“We have a problem, Remo. Homeland Security knows about this but I’ve asked Washington to back off until we’ve had a chance to deal with it. If we don’t, the crap’s gonna hit the fan.”
Homeland Security was the department set up by President George W. Bush shortly after the suicide attacks by the Al Qaeda fanatics on the World Trade Centre in New York, which meant different security organisations with different agendas all pulling in different directions.
“We have some satellite imagery here of the border between Uzbekistan and Afghanistan. It was taken three weeks ago. Jimmy will fill you in.” He nodded at Navarro.
Starling’s office was a reflection of the man. It had the air of efficiency and durability about it. There was a photograph of him with President Clinton. The admiral was in full uniform in the picture, taller than the President. It flattered the President more than it did the admiral. Starling was a former U.S. Navy pilot and an unspoken legend in military intelligence. So much so that he was practically ambushed into taking up a position with the C.I.A. The framed picture hung on the wall behind his desk.
There were two computers in the room plus a whiteboard on the wall next to a pull down screen. There was a projector positioned conveniently for projection on to the screen, although Francesini had known the admiral to use the blank wall.
The desk around which they were all sitting was almost certainly older than Starling although the rest of the furniture was more in keeping with the image of the C.I.A. There were no ash trays, much to Francesini’s dismay.
Navarro passed two satellite photographs across the desk to Francesini. He then got up from his chair and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.
“These were taken by our Quickbird satellite. Resolution is down to five hundred yards. What you see are heat transmissions and on board, computer enhanced images. They were taken at two o’clock in the morning. The sky was slightly overcast but with a full moon it gave us a good picture.”
Francesini looked at the grainy images, in black and white. It was reasonably clear that what he was looking at was a collection of vehicles. There were probably about thirty men around them. He handed the photographs back to Navarro.
“Why don’t you tell me what it is I’m really looking at?” he suggested.
Navarro took the photographs back and put them on the desk in front of his chair. He didn’t sit down.
“We had a report from the British who have an SAS team in the area,” he explained. “There has been some unusual activity lately, which they have been monitoring. We asked them to because we had some intelligence from a reasonably reliable source,” he added unnecessarily. “We checked on it and came up with this.”
He pulled photograph from a folder and handed it to Francesini.
“About one hundred miles north, in Uzbekistan, we picked up this convoy of trucks. Small stuff really, but it was heading south.” The photographs showed the convoy quite clearly, although the resolution was not the same as the Quickbird satellite imagery. “Interestingly, there was another convoy coming up from the south, in Afghanistan, about the same size.” He pulled another photograph.
Francesini gave the pictures the once over. “An exchange of weapons perhaps?” he suggested. “A consignment of drugs?”
“Well of course we know that those are possible options,” Navarro said. “But with the intelligence we received, we think it may have been an exchange of weapons.”
“What kind of weapons?” Francesini asked carefully.
James Starling leaned forward, his fingers interlocked. Navarro saw the admiral lean forward and resumed his seat.
“You will recall, Remo,” the admiral began, “that the intelligence we have gathered thus far, both human and satellite, makes it pretty certain that a nuclear bomb has been shipped out of the Ukraine?”
Francesini felt his jaw stiffen and his teeth clenched together. He had an uncomfortable feeling about the outcome of this conversation because the admiral’s demeanour indicated that he was building up to something more sinister. And Francesini had already made an assumption that scared the living daylights out of him, particularly with the information he had but had not yet shared with Admiral Starling.
He looked sharply at the admiral. He knew that his field of responsibility included any foreign intelligence on nuclear hardware and nuclear capability of potentially unstable regimes.
Francesini picked up on the admiral’s words. “Pretty certain is right, sir. There’s always that ten per cent which is intuitive guesswork.” He pointed at the satellite photographs. “And without human intelligence we’ve no idea what’s in those trucks.”
Ford spoke up then, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re right, Remo, but we do know that the Ukrainians are selling off their nukes. Sure, they deny it; blame it on the Mafia, but there are a lot of wealthy politicians in what is a relatively poor country with no productive infrastructure.”
Francesini grinned. “There are wealthy politicians in ours, but not through selling nukes. Trouble is, Hamilton, the terrorists need delivery systems, and there are none of those in Afghanistan or Iran. So I don’t suppose for one minute that the Taliban or Al Qaeda have suddenly found that they are capable of launching a nuclear attack against the West.”
Ford went on, nonplussed. “An exchange was made at the border, but they didn’t load anything into the southern convoy. According to the SAS team on the ground and our Quickbird imagery, a helicopter arrived, a transfer was made and the convoys dispersed.”
Francesini sat forward, the warning signals screaming inside his head. “So what was the second convoy for? And which way did the helicopter go?”
Ford pushed another satellite photo across the desk. He tapped it with his finger. “The second convoy, we believe was delivering some of the pay-off; probably a consignment of drugs. Part payment no doubt for the nuke. As for the helicopter it was tracked on a south west heading.”
Francesini pictured the map in his mind. “Towards Iran?”
Ford nodded but didn’t take his eyes off Francesini. There was silence for a while. Francesini was conscious of the three men looking at him. It was his remit to have his finger on the nuclear pulse, so to speak; or the nuclear intentions of unstable regimes anyway.
“Why do I think that’s not it? That there’s more to come?” Francesini asked no-one in particular.
Starling took over then. The helicopter was tracked as far as the Iranian border but unfortunately we lost it there.”
“So it’s inconclusive,” Francesini put in hopefully. “And it may not have been a nuke.”
“Maybe not, but the trouble is, Remo, we can’t always deal in facts,” Ford said generously, “can we? Hard intelligence is difficult to come by at the best of times. But we do have some hard facts here. One of which is that we know a nuke has gone missing. When that happens we normally locate it fairly quickly, but I’m afraid this one has vanished into thin air.
“Or into Iran,” Francesini said dispassionately.
“We’re not sure Iran has it,” Starling said. “As much as they would like to have a nuclear deterrent, they’re not ready yet.” He held his hand up. “I know they are now processing pure grade uranium, and our intelligence on the ground supports their worst kept secret that they plan to manufacture a nuke soon.”
“So you think a terrorist organisation has the nuke? And they’re backed by Iran?”
Starling studied his deputy for some time. “No,” he said eventually. “We are confident that Iran does not have any nukes.”
“So is it a terrorist organisation?” Francesini queried. “And do they have a nuke?”
Starling shook his head.
“Not one,” he answered. “Three!”