"I suppose so."
"Where we're going, we're all on the same side," Nick said.
"What if that bomb goes off when we blow it up?"
"It can't. The way a hydrogen bomb works requires a controlled sequence of events. You have to set off a smaller, atomic explosion that acts to start the reaction. It's a staged event. The first fission explosion triggers a second, larger one. A big bomb might require a third stage as well. But it all has to happen in an exact manner. Just blowing it up won't set it off."
"Why didn't we suspect that he was so far advanced with the technology?"
"I don't know. I think people assumed his facilities and resources were too limited. He's good at hiding things."
"I can't shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong."
"It's just pre-mission jitters, that's all. Once we're in the field, you'll be fine. You always have been in the past. This time is no different."
Yes, it is, she thought.
CHAPTER 33
Nick called Vysotsky from Misawa Air Force Base as they were about to leave. Their ride was a C-23 cargo plane, an odd looking, propeller driven aircraft with stubby wings and a large, double tail. It was designed for transporting small combat units and their equipment over an operational theater. It wasn't particularly fast and it wasn't designed for comfort.
Unlike the flight that had brought them to Japan, this plane had windows. That was the only thing it had in common with a regular passenger plane. It didn't have a bathroom, only a tube to urinate in. Women didn't usually fly in a C-23. There was no heat in the main cabin and no pressurization. The plane was painted green and looked as if it had been dreamed up during an aircraft engineer's hangover.
They took off into a gray sky that promised snow.
Some time later, Selena pointed out the window.
"We have company."
Outside the plane, a Russian fighter pulled up a hundred feet away and held station. She could see the pilot and the weapons officer seated behind him.
"This side, too," Ronnie said.
"Must be hard for them to keep station, going slow like this," Lamont said.
"That's a Mig-31," Nick said. "NATO calls it the Foxhound. As good as anything we've got. Fast and lethal. Take a look at those missiles under the wings."
"That's as close a look as I ever want to get," Lamont said.
In a little while the Kamchatka Peninsula appeared, a finger sticking out into the Sea of Japan. The airport was surrounded by tall, snowcapped mountains and extinct volcanoes. It was literally at the end of nowhere, a far-flung outpost of a fragmented Empire, so isolated that there were no roads leading to the capital city of two hundred thousand people. It was only accessible by air.
Their fighter escort peeled away as they approached the runway. Two armored vehicles with top mounted heavy machine guns and a command car pulled alongside as they landed. The vehicles fanned out to either side and kept pace with the plane. A soldier stood in the back of the car and waved to the pilot to follow him. The plane taxied past a terminal building that looked as though it had been built in the 1950s and kept going until they entered the military section of the airport.
They passed a dozen of the Mig-31's, parked in neat rows within hardened revetments. Everything was precisely organized, professional looking. Except for the archaic terminal building, the planes, and the insignia on them, they could have been on a base somewhere in America.
"Serious base," Ronnie said.
"The Russians are serious people," Nick said. "Anyone who buys into the myth that their military is falling apart is out of their minds. It used to be true, but not anymore. Not since Orlov took over."
The plane came to a halt. The cargo door in the back opened and dropped onto the tarmac. The pilot came out of the cabin. The name badge on his uniform said Kaplan.
"Thanks for flying the scenic Russian route," he said. "You may now exit through the rear. Enjoy your stay."
"Nice flight, Captain," Nick said.
Captain Kaplan looked at the four of them and the weapons they were carrying.
"I don't suppose y'all are here for a vacation," he said. "Take care of yourselves out there."
"Copy that," Nick said.
They descended the ramp onto Russian soil. A chill wind blew around them. The air smelled of coming snow.
General Vysotsky, Valentina, and a hard looking man about Nick's height waited for them.
Vysotsky was in full uniform, impressive with the stars on the shoulder boards of his heavy greatcoat and the red stripes on his trousers. He looked like what he was: a man who controlled a far-flung empire of spies and special forces units, a man you wouldn't want to cross. Valentina and her companion were dressed in winter camouflage uniforms not unlike what Nick and his team were wearing.
Vysotsky greeted Nick with a jovial smile. "Major Carter. I am pleased to meet you. You already know Valentina. This is Major Vasiliev."
Vasiliev didn't look particularly pleased to meet them, but it was difficult to tell what the Russian was thinking. He had the look that came with military life at the sharp end of the sword, the appearance of a professional warrior. He was about six feet tall, perhaps two hundred pounds. His face was square jawed, blunt, with a prominent nose. His hair was cropped close to his skull. Nick guessed he was somewhere in his late thirties.
Nick held out his hand. "Major. I'm looking forward to working with you."
Vasiliev hesitated, then took Nick's hand. His grip was strong, almost uncomfortable. Nick resisted the urge to overmatch him.
"I am sure it will be interesting."
Vasiliev's English was clear but accented.
"Follow me," Vysotsky said. "I have transportation waiting to take you to your quarters. You can drop your gear there. Briefing after that."
The Russians working on the base gave them curious looks as they walked to the bus Vysotsky had commandeered. Their accommodations were in the officers' barracks on the other side of the base.
Their rooms were the same as transient military quarters everywhere, minimal, equipped with the basics of a bed, a small table and a narrow closet for hanging uniforms. A tiny sink completed the facilities. A window looked out at the spectacular mountains surrounding the base. Bathrooms and showers were at the end of the hall.
They left their packs and MP-7s in the rooms. The building was stuffy, overheated against the cold. Nick was sweating by the time they got to the briefing room where Vysotsky and the other Russians waited.
A large map of North Korea took up most of the front wall. A half dozen satellite shots of the target area were pasted up on one side of the map. Two rows of hard wooden chairs faced the front of the room. The Russians sat in the front row. Nick and the others took seats.
"There are some new developments," Vysotsky said. "The transport vehicle with the bomb has arrived on the launch site. We estimate a minimum of one day to install the weapons package and make final adjustments. It would not have been transported in operational mode. Meanwhile, they'll be getting the launch vehicle ready. Tankers are on site and waiting."
"What about the weather?" Nick asked. "What's the forecast?"
"A front is moving in that may delay the launch. That's good, but it means the insertion will be more difficult."
"How do you plan to get us on site?" Ronnie asked.
"There have always been two options. Originally we were planning on insertion over the water. The target is not far from a fishing village named Tongha-Dong."
"Originally?"
"The weather will make that impossible. You don't want to be in an open boat on the Sea of Japan when one of our Arctic fronts moves in. Waves can be forty feet high out there."