Clive Cussler - Cyclops

"A sound plan," said Clark. "They'd hardly use one of their own vessels to carry the bomb."

"Yes, but why destroy two ships and their cargoes for no purpose?" asked Pitt.

"I admit it doesn't add up."

"Ships' names and cargoes?"

Clark extracted another page from the document and quoted from it. "The Ozero Zaysan, Soviet cargo ship carrying military supplies and equipment. The Ozero Baykai, a 200,000-ton oil tanker. The bogus Cuban-operated ship is the Amy Bigalow, bulk carrier with a cargo of 25,000 tons of ammonium nitrate."

Pitt stared at the ceiling as if mesmerized. "The oil tanker, is she the one moored across the bay?"

"Yes, at the oil refinery."

"Have any of the cargoes been unloaded?"

Clark shook his head. "There has been no activity around the two cargo carriers, and the tanker still sits low in the water."

Pitt sat down again and gave the other two men in the room a cold, hard stare. "Gentlemen, you've been had."

Clark looked at Pitt in dark speculation. "What are you talking about?"

"You overestimated the Russians' grandstand tactics and underestimated their cunning," said Pitt. "There is no nuclear bomb on any of those ships. For what they plan to do, they don't need one."

<<66>>

Colonel General Viktor Kolchak, chief of the fifteen thousand Soviet military forces and advisers based on Cuban soil, came from behind his desk and embraced Velikov warmly.

"General, you don't know how glad I am to see you alive."

"The feeling is mutual, Colonel General," said Velikov, returning Kolchak's bear hug.

"Sit down, sit down, we have much to discuss. Whoever was behind the destruction of our island surveillance facility will pay. A communication from President Antonov assures me he will not take this outrage sitting down."

"No one agrees more than me," said Velikov. "But we have another urgent matter to discuss."

"Care for a glass of vodka?"

"I can do without," Velikov replied brusquely. "Rum and Cola takes place tomorrow morning at ten-thirty. Are your preparations complete?"

Kolchak poured a small shot of vodka for himself. "Soviet officials and our Cuban friends are discreetly slipping out of the city in small groups. Most of my military forces have already left to begin sham maneuvers forty miles away. By dawn, all personnel, equipment, and important documents will have been quietly evacuated."

"Leave some behind," Velikov said casually.

Kolchak peered over his rimless glasses like a grandmother hearing a four-letter word from a child. "Leave what behind, General?"

Velikov brushed off the derisive look. "Fifty Soviet civilian personnel, wives and families, and two hundred of your military forces."

"Do you know what you're asking?"

"Precisely. We cannot lay blame on the CIA for a hundred thousand deaths without suffering casualties ourselves. Russians dying beside Cubans. We'll reap propaganda rewards that will go far in smoothing the path for our new government."

"I can't bring myself to throw away the lives of two hundred and fifty countrymen."

"Conscience never bothered your father when he cleared German mine fields by marching his men over them."

"That was war."

"Only the enemy has changed," Velikov said coldly. "We have been at war with the United States since 1945. The cost in lives is small compared to increasing our hold in the Western Hemisphere. There is no room for argument, General. You will be expected to do your duty."

"I don't need the KGB lecturing me on my duty to the motherland," Kolchak said without rancor.

Velikov shrugged indifferently. "We all do our part. Getting back to Rum and Cola-- after the explosion your troops will return to the city and assist in medical and relief operations. My people will oversee the orderly transition of government. I'll also arrange for international press coverage showing benevolent Soviet soldiers caring for the injured survivors."

"As a soldier I have to say I find this entire operation abhorrent. I can't believe Comrade Antonov is a party to it."

"His reasons are valid, and I for one do not question them."

Kolchak leaned against the edge of his desk, his shoulders sagging. "I'll have a list made up of those who will stay."

"Thank you, Colonel General."

"I assume all preparations are complete?"

Velikov nodded. "You and I will accompany the Castro brothers to the parade reviewing stand. I will be carrying a pocket transmitter that will detonate the explosives in the primary ship. When Castro begins his usual marathon speech, we will make an unobtrusive exit to a waiting staff car. Once we are safely out of range-- allowing about thirty minutes to drive fifteen miles-- I'll activate the signal and the blast will follow."

"How do we explain our miraculous escape?" Kolchak asked sarcastically.

"First reports will have us dead and missing. Later, we'll be discovered among the injured."

"How badly injured?"

"Just enough to look convincing. Torn uniforms, a little blood, and some artificial wounds covered by bandages."

"Like two hooligans who vandalized the dressing rooms of a theater."

"Hardly the metaphor that comes to mind."

Kolchak turned and sadly looked out the window of his headquarters over the busy city of Havana.

"Impossible to believe that tomorrow at this time," he said in a morbid tone, "all this will be a smoldering, twisted sea of misery and death."

The President worked at his desk late. Nothing was cut-and-dried, black or white. The job of Chief Executive was one compromise after another. His wins over Congress were diluted by tacked-on amendments, his foreign policies picked apart by world leaders until little remained of the original proposals. Now he was trying to save the life of a man who had viewed the United States as his number one enemy for thirty years. He wondered what difference any of it would make two hundred years from now.

Dan Fawcett walked in with a pot of coffee and sandwiches. "The Oval Office never sleeps," he said with forced cheerfulness. "Your favorite, tuna with bacon." He offered the President a plate and then poured the coffee. "Can I help you with anything?"

"No thanks, Dan. Just editing my speech for tomorrow's news conference."

"I can't wait to see the faces of the press corps when you lay the existence of the moon colony on them, and then introduce Steinmetz and his people. I previewed some of the videotapes they brought back of their lunar experiments. They're incredible."

The President set the sandwich aside and thoughtfully sipped the coffee. "The world is upside down."

Fawcett paused in midbite. "Pardon?"

"Think of the terrible incongruity. I'll be informing the world of man's greatest modern achievement at the same time that Havana is being blown off the map."

"Any late word from Brogan since Pitt and Jessie LeBaron popped up at our Special Interests Section?"

"Not in the past hour. He's keeping a vigil at his office too."

"How in the world did they ever manage it?"

"Two hundred miles through a hostile nation. Beats me."

The direct phone line to Langley rang. "Yes."

"Martin Brogan, Mr. President. Havana reports that searchers have not yet detected a positive radioactive reading in any of the ships."

"Did they get on board?"

"Negative. Security is too heavy. They can only drive by the two ships tied to the docks. The other one, an oil tanker, is moored in the bay. They circled it in a small boat."

"What are you telling me, Martin? The bomb was unloaded and hidden in the city?"

"The ships have been under tight surveillance since arriving in the harbor. No cargo has come off."

"Maybe the radiation can't leak through the steel hulls of the ships."

"The experts at Los Alamos assure me it can. The problem is our people in Havana are not professional radiation experts. They're also hamstrung having to use commercial Geiger counters that aren't sensitive enough to measure a light reading."