Nuclear Reaction Read online

  Bolan recognized the name from conversation back in Giri, as they were preparing to depart. He didn’t know the villager from Adam, but he didn’t want the man to die. Accordingly, he rushed to join Pahlavi in the open truck, sweeping the field for any stray survivors as he closed the gap.

  When Bolan reached the truck, Pahlavi was already slicing through the ropes that held the captive’s hands behind his back. A moment later, busy with his folding knife, Pahlavi freed the stranger’s legs, then stepped back while the man rose to his feet.

  The liberated captive stared at Bolan for a moment, none too happily, then started speaking swiftly to his fellow countryman. Pahlavi listened for a moment, then translated.

  “He was taken, as we know, for the possession of a rifle. They planned to interrogate him about me and the resistance, but he knows nothing to tell them. Now, he says, if more soldiers return, our people will be slaughtered.”

  “They should think about a change of scene,” Bolan replied.

  “Their lives are in the village,” Pahlavi replied. “Most of them know nothing else.”

  “I take it they can learn, if they’re alive,” Bolan replied. “It’s their choice, either way. If trouble’s coming, they can either stand and face it, or move on.”

  “It’s all my fault, you see?” Pahlavi cried out.

  Bolan had no time for self-pity.

  “What I see,” he said, “is that someone spilled your name before you reached the village. If it was your sister or someone else, there’s nothing we can do about it now. The troops were on their way to look for you before we got there, and they would’ve found this guy’s Kalashnikov, regardless. Now, you’ve got a choice to make. Press on, or call it quits and try forgetting about Project X.”

  “There is no choice,” Pahlavi said. “I cannot let their plans proceed.”

  “Then let’s get on with business,” Bolan said, “and knock off wasting time.”

  13

  Cyrus Shabou lit his sixth cigarette of the day—the private limit he had set himself to test his discipline—and sent a stream of mentholated smoke wafting toward his office ceiling. Seated across the desk, Dr. Jamsheed Mehran endeavored not to let his disapproval show.

  Shabou resolved to blow the rest of his smoke directly at Mehran to see how the scientist reacted. Meanwhile, he said, “I have received more news. All bad.”

  “I see.”

  It irritated Shabou that Mehran would not come out and ask what he had learned. The scientist insisted on his little power games, even when he was obviously the subordinate.

  Shabou took another drag from his cigarette, held it for a moment, then sent the smoke cloud rolling toward Mehran, across his desktop. The visitor squirmed but refrained from gasping or fanning the air in front of his face.

  “Apparently,” Shabou explained, “another group of soldiers has been ambushed. There are no survivors, if my information is correct. You may be interested to know that this patrol had been dispatched to Giri.”

  “I see.”

  “You recognize the name, of course,” Shabou said, unable to conceal his irritation at Mehran’s calm.

  “Giri? If I recall…that is—”

  “How quickly we forget, Doctor.” Shabou took pleasure in the scientist’s discomfiture. “Giri. The native village of your traitor—and her brother. Are you with me, now?”

  “Of course, sir. I remember it. And did they find him?”

  “Therein lies the problem, I’m afraid,” Shabou replied. “The officer in charge was sent to search the village for this Darius Pahlavi. Based on the location of the vehicles when found, it seems the soldiers were returning from their mission, but the officer did not communicate with his superiors. Therefore, they cannot tell if he had captured prisoners, or if the effort was in vain. Considering its outcome, though, I feel it’s safe to say he touched a nerve.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You understand my difficulty, eh, Doctor?”

  “Of course,” Mehran replied, then caught himself. “That is, I mean to say—”

  “If Project X is going to succeed, it must not be exposed to public scrutiny. These massacres, of course, define the very essence of sensational publicity. The army may be able to suppress reportage for a short time, but we can’t depend on them. Since rural peasants found the bodies in both cases, word is bound to spread. And it will ultimately leak despite the best efforts of our compatriots in uniform.”

