02 Thunder of Heaven: A Joshua Jordan Novel (22 page)

Inside the metal barn in the Shenandoah Valley, Korstikoff stood over the portable nuclear weapon. It was close to completion. The delicate operations involving the neutron initiator and the use of uranium deuteride as the neutron source still needed to be dealt with, but he had personally supervised Iran’s development of those components. Once the initiator had been connected to the bomb, Korstikoff felt satisfied it would be a work of perfection. Now they were only hours away.

The only other thing that needed to be done was to make the encrypted sat-fone calls to the collaborators to the north who were simultaneously preparing their bomb for New York City. The two teams would confirm final assembly and then coordinate the strikes so they would be only minutes apart. Even though the call should be very secure, they were taking no chances. Each had a method of making sure that no other telecommunications took place within a fifteen-mile radius of their positions. Their special devices would ensure absolute secrecy.

When all of that was done, they would delicately load the bomb onto the truck, which would head up I-81 toward I-66, then into Washington, down Constitution Boulevard, and straight for the Capitol.

The route would take the truck to a cul-de-sac at the bottom of the hill under the Capitol building, in the shadow of the Washington Monument, which was only a few blocks away.

When detonated, this bomb, the bigger of the two, would send out a blast-furnace shock wave with the heat intensity of the sun. It would
obliterate the Capitol and all of the members of the Senate and the House of Representatives. The White House would be blown clear off the surface of the earth. All the Senate and House offices and their staffs would be incinerated instantly. The Supreme Court, the Library of Congress, the Smithsonian, and the central offices of the entire federal government would be vaporized.

Much of the Pentagon, farther from Capitol Hill and closer to the Beltway, would be devastated, though there would be survivors. But America’s ability to make immediate military decisions would be paralyzed.

The rest of Washington, D.C. — the apartment buildings, condos, shops, the glass commercial towers housing lobbying organizations, law firms, trade associations — all would be shattered and in flames.

The marble monuments, Lincoln, Jefferson, Washington, would be blown into rubble.

Korstikoff looked at his watch. He needed to check his flight out of Dulles to make sure it was still on time. He wanted to avoid Reagan National. He had no intention of being anywhere near the blast.

John Gallagher was twenty miles from the exit off of I-81 that led to the spot where he was betting the nuclear terror cell might have set up shop. He was gambling on a location designated by the KGB decades before.

His Allfone rang. He clicked it on. A familiar voice from the past said, “John, Frank Treumeth here. Long time — ”

“You said it,” said Gallagher.

“You sound like you’re in a rush — ”

“That’s putting it mildly. I gotta crisis. I’m working freelance now.”

“Gee, John, that kinda language makes me nervous. I’m running an outdoors shop now; fishing gear, kayak tours — ”

“You still own guns?”

“You kidding?”

“Still know how to shoot ‘em?”

“Okay, what’s up?”

“A portable nuke has been located here in the valley.”

“What!”

“I’m not kidding. Excellent intelligence on this. The Feds are in total denial.”

“Why?”

“Don’t get me started. I just need to know if you can help …”

“Who you working for?”

“Does the name Joshua Jordan mean anything?”

“The Air Force laser guy?”

“Right. Washington doesn’t trust him, but I do. He’s received credible evidence of a suitcase-type nuclear device being assembled not far from you. The clock’s ticking. This may have to be a citizen’s arrest …”

“Okay, listen, John. You’re a good guy, did some pretty gutsy stuff in your career. But here’s what I heard … you were ordered into some kind of counseling cause you didn’t cooperate. You got pushed out of the Bureau. I’m sorry buddy, but this whole thing sounds crazy — ”

“I don’t beg well. I can’t get down on my knees ‘cause I’ve got arthritis. But if could, I would. I’m on my knees, crying like a little girl for you to help me.”

“What is it you want?”

“I know you’re connected here. I don’t think the Feds will get involved, or if they do, it’ll be too late. I’m sure you got street cred out here in Petticoat Junction, you know, with officer Barney Fife or whoever’s the local constable. You need to round them up and get some firepower to join me at the site.”

“What site?”

“I have reason to believe — ”

“So you don’t know for sure?”

“Not absolutely.”

Frank Treumeth groaned on the other end.

“How do I get through to you, Frank?”

Then someone, a woman in the background, was yelling something to Frank, who yelled back, “Honey, it’s John Gallagher. He’s on the phone.”

Then Gallagher could hear Frank’s wife groaning too.

“Look, John,” said Frank, “I think I need to talk this over with Sandra first. This is really way out there.”

“Fine,” Gallagher said, “go ahead and talk it over, but I’m telling you, it’s time to cross the Delaware. You know? We gotta stop the Hessians and save the Republic. You with me or not?”

Pause.

“Okay,” Frank said. “Whatever …” Then he hung up.

