Thomas Hoover - Project Cyclops

Kirwani turned slightly pale. Although he worried about India's growing nuclear capacities as much as the next Pakistani, he still did not particularly like the idea of his country having its own secret nuclear program, developed in part to counter India's. The world needed more dialogue, he believed, not more destruction.

However, he wasn't being paid to defend his personal views. "Mr. President, I'm not authorized to discuss the strategic security arrangements of my country, as I am sure you can appreciate."

"Yes," Hansen said, "I can appreciate a hell of a lot, Mr. Ambassador. For instance, I can appreciate the multi-billions in military and economic assistance we've lavished on Pakistan over the years. There are those in this administration who think that gives us the right to a hearing. You know, back when Ronald Reagan was President, his administration argued that we could slow down Pakistan's nuclear program by giving you every other possible kind of military aid. So we poured in everything you asked. However, all that aid seems not to have slowed your government's nuclear efforts for so much as a minute.

"In fact," Hansen went on, the memory still making him seethe, "what you did was turn to China for the data you needed to manufacture nuclear weapons without testing. That was the thanks we got. Then-"

"An unproven accusation, Mr. President," Kirwani interjected lamely.

"Yes, China denied it, too, but the Reagan administration took it seriously enough that they halted formal approval of a trade pact with China for almost a year in retaliation. We had hard evidence, believe me. And then-"

"Mr. President, we are not, I'm sure, here to give each other history lectures. Certainly neither of us has forgotten that during those years there were 120,000 Soviet troops in Afghanistan, just over our border. We had legitimate security concerns that could not always-I am speaking hypothetically, of course-be addressed with a strictly conventional deterrent." Kirwani tried to smile. "You do understand, of course, that this conversation is entirely hypothetical."

"Of course, so let's travel a little farther into never-never land. What we do know is that the Soviet threat in Afghanistan is now a thing of the past; world conditions have changed dramatically; and there are those in Congress who may choose to wonder why Pakistan still has any justification to stockpile-hypothetically, of course-these 'unconventional' weapons. American aid is not written in stone. Now, is that diplomatic enough for you, Mr. Ambassador?"

"We are allies, Mr. President," Kirwani replied calmly, "and allies work in concert toward mutual goals, each bringing to their alliance whatever contribution can further the ends of both. I do hope your government believes it has received as much as it has contributed over the years."

Hansen tried not to smile. We never "receive" as much as we "contribute," he was thinking. But then that's how the damned game is played.

"In the interest of diplomacy, Mr. Ambassador, I suggest we move this 'theoretical' discussion along. We have reason to believe that a certain number of 'unconventional' weapons may now be in hands neither of us would wish. The question is, how many weapons are involved and what is their yield?"

Ambassador Kirwani had been expecting the inquiry. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. The government in Islamabad was beside itself, appalled that controls had been so lax and that now the world was going to know exactly the extent of Pakistan's nuclear program. Before this ghastly situation was resolved, years of secrecy were going to be blown away. Yet in truth part of him was half-relieved that the cat was out of the bag, finally. For either India or Pakistan to loose nuclear weapons on the Asian subcontinent would be to unleash the wrath of Allah upon billions of innocents. It was truly unthinkable.

"You do understand, Mr. President, that before this conversation continues we must both agree that it never took place. Furthermore, even if it should take place, it would be purely hypothetical."

After Hansen nodded grimly, Kirwani continued. "We both know the Israelis have had uranium bombs, not to mention hydrogen bombs, for many years and yet they have never admitted it publicly. By maintaining a diplomatic fiction they have kept their Arab neighbors quiet on the subject. They are never called to account. The government of Pakistan merely asks to be accorded the same latitude to conduct our security arrangements as we best see fit. The Israelis know it is not in their interest to rattle nuclear sabers, and we know that as well." He edged forward in his chair. "That is, assuming we possessed such sabers, which I in no way acknowledge."

"I think we're beginning to understand each other." Hansen nodded. "So perhaps that counts as progress. Of course this conversation never took place, and lest you're wondering, I don't have the Oval Office bugged, the way that idiot Nixon did. I believe terms like 'confidentiality' and 'off the record' still have meaning."

Kirwani found himself yearning for a cigarette, though he knew smoking was forbidden here in this presidential sanctuary.

"Very well, then, speaking hypothetically and confidentially, I am authorized to inform your government that we have reason to believe that there may be two uranium bombs, in the fifteen-kiloton-yield range, that may be… in the wrong hands somewhere in the world. Needless to say, my government is extremely concerned about this and is currently taking steps to establish a full… accounting of the situation." Kirwani realized it sounded lame. But his government had authorized him to deliver those words only.

"God help us," Hansen sighed. It's true. Or maybe just a coincidence. "When were these hypothetical weapons found to be missing?"

"If such a thing were to be true," Kirwani continued, ever cautious; "it might well have been just over a week ago." A final pause. "And we have no idea where they are."

Ramirez watched with satisfaction as Abdoullah and Shujat began loading the first device into the payload capsule. Shujat had carefully attached the wiring of the krytrons to a "black box" of computer chips, which was itself connected to a radio receiver, part of the telemetry for VX-1. With the bomb primed, the unsuspecting SatCom crew could now move the weapon-its fifteen kilograms of weapons- grade U235 waiting to be imploded upon itself-up the gantry and into the satellite bay of VX-1. That completed, work would begin on preparing the second device, which was going to serve as a backup.

When Peretz finished, only the computer would know the location of the first target. Total security, which meant nobody would be able to activate any antimissile defense systems. All of Europe would be at risk, though the real target would in fact be among the most obvious. With the U.S.'s entire Mediterranean Sixth Fleet now anchored at Souda Bay, a nuclear explosion there would change the equation of power throughout Europe and the Middle East.

It was high time. The so-called Eastern Bloc had turned its back on its Muslim friends in the region, leaving them to fend for themselves. The East had betrayed the Arab cause, just as it had betrayed him.

In the old days, Eastern European governments hired him in desperation, then half the time tried to kill him after he had carried out their objectives. Even a long-term purchaser of his services, Romania's Nicolae Ceausescu, had eventually turned against him. But he had seen it coming, even back when he had been the personal gun-for-hire of that late strongman, enjoying the hospitality of his plush seaside resort.

That time, his Beretta 9mm had saved the day. And now, here, now that the launch time for the first vehicle was drawing near, he was feeling more and more comfortable about the 9mm under his jacket. This ad hoc collection of operatives he had brought along was going to start getting edgy, more so as the hours ticked by.