What Fleming related didn’t surprise him. Years ago Stone had heard South Africa had a nuclear bomb, but it was never really much interest to him. He wondered what this had to do with the operation.
“Back in the late sixties, early seventies, the white government here had a viable nuclear weapons program. You have to remember the country was ostracized for the most part by the world for its apartheid policy. Trade embargoes, the whole package of sanctions by the world to force them to change and become more democratic. One of the results was that South Africa decided to become self-sufficient economically and militarily. Ironically, because of that they’re now the most viable economy on the continent.
“And back then one of the ways to stay in power was to build the bomb,” Stone said.
“Yes. They had legitimate worries. Angola had become independent from Portugal, and a communist insurgency arose with Cuban support. In fact, the Cubans had quite a military presence and they had their eyes on the South West Africa territory that South Africa controlled. A nuke or two would be quite a deterrent against the spread of communism.”
“South Africa developed the bomb themselves?”
“They had help. Their chief partner was Israel.”
Stone leaned forward and tapped his cigar in the ashtray. “I see a story developing here.”
“I’ll spare you the complete info dump just to say the two countries had a lot in common. Both felt like outcasts, both had this God’s Covenant thing going, and both needed a solid military stance. South Africa needed the experience — they had the expertise in nuclear development but not weaponry. Israel needed a place to test their device.”
Stone had lost interest in his cigar and let it lay in the ashtray. Houston did the same.
Sandra put her elbows on the table. “My understanding is the apartheid government destroyed their bombs just before relinquishing control.”
“Ah. Now here we come to the interesting part. A little numbers game. One report says that they developed eight nuclear bombs based on the gun-type principle — that is, creating an explosion by shooting one piece of subcritical material into another.” Fleming paused. “Follow me, Stone?”
“No.” Stone frowned. “Let’s skip the technical stuff.”
“No matter. It’s the old-fashioned method of making a bomb. The first US bombs were made on that principle.”
“So they were bulky?”
“Yeah. About two feet by five and weighing close to a ton. That’s going to be of interest to you later.”
“So the eight bombs were dismantled after South Africa signed some treaty,” Sandra said.
“Well, no. We know there were supposed to be eight bombs, because the Israelis were providing eight Jericho missiles for them. The South Africans were afraid that the Cuban antiaircraft batteries would bring down their Canberra or Buccaneer bombers, so they had asked for Israeli long-range missiles. Now here comes the numbers game. In nineteen eighty-seven we had a report that eight bombs had been produced. Then in nineteen ninety-four, six fully completed bombs and one partial were dismantled.”
“But it’s believed they tested one near Antarctica,” Sandra added.
“Back in September nineteen seventy-nine.”
Stone sat back. “Okay. There are your eight bombs.”
Charles Fleming slid an eight-by-eleven photograph across the table to Stone and Sandra. “Take a look and count the bombs. This picture was taken up there at the Vastrap facility up in the Kalahari Desert around ten years ago.”
Stone looked at the photo showing fat bullet-shaped, brass-colored bombs, two to a rack, except in the back row. A single ninth, fully completed bomb sat on a cradle. “Looks like someone lost count.”
“We think we located the unaccounted-for bomb. Also, we’re certain someone wants to hand it over to Abdul Wahab.”
Stone let the last statement sink in. Abdul Wahab, a man in league with al Qaeda, in possession of an atomic bomb. “Shit! There’s no telling what Wahab wants to do with an atomic bomb. No wonder Jacob looked worried when I saw him this morning.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“He said that Nabeel Asuty is heading here from Freetown. Some big shot here in Cape Town, Dawid van Wartt, wants to sell them something. This guy is well connected. When I asked if it was an arms deal he was talking about, Jacob said he didn’t know. He did emphasize that this Van Wartt is big trouble.”
“We know Dawid van Wartt is vocal in his hatred of the Western countries and especially America. We believe he’s the one who wants to sell Wahab the bomb.”
Stone looked around the table. “Thank God it’s not a suitcase nuclear weapon. You know where this thing is?”
“Another agency that does a lot of satellite recon advised they’ve picked up a possible nuclear glow in Namibia.”
Sandra huffed. “They must pick up hot spots every day.”
“Namibia is located north of South Africa in the Kalahari Desert.” Fleming took back the photograph. “We had a report that Mr. Van Wartt had a meeting this morning with an old army colleague who had just driven down from the area where the hot spot was seen.”
“I’ll get a hold of Jacob again and question him about this,” Stone said. “I also have to find Dirk Lange, who I’m certain is with the South African Security Service, but Sandra and I have built a working relationship with him.”
“Don’t ask Jacob any direct questions about the bomb.” Fleming tensed. “He was bouncing around this country during the seventies. He knows more about this than he’s letting on.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s so worried.”
“Can you trust those two — Jacob and this SASS guy Lange?” Fleming asked.
“As much as they trust me,” Stone said. “Are we checking out that area up there in Namibia? Why not drop in one of those DOE response teams or maybe a SEAL team?”
“We’re working on options. You and Sandra may come into play on that angle.”
A little after midnight, Sandra knocked gently on Stone’s door. She whispered to meet her in the kitchen. He put his clothes back on and quietly went down the hallway. She sat on a stool sipping a glass of wine.
“Want some?” she asked and motioned for him to sit. “I didn’t want to go into your room. These people have big ears and big mouths, if you know what I mean.”
Stone knew that as gossip went, the sexual kind was the juiciest. It wouldn’t be the first time men and women on a mission got involved in a little side action.
“Frederick put his neck out and saved my ass from going to a bureaucratic Siberia,” she said. “There were two catches. One, I work with you on this mission, which is turning out to be bigger than I thought.”
“Bigger than I expected,” Stone said. “We’re not letting Wahab get ahold of this nuclear device. What’s the second catch?”
“It has to do with that prick Farley Durrell.” She leaned closer. “Farley’s position with Nabeel Asuty and his gang is not going well. Some of them are suspicious of him. Evidently, he’s not as valuable to them as he was. You know what that means with those shits.” She took a deep breath. “You know how much I hate Farley, still … Anyway, Frederick told me one of our jobs might be to extract him from their clutches.”
“Nothing I like better than a good shoot-up.”
“Hayden! Be careful what you say around here! That’s why they call you a damn cowboy.”
“Tomorrow I head back to my hotel. Hope Dirk Lange contacts us. We’re going to need him.”
She poured more wine. “I’ll check in at the same hotel. That’ll double the odds of Dirk finding us.”
“There’s one more source for me to contact,” Stone said. “Few people know this town better than Patience.”
“And how well do you know her, Hayden?”