The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,109

the jetty. He took out a pair of compact binoculars and looked up at the mine.

The deal had obviously been agreed. Sevnik was considerably happier than before. Even the terrorist leader seemed in a better mood. Whatever he had seen inside the mine had been to his liking.

Zykov clapped Sevnik on the shoulder, his expression suggesting that he could almost taste the champagne. Al-Rais shouted something into the shaft.

His men were bringing out the RTG.

‘How far out are Tony and John?’ Adam asked.

‘Still more than three miles away,’ Holly Jo told him apologetically.

‘They’re not gonna get there in time, are they?’ said Kyle.

‘They might if I can stall things here.’ Adam picked up the cable again and gave it an experimental shake. Sinuous steel ripples ran across the cutting.

The Vityaz’s engine note changed. He looked up the hill to see it crawling laboriously but relentlessly towards the mine’s entrance. It would reach it in a couple of minutes. He raised the binoculars again.

Before long, al-Rais’s men came into view, along with the Russian soldiers. They were clustered together, carrying something extremely heavy.

The nuclear generator.

Browning’s thoughts resurfaced, almost excited about what he was about to see. What have they got? Is it a Senostav, or one of the older units? Is it damaged?

The RTG was now out in the open, but he still couldn’t see it properly past its bearers. Put the thing down, damn it! ‘They’ve got the RTG,’ he reported grimly. A look back towards the lagoon. The Beriev was at the end of the jetty, a man using a rope to secure the seaplane to the dock. A hatch was open, ready to accept cargo.

The Vityaz snarled, the articulated crawler bending as its driver made a tight turn just below the minehead to position the trailer for loading. Those who had stayed at the helicopter climbed out with the money. The cases were placed on the ground.

The shuffling men brought the RTG to the vehicle. Adam was concerned that he wouldn’t get a proper look at the device before it was placed aboard, but then al-Rais gave an order. With obvious relief, the men set down the generator and stepped back.

Adam focused the binoculars. Browning’s knowledge instantly told him what he was looking at. An IEU-2M, the core’s green-painted radiator fins visible within its outer frame. Weight: six hundred kilograms, of which just five was the strontium – the rest was mostly shielding. Planned service life: fifteen years. This particular unit was well beyond that. But its fuel was still deadly. Strontium-90 had a half-life of close to thirty years, so even though its radioactive emissions were far down on what they had been when the RTG was built, it remained active enough to be lethal.

Nobody at the mine appeared concerned about taking a terminal dose, though. As far as Adam could tell, the core was intact and undamaged. He put down the binoculars and switched on the Geiger counter. Even at this distance, an exposed nuclear core would set it crackling furiously, but the reading was only slightly above normal background levels. He wouldn’t want to spend any appreciable time in close proximity to the unit, but for short periods it was safe.

At least . . . until it was deliberately opened.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

Adam returned the counter to its case, then retrieved the binoculars. An order from Sevnik, and the men heaved the RTG off the ground and brought it step by careful step to the Vityaz’s tailgate. The entire vehicle lurched on its suspension as it was placed aboard.

Another couple of minutes passed while the generator was secured for its short journey, then people climbed aboard the crawler. Zykov, al-Rais and Sevnik got into the cab, two of the terrorist group picking up the money cases and joining their leader. A sort of musical chairs began amongst the others, nobody wanting to ride in the trailer with the RTG, but some unlucky soldiers drew the short straw.

The Vityaz revved up and started down the slope. It followed the tracks, heading straight for the cutting. Adam crouched lower behind the logs. He would only get one chance: his timing had to be perfect.

The engine noise grew steadily louder. He didn’t dare lift his head to check the Vityaz’s position in case he was seen. Instead he inched forward to look past the logs at the dilapidated tractor across the cutting. The cable he had run around it was partially visible in the snow, a