“Not a country,” Geisler countered. “A conspiracy within the country’s military; just a different group of terrorists, in my opinion. And if a sub is involved, then they want to use them someplace a sub can go.”
“And because it’s the ultimate stealth platform. Pakistan’s the obvious target,” Hughes said.
“But they already did, sort of,” Foster replied. “Was that an intentional attack? If it was a mistake, it makes me wonder how well organized these guys are.”
Patterson sat up a little straighter. “We all agree that nothing pops out immediately. We’ve gotten more pieces to the puzzle, but still no hint as to what the picture might be. For the moment, we will presume that the information Mr. Mitchell has provided is correct. Dr. Foster, Secretary Geisler, I know your people are already working hard on this, but here are some new leads to run down.”
Geisler added, “We must also be very discreet with our investigation. Even with so few facts, or maybe because there are so few facts, if this became public, it would become an uncontrollable mess. We’d probably never get to the truth.” Everyone nodded complete agreement.
Patterson turned to Hughes. “Admiral, if you’re done with the commander, Senator Hardy and I would like to conduct a more extensive debrief this evening.” Smiling, she added, “There’s a new restaurant in Georgetown we want to show Jerry.”
“Of course, Doctor.” As they stood to go, the three men each shook Jerry’s hand, thanking him for his report. Admiral Hughes added, “I’m looking forward to seeing you here in Washington soon. I have several billets in mind that you might find interesting.”
Jerry forced himself to smile, and tried to make some sort of noncommittal reply, but the CNO cut him off. “Don’t try to lie about looking forward to shore duty, mister.” He grinned. “But we need people like you here, and you’ll just have to endure it like the rest of us.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Jerry left, following Patterson, and after collecting his bag at the security station, they headed for the Mall entrance, where her car was waiting. As they got in, he heard her tell the driver, “Back to my office, please.”
He was a little confused. In her e-mail, Patterson had insisted that he stay with her and Hardy at their place in Georgetown, after dinner. As they pulled away, she explained, “Slight change in plans, Jerry. I’d like to show you something, and ask your opinion.”
She filled the drive to the White House with questions — not only about Emily, but about Guam, where he’d moved her after his boat was transferred there, and even about Commodore Simonis, his squadron commander, and the other submarine captains in Submarine Squadron Fifteen.
She seemed to be hurrying as they passed through the gate and more security on the way to her office in the West Wing of the White House. Jerry focused on answering her question about the repairs to his new quarters in Guam, while telling himself that the White House was just another government office building.
It was late afternoon, almost evening, but there were still many people working. She greeted everyone by name, but rushed on without introducing Jerry to anyone, not even her secretary Kathy, who started to offer her boss a handful of message slips, but stopped when Patterson said, “No visitors until I say so, and please contact Lowell. Ask him to come here.” Kathy nodded, and reached for the phone.
Jerry followed her into her office. It was spacious, and as Jerry had expected, tastefully furnished. “Make sure the door is locked behind you,” she asked, and Jerry made sure the door had latched before turning a substantial-looking deadbolt.
She was rummaging in a safe built into her desk, and pulled out a fat folder with brightly colored security markings. She handed it to him and pointed to a chair as she sat down. “Remember that?” she asked.
Jerry looked at the label on the file, and was so surprised he sat down a little harder than he normally did. The chair took the hit without ill effect, and he hardly noticed the impact.
In the middle of the warning labels and prohibitions, the tab on the folder had a single word: “Rainfall.” It was intended to be meaningless to anyone who wasn’t supposed to know anything about it, but Jerry knew all about it.
He opened the file, and paged through material he hadn’t seen or thought about in many years. There was the track of USS Memphis in the Kara Sea, pages of testimony from the officers and crew, and eight-by-ten photos of the two nuclear warheads they’d removed from a barge that had been deliberately sunk by someone who’d wanted to hide not just two bombs, but dozens of them, weapons that weren’t supposed to even exist. It was a thick file, with photos of them all, looking more like mug shots, including one of Emily, Patterson’s assistant on that mission. She’d worn her hair shorter back then.
He probably paused for too long on Emily’s photo, because Patterson said, “There’s an exploitation report all the way in the back, by Sandia Labs.”
He found it, a spiral-bound booklet with Sandia’s blue thunderbird logo on the cover. Even the title was classified as Top Secret/Sensitive Information: “Analysis of Russian Nuclear Warheads Recovered by USS Memphis, March, 2005.”
Some of it was familiar to him. Memphis’s XO, Bob Bair, had actually identified the bombs from markings on the cases. They were reentry vehicles for the SS-20 Saber intermediate-range ballistic missile. The Russian name was “RT-21 Pioneer.” The analysis confirmed that, and other obvious facts, before getting very, very technical. There was a section on the casing, with photographs, and he realized that they were disassembling the warhead, taking photos as they went. He wondered how they’d dealt with the anti-tamper devices. Half of him wished he’d been there to watch, and the other half was very glad he hadn’t.
After that were sections on fusing…
“Find the section on ‘fissile material,’” Patterson instructed.
It was marked by a tab, and Jerry opened the booklet to that page, which showed a color photo of polished dull-colored metal surrounded by an intricate framework. It was an actual piece of the bomb’s core, exposed during the disassembly.
“The next page has an analysis of the material,” she prompted.
He found it quickly enough. It was even marked with a sticky note with the word “Mixed.” After a description of how the material had been removed and analyzed, it listed the chemical composition of the metaclass="underline" isotopes of uranium and plutonium, lithium, traces of chemicals that had been used in the extraction process. Jerry understood it well enough. It was the same physics he’d studied learning how to run a reactor — just applied to a different purpose.
Patterson leaned forward and offered Jerry another document, with its own colorful security markings. “Here’s the report on the air and soil samples from the Kashmir explosion. Look at the table on page fifteen.”
Jerry studied the table in question. It listed the substances in the samples, and the two key elements, uranium and plutonium, both present, and in exactly the same proportions. But it was the yellow sticky note that drove it home; the plutonium isotope ratios were identical to the ones of the material in the Russian reentry vehicle.
He sat back in his chair, trying to fit this into what he already knew. “We were still at sea when I saw the news reports about the blast not being from an Indian weapon. That meant rogue nukes, and of course I thought about the ones we found, but this proves it.”
“It’s from the barge, or one just like it,” Patterson replied.