In the loadmaster’s office near the stairwell of the huge cargo plane, Atcho stared at the NukeX in his hand. It had an irregular oval shape, was flat on the bottom, and had a contoured back, textured to allow it to fit snugly in his hand without slipping. On one end were three buttons.
The cabin was closed off from the cargo bay and had soundproofing, but the roar of engines, the rush of wind on the skin of the jet, and the typical creaking and groaning of a cargo plane nevertheless made talking difficult. Sofia and Ivan crowded around Atcho. Rafael was checking his gear in another corner.
“It’s simple to use,” Sofia said. She took the NukeX and demonstrated. “This red button powers it up. This yellow one tests it without turning on the heat, and this black one does the job. After you power it up, you put it flush against the bomb’s trigger area, and hold the black button down.
“It takes fifteen seconds to reach maximum heat, and about thirty seconds to do its job. If you’re not blown up, it worked.” She smiled grimly, and handed the NukeX to Atcho, who stuffed it in his jacket. “So, what’s the plan?”
Atcho and Ivan stared at her. “We hadn’t really discussed one,” Atcho said awkwardly.
Sofia glanced at him reproachfully. “Doing things the Atcho way?” she kidded.
“We should plan what we are going to do when we get on the ground,” Ivan interjected.
“What do you think we should do?” Atcho asked him.
Ivan straightened with a questioning look. “We don’t know what kind of reception there’ll be in Moscow. We can stay on board until the crew leaves and go with them. Any security teams sent to inspect the plane should have left by then.”
Rafael joined them. Atcho acknowledged him and faced Ivan. “I have a different idea.”
Ivan drew up sharply. The tone in Atcho’s voice invited wariness. “What?”
“The priority now has to be to seize control of that bomb, preferably before Yermolov arms it. Then we have to deliver him into custody.” He stared straight into Ivan’s face. “This aircraft can travel over nine thousand miles on a full tank. We took off with a full tank.”
As understanding dawned, Ivan glowered. He drew close again. “I’m not a traitor,” he bellowed. “I will not let you steal this airplane.”
Atcho stood. “We’re not going to steal your airplane.” He grasped Ivan’s shoulder. “Your job now is to make sure Yermolov fails—that’s what your general secretary expects.” He pulled back and studied Ivan’s face to see if he understood. Satisfied, he went on. “If we land in Moscow, anything could happen. We can’t even guarantee that we can get off the airplane safely, much less that we can stop Yermolov, and we could lose that bomb.”
“I’m listening.” Ivan’s chin jutted out in defiance. “But we will not land on American or NATO soil. I won’t allow it.” He was silent a moment as another thought entered his mind. “If that was your plan, why didn’t we take over the plane shortly after takeoff? Doing it then would have been a lot less dangerous.”
“Maybe,” Atcho replied, “but we had a lot of ground to cover before we would be out of Soviet airspace, with the crew to control, and the whole Soviet air force alerted. This way, we’re much closer to international waters. By the time they can react on the ground, we’ll be almost clear of the Soviet border and in international airspace.”
Ivan mulled that a moment.
“Don’t worry,” Atcho continued. “There’s a place where the US military has landing privileges. It has a runway that will handle this aircraft. The Soviet Union and its allies also landed there. I know because Cuba used it as a way station when they sent troops to Angola.”
Understanding dawned on Ivan’s face. His angst receded a bit. “I know where you mean, but I’m not convinced.”
“We don’t have time to powwow. If you have a better suggestion, let’s hear it.”
Ivan grimaced, then gestured consent. “I’ll hold you to your word.” Atcho gave him a thumbs-up.
Sensing that a meeting of the minds had taken place, Sofia and Rafael crowded in. Atcho went over his plan.