Clark tipped his head to one side. “The Suez Canal is a long way from here. And the Shahed-151 isn’t exactly a speedy airframe.”
For the first time Gamling hesitated.
Clark pressed ahead, not wanting to lose his advantage. “What was your part in this operation?”
No reply.
“I’m trying to place your accent,” Clark said. “From the south, I’d say. Voronezh? Volgograd?”
“You know my country.”
“A bit. But we can talk about that later. I have to ask again, what was your part in this scheme?”
“I am the postman.”
Clark weighed this. “Responsible for delivery?”
The Russian grinned wearily. “Bravo, John.”
“A drone specialist.”
“I suspect your people have heard of me…Gamling. I had a bit of a reputation in the special military operation.”
“You’re an operator?”
“Operator, engineer, mechanic…one has to wear many hats in war.”
“Is that what this is? War?”
Gamling’s jaw tightened as if his thoughts were in a bad paper jam. Clark knew why. Mercenaries often focused absolutely on money and mission, meaning they didn’t weigh the ramifications of their actions.
The Russian finally said, “I am a technician, not a strategist.”
“You are a pivotal figure in a terrorist attack. In the next two minutes, you can give me any and all information that might mitigate the death and destruction now flying toward Egypt…or you can remain silent and be held fully accountable.”
If Gamling wanted to make a deal, this was his opening.
Clark prompted, “Timeiscritical. You should understand that your employer, Andrei Malenkov, and pretty much all the others, are no longer of this earth. They can’t give me answers. That leaves you as the last man standing—the one who will face the repercussions.” He let that sink in for a beat, then asked, “Is there any way to recall these drones? To divert them?”
Clark could almost see the tension building inside the Russian. Old thoughts—the technical challenge, the spectacular payday—collided with the reality of spending the rest of his life in prison. He quickly folded. “No one can stop them. There is no connectivity for control.”
“Would jamming work?”
Gamling shook his head. “The drones can navigate independently of any satellite or ground-based signals. There is a terrain database that references a simple radar system—my own design.”
“Are the drones rigged with defensive measures?”
“Nothing active. But passively…they will be widely dispersed, all ten on different arrival tracks. Some will come from the coastline near Egypt, others from the sea.”
Clark was convinced Gamling wasn’t lying—it all made too much sense. He was equally sure that the leadership in D.C. would be putting together a response after learning the drones were en route. What that response would be, Clark had no idea, but this information might be critical.
“What kind of radioactive material are they carrying?”
“Cesium 137, a significant cache. Liquid now but aerosolized on delivery. Given the half-life, it will shut the canal down for decades.”
“I need the exact target and time of arrival.”
Gamling didn’t answer immediately. He was probably wondering if this was the time to ask for something in return. John Clark’s laser glare told him it wasn’t.
