The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [254]
"Well?" Ghosn asked, as a man ran off to the newly-deepened crater.
"Ten percent off," Fromm said, looking up. Then he smiled. "Ten percent too much."
"What does that mean?" Qati demanded, suddenly worried that they'd done something wrong.
"It means that my young student has learned his lessons well." Fifteen minutes later, they were sure. It took two men to find it, and half an hour to remove the tungsten casing from the core. What had been a nearly solid steel mass as big around as a man's fist was now a distorted cylinder no wider than a cigar. Had it been plutonium, a nuclear reaction would have taken place. Of that the German was sure. Fromm hefted it in his hand and presented it to Ibrahim.
"Herr Ghosn," he said formally. "You have a gift with explosives. You are a fine engineer. In the DDK, it took us three attempts to get it right. You have done it in one."
"How many more?"
Fromm nodded. "Very good. We shall do another tomorrow. We will test all the stainless-steel blanks, of course."
"That is why we made them." Ghosn agreed.
On the way back, Bock ran over his own calculations. According to Fromm the force of the final explosion would be more than four hundred fifty thousand tons of TNT. He therefore based his estimates on a mere four hundred thousand. Bock was always conservative on casualty estimates. The stadium and all in it would be vaporized. No, he corrected himself. That wasn't really true. There was nothing magical about this weapon. It was merely a large explosive device. The stadium and all in it would be totally destroyed, but there would be a great deal of rubble flung ballistically hundreds, perhaps thousands of meters. The ground nearest the device would be pulverized down to pieces of molecular size. Dust particles would then be sucked up into the fireball. Bits of the bomb-assembly residue would affix themselves to the rising, boiling dust. That's what fallout was, he'd learned, dirt with bomb-residue attached. The nature of the blast - being set off at ground level - would maximize the fallout, which would be borne downwind. The majority would fall within thirty kilometers of the blast site. The remainder would be a plaything of the winds, to fall over Chicago or St Louis or maybe even Washington. How many would die from that?
Good question. He estimated roughly two hundred thousand from the blast itself, certainly no more than that. Another fifty to one hundred thousand from secondary effects, that number including long-term deaths from cancers which would take years to manifest themselves. As Qati had noted earlier, the actual death count was somewhat disappointing. It was so easy to think of nuclear bombs as magical engines of destruction, but they were not. They were merely highly powerful bombs with some interesting secondary effects. It also made for the finest terrorist weapon yet conceived.
Terrorist! Bock asked himself. Is that what I am? It was, of course, in the eye of the beholder. Bock had long since decided his measure of respect for the judgment of others. This event would be the best expression of it.
"John, I need an idea," Ryan said.
"What's that?" Clark asked.
"I've drawn a blank. The Japanese prime minister is going to be in Mexico in February, then he's flying up here to see the President. We want to know what he's going to be saying on his airplane."
"I don't have the legs to dress up as a stew, Doc. Besides, I've never learned to do the tea ceremony either." The field officer turned SPO paused and became serious. "Bug an airplane - That sounds like a real technical challenge."
"What do you know about this?"
John examined his coffee. "I've placed intelligence-gathering devices before, but always on the ground.