An imposing black officer in blue and gray fatigues stepped forward. “Colonel Mack?”
“Yes,” John replied as the two men shared a salute. The name on his chest read Porter and the insignia next to that indicated he was a colonel. Beside him was a red-haired, clean-cut civilian in a white lab coat.
“This is Sean Murphy,” Colonel Porter said. “He’s with the Nuclear Emergency Support Team. We’ve set aside a decommissioned W-89 two-hundred-kiloton nuclear warhead for you at the Uranium Processing Facility.”
“We appreciate the help, Colonel,” John told him, noting the stern expression on the officer’s face. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
“Well, to be frank, you couldn’t have picked a worse time. When word came down from General Dempsey what you folks were planning, I told him it was downright crazy.”
John smiled. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I may not, but let me be clear about something. When that train is fully loaded, me and my men are leaving this place and blowing it sky-high whether your mission is completed or not.”
“I understand,” John replied.
“I’m also leaving you with two of my men, Fuller and Lambert. This is a large complex. Anything you need, they’ll get it for you.”
John thanked him.
“Is there anything else you need before I go?” Colonel Porter asked.
Reese stepped forward. “How about a pack of Marlboro?”
Porter threw John a look. “How about some caviar and a box of Cubans?”
“Don’t worry, Colonel,” John said, elbowing Reese. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”
“Hey, he asked,” Reese said.
Porter disappeared into one of the Humvees and peeled away.
“Never mind that now,” John said as he turned to Jerry. “Take Fuller and Lambert to help you prep the balloons. I’m not sure how many you’ll need, but this warhead’s gonna weigh at least a couple hundred pounds.”
Next to him, Sean Murphy checked the clipboard he was holding. “Three hundred and twenty-four, to be exact.”
“I figure that’s three or four three-thousand-gram balloons,” Jerry said, starting to calm down now that he was back in his element. “Finding the balloons and helium shouldn’t be an issue. I’m just worried we might be short on time. If the Chinese start to―”
“You let the 3rd Infantry Division worry about the Chinese,” John cut him off. “You just get those balloons ready.”
The men all headed for the two Humvees after that: Jerry and the two soldiers in one, John, Reese and Sean Murphy in the other. Billy Ray came running up.
“What about me? What should I do?”
“You guard the plane,” John told him.
“But I don’t have a gun. I need some firepower, man.”
“With arms like that?” Reese said. “Heck, you don’t need a gun.”
The Humvees tore off after that, leaving Billy Ray looking down at his biceps, nodding with approval.
Chapter 5
The Uranium Processing Facility was a new-looking building and one Murphy told them had been part of the complex’s recent overhaul. He led them by flashlight to a concrete room with a high ceiling. Stacks all around them held missiles and bombs.
Reese whistled. “A direct hit on this place and they’ll be scraping up what’s left of you with a spatula.”
“If you’re lucky,” Murphy shot back. He pointed to a bomb rack where the W-89 was laid out. A small compartment stood open with wires hanging out. “I’ve already begun to prep the warhead, but I wasn’t sure how you wanted to set the timer.”
“We need as much altitude as possible,” John told him. “Jerry thinks he might be able to get it as high as thirty miles.”
Murphy scratched his chin. “Then a regular timer may be a problem. What if the ascent is quicker than we expect? Or worse, what if it’s slower? The warhead could detonate at the wrong altitude.”
“What about hooking it up to an altimeter?” Reese offered, not taking his own suggestion very seriously.
“That isn’t a horrible idea,” Murphy said. “We could set it to explode when it reaches the thirty-mile mark.”
“I’m sure Jerry should have something we can use,” John said. “We’ll also need to find some kind of cradle to rig the warhead to the balloon. Reese and I will go secure that altimeter while you find us that cradle. We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes.”
John and Reese double-timed it from the processing facility to the Humvee outside. Thick cumulonimbus clouds were rolling in from the east. They were white and fluffy like the cumulus clouds most people were familiar with, except these ones reached up to five miles into the atmosphere.
Within minutes they caught up with Jerry and the two soldiers, wrestling large canisters of helium into the release zone. As the former Y-12 meteorologist had taken great pains to explain to them, it was imperative that the latex balloons themselves not be torn or otherwise compromised during this delicate procedure.
“We need one of your altimeters,” John said.
Jerry stood up straight, arching his back. Sweat ran down the sides of his face and his hair was matted to his head. “Altimeter? I don’t have one. Our instrumentation normally records atmospheric pressure, temperature, humidity and wind speed.”
Reese swore. “Maybe we just take our chances on the timer then.”
John shook his head. This was a textbook example of how any operation, no matter how well planned, could be stopped dead in its tracks by the tiniest obstacle. He’d been so worried about procuring the warhead and arriving in one piece he hadn’t considered how they would determine the optimal altitude for detonation. This was the reason redundancy was so ingrained in a soldier’s mind. But more than that, it was the importance of quick, creative thinking.
An image of Billy Ray’s round, bearded face rose up before John’s inner eye.
“We’ll use the one from the Cessna,” John shouted, clapping his hands together.
The others looked surprised.
“Will that work?” Reese asked.
“It’ll have to.”
Minutes later they found Billy Ray, sitting in the Skyhawk’s cockpit. Nearby, soldiers hustled as they continued to load crates with nuclear symbols onto the train.
“We need something from your plane,” John told him.
Billy Ray sat up quickly. “Excuse me?”
“I need your altimeter and fast. The entire mission depends on it.”
Billy Ray’s lips formed a perfect O for a moment. Before he could answer, a rumbling noise in the distance caught their attention. Then on the back of that came another sound as the air-raid sirens burst into life. Soldiers ran for cover. Those manning the anti-aircraft defenses cinched up their helmets.
Two Chinese Sukhoi Su-27 fighters streaked by, engaging afterburners as ground-to-air missiles lifted off after them. Quickly, they banked right and released flares to fool the oncoming missiles.
Reese rolled up his sleeves. “Looks like we just ran out of time.”
Chapter 6
They reached the Uranium Processing Facility as another bomb exploded somewhere nearby, shaking the ground.
“Old Billy Ray wasn’t too happy we gutted part of his control panel,” Reese said.
“Maybe not,” John told him. “But I just hope he takes my advice and finds some cover for that plane. That’s our ride home.”
Murphy was splicing wires when the two men arrived, altimeter in hand.
“Did you find that cradle?” John asked, in no mood to hear they had another problem.
“This was the best I could find,” Murphy replied, pointing to the screw pin shackle.