“What’s this, Mercer?” he asked gruffly.
“We’re too late. I stopped Feines from getting the bulk of the plutonium but he managed to make off with two barrels; I estimate about a thousand pounds’ worth of the ore. I believe it was in Novorossiysk.”
“Any proof?”
“Not a shred, but Feines steals two barrels of plutonium and twenty-four hours later a city within driving distance gets leveled. I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“We’ve already been in touch with the Russkies. My buddy Greg Popov is apoplectic that extremists would pull something like this but he says they’ve already swept the harbor with Geiger counters and gamma ray detectors. The site’s clean.”
That wasn’t what Mercer had expected. “It has to be there. Maybe the drums didn’t rupture or maybe their equipment’s bad but I know it was there.” He thought for a second. “How did they do it? The explosion I mean.”
“Greg tells me it was a fishing boat loaded with explosives, amfo most likely. Ammonium nitrate and fuel oil. They were approaching the tanker side of the harbor when they were spotted by harbor patrol. Last transmission from the patrol guys said the boat was turning away and throwing away contraband. A minute later it went up and leveled about two square miles.”
“Ira, the contraband was the barrels. I bet they rolled off the deck when they turned the boat. Go over Popov’s head if you have to.”
“I almost had to when I talked to him about the plutonium in the first place. I told you he’s a cagey operator.”
Something in the way he said it gave Mercer an idea. What was it Ahmad had suggested earlier, “Be more cynical than you usually are.” That cynicism had been born of grief but Mercer could use it. He spoke even as the idea coalesced in his mind. “The explosion happened this morning, right? It takes hours to begin any kind of relief operation and your guy Popov says they’ve already scanned for nuclear materials so fast. Is that standard operating procedure?”
“I really don’t know,” Ira replied warily. “What are you getting at?”
“You told me that the Russians didn’t even know they still had this plutonium until you called them on it. Then two days later Feines shows up just before we arrive. He’s got RPGs capable of bringing down a chopper and enough firepower to hold off an army. What if Popov tipped him?”
“And let Feines nuke one of Russia’s most important ports? The guy’s cagey, not insane.”
“Ira, I have it on good authority that a faction inside Saudi Arabia’s behind the whole thing in a bid to prevent Caspian oil from cutting into their bottom line. What if Popov was told they were going to hit the other big oil terminal in Turkey? He wouldn’t have cared less. It would actually help Russia by eliminating competition.”
“Only he was double-crossed?”
“I just remembered he was supposed to be coming to the mine today. What was he doing in Novorossiysk anyway?”
“He did mention he’d been there since yesterday.”
“Hold on a second.” Mercer strode across the camp to where Sasha Federov was chatting with the pilot. “Sasha, can you think of any reason Grigori Popov could have gone to Novorossiysk last night?”
The soldier looked confused by the question. “Novo? I don’t know why he would be there. He was supposed to land in Samara last night so he could follow the train. Which is late, by the way.”
Mercer thanked him and spoke to Ira once again. “Popov should have been in Samara, not on the Black Sea. Ask yourself, do you think he’s capable of helping Feines if he thought the plutonium would be used outside Russia?” Ira didn’t answer for a long moment, which told Mercer everything he needed to know. “Go over his head, Ira. He’s stalling so he can recover the drums, get them back up here, and sweep this whole thing under the rug.”
“I hate to say it, but it’s possible.”
“Remember Ibriham Ahmad, the Turkish professor I’ve been trying to reach. He’s here with me right now. Turns out he also heads the Janissaries, but the important thing is that we stop fundamentalists from taking credit for the blast and inspiring others in the region from taking up the fight. This shit feeds on itself. If we stop it now, it’s going to save us a whole lot of problems in the future.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“You have to convince the Russians not to disclose this was a terrorist act. Have them report it as an industrial accident, gas buildup in a tanker’s hull or something.” Ahmad mouthed something to Mercer. He clamped his hand over the phone and asked him to repeat himself.
“Some extremist group will claim the attack on the Internet. The authorities must be ready to discredit any such statement.”
“Good idea.”
Ahmad bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “I do this for a living.”
“Ira, you’ve also got to monitor Web sites and shut down anything having to do with terrorists taking credit for the blast.”
“What else?” Lasko asked, sounding like he was writing notes to himself.
“I don’t know. You’re the spinmeister not me. Hey, any word from Booker?”
“Nothing yet. Give me a phone number and I’ll call as soon as I have anything on either Book or the Russkies. And Mercer, don’t beat yourself up about this. You’ve done a hell of a job.”
Ira clicked off. Mercer’s friend’s last words were meant to cheer him. If anything, they made him feel worse.
Mercer handed the satellite phone to Federov. “Contact your superiors. The train’s not coming. They need to send another chopper because I think Grigori Popov has betrayed us.”
“What?”
“I think he tipped off Poli about the cache of plutonium here. At first I thought there might have been a security leak on my side, but it makes more sense that Popov betrayed my boss and his own country. What do you know about him?”
“Not much,” Sasha admitted. “He is a deputy minister, a former admiral. I have heard he favors Western sports cars and is how you say, a maverick, a cowboy. I would not be surprised if he’s had dealings with criminal elements because in Russia these days that is the only way to gain power.”
“Do you think he would sell black market nuclear material?”
Sasha’s eyes turned sad as he considered such a betrayal. “I do not know. In this world anything is possible.”
Ludmilla and her colleague trudged up the switchback road from the railhead. While she seemed as fresh and imperturbable as ever, the male scientist looked on the verge of a massive coronary. She spoke to Sasha for five minutes, answering a few questions before heading off to eat.
“What did she say?” Mercer asked. Cali joined them while Ibriham Ahmad and Devrin Egemen consulted privately.
“It appears none of the containers split open.”
“Thank Christ.”
“They were loaded into two of the boxcars. The rest were empty. She says there were sixty-eight barrels, bringing the total to seventy accounting for the two Feines stole. So far there is little heat buildup but she says we must get the barrels isolated from each other soon to prevent the plutonium from obtaining critical mass and exploding.”
“She’s right,” Mercer said, “but there’s not much the group of us can do for now.” He paused. “Maybe there is. Is there any kind of record of what was in the depot?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Mercer looked to Cali. She spoke first. “I guess we’re going to play grocery clerk and take inventory.”
The rubberized contamination suit smelled of stale sweat and halitosis and what he was pretty sure was urine, a nauseating combination that churned the tinned borscht lying in Mercer’s stomach.
“How you doing?” he asked Cali as she sealed the hood over her head.