Radiant Angel by Nelson DeMille Page B

resources are limited compared to what the police have at their disposal.”
    I nodded. Even in this age of counterterrorism and drug smuggling, the United States Coast Guard was being scaled back. The Suffolk County Police Marine Bureau, on the other hand, had about twenty watercraft of various sizes and capabilities and four helicopters for search, rescue, and law enforcement. Plus there were local harbor constables who also had watercraft that could be deployed at sea. Bottom line here, Scott Kalish had more air and sea resources at his disposal than the U.S. Coast Guard. Which was why I called him.
    Buck said, “Tess told me that Petrov and his friends carried three overnight bags onboard the amphibious craft.”
    “Correct.”
    “Nothing larger? Like a suitcase?”
    Before I could ask why he asked, I heard footsteps and saw Tess coming toward us.
    She looked at me, then at Buck sitting under the tree.
    Buck said to her, “I believe we’re almost finished here.” He smiled. “John has decided not to kill me.”
    “Today,” I explained.
    Tess looked at me. “Do you understand how important this is?”
    “Not really.”
    She looked at Buck, who said, “I haven’t yet gotten to Pavel Fradkov.”
    “Then,” I suggested, “let’s get to Pavel Fradkov.”
    Buck stood, looked at me, and said, “I understand that all your surveillance vehicles are equipped with portable radiation detectors.”
    That is
not
what I wanted to hear.
    He continued, “And Ms. Faraday tells me she heard no beeping, even when you were very close to Petrov’s vehicle. So I suppose it’s already on the ship that Petrov rendezvoused with.”
    “
What
is on what ship?”
    “You know what I’m talking about.”
    Indeed I did.
    There is little that spooks me, but atomic bombs are at the top of my very short list. I cleared my throat and said, “I assume you mean a nuke.”
    “Correct.” He added, “Probably a suitcase nuke.”
    “Why do you think that?”
    “Because Vasily Petrov is a psychotic mass murderer. And he, like his father, and like his megalomaniacal president, yearns for the glory days of the Soviet Empire. And all that stands in his and his president’s way is us.”
    Buck saw I wasn’t buying all of this, so he tempered his concerns a bit and said, “We’re not sure this is what’s happening tonight, but if you put it all together, then what you saw today at Tamorov’s party doesn’t make sense except in that context.”
    I thought back to all that had happened since Petrov went mobile, and I couldn’t come to any conclusion that involved a nuke. I said to Buck, “There’s a piece missing. Fradkov.”
    “Correct. Pavel Fradkov, whose real name is Arkady Urmanov, is a nuclear physicist.” Buck informed me, “He once worked on the Soviet nuclear weapons miniaturization program. Suitcase nukes.”
    Holy shit.
    “Miniaturized nukes,” Buck informed me, “are temperamental and need periodic… well, tune-ups.” He continued, “The fear that they could get into the hands of terrorists is real. But no one knows if they’d actually detonate if they hadn’t been regularly maintained over the thirty years since most of them were made.” He concluded, “To be sure of that, and to properly arm the device, it’s good to have a knowledgeable nuclear weapons scientist on hand.”
    Tess added, “Especially one who hasn’t had a drink all night.”
    The evidence, as we say in criminal investigations, was mounting—and pointing in one direction.
    I said to Buck, “I assume Petrov and his pals rendezvoused with a Russian ship.”
    “I would assume so. And on that ship could be a nuclear device.” He informed me, “If it’s a suitcase nuke, it could be the biggest model,about the size of a steamer trunk, which would yield about ten kilotons of atomic energy.” He further informed me, “For comparison, the Hiroshima bomb was estimated to be between twelve and sixteen kilotons.”
    I glanced at Tess,