“Ten thousand euros,” the lieutenant said, shrugging. “Is not much, split up among platoon. Oleg takes nothing, goes with buyers.”
“Ten grand?” Mike snapped. “That’s it?”
“The buyers, they say that it is training weapon,” the lieutenant said, shrugging. “Is not real weapon. And they offer money now. Have it in hand. Is gone,” he repeated, shrugging again.
“Like hell,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Look, we have to find this nuke. I don’t think for a second it was a ‘training round.’ Why in the hell would they buy a training round? And why was it radioactive?”
“They say is for training,” the lieutenant said. “I don’t believe either. But they have money.”
“Well, we’re in a right pickle,” Mike said, thinking hard. “We’re going to have to come clean, tell the American government and then tell the Russian government. The American government will cover you as best they can if you get us all the information you have on the buyers. Because we’re going to have to track this mother down before it gets refurbished and used.”
“What is it with you, Mike?” Colonel Pierson yelled over the wash from the helicopter. “Can’t stay away?” The colonel was wearing an Extreme Cold Weather Gortex suit over BDUs, a necessity for the day.
It was early fall but the weather was more like winter, a cold wind blowing from the north and a light dusting of snow already on the ground. The hard-looking clouds overhead presaged more bad weather to come.
The helicopter had landed in a brush-grown field right outside the gates to the facility. The facility was mostly crumbling Soviet-era buildings with one fixed up to house the “guard” platoon. All of it was overrun with weeds with the exception of a small area around the barracks and the gravel road leading in and out. Beyond the fence, with the exception of the clearing where the helicopter had landed, fir and pine trees stretched for miles into the almost limitless Siberian taiga.
“Bad luck,” Mike answered, shaking his hand and looking at the Russian colonel who was following him.
“This is Colonel Erkin Chechnik,” Pierson said, waving at the Red Army colonel. “Russian Intelligence. Sort of my opposite number; he works in an office that briefs Putin.”
“Pleased to meet you, Colonel,” Mike said, taking the Russian’s hand.
“Am wishing I could say the same,” the colonel said. “Is very embarrassing for my country.”
“Shit happens,” Mike replied. “Look, we’re not going to get diddly, short of harsh interrogation methods, from these guys if…”
“Is covered as you Americans say,” the colonel said, shaking his head. “As long as are giving answers, is not a problem. And the American government is going to be… how you say? Supplementing their salary,” he added, glancing at Pierson.
“As soon as we have all the answers we can get,” Pierson said, “the platoon, and the hooker, have a one-way trip to the Land of the Free and an entrée into the Witness Protection Program. If they come clean.”
“Okay,” Mike said, blowing out. “Most of the platoon had already deserted when we got here. Sergeant Oleg Zazulya was the ringleader of the sale. He left with the buyers. The rest ran off on their own, taking the platoon truck. The only remaining witnesses are Sergeant Ivar Fadzaev, the platoon sergeant, and Private Yuri Khabelov. They’re in the barracks, hoping like hell that I can work a miracle on their behalf.”
“What about the hooker?” Pierson asked. “We want to cover this up entirely.”
“She’s here, too,” Mike said. “And by cover up, I assume we’re not talking graves. These guys seem to be… sort of patriots. As close as you get among the narod in Russia.”
“No graves,” Colonel Chechnik said, shaking his head. “Just questions, yes?”
“Yes,” Mike said. “Well, let’s get to it.”
“Hello, Private Khabelov,” Colonel Chechnik said. The interrogation was taking place in the lieutenant’s old office with the Russian colonel behind the desk and Mike and Pierson on a ratty couch. The room was sparsely decorated with a single picture of Putin on the wall and a small representation of the Russian flag behind the desk. The private was standing at attention, sweating in the cold room, clearly wishing he’d cut and run.
“The American colonel is Robert Pierson, a man who speaks directly to their president and I speak to President Putin. The colonel speaks Russian but his fellow does not. I understand you have good English so please use it. As you were told, you have been promised emigration to America, if you wish, if you give us all the information you have about the weapon and those who took it. Alternatively, you will be given money and, if you wish, an honorable discharge from the Russian military and can remain in Russia. But you must give us all the information you have. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Colonel,” the private replied. “I will give you all the information I have, freely. And if I may remain in the Motherland I would prefer it.”
“This is good,” the colonel said, sighing. “Your lieutenant has opted to go to America, but your sergeant also wishes to remain. I am glad for this. So, tell me what you know about the weapon. And take a position of at-ease, if you will.”
“It was on the second level below ground,” the private said, dropping to something that was more like parade rest. “In a room marked C-142. It was conical shaped, about a meter and a half long and perhaps two thirds of a meter wide at the base. There were no markings on the exterior, but on the base there was a plate, perhaps steel, with a number inscribed. It was corroded,” he reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, “but I could make out the numbers 7493. We moved it up to the upper levels and secured it in a top-side weapons locker. After it was determined to…” He paused and swallowed. “Colonel, I argued to turn the weapon over to the government…”
“So I have been told,” the colonel said, nodding in understanding. “This reflects well upon you. But…” he added, shrugging, “there is great corruption in Russia. And the Red Army is not well paid. This I know and have argued against, for this sort of reason if no other. Do not worry about the decision, just give us the facts.”
“Very well, Colonel,” the boy replied, swallowing again. “The lieutenant went to town to try to find a buyer for the weapon. While he was gone, two men arrived in a white van, a nine-passenger Mercedes van with tinted windows. The license plate had been removed. Oleg met them at the gate, as if the meeting had been prearranged, and let them in the compound. Sergeant Fadzaev ordered us to prepare our weapons, but Oleg said that they were potential buyers. They appeared to be unarmed. They were not Russian; they spoke with an accent that… well, if I was to guess I’d say Chechen, and Sergeant Fadzaev agreed. They were dark-skinned and had black hair: real black-asses. They looked at the weapon and told us it was a practice system, that the radiation was from isotopes that were in it to make it seem like a real bomb. They said that they wanted it for the isotopes, since they could be resold, but that it was not worth much.
“We discussed it a long time, everyone was involved. They had brought vodka and we drank, although they did not. They had ten thousand euros with them and most of the platoon thought that since the lieutenant had been gone for almost a week, we should take the money and be done with it. There was… great fear that the government would find out and take it from us, and that we would get in trouble for not having reported it and trying to sell it. Finally, most of the platoon decided that they should sell it for the ten thousand. I and Sergeant Fadzaev disagreed but… everyone was armed and we could tell that if we didn’t agree to selling it… we might be killed. When it was agreed, the weapon was loaded in the back of the van, the men gave us the money and then they left. Oleg went with them. The rest of the platoon became frightened about what might happen if the government found out. I stayed with Sergeant Fadzaev in his quarters, with both of us keeping watch. In the middle of the night, we heard the platoon truck start up and then drive out of the compound. We went to investigate and found the rest of the platoon gone. It was then that Sergeant Fadzaev called the lieutenant and told him what had happened.”