I’ll bet the experts said five would be sufficient, she thought. Still, in a case like this, overkill might be the best course.
“When will this happen?”
“Tomorrow morning at zero six hundred hours, just after dawn local time,” Shi answered. “We will be ready sometime later tonight, but we will wait until it is light and we can be sure that all ships and aircraft are out of the area. Because it is a much smaller explosion, we only have to clear an area a few kilometers square. The fireball will be less than four hundred meters in diameter, with no damage three kilometers from the center. Even the fallout from the explosion will only extend a few tens of kilometers to the northeast, all over open water. If the four torpedoes were allowed to detonate, the fallout cloud would reach all the way to the Korean peninsula.”
“Is there anything we can do to assist you?” Patterson asked. She tried to sound helpful.
“China is taking this action unilaterally, and does not require the permission or assistance of any nation or organization to protect its citizens.” Shi paused, then scowled. “But we would ask for America’s support in the Western media that this deliberate, peaceful detonation of a nuclear device is intended to save lives and reduce damage.”
Patterson thought about all the back-and-forth the U.S. and the PRC had engaged in, for so many years. They were still rivals, but that didn’t mean the two countries had to act like jerks all the time. “Ending this incident quickly and safely is in everyone’s interest. You can count on the U.S. administration releasing a statement in support of your operation. We have no interest in furthering tension or mistrust in the region. And General, I would submit that the more information the People’s Republic of China releases about this operation, the better.”
General Shi sighed and suddenly looked very tired. “China is grateful for America’s continuing assistance, and we will consider your advice carefully.”
The local police had set up a checkpoint a block away from the address. Senior inspector Narendra Bhati had to thread his way through a crowd of locals to reach the barrier, but after seeing his badge, the officers guarding it quickly saluted and moved aside to let him past. A Sikh police corporal offered to guide him to the lieutenant who was the on-scene commander.
The crime scene was a mass of flashing lights and dozens of people milling about. Most were firemen or police, with a sprinkling of other emergency workers. The corporal led him past a line of idling fire engines to a van labeled “Amritsar District Police.” The doors were open and Bhati could see a very busy police lieutenant, also a Sikh, trying to speak on the radio and to a fireman at the same time. He noticed the corporal, with Bhati in tow, and held up one hand while he signed off the radio, then quickly finished with the sergeant.
He also saluted when Bhati flashed his CBI credentials, then said happily, “I am more than pleased to turn over jurisdiction of this matter to the Central Bureau of Investigation.”
“Not so fast, Lieutenant,” Bahti said. “Just what are you trying to give me?”
“They didn’t tell you?”
Bhati shook his head and replied with an irritated voice. “The office just gave me this address and said it was likely a CBI matter.”
The lieutenant laughed. “‘Likely’ is one word for it. That makes sense. Security.” He took out a small notebook, and took a breath.
“The fire brigade was called at nine eleven this morning, after they received a report of black smoke rising at an address on Canal Bank Road.” He tilted his head toward the bungalow behind him. “Emergency services received a call at nine twenty-five of gunshots at the same address. Two cars were dispatched and the fire brigade company en route was warned to wait for the police before entering the structure.
“The fire brigade arrived at nine twenty-seven, the police two minutes later. They effected entry through the front door, which was unlocked, and declared the building cleared five minutes later. They discovered one individual, deceased, inside the house. As per standard procedure, a lieutenant and an ambulance were dispatched. I arrived while the fire brigade extinguished what appeared to be a trash fire in the backyard. They said it had been intentionally set.
“I took charge of the scene, which was an apparent suicide of an elderly male. I immediately recognized the individual as someone wanted by the CBI. I notified headquarters, and they summoned you.”
The lieutenant’s briefing, while efficient, was also entirely uninformative. “Who is it?” Bhati demanded with impatience. The lieutenant just put his finger to his lips, smiled, and motioned for the inspector to follow him. The fire brigade was still rolling up hoses, but they made room for the two men to pass.
The yard was small and the landscaping was not particularly impressive. It was enclosed by a low iron fence, and a paved walkway led up to a modest house that was practical and well kept. The lieutenant explained, “It’s a rental property used mostly by tourists. The landlord is on his way here. He said the current occupant had rented it for two weeks.”
The front door was open, leading into a well-furnished living room. An easy chair in one corner held the corpse of an older man. A spatter of blood and gray matter on the wall behind him told Bhati the manner of death, and an automatic pistol in his lap seemingly confirmed the method. He was sure the medical examiner would find the bullet hole and powder burns on the roof of his mouth.
It wasn’t until then that he paused in his examination to look at the face of the corpse. It was untouched by the bullet. A shock of recognition and excitement flashed through Bhati’s body. Vice Admiral Badu Singh Dhankhar was the most wanted man in India, but he’d decided to make himself unavailable.
Bhati gathered himself. The news media in India and indeed, throughout the world, had been in an uproar for two days. That was when the population had learned of a frightening plot that had been stopped by the destruction of the nuclear submarine, Chakra, and its crew of seventy-three. The submarine was destroyed by Indian naval assets after it had gone renegade and evidently intent on starting a nuclear war with China. Vice Admiral Dhankhar, a famous and respected naval officer, had been named as the ringleader, and his image was plastered all over India.
The CBI had actually received orders to find Dhankhar two weeks earlier, for reasons then unexplained. News of the conspiracy had let Bhati and the rest of the special crime branch at the regional headquarters in Chandigarh put the pieces together.
It was a miracle that the two police officers that cleared the house had not recognized him.
“What about the fire?” Bhati asked, already suspecting the answer.
“Mostly paper, but other objects as well. Pieces of plastic, and what looks like a melted cell phone, perhaps other personal electronics.” The lieutenant pointed to a bedroom. “There’s a laptop computer in there with several bullet holes through it.”
The senior inspector organized his thoughts. “Bring in more men to fully secure the area, and your best forensics team. Tell the fire brigade not to touch the remains of that fire, but don’t let them leave yet. Have your people go over the entire house with a fine comb, and don’t let the two officers who found the body talk to anyone until I’ve spoken with them.”