Vortex (90 page)

“Yeah. The last two. But the colonel’d like you to make sure of that.”

“Of course.”

Levi hobbled after the much younger American officer through a maze of hurrying soldiers. The entrance to the last storage bunker lay down a set of steps. A thick door sagged to one side-blown off its hinges by small charges of plastic explosive.

The two men ducked down and into the bunker. Several unbroken, battery-powered emergency lights illuminated a single chamber measuring roughly twenty feet by fifty feet. Steel racks lined each concrete wall.

Four metal half cylinders-twin halves of two twenty-kiloton fission bombs-rested in separate sections of the racks, kept physically apart to preclude what technicians referred to as “premature weapon criticality.”

Levi smiled to himself, remembering his first appalled reaction to the techno babble term used to describe what might, in the worst case, be an uncontrolled chain reactiona runaway nightmare of hellish temperatures and deadly neutron radiation.

He moved to where O’Connell stood examining one of the four bomb halves.

The American lieutenant colonel looked just about out on his feet-bruised, bedraggled, and bloodstained. The Israeli scientist suddenly felt a wave of admiration for this brave man. It was an uncomfortable feeling, especially since the orders he’d received from his own government would soon force him to lie to the Ranger officer. Though not about these bombs themselves, thank God.

“Have we got them all, Professor?” O’Connell sounded as tired as he looked.

Levi nodded.

“These two weapons make a total of nine. Every fission bomb the Afrikaners had left.” He leaned past the American officer and examined a printed manifest taped to the rear half of one weapon.

“It would appear that your attack came just in time.”

“Oh?”

Levi pointed to the manifest.

“Those codes indicate that this weapon has been thoroughly checked, certified ready for detonation, and prepped for movement within the next twenty-four hours.”

O’Connell looked grim.

“So those bastards were going to drop another nuke?

This one?”

Levi nodded again and tapped the bomb’s exposed corea smooth piece of dark metal about half the size of a small grapefruit.

“It seems hard to believe that this little lump and its twin over there could kill thousands or even tens of thousands, doesn’t it? But believe me, this is really all one needs-a few kilograms of highly enriched uranium. That and the proper arrangement of a few more kilos of high explosive. ”

O’Connell took an involuntary step backward.

“Christ! That stuff’s U-235?”

Levi nodded a third time, inwardly amused. Like many laymen, O’Connell obviously had some serious misconceptions about nuclear materials. He’d also been too busy planning the operation itself to attend Levi’s technical training sessions. The temptation to lecture, just a bit, was simply too strong to resist.

The Israeli scientist laid his palm flat on the bomb’s metallic core.

“As a solid metal, U-235 is not dangerously radioactive, Major. It’s mainly an alpha emitter, and even your skin can stop alpha particles.” He stroked the smooth black surface.

“You could even hold this in your lap for a month or more without suffering any significant ill effects.”

O’Connell took the unsolicited science lesson with good grace. He grinned suddenly, appearing years younger for a brief instant.

“Hell, Professor,

I’d curl up to sleep with every one of these damned things for a year if it meant getting ‘em safely out of this frigging country. ”

Ten Rangers led by the leader of the battalion’s Support Platoon trotted down the steps and crowded into the bunker.

“Okay to take these now,

Colonel?”

“You bet. Carry on, Harry.” O’Connell moved toward the entrance with Levi in tow.

The Israeli scientist risked a quick glance at his watch. So far so good.

He’d helped the Rangers find and capture South Africa’s nuclear arsenal.

Now he had to try completing the most difficult part of his mission-the part he’d kept secret from the Americans. He cleared his throat.

“Your troops hold most of the compound, don’t they?”

“Yeah.” Small elements of Pelindaba’s garrison still fought from sections of trench along its northern perimeter, but almost all the rest of the

South African soldiers had been killed or wounded. O’Connell paused just outside the bunker doorway and looked down at him.

“Why do you ask, Professor?”

Levi swallowed hard. Now for the lie.