Minutes later Gallagher saw a sign saying that his exit was ten miles away. His esophagus was burning again. Stress.

He started calculating the ludicrous stand he was about to make. One man against … how many? He had his clip-loaded Berretta with him and a permit to carry. He also had his 357 Magnum Short Barrel with him. But these guys, if he knew anything about terror cells, would have armed guards packing automatic weapons, maybe shoulder-mounted grenade launchers.

If they really had a small nuke destined to turn Washington into a big landfill, they weren’t going down easy.

More acid searing his chest.

His Allfone rang. He snapped it on. He hit the Video button this time; if Frank was going to turn him down, he was going to do it to his face.

Frank Treumeth’s face flickered on the screen.

“Okay, I talked to my wife.” Frank didn’t look happy. “You know, John, she remembers you from the Bureau. Never liked you. Didn’t know if you were aware of that.”

“So you’re going to let your country be destroyed because your wife thinks I’m a jerk …”

“Not exactly.”

Gallagher was listening.

“Despite all that … I told her I didn’t feel I had enough to go on to stick my neck out for you …”

Gallagher kept listening.

“And Sandra said, and I quote, ‘Then you’re gutless, Frank.’ So,” Frank continued, “I put in a call to Corby Colwin, the deputy sheriff.
He’s on his way over here. I didn’t tell him much, for obvious reasons, but Corby and I will meet you in his cruiser. Where will you be?”

Gallagher gave him the exit number, which was right in front of him at the moment, and clicked off the cell. He turned onto the exit ramp and pulled over on the shoulder by the stop sign to wait.

He leaned back in the driver’s seat and whispered, “Thank You, God.”

Deputy Corby Colwin, Frank Treumeth, and John Gallagher stood in front of the security gate a quarter of a mile down the gravel road from the sign that read “Mountain Pass Machine Parts Co.” The electronic gate was locked.

Deputy Colwin scrunched up his face, as if he was about to be slapped. “Okay … this is a problem.”

Gallagher said, “We can’t afford to announce ourselves. I say we take a trek through the woods.”

Frank said, “Okay, but if those people really are in there, won’t they have sensors out in the woods too?”

“Yeah, but they might just attribute that to a false signal, some animal or something. Our options are limited here.”

“Okay, hear me out,” the deputy said. “I know you say this could be serious — ”

“Right,” Gallagher snapped. “Nuclear weapons … mass destruction … somewhat serious, I’d say, yeah …”

The deputy said, “And I don’t have a warrant.”

“You’ve got exigent circumstances.”

“Sorry, Mr. Gallagher. I’ve only got your word on this nuclear business.”

Frank said, “Corby, how about zoning? The sign said this is a light industrial shop here. But isn’t this all zoned A-1 agricultural?”

“I suppose you’re right. But only technically.”

“Great. Then you’ve got probable cause to enter their property.
You’ve got Gallagher’s report and a possible violation of zoning restrictions. That’ll do, won’t it?”

Deputy Colwin was squinting and fidgeting.

“All we’re asking,” Frank said, almost pleading, “is that you take a walk with us onto their property and take a look-see. No big deal, right? I mean really, Corby, you’ve gone onto property to catch wildlife poachers for crying out loud. You think we just might have something here more serious than illegal shooting of coyotes?”

Five minutes later the three of them were stomping through the thick woodland brush outside the perimeter of the barn. They came to the edge of a clearing. It was a large metal barn with a few cars and a truck in front. But no signs of life. Colwin took out a pair of binoculars. They got down to kneeling positions as Colwin studied the scene.

“Nothing happening that I can see.”

Then a swarthy-skinned man exited the building and walked to the truck. He entered the cab, fished out some papers, and went back inside the barn.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Deputy Colwin said.

A few minutes later, two other men walked out of the barn, carrying automatic weapons.

“Okay,” the deputy said, “now that does tell me something …”

The three of them crawled backward until they could safely stand up without being seen. They made their way through the underbrush back to their cars.

Deputy Colwin said, “I’m willing to bet what we’re actually dealing with here is some heavy-duty drug trafficking.”

“Or a bomb,” Gallagher said stiffly, “something right out of your worst nightmares.”

Frank Treumeth was beginning to think that Gallagher might be on to something.

Just then, they heard a quick electronic screech. Gallagher pulled out his Allfone. It was dead. He pulled out the battery, booted it back up. Nothing. It was still dead. Frank and Deputy Colwin did the same, and their Allfones were also dead.

Colwin swiped his face with his hand. “I gotta get to the squad car,
call for major backup. I need more deputies, state police, anything.” He sprinted to his cruiser and jumped in. He grabbed his police radio and tried to call dispatch. But it was dead too. “What’s going on here?”

“EMP?” Frank looked over at Gallagher.

Colwin opened his eyes wide. “What?”

