Murdock pressed his throat mike on the Motorola.
“Holt. Get your ass over here into the warehouse when it’s clear. Bring your boom box with you.”
Holt came in a few minutes later and looked at Murdock.
“Wind up that thing and see if you can raise the carrier on TAC One. Big Daddy is the call sign.”
Murdock helped Kat with the third warhead on the table, putting on the green tape when she had the charge placed.
“I need fifteen minutes more,” Kat said.
Holt came up holding out the handset. “I have a Captain Prescott on the horn, Skipper.”
“Captain, Murdock here.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Small problem. We have located eight of the warheads. One is missing, one was shot off over Chad. We’re going to try to find the missing bomb, but right now don’t know how or where to look. Any suggestions?”
“It could be refitted and ready to drop on another city,” Captain Prescott said. “Check out that facility. It might be best to take eight out of nine and haul ass.”
“I read you, Captain. One more observation. We have only one missile here. The ship that brought it is in the process of on-loading freight. We don’t think it ever contained any more missiles or they would be in this warehouse. You might relay this to Stroh, who will be vitally interested. We’ll keep you advised. Out.”
Murdock watched Kat work, then moved along the table, looking for any paperwork. There could be something here to give them a clue where the other warhead was taken. He found nothing. He looked in the open nose cone, hoping someone had dropped a map indicating where the other warhead would be.
Nothing.
He was about to use the radio again when a bell rang, then one of the huge warehouse doors fronting the pier began to roll up slowly. When it was head high, a tracked vehicle clanked its way through the door. Murdock scowled as he and the rest of the SEALs and Kat dropped into hiding places.
“It’s a damned Russian armored personnel carrier,” DeWitt whispered on the Motorola. “Looks like a twenty-millimeter cannon on front.”
“It’s the APC-nineteen model,” Holt whispered in the mike.
“Not a chance,” Fernandez said. “The Ruskies didn’t make a nineteen. Could be the thirteen.”
“Whatever it’s called, it’s trouble,” Murdock said. “On the other hand, what a good rig to transport a nuclear warhead.”
By that time the APC had rolled to within fifteen feet of the silver-tipped missile. The big door had rolled back down behind the machine. A forward hatch opened and an officer with braid on his shoulders pushed up and out of the APC.
The officer frowned at the table with warheads with green tape on them, and shouted something in Arabic. He reached for a pistol at his hip.
Murdock’s silenced round hit him in the right shoulder.
“Move in,” Murdock said to the mike. The closest two SEALs grabbed the officer before he could shout again, stripped away his pistol, and covered his mouth. Murdock ran from the side and aimed his submachine gun down the hatch.
“Train, get up here,” Murdock shouted. Train could speak Arabic. The slender SEAL hurried up.
“Tell the driver to surrender. We have captured his officer.”
Train shouted into the open hatch, then repeated the words.
“Order him to come out without a weapon or we’ll drop in a grenade,” Murdock said.
Train gave the message, and a moment later a soldier came out with both hands over his head.
“Ask him why the rig is here,” Murdock said.
Train asked twice, then slashed him across the face with his hand. The man jolted backward, surprised. Then he wilted and began talking. When the Arab finished, Train turned.
“This one says they came in to pick up another nuclear warhead. He said they are to take them to a secret place where they are to be stored.”
“Ask him if they have already taken one there.”
Train asked him. The APC driver said that they had. He wasn’t sure where it was. The officer drove the last few miles.
Murdock and Train went to the officer, who had been trying to yell at them through the hands that held his mouth.
“Ask this one where they took the other warhead,” Murdock said.
Train did, and the officer laughed. “He said he will never tell pigs like us. He would rather die first.”
“Sounds reasonable. Tie his hands and feet with plastic strips. Then lay him down next to the rig’s tracks and tie him to the tracks so he can’t roll over.”
It was done quickly. Then Murdock took Train up to the Libyan officer. Murdock pulled a hand grenade from his vest. The officer’s hands were free, but his wrists were bound securely. His arms were then bound tightly to his body with green tape so he couldn’t move them, only his hands.
Murdock put a grenade in his hands and had Train explain.
“This is a hand grenade. Soon we will pull the pin and you will hold it. Hold down the arming spoon so it won’t go off. When you get tired, you will relax your hand and the bomb will go off on your chest, sending you quickly into your meeting with Allah.”
The officer screeched something in return. Murdock took the hand grenade from him and pulled the pin, then holding it carefully, he wrapped the Libyan’s hand around the grenade to hold the spoon. Murdock surged behind the APC and waited.
He put Train where he could hear anything the officer said but still keep away from any shrapnel.
“Now we wait,” Murdock said. He put Kat back to work on the warheads. She had four of them done, then went into the nose cone to take care of the other four.
“All we do is wait,” Murdock said.
The Libyan officer stared at the deadly hand grenade. He knew what they could do to a man. He would die surely. Maybe he could hold out for five minutes. Sweat beaded his forehead and ran down his cheeks. Truly he did not want to die. He felt the cramps coming on his hand. It wouldn’t be long now. What should he do?
7
“Yes, I’ll tell you,” the Libyan officer screamed. “Help me. Help me. Come get the grenade. I’ll tell you where the warhead was taken.”
Tran Khai, “Train,” charged from his safe spot behind some boxes and slid to the concrete beside the officer. Carefully he gripped the grenade and slid the man’s fingers from the spoon. He held the spoon against the small bomb and yelled for some green tape. A moment later he caught a roll and taped the spoon tightly to the grenade’s body, preventing it from exploding.
Murdock knelt beside the Libyan captain. “Train, ask him where he took the other nuclear warhead.”
Train did, and the Libyan answered in a low voice that Murdock knew was brimming with disgust at himself for being so weak. Train looked up.
“He says he took it to a special building about three kilometers away. It has four scientists there working on it to convert it into a drop bomb.”
“Can he take us there?”
Train asked, and the officer said he could.
“Untie him from the track but keep his wrists bound,” Murdock said. He hurried over to the nose cone. Kat was working on the last warhead. She bound it with the green tape and looked at Murdock.
“Done. All we have to do is set the timers and get out of Dodge.”
“Good. Hold on the timers. Let’s see if we all can fit into this Russian personnel carrier.” He examined it. It was much like the U.S. APCs, but was designed to carry only fifteen fully armed troops. They had to get seventeen inside, eighteen counting the officer. Ostercamp could drive the thing. Murdock called to Tony Ostercamp, who checked the driver’s position.