The doors opened into an antechamber and beyond that was the vault.
Black trained his torch on the huge foot-thick polished metal door. It was wide open.
‘Looks like our lucky day.’
They stepped in. It was the size of at least two containers. Safety deposit boxes lined one wall. Several were missing, some were on the floor. A few were wide open.
Black moved further in.
Campo started peering into the drawers.
‘I always wanted to rob a bank, y’know, real professional, inside man, tunnel from under.’
Black raised his hand. ‘Shut up, Campo.’
He trained his torch over the opposite wall.
‘Hey, look: maps,’ said Montes. ‘This is Al Bashir’s command bunker, ain’t it? These guys always end up in bunkers, just like Hitler.’
Campo peered at one.
‘Uh-oh, planning his world domination, more like.’ He moved closer. ‘Hmm. Let me see, what’s it to be? Looks like he’s narrowed it down to. . Paris.’
‘Or New York. Tough call. Me, I’d go for the one where they speak English.’
‘He doesn’t speak English, jerkwad.’
Black stepped forward. Circled on the Paris map in a thick black marker was Place de la Bourse, the Stock Exchange. And on the other, Times Square. He raised a hand for silence then waved them back so he could conduct a more methodical search. There were signs of recent occupation: a plate, on it the remains of some nan bread, a tomato and the leaves of a vegetable he didn’t recognise. The air was stale with tobacco smoke and an ashtray had fallen off a small folding table. Butts spread out across the floor.
‘They left in a hurry all right.’
Campo pointed at a case in the far corner.
‘Check that out.’
It was an aluminium container. ‘What’s that stuff on the side, them numbers? Farsi?’
‘That’s Russian.’
‘Well no surprise there, these dudes got lots of Russian shit.’
‘Yeah, but check that symbol. Nothing Russian about that.’
They all stared at the labeclass="underline" a yellow triangle with three cake slice shapes in black arranged round a central dot.
‘Shit. .’
‘Jeez, it could be primed.’
Black moved towards it. ‘If it is, there’s nothing we can do.’
‘We should call it in.’
‘I’m gonna lift the lid.’
As the others drew back, Blackburn stepped forward and reached down. There were two catches on the lid, both unclipped. He raised it and looked in. Within a thick lining, there were three compartments. Two were empty.
One wasn’t.
A single green light flashed frantically. Each of them turned away from the device, instinctively. The power had come back on. A dull yellow light glowed from a cavity in the ceiling.
‘Jesus, fuck.’
‘Back up lamp. Power must have come back. Maybe the lift’s working.’
Montes laughed nervously. ‘Anyone else thought that was the big one?’
‘I’m calling this in.’ Black adjusted his mike. ‘Misfit actual this is Misfit 1–3 sitrep, over.’
‘Misfit actual. Send,’ came the response.
‘Actual 1–3 Haymaker actual is inoperative. We have located vault. HVT negative, repeat negative. Have located what appears to be portable WMD, repeat WMD. Stable. One device in container, evidence of two, repeat two, gone.’
‘Hey, up there!’ They all looked at the corner where Campo was pointing. A split-screen monitor showed four views. One appeared to be the lobby.
Two figures, carrying what looked like American M4s, were on their way out, one pulling a wheeled case.
‘Fuck! That’s our HVT! That’s Bashir!’
There was nothing from the radio. Blackburn repeated his message.
‘We have visual of HVT. Al Bashir vacating building. Now!’
Eventually there was a reply. ‘. . breaking up. Mobilising assets now.’
‘They can’t hear me properly: we’re too far down.’
The light went out and they were plunged back into darkness.
31
Camp Firefly, Outskirts of Tehran
They’d barely been there six hours, but to the fleeing Iranians it must have looked like the US Army owned the place. Civilian families, a weary, straggling column of them, escaping the quake and the PLR, were now being waved away by the ring of soldiers guarding the encampment.
Cole and Blackburn watched, their faces set in resignation. Also under the camo net, at a distance from the main base, was Gunnery Sergeant Mike ‘Gunny’ Wilson, the EOD, who was probing the device with a Geiger counter. He had already run it over Black, Campo and Matkovic, plus the tank crew that had extracted them from the bank, and pronounced them safe. Now he was meticulously examining Black’s find, in a kind of professional slow motion, as if he had all the time in the world. None of them wanted to think about the fact that Al Bashir was on the run, almost certainly with two of these things. They sat, patience and nerves stretched, waiting for Gunny to make his pronouncement.
Taking their time was all part of the EOD mystique: these were the men who had cheated death time after time, calmly disabling devices with added booby traps designed to catch them out. They were among the most respected men in the field, and among the most frequent casualties. ‘Least when it’s our time to go, we go. When you’re that close and it blows, we’re gone baby gone,’ Blackburn had once heard one say. But Blackburn wasn’t paying full attention to Gunny’s investigation. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen on the monitor, the man with Al Bashir. Clean shaven, high cheekbones. Just like Harker’s executioner.
He wanted to tell Cole but he knew he would be suspicious and start questioning him: ‘Still got that on your mind, huh? Eating into you is it? You watching from a safe distance as that sword. .?’ Blackburn got up and paced about, replaying over and over what he had seen on the vault security monitor.
The images in his mind were as clear as if he had the tapes. Four views. Two were blank. One showed the main customer floor with the bronze doors of the entrance. The other showed a second smaller exit, which was the one that Al Bashir and one other man had passed through. The second one was carrying two cases. Campo had spotted it first.
‘Holy fuck — you see what I’m seeing?’
They all stopped and stared at the screen. Blackburn glanced back at the one remaining nuclear device.
‘Bashir’s sidekick’s got the other two. .’
Campo shrugged.
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions.’
Matkovic snorted.
‘No: let’s not get too worried that America’s Most Wanted just left the building with two WMDs.’
Black raised a gloved hand.
‘Just shut up and watch, okay. There’s fuck all else we can do.’
His voice trailed off as he stared at the monitor. The two men exited the building. The camera angle showed a small area of the street. Al Bashir hesitated. The second man looked round, tall, clean shaven, high cheekbones, local dress. To Blackburn it looked as if he was staring straight at him, right through the security camera, taunting him.
Campo shrugged. ‘They waiting for a cab or what?’
Matkovic turned to Black. ‘Who’s the other guy?’
Campo turned away from the screen. ‘Don’t know, don’t care. Fuck all we can do about it. We need to secure that nuke.’
After what seemed a month, Gunny set down the Geiger counter and pulled off his gloves. He chuckled and shook his head.
‘It’s a nuke Jim, but not as we know it. Fucked if I’ve ever seen anything like it.’