Odessa Sea (Dirk Pitt 24)

“Let’s see what you brought us,” the Dutchman said.

The two truck drivers removed the tarps, exposing a large, zeppelin-shaped atomic bomb.

Hendriks slowly walked around the platform, his eyes glued to the Cold War–era weapon. He climbed onto the truck bed and ran his fingers over its cold steel skin. Approaching the nose, he stared into a small glass sensor that was coated with dried silt. He finally climbed down, spoke quietly to the two older men, then approached Vasko.

“Fine work, Ilya,” he said without emotion. “You and Valentin have delivered something special. Come, let’s have a drink while my scientists look it over.”

He guided Vasko along a cobbled path to a veranda at the rear of the main house. He mixed them each a rum gimlet, then sat down at a shaded table overlooking the Atlantic.

“Bermuda is quite beautiful,” Vasko said. “But I was expecting a shorter flight, to Ukraine or Romania.”

Hendriks took a sip of his drink and nodded. “Ukraine was my first inclination, but I decided that security there was too unreliable. There are pro-Russian agents everywhere. When Valentin told me the weapon appeared in good condition, I chartered a long-range aircraft to give me some options. Bermuda made sense, as it is a trusting locale, and I have a special relationship with the customs officials.”

“And an impressive working facility,” Vasko said.

Hendriks waved toward the garage. “Yes, I have a research lab that I have used for some of my avionics projects. Much of my Peregrine surveillance drone was developed here. The facilities should prove useful for revitalizing the weapon.” He leaned forward. “Valentin indicated your Bulgarian salvage yard was raided by police agents.”

“Yes, we had to abandon the site.”

“And the weapon was transported to Stara Zagora Airport without detection?”

Vasko smiled. “The intruders were dealt with before we departed.”

“And Valentin?”

“He should be on our salvage vessel in the Aegean by now, searching for a submarine he believes contains treasure. I am to join him.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of one of the white-haired men, who was accompanied by a security escort. “Mr. Hendriks,” he said with a Slavic accent. “We have performed a cursory examination of the weapon. The condition appears exceptional, for its age. Aside from some water leakage and corrosion in the tail assembly, the remainder of the device has remained watertight and appears undamaged. We removed the arming mechanism and it looks pristine.”

“You are familiar with this weapon?”

“My colleague had early training expe

rience with the RDS-4 and RDS-5 bombs. They are less powerful, but also less complicated, than the later hydrogen weapons, which is what we had expected to receive.”

“I just need to know,” Hendriks asked, “is it still functional?”

“Its components are quite primitive, by modern standards. We would propose updating all of the electrical components with microchip circuitry and replacing the arming mechanism and detonator with modern electromagnetic devices. But its radioactive elements are still quite potent. And we can provide additional stabilization and monitoring capabilities as part of the refurbishment.” He gave Hendriks a firm nod. “In answer to your question, yes, we can make it both functional and more reliable.”

Hendriks maintained his look of indifference. “How long will it take you to refurbish the weapon?”

“Less than a week, assuming we can obtain the needed components here.”

“I’ll have anything you need jetted in. Thank you, Doctor. Please proceed with the effort.”

The old man nodded and shuffled back to the garage.

Hendriks watched him go, waiting until he was out of earshot. “He and his partner were two of the top Russian nuclear weapons scientists in the 1970s. They emigrated to France when the Soviet Union dissolved and took up with the French Air Force. They’ve worked for a few years on a satellite-related contract with my firm.”

“Can they be trusted?”

“Every man has his price,” Hendriks said. “I told Valentin I would pay him twenty million dollars if the weapon was usable. And so it seems.” He gave Vasko a hard stare. “I will pay you an additional ten million dollars if you will deploy it for me.”

“I’m no bomber pilot,” Vasko said.

Hendriks shook his head. “The attack will be launched from the sea. I intend to use what you’ve learned in the Black Sea.”

“For another attack on Sevastopol?”