SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

Wei-Liu said, “Major, I may defer to you in all things military. But I have been dealing with these sorts of devices for more than fifteen years now. I have demilitarized Soviet ICBM warheads, dissected their cruise missiles, and examined the innards of the second-generation MADMs they left in bunkers in Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Hungary. I have even worked on the ignition sequencing for our own current generation of weapons. And believe me, this is not a matter of ‘Do I cut the red wire first or the blue wire first?’ Because there are no colored wires, Major. Not on the J-12. Moreover, as I started to explain in the Situation Room, capacitors can be very unstable. And the battery packs emit both acid and static, which can result in sparks and explosions. The J-12 is tricky and problematic. It is complex in its simplicity, if you know what I’m saying. You have to understand the gestalt of the J-12—be totally comfortable in its instability — or it is altogether likely that in the course of rendering it safe, you will cause an unintended detonation.”

Ritzik’s expression told Wei-Liu he wasn’t convinced.

“I’m telling you the truth, Major. I’ll draw you anything you want — and more. But believe me: you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Yes, you do, Major,” Monica Wirth said. “Because the implications of an unintended detonation are extremely far-reaching.” The national security adviser shot a glance at Rockman. “Mr. Secretary, don’t you agree?”

“I do,” Rockman said. “And I think I know where we’re headed now — and I concur.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary.” Monica Wirth smiled in Ritzik’s general direction and noted that the major had no idea at all where she was headed.

So she told him. “Major, Miss Wei-Liu has just joined your insertion element.”

Mike Ritzik didn’t have to think too long about that one either. “No, ma’am, she has not.”

Monica Wirth gave Ritzik a hard look. “You don’t get a vote here, Major.”

Wei-Liu pushed herself to the edge of the cushion. “What about me, Dr. Wirth? Do I get a vote?”

“You’re the only one who does,” the national security adviser said. “You get the option of volunteering.”

“Ma’am,” Ritzik began.

“Shush, Major. You don’t know the full story.”

“Frankly, ma’am, I don’t give a damn what the full story is. I’m wasting my time here. I should be back at the compound, with my men, trying to anticipate everything that might go wrong so that we can deal with it. This device is just another problem. It can be overcome.”

“No, Major, this is different.”

Ritzik set his jaw. “I don’t think so. Let me be brutally honest, Dr. Wirth. Let’s say we get as far as the convoy, and we rescue our people, but we screw up with the MADM and it goes off. So what if it does?”

“So what? Ka-boom. Mushroom cloud, Major. And then—”

Ritzik cut her off. “Exactly, ma’am. Ka-boom. And when we vaporize, all the evidence that Americans were ever on Chinese territory goes with us. So far as the Chinese are concerned, it’s another nuclear accident caused by a bad detonator — just like the one in 1988.” He paused when he saw Wirth’s shocked expression. “Nobody here wants to die, ma’am. That’s not the point. The point is—”

Monica Wirth’s tone turned frosty. “You have no idea what the point is, Major. The point is way above your pay grade.”

Condescension was a quality Ritzik didn’t like. “Since I’m the one putting his men’s lives on the line, perhaps you’d be kind enough to fill me in, then … ma’am.”

Wirth didn’t give an inch. “I’ll let Miss Wei-Liu ‘fill you in,’ Major. She’s the nuclear expert in the room.” Wirth said, “Please, Miss Wei-Liu — give him a thumbnail.”

The young woman shook her head self-consciously, cascading longish, black hair around her shoulders. “I’ll certainly try, Dr. Wirth.” She turned to Ritzik, her hands folded on her lap. “Major, five years ago I had a small part in a program that designed the prototypes for the low-yield sensors the CIA team just inserted.”

“Congratulations.” Ritzik’s tone indicated he wasn’t in the mood for a history lesson.

Wei-Liu continued, undeterred. “In 1996 the Chinese stopped testing weapons with a yield greater than one kiloton.”

“In 1996,” he repeated, frustration evident in his voice.

“Yes, Major. But they didn’t stop testing.” “How did you know?”

“We didn’t — for sure. And the previous administration wasn’t interested in finding out. So the sensor program languished, until 2001, when it was revived.”

Ritzik nodded blankly, wishing she’d get to the point.

“Major, these sensors were designed specifically to identify ultra-low-level nuclear blasts — one kiloton or less.”

“So?”