“I understand,” said a staccato voice.
“I will explain in detail later. But for now the place is called Ponce Marina, near Daytona Beach. Go there. The boat is named Jupiter. You know what to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was mid afternoon when Dave Collins finally had more than he could stomach of the all-news cable channels. “Hitler’s last sub,” said a voice-over with an image of the conning tower that had the number 236 on it. “Could Hitler’s last U-boat have carried nuclear bomb material? We’ll have more on the find off the coast of Florida and whether you and your family could be at risk today. Stay tuned for Fox Report tonight at six.”
Dave lifted the remote and turned off the small television in Gibraltar. Five seconds later his cell phone rang. No caller ID. The man said, “Dave, there’s been some internet chatter that concerns us.”
“What kind of chatter, Hamilton?”
“In reference to the find your friends stumbled upon.”
“Who’s talking?”
“We suspect an Iranian connection through an extremist, a man by the name of Abdul-Hakim. He has strong ties to Hezbollah. Suspected connections to those who took over after bin Laden was killed.”
Dave was quiet a beat. “Oh, what a lovely bunch. They can’t make their own stuff so they want to steal it from Nazi ghosts. I appreciate your help earlier in sending the documents to me. I know some are still classified.”
“No problem. Sixty-seven years ago, the Navy suspected the sub was Germany’s last. Its’ cargo was suspect, too. A similar cargo on one of the two surrendered subs confirmed what was listed on the manifest. They were carrying HEU. Your marina pals found what the Navy never did after they dropped depth-charges on it.”
“Maybe, in recent years, one of these underwater burps, a small quake or a storm, shook the sand off it. A lucky find, I suppose.”
“Not lucky if it falls into the wrong hands. The chatter indicates movement is happening right now. We don’t have time to immediately neutralize the area and remove the material. It’s not dangerous unless it’s opened, and it can’t ignite unless it’s detonated with high-speed electrical switches.”
Dave nodded. “I understand.”
“Can we trust the two men who found the HEU to deliver it to us, all of it?”
“Sean O’Brien and Nick Cronus are standup guys. Both come with a strong sense of ethics and patriotism. O’Brien’s a former homicide detective. The guy can read people, faces, the most minuscule stain on a shirt, even a trace of grease in a knuckle that wasn’t washed off. He can replay a crime backwards in his mind, retrace the trajectory of bullets, and formulate quickly where perpetrators stood-the talent to see what others often don’t.”
“Sounds like the remote viewing we did at the agency in the nineties.”
“Similar, I think. I believe people like O’Brien can somehow perceive things on a near subconscious level and make them rise up to connect with the conscious mind.”
“Most of us try to go the opposite direction, regress in some way to tap into the subconscious by various mediation techniques. You said he’s a former homicide detective, did he retire?”
“Resigned. The very talent he has to sense a crime scene, I think, allowed him to get so close to the criminal mind, to evil, he often found himself in a place he didn’t want to be.”
“The evil in the minds of people like Hitler and his band, some of whom I’m sure are buried in that sub, isn’t a place to dwell too long. Let’s have them quickly get back down there and remove the U-235; we’ll come pick it up for secure storage. We need it done immediately, and I mean tonight. This is of utmost national security”
“I understand. I’ll contact them.”
“Keep us posted. Sort of like old times, eh, Dave? Remember, you’re supposed to be drawing a pension and fishing in Florida.”
“I’ll get back to that. Contact you when I have something.” Dave disconnected, called O’Brien and Nick, and explained the conversation he had with the CIA and the urgency to retrieve the canisters marked U-235.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
When Nick stepped into Gibraltar’s salon, Max trotted over and greeted him, tail wagging. “Little Max, even in that tiny head of yours, you have more brains than the people on this boat.” Nick looked at Dave and added, “The only reason I’d go back out there, back to that ocean graveyard, middle of the freakin’ night, is ‘cause I don’t want to see Sean try to do it alone. Too dangerous. Currents. Sharks.”
O’Brien said, “Can’t say I’m overjoyed to be working for the CIA.”
Dave said, “They’ve done more good than bad.”
“I’d rather give this stuff to the CIA than the FBI, considering the FBI might possibly have a sixty-plus-year connection with the incident on the beach with Billy Lawson.”
Dave grinned, “Who knows what Hoover did or didn’t do. Regardless, you found the sub in international waters anyway. It’s in the jurisdiction of the Agency.”
“Wait a minute,” Nick said, folding his arms across his chest. “When Sean and I start pulling that H-E-U stuff outta there … what if it blows up in our faces?”
Dave said, “It can’t be ignited unless it’s detonated in a way that delivers a very fast charge to the material.”
O’Brien said, “I don’t know how much each canister weighs, but I do know this: it’s probably not a good idea to take Jupiter back to the spot. Somebody could be watching it. Nick, let’s take your boat. It’s got a winch, which we’ll need to lift the canisters on board. You’ve got dive gear. Do you have guns aboard?”
Nick’s eyes popped. “I don’t even own a BB gun.”
O’Brien nodded. “I’ll bring mine. Dave, did your CIA contact say what the chatter was about? Who’s talking and what they’re saying?”
“I’d answer that if I knew. Internet chatter. Arabic. One person is a guy named Abdul-Hakim whom, I was told, helped supply Hezbollah with bombs it used against Israel in a skirmish.”
“A weapons’ broker? I imagine they’ve heard about all of this, of course.”
“A good guess is they’re on their way. Between the Internet and satellite TV, it’s a world without borders. Many young Islamic extremists are recruited via the Internet, including the ones who strap bombs to themselves. They’re recruited by the top echelon. The so-called martyrs do live forever on these websites where a new generation can see and hear why they do what they do. It’s all about perception. You can bet Abdul-Hakim and his group probably aren’t alone in their desire to possess weapons-grade uranium.”
Nick mumbled, “That TV chick don’t know the shit she’s got us into.”
“Probably doesn’t care,” said O’Brien. “I’ve got three good underwater flashlights. Plenty of batteries. Nick, are your dive tanks filled?”
“Yeah, man. Always.”
“Okay, we’ll have about an hour to comb through what we can.”
“Good,” said Dave. “I checked the weather. No storms. Seas are about two feet in the stream. Can you find it again, Sean?”
“Yes.”
“No doubt. You’re about ninety minutes away from it, an hour on the bottom and ninety minutes returning. Should put you back at the marina before sun-up. We can off-load it and store the stuff in a secure area.”
O’Brien smiled. “Outside of Fort Knox, what do you have in mind?”