David Baldacci - Zero Day

“What are they?” asked Cole.

“Looks like financial records. Like I told you, your sister said Roger was having problems. Maybe these records tell a story someone never wants anyone to discover. Along with Roger.”

“But who would do that?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Who? I mean-” She broke off because Puller was looking over her shoulder.

He said, “Did you check your entire side over there?”

“No. I was doing my sweep when I found Roger lying on the floor. Why?”

He pointed. “That’s why.”

Cole turned around and saw what had captured his attention.

There was a light coming from the opposite side of the building. A soft green light. It had just come on. In the pitch dark he would’ve seen it before.

She hustled after him, her Cobra out.

Puller stopped and so did she.

She looked where he was looking.

The box was about four feet long and the same width and looked to be built of stainless steel. It was a nice job, no obvious seams. The metal looked like it had been cast in one piece; a nifty piece of craftsmanship. Puller knelt down next to it, put his gloved hand on the box. Then he took it away.

He looked up at Cole. “Warm.”

“What’s powering this thing?” she asked. “There’s no electrical source in here.”

“There’s lot of energy in here, Cole. There’s probably enough in those barrels over there to power New York City for a thousand years once you ran it through a nuclear reactor.”

She stared down at the box. “Is… is this it? Is this a bomb? It doesn’t look like a bomb.”

“Since when have you seen a nuclear bomb up close and personal?”

“I’ve seen them on the wings of planes. I watched a History Channel program of the ones they dropped on Japan. They didn’t look like a box.”

“Well, looks can be deceiving.”

“Did it just turn on? I didn’t see that light before.”

“Neither did I, which means that this sucker just woke up.”

She drew a sharp breath. “Does it have a timer? Is it ticking down?”

“You’ve been watching too many movies.” Puller was looking over every inch of the box, trying to find a seam, an indication of a hinge, a break in the metal. He ran his fingers over the top, feeling for anything his electronic-aided eyes had missed.

“So it doesn’t have a timer?”

Puller snapped, “Cole, I don’t know, okay? I’ve never been around a nuclear weapon before.”

“But you’re in the Army.”

“Not that part. And the Navy and Air Force control most of the nukes. The infantry are just the working-class guys shooting and getting shot at in all types of weather just like they did two hundred years ago. Biggest weapon I was around was a fifty cal. You can kill hundreds of people with a fifty. This thing can kill tens of thousands, maybe more.”

“Puller, if you open that thing won’t whatever is in there kill us?”

“It might. But if I don’t open it, whatever is in there will probably kill us anyway. Plus a whole bunch of other people.”

His fingers stopped probing and held on one spot, six inches from the right side of the stainless steel.

“Did you find something?” she asked.

In answer he picked up his dumbbell-sized phone and punched in a number. “It’s time to bring in the heavyweights.”

“What if the call won’t go through?”

“Then we are screwed, that’s what.”

She started to say something but he held up a finger. “The phone works.” He spoke into it.

“Hey, Bobby. Got time to give your little brother some tips on defusing a nuke?”

Robert Puller had been on standby at USDB for the last two hours on orders directly from the Secretary of Defense. Though the military had many experts in nuclear armaments, Puller had insisted that the only one he wanted or trusted was his older brother. That the man was serving a life sentence for treason made the choice problematic. But when Puller had held his ground against even the four stars, the Defense Secretary had intervened and approved his plan. And even the military men had to concede there were few people in the world who knew more about the science of nukes than Robert Puller.

Robert was alert and also anxious. His brother was sitting next to a nuclear bomb, after all. On an earlier phone call Puller had filled him in on everything that David Larrimore had told him.

“Describe the box to me,” said Robert.

“Four feet square. Stainless steel. Bolted to the floor.”

“Speak up. Can’t hear you clearly.”

“Sorry, I’m talking through a mask.” He repeated the information in a louder voice.

“Okay, implosion, not a gun device.”

“Right.”

“Talk to me about the barrels. The empty one was plutonium?”

“Right. At least that’s what it said.”

“This guy Larrimore have any idea how much plutonium was contained in each barrel?”

“If he did he didn’t say. I don’t think he ever believed they’d leave the shit behind. And I have to agree with him on that point.”

“I’m going to assume that this design is not super-sophisticated, so we’re talking at least six kilos and possibly more.”

“That barrel could hold a lot more than six kilos even with the lead liners.”

“I understand, but the size box you’re talking about clearly shows they didn’t put the equivalent of a fifty-gallon drum worth of plutonium in there. That would be overkill.”

“Maybe they’re nuts, you ever think about that?”

“Maybe they are, but I’m only concerned with the science of it.”

“Can I take the top off or will I get blasted by radiation from the plutonium?”

“How heavy is the top?”

Puller pulled on it and then tapped it. “Not that heavy.”

“So probably no lead lining or other shielding. The plutonium should be completely surrounded by the explosives and a tamper/pusher and maybe another layer or two that will shield you. And we know there’s a tungsten carbide neutron reflector in there. That thing is super-dense. You should be okay.”

“Should?”

“Best I can do, bro.”

Puller drew a long breath and motioned for Cole to step back. She did. He tugged. The lid came up. He was not hit with a blinding blue light.

“John?”

“I’m good. I’m not glowing. I take that as a positive sign.”

“Do you see a timer?”

Puller glanced up at Cole, who shrugged and managed a smile behind her mask.

Puller said, “Do they really use timers on this stuff?”

“It’s not for melodramatic effect like in the movies. It has a very real purpose. The conventional explosions have to go off exactly at the same time or a hole in the shock wave will be created and the pit will escape through that. Then you get that fizzle, like we talked about before, bro.”

Puller poked around the box. He uncovered a group of wires and saw it.

“Okay. Got it. That must be the light we saw come on earlier. This sucker must have an internal power source because there’s no juice in here.”

“What’s the timer at?”

“Sixty-two minutes and counting.”

“Okay,” said Robert. “Wires?”

Cole was holding a strong light over the box, illuminating it for Puller. His latest-generation goggles allowed him to see clearly even in lighted conditions.

“A bunch,” said Puller. “They were covering the timer. Should I try and cut some of them? Maybe it’ll stop the countdown.”

“No. Chances are excellent that they’re booby-trapped. If you’re looking at twenty wires, only three of them mean anything. That’s a common ruse in conventional bombmaking, and the same rule, we can assume, holds true for pseudo-nukers. You cut any of the fakes it’ll probably accelerate the timer to zero and you can kiss your ass goodbye.”