  “Yes, sir. I see that.”

  “Then you also see, my friend, why time is of the essence. If we’re going to succeed before the project is exposed and global condemnation falls upon our heads, then we—I should say, you—are running out of time.”

  “You understand, Deputy Minister, that we have worked around the clock to reach our goal, and I believe that we are very close.”

  “How close?” Shabou demanded.

  “Well…in the realm of science, sir, precise predictions of that nature are…I mean to say…impossible.”

  Shabou said nothing. He preferred to let the grim expression on his face speak for him, leaving Mehran in no doubt as to his disappointment.

  “But,” the scientist hastened to add, “if we redouble our efforts, I’m fairly confident that we should have results within…three weeks?”

  “Is that a question?” Shabou asked.

  “No, sir. Three weeks.”

  “You’ll stake your job on that? Your reputation? Everything?”

  Dr. Mehran considered it, then swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir. Yes, I will.”

  “So be it, then. But what if it should happen that we do not have three weeks? Suppose these rebels—Ohm, or whatever they call themselves today—should manage to go public in the meantime? Worse, suppose they raid the very laboratory?”

  “Sir, we have advanced security in place.”

  “And so, presumably, do the armed forces,” Shabou answered. “Yet they’ve lost the better part of eighty men today, from what I understand. Perhaps your chief of plant security should have another word with army headquarters.”

  “I’ll tell him, sir, as soon as I leave here.”

  “And if a breach of your security occurs, by any chance, I trust there are procedures to contain it?” Shabou asked. “Some mechanism to preserve deniability?”

  “If necessary, sir, we can destroy the plant and everything inside it.”

  “Would it seem to be an accident?”

  Mehran nodded. “From the beginning, that was our intention.”

  “Like Chernobyl?”

  “Heavens, no! We don’t have a reactor, sir. We are not generating power. We have limited supplies of weapons-grade plutonium on hand, from which to build the devices.”

  “When you say it that way, it appears to be a simple thing,” Shabou observed.

  “Not simple, sir. I wouldn’t go that far. The problem, as I’ve mentioned previously, is reduction of components. The materials involved are often delicate, and measurements must be precise. In essence, we are shrinking what has always been a large device, to make it portable by one man—and presumably an average man, at that—without reducing its impact substantially.”

  “I understand the goal, Doctor. You may recall that it was I who came to you for its accomplishment.”

  “Of course, Deputy Minister. I did not mean to indicate that—”

  “What I’m curious to know,” Shabou said, “is how you can fix a deadline for your research now, when problems still remain? And if you know today that three weeks is sufficient for completion of your task, could it not be completed within two weeks, for example?”

  “Two weeks, sir?”

  “Simply a question. Hypothetically.”

  “Well, hypothetically…”

  “Two weeks would obviously give the traitors in our midst less time to sabotage the project and destroy all you have worked for through the past year and a half.”

  “Yes, sir. But—”

  “Shall we say two week
s, then, as the final deadline? Have you that much confidence in your own leadership and in the team you’ve chosen?”

  “Sir—”

  “Perfect. It’s settled, then. Two weeks until we toast the ultimate success of Project X—or I find someone else to take your place.”

  Mehran was ashen-faced, but he could only nod in agreement. There was no room for debate in Shabou’s tone or attitude.

  “I should inform my team,” Mehran replied, “without further delay. The deadline will mean extra shifts, of course, and no doubt some increased expense.”

  Shabou expelled another cloud of fragrant smoke and waved a broad hand through it, putting on his most expansive smile.

  “Expense is not an issue, Doctor. And I’m sure your team will do its utmost to support you in this challenge. When the task is done, there will be time enough for them to rest.”

  In fact, Shabou already had a resting place in mind, where none of them would ever speak again of Project X—or anything at all.

  “By all means, go and join your people. Use your expertise to the utmost. I trust that you won’t let me down.”

  “No, sir,” Mehran said quietly.

  “That’s excellent. Dismissed.”

