Bergen looked amazed; no one had been bold enough to suggest the Pakistani tragedy could have been self-inflicted. “That is a disturbing theory, Doctor. One that has significant implications beyond this disaster.”
“As I said, Jane, it’s an unpleasant hypothesis at best.”
The reporter paused briefly to compose herself before going back to the interview’s question list. “What impact do you think all of this will have on the peace talks?”
“You mean the lack of peace talks. Well, of course the Pakistani delegation left Geneva immediately after they heard the news. Pakistan’s nuclear weapons were already dispersed and deployed because of India’s invasion last fall. There is a very vocal minority in Pakistan that wants to fire a retaliatory weapon into India, preferably at a large city. Of course, the nuclear exchange that would inevitably follow would destroy Pakistan as a nation, but many are so angry that they are willing to commit national suicide.
“The two countries’ armies are rebuilding, and preparing for a new offensive this spring, which is perhaps a month away. With the ‘nuclear threshold’ crossed by this one weapon, there is deep concern that the next offensive will involve more atomic weapons. The Indians missed their best chance to win this conflict last fall, and will be going all-out. The Pakistanis know that, and from their perspective have already suffered one Indian nuclear attack, so they are literally teetering on the edge.”
Bergen looked horrified. “So your greatest concern is that the war between India and Pakistan will become a nuclear war?”
Bartoz replied, “It already is a nuclear war — regardless of who detonated the weapon in Kashmir. It’s unfortunate, and indeed ironic, that in trying to remove the threat of Pakistani terror groups and nuclear weapons, the Indians have significantly increased the chance of suffering such an attack.” He smiled, but only at the irony, and then sighed. “For almost everyone currently alive, Hiroshima and Nagasaki are just historical events, dimmed by the passage of time. Having seen for themselves the effects of just one such weapon, perhaps both sides will consider the potential consequences and take a step back from the abyss.”
Yuri Kirichenko listened to Dhankhar’s arguments carefully. He’d reluctantly agreed with the admiral that the schedule had to be accelerated. The Kashmir blast was drawing far too much attention to all things nuclear in India. The problem was, he couldn’t refute the man’s logic about the size of his fee, either.
“We paid for six warheads, and you promised six. We received five, so it’s only appropriate that we reduce the payment by one-sixth.” Dhankhar was stating this as a fact, not a request. His possession of the warheads made it difficult for Kirichenko to negotiate. He could threaten to withdraw Orlav, but the technician would balk at the loss of his payment, and besides, Dhankhar might simply offer to hire him directly.
“Very well. Five-sixths of the original amount, payable when Orlav’s work is completed. I’ll be there for the final inspection and transfer of the arming codes. Churkin is currently en route to assist in maintaining security.” He’d debated telling him about Churkin’s movements, but Kirichenko needed to let the Indians know he was doing all he could. They’d already lost one weapon. There could be no more mistakes.
Dhankhar broke the connection, but Kirichenko sat holding the dead phone, lost in thought. The Indians had paid part of their fee up front, of course, but Kirichenko had used almost all of that to cover his expenses, much of it bribes, needed to recover and transport the warheads halfway across Eurasia. And that money was gone. He didn’t think he should ask for a one-sixth refund from the Al Badr militants. He needed to preserve his good relations with people who might be his next customers.
The ex-admiral’s mind was in two places. While part was obviously in India, the rest was up north, in the Kara Sea. He had more warheads to recover and sell, and he needed to learn from his mistakes with the first shipment. His profit from the first batch would be thinner than he liked, but he’d use it to recover more of the warheads next time. With increased security, and delivery only. If he hadn’t promised Orlav’s services adapting the warheads to fit in torpedoes, he’d be out clean and away by now. But then the Indians might not have concluded the deal. Mentally, he shrugged. That was in the past.
Now everything depended on Orlav — in Kirichenko’s opinion, a weak reed to lean on, but the only one available.
The Kashmir blast meant he should pick up his pace, as well. The Kara Sea would be stormy and ice-ridden for several more months, but the first time the weather moderated, he’d have his people ready. He might not be able to get them all next time, but definitely more than six.
The ringing of his stateroom’s phone jolted Jerry to consciousness. He groped for the handset in the dark, finding it by the fourth ring. Pulling it to his face, he muttered, “Captain.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Skipper. But we just received a flash priority message for us to come to PD and establish a video link with Squadron Fifteen.”
“Squadron Fifteen?” he asked groggily. “What time is it?”
“Yes, sir. Commodore Simonis needs to speak to you personally. And it’s zero four thirty, sir,” replied Lieutenant Kiyoshi Iwahashi, the officer of the deck.
“Huh? Right. That was fast,” Jerry grunted while trying to focus on his watch.
“Sir?”
“Never mind, Kiyoshi. Has the XO been informed?”
“He’s next on my list, sir.”
“Very well. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Jerry placed the handset back in the cradle, turned on the light, and started to put on his blue poopy suit. He heard Thigpen’s phone ring, followed by a loud, but whiny, “Are you kidding me?!”
Once dressed, Jerry made his way to the control room. A very disheveled Thigpen followed close behind. As soon as they entered North Dakota’s command center, a petty officer brought Jerry a steaming cup of coffee. After thanking the young sailor, Jerry walked alongside the officer of the deck and said, “Report, Mr. Iwahashi.”
“Yes, sir. We are on course one seven zero, speed five knots, depth one five zero feet. We currently hold six sonar contacts, all are classified as merchants, and all have very low bearing rates. Combat system TMA indicates none are close; tracks are displayed on the port VLSD. I’ve completed a baffle-clearing maneuver with no additional contacts. ESM and radio are manned and ready. Request permission to come to periscope depth and establish a link with SUBRON Fifteen.”
As soon as Iwahashi had completed his status update, Jerry looked at the large flat-screen display hanging on the control room’s forward port side. None of the contacts were headed toward him. They had been tracked for some time and the sonar data said they were all distant. A quick glance at the command workstation confirmed the ship’s course, speed, and depth. With everything as it should be, he ordered, “Very well, OOD, bring the ship to periscope depth and establish a link with SUBRON Fifteen.”
“Bring the ship to periscope depth and establish a link with SUBRON Fifteen, aye, sir,” replied Iwahashi, repeating the order to ensure he heard and understood it correctly. Turning toward the ship control station, he commanded, “Pilot, make your depth six five feet. Copilot, raise number-one photonics mast.”
As the boat took on a slight up angle, Jerry nodded to Thigpen and motioned for them to head to radio. Once inside the small room, the XO leaned over and asked, “Any ideas why the commodore wants us to contact him?”