone, it has a biological half-life of twenty-two years. In all other organs and tissue the biological half-life is about two years. While it’s not as bad as plutonium, it’ll kill you just the same.”
Fisher continued scanning the medical report near the edge of the screen: Acute potential health effects included irritated skin causing a rash or a burning feeling on contact. Ingestion caused nausea, vomiting, dizziness, abdominal cramps, ulceration, and bleeding from the small intestine, as well as bloody diarrhea, weakness, general depression, headache, and mental impairment. Prolonged exposure could affect the liver, kidneys, lungs, and bone marrow, as Grim had mentioned. The stuff was a recognized cancer hazard and could damage the male reproductive glands.
And yet another window illustrated through a powdery white overlay how the blast would spread a fine layer of radioactive particles and debris onto exposed individuals, homes, vehicles, plants, animals, sidewalks, and highways, while a significant amount would fall into the nearby Kansas River, whose waters flowed eastward.
Fisher realized that such a blast near any river system could cause a catastrophe for future cleanup crews. In this case it’d be a civil nightmare for Lawrence and Kansas City, both downstream of the blast. The terrorists would be contaminating the air and the water.
But there was more…
According to the SMI, at the time of the blast the prevailing winds would be out of the south, meaning the contamination would not just be confined to a rough circle with a three-mile diameter. That was the initial zone.
In the minutes following the detonation, an ever-expanding radioactive dust cloud more than two thousand feet high would be depositing psychological terror and physical illness along a twenty-mile swath, five miles wide.
In all, 97,000 of Topeka’s 250,000 citizens would be contaminated in varying degrees.
Many would die in a city that President Caldwell called her hometown.
“Madame President, all eight of those trucks need to be stopped immediately,” said Grim.
“I concur,” said Fisher. “If they’re rigged to blow, EMP’s the only way to take them out.”
“You need to be sure of this,” Caldwell said.
Fisher turned to Kasperov, his voice never more steely. “Are we sure?”
The man nodded nervously. “Stop those trucks.”
27
Fisher caught himself holding his breath as Charlie brought up the I-70 traffic cams from Topeka. They watched as the lead thorium truck was directed off the highway and toward a dirt lot behind a row of warehouses. From there, Charlie switched to the ghost truck’s dash cam, where the driver tapped a command into his keyboard, hit the panic button, then hopped out of the cab.
The SMI next lit up with similar traffic cam footage from the other trucks scattered across the United States, all seven being directed to areas away from the highway to disable their vehicles. Fisher watched one driver in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and the SMI noted that a detonation there would have effectively closed the I-24, I-75, and I-59 interchange, where three hazmat trucking routes converged. Chattanooga’s 180,000 citizens would’ve been thrust into a radioactive hell, even as the Tennessee River carried contamination southwest into Alabama and Mississippi. He could barely imagine what would happen if all eight had gone up simultaneously.
“Madame President, we need a thorough investigation into the Yucca Mountain site security,” said Grim. “Hazmat and EOD teams need to search every one of the trucks. The thorium needs to be removed and transferred to secondary trailers.”
“We’ll be on that immediately,” said Caldwell. “And, Mr. Kasperov, if we do find explosives aboard any of those trucks, then you realize that what you did today saved thousand of lives.”
“Thank you, Madame President. But you must understand that oligarchs have little tolerance for failure.”
“What do you mean?”
Kasperov frowned, glanced at the team, then spoke evenly, “I mean it’s not over. I believe they sent one man to oversee operation, triggerman if you will. He would locate one or more of trucks using spotters along route. He would wait until best moment to destroy them.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’m saying I know this man, and right now, he’s calling his bosses in Moscow for instructions.”
“What instructions?”
Kasperov’s expression turned grave. “Mr. Fisher, there is always plan B.”
Fisher lost his breath. “We need to find this guy — right now!”
“The NSA’s got tabs on all the big players in Russia,” said Grim. She faced Kasperov. “I need to pursue those names you gave us.”
Kasperov closed his eyes. “Some of these men were once my friends.”
“Not anymore,” said Fisher.
“Can I borrow a computer?” he asked resignedly. “I will help you.”
Briggs rose from his station and escorted Kasperov to his chair, where the man sat and began typing in the names he’d given them: Perov, the arms manufacturer; Yanayev, the aerospace mogul; and Kargin, the investment banker. Charlie and Grim were already patched into his screen, and Grim directed the SMI to access the NSA’s databases and began searching the phone records of those three men, keying in on calls placed within the hour between Moscow and anywhere in the United States. Charlie was monitoring the same feed.