“Because I’d like your permission to search the Administration Center for certain scientific documents of interest to both our governments. Records of nuclear experiments and weapons design blueprints, among others.” He scanned the men hurrying to and fro outside the storage complex-carrying wounded, collecting weapons, and checking corpses. Bomb blasts echoed off in the distance as carrier-based planes kept pounding away at other South African military installations and air bases.

“All I need are a few minutes. Five at most.”

O’Connell walked away without answering, his face hard and remote.

Levi limped after him.

“Please, Colonel, it’s important.” The American stopped and turned around.

“I agree, Professor. But your personal search isn’t necessary. Captain Kelly already has a team going through the Admin building. They know what to look for. We need you here with the weapons.

”

Levi choked. The Americans were ahead of him? He tried again.

“But my technical expertise could be invaluable. I should be there-”

“So you can destroy any records showing the size and composition of your own country’s nuclear stockpile? I don’t think so, Professor. ”

Levi felt his jaw drop open in shock.

O’Connell smiled wryly.

“You and your compatriots should have known better, Esher. Americans are sometimes naive, but we’re not stupid.

Naturally, we’re grateful for your country’s help with this operation, but that doesn’t make us blind or deaf.” He shook his head slowly.

“I’m afraid Jerusalem’s just going to have to live with the knowledge that some of its best-kept secrets aren’t so secret anymore.”

Levi stood openmouthed for a moment longer and then shrugged, accepting his defeat with good grace. So much for the Mossad’s rather Byzantine plot. Washington would soon know exactly how much weapons-grade uranium

Israel had received from the Pelindaba enrichment plant. And that, in turn, would allow the United States to calculate exactly how many nuclear bombs his country had manufactured for its own deterrent force.

Well, he hadn’t been that keen on deceiving the Americans anyway.

“In that case, Colonel, what else can I do to help you? Your men will soon have the bombs loaded, but you still have wounded to be collected. My conscript service included rudimentary first aid courses… perhaps

I can assist your medics?”

O’Connell’s weary eyes lit up with approval.

“Thank you. My men and I would appreciate it.” He broke off abruptly as several of his noncoms moved past, checking dog tags on bodies scattered around the storage site.

The Ranger watched them for a moment before shaking his head sadly.

“I expected losses, but I never thought it would be this bad.”

Levi tried to offer some comfort.

“But you’ve won, Colonel. And your battalion’s sacrifices have saved many thousands of lives.”

O’Connell shook his head again.

“We haven’t won yet. We’ve still got to get these damned bombs down the road and out through Swartkop.

The Israeli stared at a horizon lit red and orange by dozens of fires raging out of control. Jets thundered low overhead, crisscrossing

Pretoria in search of new targets. He spread his hands in confusion.

“But what kind of fighting force can the South Africans possibly have left to throw against us?”

“I don’t know, Esher, and what I don’t know could still kill us all.” He raised his voice.

“Weisman!”

The sad-eyed little radioman came trotting up.

“Colonel?”

“Inform all commanders that we’re pulling out in five minutes. I want every truck or car they can lay their hands on at the main gate
ASAP
.

We’ve got a lot of wounded to move. And tell Carrerra we’re on our way.

Got it?”

Weisman nodded vigorously, obviously already mentally running over the list of code phrases needed to transmit 0”Con nell instructions.

“Good. After you’ve done that, put me in touch with Night Stalker Lead and Tiger Lead. I want solid air cover over us all the way to Swartkop!”

Levi moved away, looking for a medic to whom he could offer his services.

O’Connell’s depression had vanished for the time being, washed away in a flood of work still to be done.

Galvanized by their commander’s radioed orders, small groups of Rangers moved into high gear all across the Pelindaba complex. Some helped wounded comrades into stolen trucks. Others carried boxes of captured documents down the Administration Center’s bullet-riddled stairwells, past bodies sprawled in the building’s central hallway, and out through a set of double doors blown open by recoilless rifle rounds.

To the north, other American soldiers kept up a withering

fire, trying to pin down those few South Africans who’d survived the initial assault. But slowly, one by one, men slipped away from the firing line, joining skeletal squads and platoons assembling by the compound’s main gate. The Rangers were getting ready to leave Pelindaba’s corpse-strewn lawns and wrecked, burning buildings behind.