  “TWO WEEKS?”

  Dr. Simrin Amira gaped at Mehran in amazement. She could not have been more stunned if her superior had told her that he came from Jupiter. In fact, she might have been relieved in that case, since it would’ve indicated that Mehran had lost his mind.

  Instead, Mehran just shrugged. “Two weeks,” he said again. “Deputy Minister Shabou has ordered it.”

  “Oh, well. If he has ordered it, it must be possible. Is that your argument?”

  “I have no argument,” Mehran replied. “Just orders.”

  “To perform a task that’s physically impossible!”

  “I’m not convinced of that.”

  Amira frowned. “Since when?”

  She watched Mehran stiffen, preparing to defend himself, and wished he had as much backbone when dealing with his superiors.

  “Deputy Minister Shabou explained the urgency in no uncertain terms. With soldiers being killed in such large numbers, there is clearly danger of a breach in our security,” Mehran explained.

  “Danger from outside sources doesn’t mean we can defy the laws of physics,” Amira said. “If we rush—”

  “Please, if I may,” Kurush Gazsi said. “Dr. Mehran, you need have no concerns about security. I can assure you that—”

  “It isn’t me you must convince,” Mehran said, cutting through the spiel. “Those who decide these things have had their say. We can obey or be replaced. And I assure you, when that happens, it will not be with a pension plan.”

  “‘Those who decide these things’?” Amira echoed, mocking him. “There’s no decision in this matter. It is not a test of will-power, whichever politician thinks he has a point to prove. We deal with science, in the realm of possibilities. If we are physically incapable of doing something, it means nothing to have a politician shouting, ‘Finish it by Tuesday!’”

  Mehran examined her as if a second head had sprouted from her shoulders. It was not his customary look. This new look had a cutting edge to it. It could draw blood, Amira guessed.

  “I’ve never questioned your commitment to this project,” he remarked, “until this moment.”

  “What?”

  “Of course, if you’re unwilling to proceed—”

  “I have said nothing of the kind!” Amira exclaimed.

  He forged ahead. “If you are unwilling to proceed within the guidelines we’ve been given from above, then I’m afraid you must resign.”

  “Resign!” Amira was shocked.

  “Of course, your choice will be communicated to the ministry. Whatever action they deem necessary would proceed from there. I can’t control that aspect of the matter, as I’m sure you understand.”

  Amira glanced at Gazsi, furious to find him smirking at her.

  “I will not resign,” she snapped. “I’m simply trying to communicate a fact that you, of all people, must recognize. Orders do not dictate the pace of scientific progress. It’s a physical impossibility.”

  “Then we must work a miracle and make it possible,” Mehran replied, straight-faced. The only change in his expression was a flare of angry color in his cheeks.

  “I understand,” Amira said at last.

  “So, we’re in full agreement?”

  “As you say, Doctor.”

  “What will it take, then, to prepare a working model of the weapon in the time allotted?”

  She had no idea, but couldn’t say so. Any further opposition to the madness would surely see her fired from Project X, and likely sent directly to a prison cell, unless she “disappeared” somewhere along the way.

  “More money,” she responded. “Work around the clock.”

  “All possible,” Mehran stated.

  “And luck,” she added. “I would say a great deal of good luck.”

  “I can’t control that,” Mehran answered, “but the money and the personnel are guaranteed. Deputy Minister Shabou assured me of his full cooperation.”

  “Well, in that case, we should have no difficulties,” Amira said.

  “Sarcasm does not become you,” Mehran chided her.

  “Sarcasm, sir? I was agreeing with your judgment and the minister’s.”

  Mehran leaned forward, planting bony elbows on his desk. “It may be difficult to meet our goal without an absolute commitment of the heart and mind,” he said, speaking to Amira and Gazsi in turn. “We all must do our part in full, hold nothing back. I hope that’s understood.”

  “Of course, Doctor,” Gazsi said with an oily smile.

