She was glad he’d taken her along tonight. It wasn’t so she could redeem herself—she knew it was because she spoke Farsi. But going gave her something to concentrate on. It was better than sitting with Flash or Nuri, who were watching Tarid at the hotel. There would have been too much time to brood, about McGowan, about everything.
Maybe she had been a bitch. It seemed like such a sexist label, something a man would put on a woman for things a guy would never be called on. But maybe, she conceded, maybe there was a tiny bit of truth in it.
Maybe it would have been more accurate to say she was conceited and thought she had a better way to do things.
The focus now was on the mission, not her. She continued through the field, moving with Danny to the building.
Danny had the current scanner out. “Only the wires,” he said, easing to the side.
Hera slipped a suction cup on the glass, focusing on the task. She cut around it quickly, concentrating on making the perfect scribe on the first pass with the cutter. Then she focused on pulling it away, then on jumping the wires.
“We’re good,” she said, pushing up the window.
They took a good look around the inside before going in, making sure there were no motion detectors or other devices nearby.
Danny climbed in first, entering a large storeroom, behind the one where the meeting had taken place. Most of the room was empty; there were large crates at the far wall. Danny turned around slowly, examining the walls. They were painted and smooth, making it more difficult to find a place to put the bugs where they wouldn’t be seen.
Taking out a stick of gum, he wadded it into his mouth as he looked for a hiding place. He settled on the molding beneath the window. Once it was in place, he pulled off his rucksack and removed the pane of glass he’d brought to replace the small panel they’d cut through.
Hera walked over to the boxes and took out a radiation detector—a miniaturized Geiger counter sensitive enough to pick up a shielded weapon at a meter’s range. The screen lit before she could even get it calibrated.
“Bingo,” she said.
Danny came over and looked.
“This is it,” she said. “There’s uranium in those boxes. They may be all bombs.”
He looked at the readings, then the crates.
“I don’t know if any of these are warheads,” he told her. “There’s definitely material here, but it may be the residue from refining.”
“Let’s take them apart and find out.”
Danny bent down and examined them. They varied in size from about six by three feet to ten by eight.
“We don’t know how long Aberhadji’s going to be gone,” he said. “Let’s tag them, get out the chemical sniffer, check for chemicals—I’ll get the window ready in case we have to leave. Then we’ll see if we can get these open without being detected.”
“Can’t we just blow them up?”
Danny thought they might be able to rig something, but the explosion would only damage the warhead mechanism; the bomb itself could be salvaged. They’d have to take the warhead—or warheads—to permanently end the threat.
“Let’s take this one step at a time,” he told her. “Tag them while I get the window ready.”
There were two dozen crates; Hera only had enough tracking bugs for six. She bugged the box that had the strongest radiation signal, sticking the tiny device between the slats at the very bottom. Then she tagged two boxes next to it, unsure whether she was picking up radiation from them or the larger crate. She placed the other three tags arbitrarily on more boxes, each a different size and shape.
When she was done, she took out the chemical sniffer and began examining the area around the crates.
The device was called a sniffer because it took air samples and then analyzed the contents. The sensitivity varied according to chemical, but certain substances—such as anthrax—could be detected in extremely minute amounts. About the size of a palm-corder, the device required a bit of patience and a steady hand, but its small size and power were light-years ahead of the devices used at airports and ports to detect bomb materials and other dangers.
There were traces of explosives. No biological agents. No chemicals used in warfare.
On the other side of the room, Danny chipped out the last of the glass and carefully put the new pane in place so no one would suspect they had broken in.
Or rather, he tried to—it didn’t fit exactly. The window was slightly smaller than the standard size, and he had to cut the pane they’d brought with them to fit. He got down on his hands and knees and etched the edge of the panel freehand, sliding the glass cutter gingerly so he didn’t break the glass. Twice he thought he was done, only to find he was still off by a few fractions of an inch. Finally he got the glass into place, rolling putty around it to keep it there.
Now came the hardest part—matching the color of the old putty. It had started out pure white, then faded with age. Danny worked with two jars of stain to get the right shade. He took off his goggles and used a flashlight, experimenting with the shade. It took several minutes before he found a reasonably close shade.
“What’d you find?” he asked Hera.
“Just explosives.” She explained how she had arranged the bugs. “Which crate do we start with?”
“I don’t know. Go fix the window with the jumper so we can get out easily while I take a look.”
“Are we going to glow when we leave?” she asked, only half joking.
“Yeah. We won’t need our night goggles.” Danny smiled. “No, it’s not really that much. Fix the window.”
The amount of radiation emitted by a bomb before it exploded was minute; it posed no danger to the people handling the weapon. The amount they detected here was extremely small—the Iranians had every incentive to be very careful handling and preserving the material.
Danny spotted a nail in the wall and decided to plant a bug there before trying to open the crates. He climbed up on one of the boxes and stuck a bug just above it. He was just getting down when the Voice sounded an alert in his ear.
“Vehicle approaching. Similar in size and shape to vehicle observed on property earlier in the day.”
Aberhadji had returned.
63
Eastern Sudan
BY THE TIME BREANNA GOT BACK TO THE OSPREY, THE radar had identified twenty-four individual planes, all flying on a path a few miles north of them. Most had already passed; the radar showed them gaining altitude quickly.
She took one look at their flight patterns and the plane types and knew two things instantly: They were on a bombing mission, aiming at a target in Sudan. And they were Israeli.
She took out the secure sat phone and called Reid immediately.
“Jonathon, I think the Israelis know about the Iranian plant in Sudan,” she told him. “They’re on their way to blow it up.”
“What?” said Reid.
“They’re at low altitude, flying at high speed not too far from here. The radar in one of the Ospreys picked them up.”
“Stand by.”
He came back a few moments later to tell her that the bugs Nuri had placed in the complex had just gone off line due to explosions.
“I’m going to have to get back to you,” said Reid. “This hasn’t hit the network yet.”
“Go,” said Breanna. “I have everyone. We’re en route back to Dire Dawa.”
There was one more thing they had to do before leaving—blow up their gear.
Breanna had the Osprey circle over the hill. The mercenaries were in the rocks, sitting uneasily between the Ethiopians and the Sudanese.
“I want you to tell them to get away from the boxes,” she told Abul, going into the rear of the aircraft. “I want you to warn them that they’re going to be blown up.”
“We’re going to land again?” said Boston.
“No. We’re equipped with a PA system for crowd situations. We’ll use the loudspeaker.”