ROOKIAT
TWO
ONE
, A
TROOP
, I ST
SQUADRON
,
PRETORIA
LIGHT
HORSE
,
ALONG

THE

BEN
SCHOEMAN
HIGHWAY
,
NEAR
PELINDABA

South of Pelindaba, a lone diesel engine growled softly as an eight-wheeled South African armored car ground its way into cover.

Dried twigs and branches rustled and snapped as the Rookiat’s long 76mm gun poked slowly through the clump of dense brush and low scrub trees.

Riding with his commander’s hatch open, Capt. Martin van Vuuren leaned far forward over the AFV’s turret, sighting down the length of the main gun barrel, trying to judge the exact moment at which its muzzle would clear the surrounding vegetation.

The Rookiat lurched upward over a tiny shelf of rock and then dropped level again. At the same moment, its gun tore through the last fringe of brush and emerged into open air.

” Halt! ”

Van Vuuren’s whispered order brought immediate results. The muted roar of the Rookiat’s diesel engine died as it came to a complete stop. He swiveled through a complete circle, carefully scanning the terrain around his vehicle. A thin, humorless smile creased the South African captain’s lips. Perfect.

The Rookiat lay hidden inside a small, thick patch of woods overlooking the Ben Schoeman Highway-the expressway connecting Pretoria with

Johannesburg. It was also the main road between the Pelindaba Nuclear

Research Center and Swartkop Military Airfield. More importantly, the dense canopy of brush and tree branches would conceal his vehicle from what he was sure were Cuban ground attack aircraft roaming the night sky over Pretoria.

It seemed an ideal position, even though van Vuuren still wasn’t sure of just what the hell was going on. His A Troop had been on routine patrol when the enemy air strikes began-moving slowly along a wide circuit outside the perimeters of both Pelindaba and the Voortrekker Heights Military Camp. Now his radios were out-jammed across every possible frequency. And the two other Rookiats under his command were gone. He’d seen one blow up, shredded into a blazing fireball by cannon shells from a strafing enemy plane. The other had simply vanished, lost somewhere in what had quickly become a confused, harrowing race through a deadly gauntlet of smoke and flame.

Fresh scars on Rookiat Two One’s turret, souvenirs of steel splinters sprayed by a near miss, showed how close a race that had been. Van

Vuuren’s fingers lightly brushed a bruise spreading across his left check. He winced, remembering the tremendous, ringing impact that had thrown him face first into the Rookiat’s ballistic computer and laser range-finder readout. The enemy bomb couldn’t have landed more than thirty or forty meters away.

He shuddered. That had been too damned close. For the moment, he was content to wait here-safely hidden and out of the line of fire. A muffled cough from below reminded him to check his crew.

He lowered himself into the vehicle’s crowded, red-lit turret. Anxious faces stared up at him.

“Now what do we do?” The pressure lines left on Corporal Meitjens’s face by his gunsight made him look something like a raccoon.

“We wait.” Van Vuuren’s own uncertainty added a bite to his tone.

“And you keep your damned eyes glued to that night sight!”

Meitjens hurriedly obeyed.

Minutes passed, dragging by one by one. Van Vuuren had left his hatch open for comfort. Even when sitting idle, a four-man crew generated a lot of heat inside the Rookiat’s turret. And the cool night air pouring in through the open hatch provided a bit of welcome relief.

Sound also poured in through the hatch, and the South African captain sat with his eyes closed, listening to the noise of a one-sided battle. Bombs echoed in the distance-dull, thumping explosions that seemed to shake the very air itself. Jet engines roared past from time to time as enemy planes came in on strafing runs against some poor sod stupid enough to show himself. But the bombing seemed to be tapering off.

The bastards up there must be running out of targets, van Vuuren thought sourly. The steady crackle of heavy small arms fire rose from off to the north-audible now over the diminishing noise of the air bombardment.

The Rookiat’s commander opened his eyes and sat up straight. Small-arms fire? Were soldiers in the Pelindaba garrison actually trying to shoot down jets with rifles and machine guns? If so, they were braver than they were wise.