"The Soviets are demanding a ransom? My God. What's the difference between them and common thugs? Hell, they are thugs. They overthrew the Tsar, carved up the spoils of the old regime, seized power, and then rebranded themselves as shameless exploiters. Is this what they call communism? It's nothing but exploitation—worse than Wall Street ever was."
It was rare to see President Bush this furious on a call. But ever since the Vantaa incident left the United States on the defensive, his temper had been on a hair trigger.
When the U.S. ambassador to the Soviet Union broke the news, Bush's voice on the other end of the line nearly ruptured Matlock's eardrums. The ambassador had to pull the receiver away before replying nervously, "Mr. President, the Soviets haven't named a ransom amount yet, but given how desperate they are for cash, it won't be small."
"Forget it. Getting mad won't help." Bush sighed, his voice deflating. "Thank you, Ambassador Matlock. Get some rest."
After hanging up, Bush turned to his assembled staff, his expression dark. "You all heard that. The Soviets have the nerve to provoke us like this because of one thing—this so-called red mercury nuclear bomb."
The room went still.
Two disasters now sat on the table: political blackmail and the threat of a red mercury device. No president could keep his cool in the face of that.
"Can we confirm the red mercury bomb is real?" Bush asked Robert, the CIA director. The original intelligence had come across his desk before anyone else's.
Robert, still cautious after the fallout from the Vantaa affair, chose his words carefully. "Our analysts estimate there's an 80% chance the Soviets have developed a red mercury device. But I'm not confident in that figure. Just two weeks ago, we intercepted intel showing they were gathering detailed data on temperature and pressure thresholds in nuclear weapons development. If they were building standard warheads, that level of detail wouldn't be necessary. The focus of their research seems to be on miniaturization. We believe they're working on something compact—about the size of a nuclear artillery shell."
"A few months ago, we spotted a massive facility under construction near Smolensk. The location was remote—suspiciously so. At first, we saw nothing unusual, just trucks coming and going. But once all the nuclear-related intel we gathered pointed back to that site, we took a closer look."
"Our embedded agents, through informant channels, discovered that the sealed containers being transported in and out held antimony oxide–mercury, as well as temperature and pressure data consistent with miniaturized nuclear payloads. The Soviets' clumsy attempts at deception suggest they're constructing a terrifying new weapon—a red mercury bomb."
The mention of red mercury wiped the calm from Bush's face. The Soviets were fast-tracking a so-called "suitcase nuke." Did the aging power-brokers in Moscow, sensing their time was short, plan to use it as a last-ditch strike against the West?
"Right before the Vantaa incident," Robert continued, "they suddenly halted all intel-gathering on nuclear data. That same facility near Smolensk went quiet. No more traffic. As if nothing had ever happened. There's only one explanation."
Robert paused. The next words were ones no one wanted to say aloud.
Vice President Dan Quayle finally spoke, his voice strained. "It means our intelligence is no longer useful to them. The Soviets have cracked the temperature-pressure problem. In other words, they've completed the red mercury bomb."
Robert laid out a stack of satellite photos. Grainy images showed a forested mountain region. In one frame, a fireball could be seen rising through the mist. The series captured a full sequence—from detonation to the emergence of a mushroom cloud.
"These were taken the day before the intel went dark," Robert explained. "The yield appears small—comparable to a nuclear shell—but the explosion and radiation would be enough to wipe out the Pentagon or the White House and kill everyone nearby."
Bush sat back, visibly disturbed. "Can our security systems detect something like that?"
Quayle replied, "We've upgraded the Pentagon's monitoring to the highest level. We're confident it can't happen there. But, Mr. President, they don't have to detonate it inside. One suicide bomber at the gate could level the White House. If they set off suitcase nukes in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco... the economy would implode from sheer panic. No one wants to live under the shadow of invisible nuclear weapons."
He hesitated, then added, "With just a few of these, the Soviets could break the free world."
Bush leaned forward. "If we start funding our own program now—no restrictions, full support—how soon can we build a suitcase nuke?"