After a delay to the MAC flight from Nevada, Toad didn't reach Hereford until late that evening. I was having supper when I got a message to say that he was in the SAW. As soon as I'd finished I went over to the wing's special armoury and there he stood, dry-washing his hands. After a couple of months in the desert sun, anyone else would have had a really expensive tan, but all he'd managed was to turn a sickly yellow.
"Hi, Toad," I went.
"You made it. Where are your packages?"
"Right there." He half-turned to his right, pointing behind him, and there, sitting on a wheeled pallet by the wall, were four black steel trunks, each maybe two feet by four feet, and only a foot deep, with a couple of smaller boxes on top of them. The only markings, stencilled in white paint, said "A-I, A-2, A-R' and '0–1, 0–2, O-R'.
Jesus!" I said.
"So they come in kit form and have to be fitted together."
"Oh yes. Early portable devices were in two parts. Then, as technology improved, they started making one-piece models real suitcase bombs. Those are still around, but when something more powerful's wanted they've gone back to this modular design."
I was horribly fascinated by the thought of what the black cases contained and what they could do. But at the same time I couldn't help being irritated by Toad's proprietorial air. There was something in his gestures, in his attitude, which said, These are mine, and you can keep your distance.
"Everything all right?" I asked.
"Sure." He rubbed his hands some more.
"Good course?"
He nodded.
"Have you been briefed about the operation?"
"Not yet."
"Well, we're leaving for Moscow the day after tomorrow, so there isn't much time. Better come on up, and I'll give you the bones of it now. Then maybe you can brief me and Whinger on the devices in the morning."
We went up to the main briefing room, and I unlocked the safe in which I'd stored the site plans and the CDs. Toad hardly spoke as I went through them, but I knew that his quick mind was soaking in every detail.
"The Orange site is out in open country," I told him.
"Part scrub-land, part forest. As far as I can see, it's just going to be a hole in the ground: either one we find and adapt or one we dig ourselves. So I don't see much of a problem there. The tricky one's going to be Apple. This access shaft, in the courtyard, is at least twenty feet deep.
"Pulleys," said Toad.
"Spot on. I've thought of that. Those small titanium pulleys the Mountain Troop use for hoisting heavy machine guns and mortars up steep hillsides. The thing is, how robust are the devices? Can they stand knocks, or have they got to be feather bedded
"Oh no, they're pretty robust. You could probably drop one down the shaft and it wouldn't come to any harm." Toad frowned and then added, "Cancel that. Better not drop it."
"But it couldn't go off, even if we did?"
"Not a chance. Until the two components are united they're inert. We'll have to take them in separately and couple them at the last minute."
He studied the plan for a minute, then asked, "What depth is the tunnel running at as it comes to the Kremlin wall?"
"We don't know. But it's a hell of a wall. Must be thirty or forty feet high, so the foundations have to go down some way.
"We'll need to get the SCR within ten feet of the surface."
"The SCR?"
"The Satellite Communications Responder. That's the unit which the satellite sends messages to and interrogates."
"How big is it?"
"Oh those small black boxes downstairs. Didn't you see them?
Like this." He held up his hands a foot apart.
"Can they be some way away from the device?"
"Sure. The connecting co-ax cables can be any length."
"Maybe there'll be an old ventilation shaft. Or maybe we'll have to bore into the tunnel roof."
"An auger, then."
"Good thinking. What else?"
Slimy though he was, Toad had his head screwed on, and in the morning he gave the whole team a good briefing. This time he started with the SCR, and described how it needed to be positioned with its antenna coming up to within three or — preferably two feet of the surface. The controlling satellite, he told us, would send it signals to check that the system was working. There was no chance of an accidental explosion, because detonation could only be achieved by a complex sequence of questions and answers, and confirmed by coded messages from the Pentagon.
"The SCR contains its own nuclear power source, which gives it an indefinite life," Toad said.
"One snag is that the generator contains radioactive fuel and could become a health hazard if it gets crushed or broken. That's why it's so heavy: it's encased in a lead jacket."
"What happens if the Russian security forces do an electronic sweep along the front of the Kremlin, up above?" asked Rick.
"Won't they detect it?"
"Almost impossible," Toad replied smoothly.
"For ninety-nine percent of the time the SCR's passive. It's just listening. Its response periods will be pre-set to times like three in the morning, when people are least likely to be about."
Seeing Rick frown, he added in a patronising voice, "I wouldn't worry about it. You can take it from me that it'll be OK. I could go into a more technical explanation, but I don't think you'd understand. The bottom line is that the satellite sends signals down, and the SCR only answers for a split-second every twenty-four hours."
He looked round the row of faces, clearly enjoying his role of teacher.
"For security when the devices are being moved around," he went on, 'there's this very useful piece of equipment."
He crossed to the end of the small case marked A-R and applied his thumb to a shallow depression near one corner. The sprung lid of a small compartment flew open, and from it he took out an object the size of a compact mobile phone.
"This is the radio alarm trigger, generally known as the Rat. Whenever this is switched on it has to remain within thirty metres of the device. If it goes farther away than that it automatically triggers a radio alarm in the device itself. The signal can be picked up by satellite. So if you have to move the device in enemy territory, I suggest that the guy in charge keeps the Rat on his belt like this."
He clipped the thing on to his own belt, then returned it to its lair.
"What about having a shufti inside one of the components?" I suggested.
"Not a chance." Toad started dry-washing his hands again.
"They're all sealed down, and I don't want to break them out until they're about to be put in position. There are quite a few checks I'll have to make then."
We couldn't argue with him and he knew it. He wouldn't even come clean about the damage each bomb was likely to do.
He pretended the information was classified and kept it to himself. We had to be content with staring at diagrams of bewildering complexity which he brought up on a lap-top from his own CD. We all knew, though, that the destructive capacity packed into the black boxes in front of us was something awesome.
"What would happen if we got the devices in position but didn't prime them properly?" I asked.
"What if you deliberately connected them up wrong?"
"The satellite would detect the fault. That's the beauty of the system. The Pentagon would know there was something wrong.
They'd probably send us back to put it right."
"Well," said Pavarotti, as if to sum up.
"I'm not going down any fucking tunnel. That's for certain."
"I wouldn't be so sure," I told him.
Our 'last-minute' checks seemed endless. We were taking our own main weapons and ammunition MP5s and G3s so that we could give demonstrations without having to worry about handling unfamiliar kit. Stun grenades for CQB work; plastic explosive, detonators and det cord for EMOE. Also, I'd cleared it with Sasha that we could take pistols, to carry covertly when we were outside the camp. With crime running at the level it was, he'd agreed that it would be only sensible to have some means of self-defence.