Fatal Thunder: A Jerry Mitchell Novel Read Online Free Page A

than just a bad decision.
    Many of the Russians intended to go back to the dockyard after dinner. “It’s long hours for me, but not as bad as Orlav,” Kulik remarked. “I’m supposed to take his dinner back to him. He’s working in the first compartment—maybe an all-nighter.”
    Petrov had heard of Evgeni Orlav, a weapons technician in his forties. He was an electronics technician working on the torpedo tubes’ interface with the fire control system. “What’s he working on that’s so urgent?” he asked.
    Kulik shrugged as he paid his dinner bill. “It’s something the Indians have him doing and he won’t talk about it at all. He’ll complain about his ugly wife and her enormous family all night, but he never talks shop.
    “Orlav really works for Dhankhar, not Commander Gandhi. The admiral put him on the refit team, and Orlav makes his progress reports directly to the admiral. He’s either in the first compartment working on the gear aboard the sub, or he’s in one of the torpedo shops, ‘conducting tests’ he says.”
    Kulik lowered his voice. “I think the Indians have a nuclear cruise missile ready to deploy, or at least test, and Orlav’s installing the interface.”
    Petrov nodded. “I didn’t think their cruise missile was ready yet. But perhaps the development schedule has been moved up, and that’s why they’re cutting the refit short,” he reasoned.
    Kulik was noncommittal. “That’s not the type of thing I’d want to hurry. Whatever it is, after Mitra made his announcement, the admiral pulled Orlav aside and they spoke for a while. Orlav wasn’t happy. I’m betting Dhankhar told him to get the work done and to sleep after Chakra ’s finished.”
    11 March 2017
    1900 Local Time
    Tbilisi, Georgia
----
    Yuri Kirichenko heard the satellite phone buzz and almost snatched it from the cradle. Only one person had the number for that phone. He turned it on and said, “Jascha Churkin! So, you’re alive.”
    “Just barely. I was in Ghori, just under five kilometers away, but across a small mountain from the blast. The flash and the shock wave were still beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I may start believing in God again. Most of Ghori was flattened. Since then, I’ve been traveling south and waiting for the ionization cloud to disperse. This is the first time I’ve been able to get through.”
    “And your search for the missing warhead is now moot. What about the thieves?”
    “I found them. Faysal is radioactive gas, but I located Jawad at Muzaffarabad, living a most un-Islamic life. He was drunk.”
    “Jawad? From our escort? The short one?”
    “And his friend Faysal, who Jawad said was an ‘electronics expert.’ The little thug was following us at a distance, and brought the substitute crate. He even had the correct markings on the outside.”
    “Morons,” Kirichenko muttered, “and yet not. This plan was supposed to be foolproof. The warheads were worthless to the militants from Al Badr we hired. I must have explained to them three times that without the initiators, the warheads were just dead metal.”
    “And you promised them some live warheads from the next batch,” Churkin added. “And they were paid handsomely, but you can’t rely on simple greed when stupidity is mixed in.”
    Churkin had been responsible for security. He was a former Russian Navy special forces commando. But in addition to his impressive military skills, the navy had learned of his talent for illegal activities, ranging from bootlegging to blackmail. Kirichenko had encountered Churkin back in the nineties, out of the service and on the edge of the law. The ex-commando’s skills had been vital in ensuring first the secrecy of Kirichenko’s stolen stockpile, then its recovery, and now its transport across half of Eurasia.
    Starting with their recovery from the Kara Sea, Churkin had shepherded the warheads on their long trip from northern Russia, across the Caspian Sea to Turkmenistan,