The armored column of the 10th Armored Cavalry Regiment ran from the Negev to the border of Lebanon. Overhead was a full squadron of F-16s, and another of Tomcats from the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The Syrian army was also deployed in force, though its air force was staying out of the way. The Middle East had taken its lesson on American air power. The display of force was massive and unequivocal. The word was out: nobody would get in the way. The vehicles drove deep into the small, abused country, and finally onto a valley road. The spot had been marked on the map by a dying man anxious to save what remained of his soul, and only an hour's work was needed to determine the exact location. Army engineers found the entrance and checked for booby-traps, then waved the others in.
“God Almighty,” Dr. Lowell said, swinging a powerful light around the darkened room. More engineers swept the room, checking for wires on the machines, and carefully checking every drawer of every table before the rest were allowed farther than the door. Then Lowell went to work. There was a set of plans that he took outside to read in the light.
“You know,” he said after fifteen minutes of total silence, “I never really appreciated how easy this was. We've had this illusion that you really needed to—” He stopped. “Illusion, that's the right word.”
“What are you telling me?”
“It was supposed to be a five-hundred-kiloton device.”
“If it had gone off right, we would have known it had to be the Russians,” Jack said. “No one could have stopped it. We wouldn't be here now.”
“Yeah, I think we have to adjust our threat estimate some.”
“Doc, we think we found something,” an Army officer said. Dr. Lowell went inside, then returned to don protective clothing.
“So large as that?” Golovko asked, staring at the plans.
“Clever people. Do you know how hard it was for me to persuade the President that — excuse me. I didn't, did I? If this had been a big one, I would have believed the report.”
“And what report is that?” Golovko asked.
“Can we conduct a little business?”
“If you wish.”
“You're holding someone we want,” Jack said.
“Lyalin?”
“Yes.”
“He betrayed his country. He will suffer for it.”
“Sergey, first, he gave us nothing that we could use against you. That was his deal. We only got the take from THISTLE, his Japanese network. Second, except for him and what he gave us, we might not be here now. Turn him loose.”
“In return for what?”
“We have an agent who told us that Narmonov was being blackmailed by your military, and that your military was using some missing tactical nuclear weapons to make it stick. That's why we suspected that the weapon might have been yours.”
“But that's a lie!”
“He was very convincing,” Ryan replied. “I almost believed it myself. The President and Dr. Elliot did believe it, and that's why things got so bad on us. I'll gladly hang this bastard out to dry, but it's betraying a confidence… remember our conversation in my office, Sergey? If you want that name, you have to pay.”
“That man we will shoot,” Golovko promised.
“No, you can't.”
“What do you mean?”
“We've cut him off, and all I said was that he lied to us. He gave us stuff that wasn't true, even in your country it does not constitute espionage, does it? Better not to kill him. You'll understand, if we can make this deal.”
The First Deputy Chairman considered that for a moment. “You can have Lyalin — three days. You have my word, Jack.”
“Our man has the codename of SPINNAKER. Oleg Kirilovich—”
“Kadishev? Kadishev!”
“You think you're disappointed? You ought to see it from my side.”
“This is the truth — no games now, Ryan?”
“On that, sir, you have my word of honor. I wouldn't mind seeing him shot, but he's a politician, and in this case he really didn't commit espionage, did he? Do something creative with him. Make him dogcatcher somewhere,” Jack suggested.
Golovko nodded. “It will be done.”
“A pleasure doing business with you, Sergey. A shame about Lyalin.”
“What do you mean?” Golovko asked.
“The stuff he was giving us — both of us — it's really too valuable to lose…”
“We do not do business to that degree, Ryan, but I admire your sense of humor.”
Dr. Lowell emerged from the structure just then, carrying a lead bucket.
“What's in there?”
“I think it's some plutonium. Want to take a closer look? You could end up like our friend in Damascus.” Lowell handed the bucket to a soldier, and to the engineer-commander he said, “Move everything out, box it, ship it. I want to examine everything. Make sure you move everything out.”
“Yes, sir,” the colonel said. “And the sample?”
Four hours later, they were in Dimona, the Israeli nuclear “research” facility, where there was another gamma-ray spectrometer. While technicians ran the test, Lowell went over the plans again, shaking his head. To Ryan, the drawings looked like the diagram of a computer chip or something similarly incomprehensible.
“It's big, clunky. Ours are less than a quarter this size… but you know how long it took us to build something of this size and yield?” Lowell looked up. “Ten years. They did it in a cave in five months. How's that for progress, Dr. Ryan?”
“I didn't know. We always figured a terrorist's device — but what went wrong?”
“Probably something with the tritium. We had two fizzles back in the fifties, helium contamination. Not too many people know about that. That's my best guess. The design needs some further looking at — we'll computer-model it — but on gross examination, it looks like a fairly competent — oh, thank you.” Lowell took the spectrometry print-out from the Israeli technician. He shook his head and spoke very softly:
“ Savannah River, K Reactor, 1968—it was a very good year.”
“This is the one? You're sure?”
“Yeah, this is the one. The Israelis told me the type of weapon they lost, the mass of plutonium — except for the scraps, it's all here.” Lowell tapped the design sheets. “That's it, that's all of it,” he said.
“Until the next time,” Lowell added.
Always a student of the law and its administration, Deputy Assistant Director Daniel E. Murray observed the proceedings with interest. Rather odd that they used priests instead of lawyers, of course, but damn if it didn't work. The trial took just a day. It was scrupulously fair and admirably swift. The sentence didn't bother Murray, either.
They flew to Riyadh aboard Prince Ali's aircraft, leaving the USAF transport at Beersheba. There would be no indecent haste in the administration of sentence. There had to be time for prayer and reconciliation, and no one wanted to treat this any differently from a more pedestrian case. It also gave time for people to sit and reflect, and in Ryan's case to meet with another surprise. Prince Ali brought him in to Ryan's accommodations.
“I am Mahmoud Haji Daryaei,” the man said, unnecessarily. Jack knew his face well enough from the CIA file. He also knew that the last time Daryaei had spoken with an American, the ruler of Iran had been Mohammed Reza Pahlavi.
“What can I do for you?” Ryan asked. Ali handled the translation for both of them.
“Is it true? What I have been told, I wish to know that it is true.”
“Yes, sir, it is true.”
“Why should I believe you?” The man was approaching seventy years of age, with a deeply-lined face and black, angry eyes.
“Then why did you ask the question?”
“Insolence does not please me.”