  “I understand,” Amira said.

  “Let’s make it happen, then. As for security, Kurush, while I appreciate your confidence, it has occurred to me that the rebels who’ve killed seventy or eighty soldiers in the past few hours may not find your team a great impediment if they decide to raid the lab.”

  Amira waited for the lab’s chief of security to argue, but instead he simply said, “I will happily employ more personnel if funds are made available. As you’re aware, Doctor, our budget—”

  “I was thinking in a different vein,” Mehran cut in. “Deputy Minister Shabou suggested that we seek help from the military. More specifically—”

  “But, sir—”

  “Specifically, that you consult Colonel Dalal and ask for help securing the lab. He is our nation’s counterterrorism expert, after all, with more men and equipment at his fingertips than we can possibly afford. As for their training, well, you must agree that it surpasses anything the private sector can supply.”

  “In fact, sir—” Gazsi sputtered.

  “Good. It’s settled, then. I’m glad that you agree. I took the liberty of booking an appointment for you with the colonel. He’s expecting you in—” Mehran checked his watch “—exactly thirty-two minutes. You’d best be on your way.”

  Flustered and fuming, Gazsi rose and hurried from the office without any parting pleasantries. His anger almost made Amira smile.

  Almost.

  Until she thought about the task ahead of her, and what awaited her if she should fail, as fail she would.

  “Jamsheed,” she said, “for heaven’s sake. Two weeks?”

  He shrugged. “What choice have we, Simrin? Of course, we can stand firm and tell them it’s impossible. In which case, we’ll be shot or thrown in prison, and the project will proceed with someone else in charge.”

  “And when they fail?” she challenged.

  “We’ll be vindicated from the grave. Does that please you?”

  “They’ll kill us anyway, Jamsheed, if we don’t meet the deadline you’ve accepted.”

  “Then we’ll meet it,” he assured her. “One way or another, we shall meet it.”

  “It’s impossible,” she warned him for the last time.

  Leaving Mehran’s office, Amira ha
d already turned her mind to methods of escape. She could go home to change her clothes, pick up her passport, never mind packing a bag. Before the lab staff missed her, she could be halfway to—

  Standing in the corridor, a female uniformed security officer nodded to her, falling into step beside her. “I have been assigned to your protection, Doctor,” she explained. “Director Gazsi is concerned that you may be at risk.”

  I’m sure he is, Amira thought, and forced a smile. “How generous of Mr. Gazsi.”

  “Not at all, Doctor,” the officer replied. “From now until the project is completed, double the number of guards.”

  Simrin Amira read her doom in the young woman’s round, bland face, and felt her final fleeting hope evaporate like water poured into a tub of sand.

  Two weeks, she thought.

  It didn’t seem like much of a lifetime, at all.

  14

  Colonel Dalal was standing at his desk when Gazsi stepped into his office, following the officer who served as Dalal’s secretary and receptionist. The colonel offered nothing in the way of salutation, simply waved his aide out of the room and waited for the door to close behind him as he left. Gazsi felt like an insect in a jar, being examined by a captor who had not decided whether he should be dissected or released.

  “You’ve come at a bad time,” Dalal said finally.

  “I understand, sir. My request to see you was commanded by Deputy Minister Shabou and Dr. Jamsheed Mehran. If you would prefer that I not stay—”

  “Sit down!” the colonel ordered gruffly. “I have no time at the moment for dramatics or for backroom politics.”

  As Gazsi settled on a straight, uncomfortable chair, Dalal asked him, “You’ve heard about the latest incident?”

  “Yes, sir. A tragedy. For you to lose so many men—”

  “Men and equipment,” Dalal said, correcting him. “So far, seventy-nine men, three jeeps and two trucks damaged or destroyed. It’s curious about the weapons, though, I grant you.”

  “Curious in what sense, sir?”

  “That they were left behind, of course.” Dalal dropped back into his seat behind the desk, glaring. “You said you knew about these incidents.”