SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

Even in shock, Sam Phillips always preferred to look at the bright side of things. So he counted his blessings. First, at least the three of them were together — and still alive. They were tied securely. But they weren’t gagged, and they’d discovered that if they kept their voices down, the guards in the cab of the truck wouldn’t squeeze through the small window and beat on them. They’d been fed and watered, too. Minimally, to be sure. But enough to keep them going for a while. That, too, was definitely a step in the right direction. X-Man had another piece of good news: the bad guys had missed the composite boot knife he kept in his sock, so they had a weapon. The bad news — there is always bad news along with the good news — was that they’d all probably glow in the dark for the rest of their fives. That was because Mustache Man had put them in the same truck he was using to transport the nuclear device.

Sam had never seen anything like it before. His written Chinese was practically nonexistent, and so he couldn’t decipher any of the markings on its crate, except for the big yellow-and-black decal on the outer container that was the international sign for danger—Radioactive Material But it didn’t take much imagination to figure out that it was some sort of bomb. It was much bigger and more complex than the suitcase nukes Sam had seen mock-ups of at Langley’s CTC — the huge and ever-expanding CounterTerrorist Center that took up much of the sixth floor these days.

The Agency’s suitcase bombs were full-size copies of Soviet weapons known as special atomic demolition devices, or SADMs. They had an explosive power of about half a kiloton. This was much bigger than a SADM. And potentially, therefore, a lot more powerful.

The question was what to do about it. For the immediate future, the answer was nothing. Sam had taken the Agency’s rudimentary three-day course in explosives. He could, for example, wire up a basic, Hizballah-style car bomb, or set a shaped charge where it would do a bridge or a highway overpass the most damage. But he’d never been taught anything about disabling suitcase nukes or rendering atomic devices harmless. X had gone one step further and taken longer, more intensive explosives instruction. But neither had any experience with nukes.

Even so, he had to formulate a plan to deal with the damned thing. There had to be a course of action — or a series of scenarios — that they could put into effect if the opportunity arose. And most important, he and his two colleagues had to escape.

The trucks were heading in a northwesterly direction, which convinced Sam his initial instincts had been correct. Mustache Man was still heading for one of the old smuggling routes into Tajikistan or Kazakhstan. But escape wouldn’t be easy. They also understood the clock was ticking — and time worked against them. Indeed, since Mustache Man had stolen a bomb, the Chinese would be coming after him.

X-Man’s guess was they’d send at least a battalion. “Guess how the U.S. would react if some Mexican guerrilla group hijacked a nuclear convoy in Texas. Tons of shit would have hit the fan is how. I’m surprised they haven’t smacked us by now.”

But the U.S. had NEST teams, Department of Energy search units equipped with sensitive nuclear sniffing devices that could locate radioactive material with relative ease. Maybe the Chinese lacked similar equipment. It was impossible to know.

Another factor that gave them hope was that the guerrillas hadn’t ever discovered the transponder sewn inside X-Man’s vest. If it was still working — which was uncertain given the beating he’d taken — their location could be pinpointed. Kaz thought Langley might send people after them. Sam insisted they couldn’t count on it. After all, he’d been told they’d be on their own. No — they’d have to deal with the situation themselves.

“The sooner we escape, the better,” Kaz said. “And frankly, the farther away we are from the damn bomb, the healthier it’s going to be for us.”

“You got that right,” Sam said. “Holy shit, if the Chinese catch up and Mustache Man decides to make a BPS—”

Kaz asked, “A BPS?”

“Yeah — a big political statement. If he does, we could all end up as cinders.”

“Don’t talk like an ash-hole,” Kaz said.

“Kaz is right,” X-Man said. “You’re being ash-enine.”

X-Man leaned over and crooked his neck in Sam’s direction. “You have anything to add to this abuse?”

Sam remained mute.

“What’s your problem — tongue-tied?” X-Man finally asked.

“No, but I think I’ve got a cinder block,” Sam finally deadpanned.

The laughter did them some good. But then Sam got serious. “Look,” he stage-whispered, “Kaz is right. We’d better come up with an escape plan. Mustache Man had no compunction about killing Dick. That means we’re all expendable to him. And then there’s the bomb. I don’t want to be anywhere in the neighborhood when the PLA hits these guys.” He paused. “Agreed?”

X-Man nodded. “I think we’re all on the same page, Sam.”