THIRTY-SIX

Union Beach, New Jersey

“We had to move. Very dangerous to stay in Clifton. Everything had to go.”

The Indonesian armed with an automatic weapon was trying to explain the change of plans to Dr. Kush Mahikindrani, the team leader for the New York attack. The Muslim nuclear physicist from India, whom everybody called “Dr. Kush Mahi,” was not happy.

“How do I know that the components weren’t damaged when you moved our operations?”

The Indonesian tried to assure him. “Don’t worry. We were very careful. With everything. Promise.”

Dr. Kush Mahi looked around the large machine shop. When he had driven to the new location, he scouted out the area. The shop was in Union Beach, New Jersey, not far from the sewage treatment plant. Suitable but not ideal. The original plan had been to assemble the small nuclear weapon in a much more remote area in Clifton, just a short drive from New York City. But not now. Union Beach was more than twenty miles from Manhattan as the crow flies. Driving the bomb into the city would be double or triple that distance. And the trip would be across state lines, and the route more complicated.

On the other hand, Dr. Kush Mahi wasn’t responsible to deliver the bomb. Only to put it together. The “thugs,” as he called the armed members of the terror cell, would drive it into the city and detonate it.

“I just don’t understand the need for the change,” he complained.

The nuclear engineer from Kenya spoke up in his thick British accent. “I can explain. There was some kind of dispute with the owner of the other building, a problem at the last minute. So they moved here.” After looking around, he added, “I think this will do. When I worked on the nuclear missiles for the British submarines, we had a space just about like this. More elaborate machining tools, but we don’t need those. Assembly should be fairly simple.”

Dr. Kush Mahi was not impressed. “Arming a nuclear device is never simple.” But then he stripped off his suit coat and added, “Let’s get to work.”

They walked over to the crates containing the nuclear components. They inspected the wooden boxes to see if they had been damaged in shipment. The containers were lined with high-grade titanium and synthetic lead, so any real damage would most likely occur if the containers had been dropped and the fragile contents disrupted.

Dr. Kush Mahi, satisfied that the boxes were not damaged, stood up after his inspection. No reason not to make himself at home, he thought.

“Is there any place to get good Indian food?”

The last address John Gallagher had for Ken Leary, his old buddy at the CIA, was an office in Washington, D.C., just off Capitol Hill. Gallagher wanted to catch up with him, so he flew into Reagan National Airport and headed into the city.

An hour later, as he sat in the back of the cab, he found himself in a traffic nightmare. Some kind of huge rally was taking place on the long grassy National Mall leading to the White House.

“What’s the deal?” Gallagher asked the driver.

The cabbie shook his head. “Always something going on at the Mall.”

Gallagher saw rows of banners. One said, “One Planet — One God — One Climate Mission.” Other banners showed a picture of Romanian ambassador Alexander Coliquin, along with his now-famous quote from his U.N. address: “The only earth we shall ever have.”

When they slowed to a stop, a young man in a blaze yellow vest came up to the cab armed with a stack of fliers. He tried to hand one to Gallagher through the cab window. Gallagher said no thanks, but he did ask the young man what was going on.

“We’re rallying to support the World Religious Coalition for Climate Control meeting here in D.C.”

Gallagher, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked and said, “Tell them to set the weather at seventy degrees and clear, with a slight breeze. That’s my favorite.”

The man in the vest gave him a funny look. “You really don’t know about this?”

“Naw, that’s why I asked.”

“This is the United Nations initiative on the climate crisis.”

“Crisis? Give me a break.”

“Man, where have you been? It’s all over the news. The figures just came out. We’re on the verge of a catastrophe.”

Gallagher gave a sardonic chuckle. “Yeah, little do you know.”

The man kept pitching. “Religious leaders from around the world are here: Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, some High Church dude from England, an emissary from the pope. They’re all here, man, and for once they’re all singing from the same hymnbook. You know what they’re saying? Save the planet. Save the planet!”

“Funny,” Gallagher quipped, “that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

When Gallagher arrived at Leary’s office, it was empty. No sign of life. So he made a couple of phone calls and then a house call to CIA headquarters in Langley. He discovered that Leary had been transferred to Richmond, Virginia.

So Gallagher rented a car and headed south on I-95, crawling through traffic until he was closer to Fredericksburg and the pace picked up. Leary’s new office was inside an import-export shop called International Trading Cooperative. He recognized the faux setup and asked the pretend receptionist about meeting with Ken Leary. No, he admitted, he didn’t have an appointment. “But Ken Leary knows me, and this is absolutely urgent.”

After a few minutes, Ken walked out, took one look at Gallagher, and scowled, but out of professional courtesy he invited him into his office.

When the door closed, Leary explained, “I got transferred here. I used to be in the New York field office chasing terrorists and managing clandestine offshore operations. Now look at me! They got me working with Homeland Security monitoring things like international flights at the Richmond airport.” Leary pointed his finger at Gallagher. “And why am I talking to you anyway? You’re poison. Slipping you information when you were at the Bureau is probably what got me stuck down here in the first place.”

“Sorry.”

“That doesn’t cut it.”

“How about this. I’m really sorry — and if it weren’t about a suitcase nuke coming into the U.S. within your jurisdiction … hey, I wouldn’t be bothering you.”

Leary was looking at his wall clock and then shot back, “Oh, so you’re really sorry?” Then Leary stopped. He looked up and added, “What did you say?”

Gallagher said, “I mean I’m genuinely bummed about what happened to you — ”

“No, no,” Leary said, “not that.” He titled his head closer. “The other part … about a suitcase nuke …”