‘More likely,’ said Gus, ‘they would aim at between ten and twenty major cities.’
‘Remind me what the explosion is like.’
‘In the first one-millionth of a second, a fireball is formed two hundred yards wide. Everyone within it dies instantly.’
‘Perhaps they’re the lucky ones.’
‘The blast flattens buildings for a mile around. Almost everyone in that area dies from the impact or from falling debris. The heat sets fire to anything that will burn, including people, within a radius of two to five miles. Cars crash, trains come off the rails. The blast and the heat go upwards, too, so planes fall out of the sky.’
‘How many casualties?’
‘In New York, about a quarter of a million people die more or less immediately. Another half a million are injured. More die of radiation sickness in the following hours and days.’
‘Jesus.’
‘But that’s just one bomb. They would aim more than one missile at each city, in case of malfunctions. And China now has multiple warheads, so a single missile can carry up to five separate bombs, each seeking a different target. No one knows what the effect would be of ten, twenty, fifty nuclear explosions in a city, because it has never happened.’
‘It’s unimaginable.’
‘And this is only the short term. With every major city in the US and China on fire, imagine how much soot is released into the atmosphere. Enough, some scientists think, to weaken sunlight and lower temperatures on the Earth’s surface – leading to poor harvests, shortage of food, and starvation in many countries. It’s called nuclear winter.’
Pauline felt as if she had swallowed something cold and heavy.
‘I’m sorry to be so bleak,’ Gus said.
‘I asked for it.’
She leaned forward and reached out with both her hands. Gus took them in his and held them.
After a long moment she said: ‘It must never happen.’
He squeezed her hands gently. ‘Please God.’
‘And you know who’s in charge of preventing it: you and me.’
‘Yeah,’ said Gus. ‘Especially you.’
CHAPTER 21
Tamara thought they might have lost Abdul.
It was now eight days since he had called and said the bus was about to cross the border into Libya. He might have been arrested by the Libyans, though that part of the world was so lawless it seemed improbable. More likely he had been kidnapped or murdered by tribesmen who had nothing to do with any government. Perhaps a ransom demand was on its way.
And perhaps Abdul had disappeared never to be seen again.
Tab called a meeting to discuss what to do. Such meetings were hosted by the Americans and the French alternately, and this one was held in the French embassy. As the discussion would be in the French language Dexter did not attend.
It was chaired by Tab’s boss, Marcel Lavenu, a big man whose bald head rose above his shoulders like a dome on a church. ‘I saw the Chinese ambassador last night,’ he said, speaking conversationally as the group took their seats. ‘He’s mad as hell about the rebellion in North Korea. But the Chinese don’t mind arming rebels in North Africa. Imagine the reaction if the nuclear base at Sangnam-ni had been taken over by men with Bugles!’
Tamara did not understand the reference, and Tab explained: ‘The Bugle is the nickname for the bullpup rifle made by the French company FAMAS.’
Tab was spreading a large map on the conference table. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled, and his brown arms had a light covering of hair. Leaning over the map with a pencil in his hand and his forelock tumbling over his eyes, he looked irresistibly attractive, and Tamara wanted to take him to bed there and then.
He was oblivious to the effect he had. One time she had laughingly accused him of deliberately dressing to make women’s pulses race, and he had given a vague smile that showed he did not really understand what she was talking about. Which made him even more alluring.
‘This is Faya,’ he began, pointing with his pencil to a place on the map. ‘A thousand kilometres from here by road. It’s where Abdul called from, eight days ago, when he gave us a mass of priceless data. Since then he has presumably been out of telephone range.’
Monsieur Lavenu was a smart man, if a little pompous. He said: ‘What about the radio signal from the consignment? Can’t we pick that up?’
‘Not from here,’ said Tab. ‘Its range is only about a hundred and fifty kilometres.’
‘Of course. Carry on.’