“Tighter than Fort Knox,” said Briggs.
“And the Russians know it,” Charlie added.
“So what’re you thinking, Grim?” asked Fisher. “They’re smuggling the device into the processing plant?”
“There are two equipment warehouses on the east side in an area called Material Supply.” Grim spread her thumb and forefinger apart, coming in tight on the buildings. “The device could be hidden within some larger shipment and move through security. Some of those neutron generators—not all of them but some—emit radiation, and they’re expected to do so. I’m not sure the fluctuations or increase in readings would be picked up by those security teams when they’re already expecting some radiation—and I think that’s what the oligarchs are counting on.”
Fisher snickered. “So we won’t find a nose-cone-shaped warhead with a ticking clock on it, huh?”
Grim rolled her eyes and typed something on the touch keyboard. The screens faded to expose another map of the region with concentric circles of devastation flashing in crimson red, along with data bars popping up all over the screen to detail the destruction. “A fifteen kiloton nuclear explosion—about the size of the detonation in Hiroshima—would kill everyone at the plant and surrounding community, some 65,000 in all, including many American engineers.” She flicked her glance between Fisher and the SMI. “Within the first two to four months of the bombing, the acute effects of Hiroshima killed 90,000 to 166,000 people, with roughly half of the deaths occurring on the first day. The Hiroshima prefecture health department estimated that, of the people who died on the day of the explosion, sixty percent died from flash or flame burns, thirty percent from falling debris, and ten percent from other causes. Now take a look at this.” Grim brought up another series of windows with charts, graphs, and tables. “This data comes from conflicting sources, and the Saudis are always giving us the best-case scenario and boast that they’ve got enough backup supplies, reserves, facilities, and personnel to take a major blow like this and come out unaffected.”
“No way,” Briggs said.
“Yeah, I know,” said Grim. “Shutting down Abqaiq could take up to fifty percent of Saudi oil off the market for years and with it, much of the world’s spare capacity.”
“To hell with the oil. There are too many lives at stake—including Americans,” Fisher said. “And we lose credibility if the world learns assets were in place and we didn’t act. Let’s get on the horn right now.”
Grim’s expression grew tentative. “We need to be careful. We can’t run in there and cry wolf.”
“I know,” Fisher said. “But the Saudis need to suck it up and understand what’s at stake here.”
“I agree, Sam, but we can’t forget that the Saudis are a very proud people. We lose credibility as an organization and as a nation if we’re not absolutely sure about this. We know Abqaiq is a likely target. We have three Iranian ships that ported at Dammam within our time frame . . . but I’m concerned that’s not enough for us to impose our will on them. We can alert them, sure, we’ll do that, but I know you’ll want to go in, and I know they’ll want to handle this themselves.”
Fisher looked at Charlie, who shrugged.
Briggs pursed his lips. “Iranian ships stop at that port all the time.”
“We only need to be wrong once,” said Fisher. “And that’s not good enough for me. I’d rather piss off the Saudis and cry wolf than play games. We need to be there. We need to inspect anything that goes through there ourselves.”
“But if we just had a little more,” Briggs said. “Because you’re right—we only need to be wrong once. And if we’re sitting there at Abqaiq and a bomb goes off someplace else . . .”
“We need more?” Fisher asked, raising his voice in frustration. “All right, damn it, I’ll get us more.” He whirled and rushed off toward the infirmary.
As he opened the hatch, a dark thought crossed his mind: He could use Kobin to lie for him.
Fisher was not prepared to tiptoe around political interests. That wasn’t happening. Not on his watch. Kobin would make up a story. Charlie would falsify the contacts. It’d all look plausible to Grim and Briggs. He understood their reservations, but he didn’t have to agree with them. Abqaiq was the target with the highest strategic value. That was a fact.
Then again, maybe Fisher was more like Kasperov than he cared to admit: a man with a conscience.
Damn, what was he thinking? He couldn’t do that to his team. They deserved better.
He’d take up the Russian’s offer. Kasperov still had contacts. While it was true Grim had kept much of the intel away from him in the interest of national security, they didn’t need to hand over much: A nuclear device might have been smuggled into Abqaiq, and did any of his contacts know anything about that or could they confirm any connection to the processing plant?
After giving the man a capsule summary, Fisher sighed and said, “Can you help?”
“I need a computer,” Kasperov said.
Fisher called Charlie, who came down with a laptop and remained there, watching.
“Damn, you’re calling him,” said Charlie.
“Yes, I am,” Kasperov answered, speaking in English for Charlie’s benefit.
“And you know where he is?”
“Of course, I’ve always known. He’s been right hand, ace in hole, as you say, for long time. He is at risk right now, but I think he will understand.”
Fisher caught sight of a name on the screen: Kannonball.
Kasperov was in an encrypted chat session with his former employee, and they were now chatting in Cyrillic.
“Can you read any of that?” Fisher asked Charlie.
“Not really.”
“They’re typing too fast. Mr. Kasperov? What’re you saying?”
“I’m letting him know about problem.”
“What’s he saying?”
“Several of oligarchs have GRU agents on payroll now, and Kannonball has hacked into GRU network. He says one GRU agent sent to Dammam with orders to intercept another agent on ground. No IDs yet because information wasn’t being transmitted until pursuing agent arrived on target.”
“What’s this about?”
“It’s about one agent killing another.”
“They’re cleaning up a mess.”
“Exactly.”
“On whose order?”
“Kannonball thinks maybe President Treskayev or Izotov from GRU ordered execution.”
“Who does the rogue agent work for? One of the names on our list?”
“Correct. Recently hired. Rogue agent might be at port to receive shipment.”
That left Fisher puzzled. “Why would they do that? If the agent is caught, that pins it back to the oligarchs. They’re taking a big risk.”
“Oligarchs would hire Iranians, yes. Train them, yes. But trust them entirely with something like this? No way. They would demand agent oversee operation, agent on suicide mission who either knows about bomb or does not.”
“I think he’s right,” said Charlie. “And if that’s the case, then maybe we’ve got enough.”
“I’m taking this to Grim,” said Fisher. “It’ll have to be enough.”
Within seconds he was back in the control room and sharing the news.
And when he was finished, Grim took a moment to mull it over, then said, “I’m proud of you, Sam.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re making sure we have more evidence before we move.”
“Yeah, well, you and Briggs are right. It helps.”
She nodded. “The truth is, my gut was already telling me Abqaiq is the target, and yes, I said we have to be careful, but I think I would’ve pulled the trigger right there.”