Three freighters and thirty minutes later, Vasko saw what he was waiting for. A large oceangoing tug with an extended stern deck rounded the cape from the Atlantic. Under the moonlight and the vessel’s running lights, he could see she had an orange hull and a white superstructure. She was also pulling a small barge. The icing on the cake was a powerful blue light that shone above the wheelhouse.
Vasko lowered his glasses and turned to a crewman pacing the deck. “That’s our boat. Give her a signal.”
The crewman activated a spotlight on the rail and aimed it toward the incoming ship, flashing its beam several times. The blue light on the approaching vessel blinked in acknowledgment and the big tug slowed and eased alongside the Lauren Belle. The ocean tug passed down a leader line to Vasko’s crew, who looped it around a hydraulic capstan.
Given an All clear sign a few minutes later, Vasko’s men activated the capstan, reeling in the leader line and the orange tug’s tow cable to its trailing barge. As they transferred the line, a heavy wooden crate was also passed down and placed behind the Lauren Belle’s wheelhouse.
The barge had been nearly a hundred meters behind the ocean tug, but Vasko drew it within twenty meters of the Lauren Belle. He then called up for the boat to proceed with the transfer. The orange tug pulled ahead to a second barge just upstream that Vasko had affixed to an anchored float. The ocean tug completed the swap, retrieving the tow line from the float and securing the barge to its stern.
With no fanfare, the orange vessel pulled ahead, towing the replacement barge. Under the night sky, the two barges appeared identical. Vasko watched the tug and its new cargo move up the bay and disappear into the distance, then turned to his crewmen. “Pull the barge up to the stern.”
They activated the capstan, pulling up the barge like a toy on a string. When the bow of the barge kissed the Lauren Belle’s stern, Vasko slipped over the rail and jumped aboard. Like the barge he had just traded, the blunt vessel held four covered holds. Vasko skipped the first three and moved to the one at the stern and unclasped its cover. He raised the lid and shined an LED flashlight inside. The interior was empty.
He climbed down a rusty steel ladder into the hold and searched more carefully. In the two stern corners he found what he was seeking: a pair of small packages in brown paper like the one from the farmhouse in Ukraine. He left them in place and located a small satchel beneath the ladder that held a simple radio transmitter.
Vasko took the satchel, climbed out, and resealed the hold cover, then moved to the first hold. He checked that no ships were approaching, raised the lid, and climbed inside. At the bottom of its ladder, he turned and faced the RDS-5 bomb.
The atomic weapon rested on a heavy wooden pallet, secured to the deck by canvas straps. During its refurbishment, the bomb had been painted a nonreflective black, which lent it a more ominous appearance. Vasko scanned the weapon with his light until he found the control box, which rose from the curved skin ahead of the tail assembly. He unscrewed its top-sealing glass panel, which gave access to a small bank of dials and LED displays. The readouts were all dark. He found a small, nondescript toggle positioned at the bottom. Holding his breath, he reached in and flicked the switch.
The panel came alive with flashing lights and digital readouts. He waited a moment for the electronics to settle, then checked one of the displays. Confirming it showed the number 25, he sealed the glass plate. Just like that, the bomb was activated. Now all he had to do was complete the delivery.
He sealed the hold cover, returned to the tug, and ordered the crew to get under way. As smoke billowed from the funnel and the Lauren Belle pulled ahead, Vasko stared at the lethal black barge, contemplating the many ways to spend ten million dollars.
76
The morning sun was already heating the stone pavers around Princess Anne’s Battery when Summer, Dirk, Perlmutter, and Trehorne piled out of a cab. A winding road had taken them high up on the north side of the Rock. An open emplacement of guns stood on a bluff, overlooking the airport and the coast of Spain.
Hawker waited for them with a duffel bag strapped over his shoulder. “Good morning,” he said. “Glad to see you found the place without any trouble.”
Summer scanned the coastline. “It’s a beautiful vantage point.”
“Yes, and an important location in the historical defense of Gibraltar. Cannon were first brought up here in 1732 during the Great Siege of Gibraltar, when Spain and France tried to kick us out. British forces held out for over three years before the siege was eventually lifted.”
“Crossing the flats over that isthmus with Spain would have been suicidal under aim of a sharp gunnery crew,” Trehorne said.
“Most certainly. The site here was manned all the way up to the 1980s.” Hawker pointed to one of four World War II–era five-inch guns emplaced around them. “The batteries were linked by tunnels, dating back decades. We can gain entry behind that Mark I gun over there.”
He led them across a parking lot, where a handful of tourists were eyeing the view near a gray sedan that had just entered. Hawker stepped past the gun emplacement to a steel door embedded in the rock. He produced a brass ring of skeleton keys and shoved one into the ancient lock. The mechanism turned freely and he pulled open the thick door, revealing an unlit tunnel that spewed cool air.
“A back door entrance, if you will.” He opened his duffel bag and distributed a supply of flashlights and hard hats. “I can state with authority that it’s no fun scraping your head on a limestone chandelier.” He donned the last helmet.
The dark tunnel was wide and high enough for them to walk through upright, except for Dirk and Summer. They passed an empty side room, which Hawker explained was once used as an ammunition magazine for the batt
ery. From there, the tunnel narrowed, brushing the sides of Perlmutter’s wide frame.
As they descended farther into the Rock, the interior became cool and damp. Summer felt the clammy air and inhaled the musty smell, and she could almost hear the echoes from the past.
“Please stay close,” Hawker said, “I don’t want to lose anybody.”
The passage grew tighter, and Hawker hesitated when they reached a cross tunnel. The one to their right had a chain barrier with a small placard that said NO ENTRY.
Hawker stepped over the barrier. “This should take us to Nelson.”
As the others followed, their hard hats often scraped against the low ceiling. Hawker pointed to some cut marks above them. “These were all hand-excavated with hammer and chisel, and just a small amount of explosives, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. They’re an offshoot of the Great Siege tunnels. The Nelson branch should be just ahead.”
Dirk turned to his sister. “A long way to be carting some gold.”
“Made all the safer on account of it,” she said.