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“You weren’t cleared for that information,” Castillo said, reasonably.
“I’ve got a couple of security clearances,” Swanson said. “Three or four of them with names. And Joel knows that.”
“Joel couldn’t tell you,” Castillo said. “Only two people can decide who has the Need to Know.”
The reply didn’t seem to surprise Swanson. He nodded and asked, “The director of National Intelligence and the secretary of Homeland Security?”
Castillo shook his head. “The President and me.”
“Only you and the President? That’s impressive, Colonel,” Swanson said. “Can I interpret that to mean somebody really high up thinks this threat is credible?”
“Ambassador Montvale thinks it’s credible. And as soon as I have a look at this place, Jack, we’re going to Washington. He wants to see you personally.”
“Oh, shit,” Britton said.
“Which reminds me,” Castillo said. He pointed to a radio mounted under the Yukon’s dashboard. “Is that tied into the Secret Service’s communications system? I mean in Washington?”
Swanson nodded.
“I’d like to get word to Montvale that I’m here, and that I’m coming to Washington—with Britton—as soon as we’re through here. ETA to come later.”
Swanson nodded and pressed his finger to his lapel.
“Cheesesteak here,” he said. “Is this thing working?”
The response came immediately: “Loud and clear.”
“Get word to Big Eye that Don Juan is with me and will be coming to see him—with English—later today. ETA to follow. Acknowledge delivery.”
“Got it. Will do.”
Swanson turned to Castillo and said, “Done.”
“Thanks,” Castillo said. “Although I feel like I’ve just made an appointment with my dentist.”
Swanson smiled, then asked, “You think this threat is credible, Colonel?”
“No,” Castillo said. “I’ve been talking to some people who know about bombs like this and know about the Russians and they don’t think so, and if I had to bet, I’d go with them.”
“Why?” Swanson asked, simply. “There’s supposed to be a hundred of these briefcase-sized nukes hidden around the country. There was even some KGB defector who testified before Congress that he’d scouted places to hide them.”
“The defector’s name was Colonel Pyotr Sunev,” Castillo said. “And after the CIA set up a new identity for him as a professor at Grinnell College, he disappeared one day, then turned up in Europe, once again in the KGB.”
“Disinformation?” Swanson asked.
Castillo nodded.
“And a lot of egg on the CIA’s face?”
Castillo nodded again.
“And from everything I’ve learned about these bombs,” Castillo said, “which I admit isn’t much, they’re the size of a suitcase, not a briefcase. And the firing mechanisms are coded. I can’t imagine the Russians giving a bomb, much less that code, to a bunch of lunatics.”
“What about our friends in the Muslim world?”
“I think if they had a bomb, and the code to detonate it, they would have already used it. The Russians have their own trouble with the Muslims. I just can’t see them handing a nuke to any of them; they’d be liable to set it off in Moscow.”
“So what’s going on with these nuts in Durham?”
