Tired, but increasingly restless, Sanderson checked the clock. Quarter past eight. It took no more than a minute of silence, a minute of staring at the dregs of the Merlot, to make up his mind. I might as well go back in. Sjoberg won’t be anywhere near the place. An hour, maybe two. Long enough for the ibuprofen to kick in. After that I might get some sleep.

There were still three fingers in the bottle when Sanderson recorked it. He put his coat back on and tapped the pockets to make sure everything was where it ought to be. Credentials, phone, wallet. He then cursed himself for succumbing to Sjoberg’s accusations. Alzheimer’s my ass.

Sanderson stepped outside and set a brisk pace in the cool evening air.

Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Hamedi watched the video feed with intense interest. The half-cut spherical encasement turned slowly as it was sprayed with an etching solution, the composite cubic boron nitride cutting tools performing their work with computer precision. When the casings were complete, they would be shaved to a precision measured in thousandths of an inch. Hamedi knew the value of such demanding specifications. The issue was not a matter of function—to initiate a reaction was simple enough—but rather efficiency. Once the fission began, every minute flaw brought a resultant decrease in yield. And Hamedi, with all his heart, was determined to maximize the weapon’s yield.

“Gently,” he ordered. “Bring down the speed.”

The technician seated next to him entered a command, and the machine tools three floors below decreased their revolutions. The machining vault was on the lowest level of the complex outside Qom. Sealed and secure, the entire room was built on dampers to resist the slightest seismic tremor, and the climate was stabilized to provide constant temperature and humidity. But most importantly, the vault lay beneath eighty yards of earth and reinforced concrete, making it safe from Israeli and even American warplanes.

“There, yes. Now let’s measure.”

More commands were sent. The cutting tools pulled away, and seconds later the surfaces were measured using laser interferometers. The numbers that lit to the control display fell just outside the desired tolerances.

“Almost,” Hamedi said. “Keep going.”

The operator took the control stick in hand and was about to reengage the grinding surfaces when Hamedi saw him hesitate. The man seemed frozen, his face twisted in an odd expression.

“What is wrong, Ahmed?” Hamedi demanded.

The man almost answered, but then his head rocked back and he sneezed. The sudden muscle contractions caused his hand to jolt the control grip. The alarm sounded instantly, red lights and an audible warning blaring from the console, as the emergency system began its automated shutdown sequence. Hamedi sucked in a deep breath and watched the video feed in horror. He saw the mechanical arms pull away cleanly from the hemispheric casing, and watched the grinding heads spin to a stop. Only then did he begin to breathe again.