“That’s a rather bold act, given their Russian sponsorship,” Gunn said.
“The Russians themselves have issued a strong denial of involvement and have even taken the unusual step of absolving blame on any of the separatist groups. They’re calling it a setup.”
“Any possibility they are right?” Sandecker asked.
“We don’t buy the motive, if that was the case,” Jimenez said. “We suspect a marginalized separatist group acting out of hand with the Russians is the responsible party.”
“And you think the same people have acquired the Russian A-bomb from Mankedo?” Pitt said.
“We don’t have enough information to make a definitive link, but one could certainly connect the dots,” Jimenez said. “The timing of this threat with your discovery of the bomber has more than a few people nervous.”
“What’s the President’s reaction?” Gunn asked.
“He went through a lot of heartburn with Congress to obtain aid for the Ukrainian government,” Sandecker said. “He’s not prepared to walk away from the pledge of support he gave them to preserve their democracy.” He stared at Jimenez. “At the same time, he expects Homeland Security to do its job here to neutralize any real or perceived threats.”
“We’ve got resources on it,” Jimenez said. “We’ll get investigatory teams off to Lisbon, Bermuda, and Bulgaria right away.”
As Jimenez spoke, Pitt received a text message from Ana. He held up his hand. “You can forget about Lisbon, Mr. Secretary. Europol just raided a residence in Bermuda, where evidence was found that the bomb was recently there. It’s believed the weapon was subject to a possible refurbishment, as radioactive components were discovered.”
“Where is it now?” Sandecker said. “What is their target?”
Pitt shook his head. “They don’t know for sure,” he said, gazing at Jimenez. “But they think it could be Washington.”
74
Summer looked out the airplane window at the blue waters of the Mediterranean rushing close by as the Airbus A320 descended. She wondered if the pilot was ditching at sea, as the waves looked close enough to touch. A runway finally appeared and the airplane touched down an instant later, taking full advantage of Gibraltar International Airport’s mile-long runway that began at the sea and ended at the sea.
As the plane taxied to the terminal, she caught a glimpse of the Rock of Gibraltar. The towering mountain represented the northern half of the Pillars of Hercules, the ancient entrance to the Mediterranean Sea.
Dirk leaned over from the seat next to her and pointed at the sheer face of the Rock. “I always assumed the Rock faced south, toward Africa. Its steep face actually looks east.”
“Yes. Gibraltar’s port and residential areas are concentrated to the west,” Summer said. “The guidebook says the Spanish city of Tarifa, a few miles to the west, actually extends closer to Morocco.”
They exited the plane and were surprised to find Perlmutter and Trehorne waiting for them in the terminal.
“You didn’t need to meet us,” Summer said, happy to see the two historians.
“The country’s only three miles long,” Perlmutter said. “We can practically walk to the hotel.”
Dirk and Summer gathered their luggage, and the foursome squeezed into a cab for the ride into central Gibraltar. Perlmutter held the cab while they checked into a modest hotel. Returning to the cab a few minutes later, Dirk asked, “Where to now?”
“A friend of mine, an old schoolmate, is a major with the Royal Gibraltar Regiment,” Trehorne said. “He’s something of an expert on the wartime fortifications here and indicated he has full access to the World War I records. But I’m afraid we must backtrack to the airport to go see him.”
Perlmutter grinned. “That should take all of five minutes.”
It was closer to ten when they passed through the gates of Devil’s Tower Camp, a small base southeast of the airport runway that housed Gibraltar’s military forces. They found the base information center and were escorted to the office of Major Cecil Hawker. A droopy-eyed man with a light mustache, he warmly greeted Trehorne beneath a portrait of the Queen. He welcomed the others and offered them tea at a corner table that overlooked the parade field.
“I was delighted to hear from you, Charles,” he said, “and quite intrigued by your treasure hunt.”
“We’re not sure where the trail will lead,” Trehorne said, “but, at the moment, it’s making its way through Gibraltar. As you are the regiment historian, I know there is no one better qualified to examine the history here.”
“That’s just a side duty,” Hawker said, “but it does afford me access to all of Gibraltar’s state archives. I’ve spent some time examining the relevant time period, and also consulted with friends in the Royal Navy. Unfortunately, much of the naval records from that era, as well as a significant piece of the regiment’s history, were lost or destroyed during the civilian evacuation of Gibraltar in World War II.”
“Did you find any evidence of the Sentinel’s presence in Gibraltar in 1917?” Perlmutter asked.
“Not in the naval records. But I did find a curious document in the regiment’s files.” Hawker opened a desk drawer, pulled out a letter, and handed it to Trehorne.
He skimmed the document. “It’s a note to the commandant of the regiment, a request for a security detail to transfer a ship’s cargo to AEB Nelson for temporary storage. It’s signed by a Captain L. Marsh, HMS Sentinel.”