“Boomers?”
“Ballistic missile subs. Ohio class. In 2008 I heard a rumor about a missing warhead.”
“How could that happen?”
“To cut costs, the Navy replaced obsolete sub components by leveraging commercial, off-the-shelf hardware. In 2007 they contracted with Lockheed Martin to complete the D5 Life Extension Program, which included missile reentry vehicles. Supposedly, when they upgraded the subs’ Trident D5 warheads from W76s to W88s, one W76 disappeared.”
“How powerful is a W76?”
“Six times Hiroshima,” Simon said quietly.
After a long silence, Paul spoke up. “Are you sure? I never heard a word about it.”
“The Bush administration kept it quiet, and I can’t blame them. If the story broke during the presidential campaign—”
“The press would have accused Bush of using scare tactics to swing the election.”
DeMaj nodded. “And the 2008 financial crisis was spinning out of control too. News like that might have crashed the system.”
“So what happened to the bomb?” Paul asked.
“No one knows, but after the incident, the Navy closed its base. The American commander lowered the flag and transferred custody to the mayor of La Maddalena.”
Ava closed her notebook, pulled off her headphones, and stretched.
“Finished?” Paul asked.
She nodded. “I’ve done what I can. Will we make it in time?”
“We’ll make it,” said Simon. “The moment we arrive, I’ll drop you at the summit or as close as possible. Then I’ll set down at the nearest pad and come meet you.”
“What do we do?”
“Fulfill the prophecy. Thwart the Antichrist.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Any ideas, Ms. Fischer?”
“Maybe.” She opened her notebook and pointed to a quatrain. Touching Paul’s arm, she said, “Read this passage.”
He looked up. “I don’t follow.”
“Garagallo said Pope Leo stopped Attila by reading a prophecy at their meeting.”
“So?”
“So maybe we’re supposed to read the prophecy at the G8 Summit.”
“What good will that do?”
Ava dropped her eyes, deflated. “I don’t know. Probably nothing. It doesn’t make much sense. Frankly, all of this stuff seems like—”
“Superstitious nonsense?”
A sad smile flickered. “Exactly.”
“Well, I don’t give a damn if you believe it,” said Simon. “We’ve got to try. It may be the only way to prevent Armageddon.”
“But it’s ridiculous. How can a prophecy stop a bomb?”
“I admit that it requires an extraordinary leap of faith, but what other options are thre? Should we run away? Just quit? Right now my people are communicating with the security services of each nation involved in the summit. We’re providing the intel we learned on Capri and we’re doing everything possible to raise the alarm, but no one’s likely to take immediate action. People often call in false threats. They did in London. Furthermore—” DeMaj checked his watch—“even assuming the authorities believe us, I doubt they can evacuate everyone on such short notice. La Maddalena isn’t connected to the mainland by road, and unless Ahmed was lying, the deadline is less than fifty-five minutes from now. They might clear a few critical buildings or hotels, but not the whole city.”
Ava slumped. It seemed hopeless.
Simon went on: “They can’t evacuate everyone, so we must do everything in our power to prevent the attack. Through his organization, Barakah is spreading the word that we’re en route to La Maddalena. With luck, some of their people will arrive before we do. Fritz and my crypto team are hacking the Beast’s network, searching for something useful. Honestly, I doubt they’ll find anything, but—”
“But at least they’re trying,” Ava finished his thought.
“Precisely. And the same goes for us. Even if the prophecy is just superstitious nonsense, even if we’re on a fool’s errand, we must try. We must fight until the final bell.”
That made sense to Paul. “Okay. Just tell me what you need. If we go down, at least we’ll go down swinging.”
“I’m in too,” Ava said. “If you think it might help, I’ll proclaim the prophecy to anyone who’ll listen, but first, please answer one question.”
“Go ahead, Ms. Fischer,” said Simon.
“If your people are screaming bloody murder to eight national intelligence services, warning them of the attack and telling them we’re on our way, isn’t La Belva going to hear about it? If he knows we’re coming, won’t he try to stop us?”
Simon looked at her with approval. “Yes. I anticipate he’ll try to stop us. In fact, I’m counting on it.”
The cockpit radio crackled to life. It was Fritz. “Mr. DeMaj, I regret to report that you’ve been denied permission to enter La Maddalena’s airspace. It’s now a restricted security zone. Unauthorized aircraft will be intercepted and if necessary destroyed.”
“Message received.” Simon looked over at his two passengers, gauging their emotions. Neither American spoke as the helicopter continued west.
“Would the Italians actually shoot us down?” Paul asked.
“They might try, but it’s hard to shoot what you can’t see.”
Simon took the chopper into a steep dive, leveling out less than three meters above the waves, close enough to see schools of fish darting just below the surface. Paul’s stomach did somersaults. He knew the Comanche was responsive and agile. It could fly sideways and even backward at sixty-five knots, but reading flight characteristics off a printed page was nothing like experiencing them live. He glanced at Ava, expecting to see her quaking. Instead, she was leaning forward into the restraints. Her eyes were bright, and her posture indicated confidence. Paul marveled at her courage.
Beneath them whitecaps navigated around and between the heavy maritime traffic originating from the Strait of Bonifacio. Out of necessity Simon buzzed directly over one small ship. Its alarmed sailors hit the deck. As the morning fog lifted, a granite archipelago materialized. They drew closer, until Ava could perceive the ruins of ancient fortifications atop the easternmost promontory.
“Is that La Maddalena?” she asked.
“No. That’s Isola Caprera. La Maddalena is a bit farther.”
Paul nodded. “So once we get there, how do we proclaim the prophecy? Just shout it from the nearest street corner?”
Simon shrugged. “We’ll deal with that when we get there.”
Ava’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve got an idea.”
She opened her phone, attached the digital scrambler, and called durmdvl. “I need a favor. Can you get me an unlisted phone number, and pronto?”
“Sure.”
“Find the private cell-phone number for Dr. Ron Bagelton.”
Just a few seconds passed and they had the number. Ava thanked durmdvl, then hung up and dialed. After several rings a man answered. Ava recognized his voice. She put the call on speaker. Then, taking a deep breath, she began.
“Professor Bagelton? My name is Ava Fischer. I caught your lecture at Harvard and I saw you speak at the G8 protest yesterday.” She bit her lip, forcing herself to continue. “You’re a brilliant man and a mesmerizing passionate speaker.”
“Why, thank you, my dear. Thank you very much indeed, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. How did you—”
“I’m a huge fan of your work. Your creative scholarship is amazing.”
She could actually hear him smile as he replied, “That’s very kind of you to say.”