Gallagher explained, “Electromagnetic pulse. Knocks out all electronics within a certain radius. The new generation EMPs can zero in on communications transmissions.”

“That kind of equipment,” Frank added, “is exactly what I’d expect from the kind of folks you’ve described, John. High-tech terrorists. Whoever’s planning this doesn’t hang out in caves. This is major technological apparatus.”

Gallagher bent down and looked into the squad car, right into Colwin’s eyes. “These guys look like they’re ready to take a ride. We’ve got to stop them. You know any deputies who live within a mile or two, anyone we can round up in a hurry?”

Colwin shook his head and thought hard. Then he looked up. His eyes lit up. “No deputies. But I’ve got another idea. Almost as good. Follow me.”

Joshua was bracing himself for the next wave of torture. “Any idea when they’re coming back?” he asked the prisoner in the next cell.

“No,” Dr. Abdu replied. “Haven’t heard anything. They usually beat me on alternate days … today is my day off.”

Joshua hadn’t seen Dr. Abdu yet; he only knew him by his voice, but there was a kind of lightness to the tone in Dr. Abdu’s conversation that Joshua found remarkable, a calmness when he spoke of his beatings. Of course, Joshua still wondered whether his prison mate was telling him the truth. Joshua knew there were other prisoners too. He could hear them speaking in Farsi on his floor, though he couldn’t remember enough of the language to figure out what they were saying. Just a few words and phrases, mostly complaints about the food and thoughts about the safety of their friends and family.

“Pssst,” Abdu whispered. “Colonel Jordan. Can you stand up?”

Joshua moved his arms a little. No, his shoulders were not dislocated, though still incredibly painful. Maybe the rotator cuffs were torn though. He sat up. His legs felt wobbly, and the bottoms of his feet were beaten black and blue, but he figured he could stand for a few seconds.

Dr. Abdu said, “Poke your head out the food window.”

Joshua looked up at the square window in the solid metal door to his cell. A little wooden door on hinges swung open from the outside, just large enough to pass one’s head through.

Joshua struggled to his feet. His knees buckled because of the pain in his feet, but he clamped his jaw down tight in a wild grimace and took two excruciating steps to the door. He hung on to the doorframe.

He pushed his head through the opening. Looking to the left, he saw the head of Dr. Hermoz Abdu hanging out of the opening in his cell door. Abdu was wearing a kind of bandit’s bandana, which hid his face between his eyes and chin. His right ear had been cut off.

“Oh, yes, I forget,” Abdu said, almost apologetically. Then he reached his fingers into the space left in the door window and yanked on the bandana. Now Joshua could see. Dr. Hermoz Abdu’s nose had been cut off as well. Joshua was starting to understand.

“I used to prize my looks,” Abdu said with a laugh. “I had many lady friends. They used to say how handsome I was. I enjoyed that. I was what you call a playboy. But everything has changed. That’s okay, you know. Tell me, what do you prize, Colonel Jordan?”

Joshua was feeling queasy, sick to his stomach from the roller coaster of pain he was feeling. But he held on. “Wife. Family. My country.”

“Ah, yes. Is there anything else, Colonel Jordan?”

Gripping the doorframe with shaking fists, Joshua was astonished how quickly the answer flashed into his brain. Pain had not obscured it. Fears about his own death had not diminished it. “Yes, there is something else.”

Dr. Abdu fell silent.

Joshua said, “My freedom.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My control … of my life … important …”

“Interesting,” Abdu said.

Joshua stared back at this man who had been thrust into his life. He studied the horribly disfigured face that was looking back at him, the slashed, ugly orifice that used to be a nose. But there was a smile on Dr. Abdu’s face.

Then Abdu added, “Interesting how some men in the outside world, powerful, rich, independent, are still prisoners, while other men, confined in prison cells, laying in their own urine, are the ones who are truly free.”

Joshua said, “The other men in this prison, what did they do?”

“Different things. Some wrote against the ruling imams, against the tyrants who run the government. Others formed political groups.”

“And you?”

“I did something even more revolutionary. I left Islam and became a Christian. I follow Jesus now. I’m a preacher of the Gospel.”

“That’s why they cut you up?”

“First they cut off my ear, and they said it was to teach me not to listen to the words of the Christian infidels on the radio and TV. But I kept listening. I embraced the Savior, and my eyes were opened. I began speaking out, teaching others. I obtained a Bible and started reading it and memorizing it. I started a small underground church.”

“And they caught you?”

“Yes. Then they cut off my nose. They said that I should keep my nose out of the business of Islam. No more teaching other Muslims about the love of Jesus Christ. But you see that’s what drew me, like the powerful tide of the sea, the amazing love of Christ, his love for me. How could I be silent about that?”

Now the pain was too much. Joshua could stand no longer. He collapsed at the foot of the cell door.

Dr. Abdu said, “We need to talk, you and I, about how you can escape your prison.”