The Russian had served his purpose. Now it was time for him to serve another. Besides, there was the cost factor to consider. Thorn had paid Soyev half up front for the two devices, with the balance due on delivery. If Soyev wasn’t around to collect, Thorn could put the second half of the payment in his own pocket and Thorn’s client would never be the wiser.

Three days later and seventeen hundred miles to the north, Thorn was now busy in upstate New York. He was scrambling to finish work on the delivery vehicle for Fat Man.

The place where they were working was a large commercial garage rented from a boarded-up GM truck dealership just outside Albany. As far as Thorn was concerned, it was great having the U.S. economy in the dumps. Not only were commercial airliners cheap as dirt, it seemed whatever he needed was readily available, and at cut-rate prices. Now if he could only figure out some way to pad his bills and make sure the country didn’t blow away and disappear before he could destroy it, everything would be just peachy.

There were only three of them, a welder from Thorn’s crew, a Muslim taxi driver from Manhattan who’d quit his job two days earlier to join them, and Thorn. For muscle they were using a three-ton electrical chain hoist on rollers suspended from an overhead I beam. The welder had been working for nearly a week on a giant steel barrel that now encased Fat Man.

The barrel was slung under the chain hoist using heavy nylon tow straps and rolled along the overhead beam until it was centered over the open frame of the truck. Carefully they lowered it into place.

“Once I do this it ain’t gonna turn anymore. You sure you want me to do it? You want I could make it so it could turn? Might take two, maybe three extra days,” said the welder.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Thorn. “Time’s running out. Get it done.”

“Your call.” The welder had already made a small fortune. The job had taken the better part of a week. Five days earlier he had removed the large metal paddles from the inside of the barrel. Using a torch the welder then cut the huge steel barrel in half.

Working alone with nothing but the hoist, the welder had lifted the rear half of the barrel away with the chain hoist and spent three hours of backbreaking labor maneuvering the bomb into the remaining front half of the barrel. Another two days was spent cutting angle iron and welding the bomb in place. He kept reminding himself to keep the hot end of the arc welder away from the area that housed Fat Man’s initiating charge. Otherwise the authorities would be searching for his identity from the spray of DNA taken from air samples in the stratosphere.

Now that the two halves of the barrel were back together, Thorn wanted it welded to the frame of the truck where it wouldn’t move, giving the bomb a stable platform. As the welder worked, throwing sparks of hot metal around the truck, Thorn spent his time assembling the parts for the detonator.

This was the one item he hadn’t purchased. It was supplied and delivered by his employer, a last-minute change in their agreement. As Thorn examined it closely, he realized why. It was clear that they didn’t want any mistakes on this.

The truck’s driver, the Muslim taxi man, was handpicked by Thorn based on references from some very nasty associates he’d met while hiding out in Somalia. Whether they were pirates or jihadists, Thorn trusted the Somalis because he knew they would go to their deaths either for their wants or for their beliefs.

The driver was to be well armed, both a handgun and two fully automatic AKs with half a dozen spare clips. He was to reach his target at all costs, driving through barricades and shooting his way in if he had to. It was without question a trip to paradise. Whether there would be virgins waiting at the other end, Thorn would leave to the driver. But he began to reassess his earlier assumptions as to the national origins of the people who had hired him. It wasn’t oil money that was fueling the venture. He was now certain of that. They were not part of the jihad. The detonator had been made in Germany by a well-known industrial electronics manufacturer. It had come to Thorn by way of a circuitous route that took it through a buyer, an unnecessary middleman in Yemen. The detonator carried with it, like a neon sign, a paper trail of invoices and shipping labels. At first Thorn thought this was a bold and naked claim of accountability, until he looked more closely at the detonator itself. Thorn didn’t ask any questions. It was what the client wanted, and he was paying the freight.

Time was now getting tight. By morning Thorn had to be headed back south and he couldn’t wait to be gone. He had a mountain of work ahead of him in Puerto Rico.

He carefully soldered the two lead wires from the mercury trembler switch to the terminals on the electronic detonator. Then he climbed the metal ladder and crawled into the opening up high on the rear of the barrel. Once inside, Thorn wired the detonator to the initiating charge on Fat Man. Then he taped the detonator to a piece of metal angle iron using three rounds of electrical tape and another round of duct tape to make sure that the detonator wouldn’t be torn from the bomb by the impact of the fall, that is, if the driver reached his final target.

Thorn had to crawl on his back and squeeze his gut under the massive bomb in order to rig the final set of wires. These were about thirty feet in length. They had to be fed through a small hole drilled in the front end of the barrel and from there through a hole in the back of the truck’s cab.

Inside the cab was a small metal box, and inside the box was a toggle switch. This was a manual trigger designed to detonate the bomb if all else failed.

It took him several minutes and a lot of sweat to drag his body under the bomb once more and climb out of the slippery steel barrel. By the time Thorn had his feet on the ground again, he was huffing and puffing. He was getting too old for this.

Time for a break. He grabbed a cold beer from an ice chest in the corner and sat down for a minute to check his e-mail. He used a small Netbook with a 3G connection.

Two minutes to boot it and Thorn opened his messages. There was one from Soyev asking why his money on delivery hadn’t been wired to his overseas account, a couple pieces of junk mail from the 3G provider, and a news story from Thorn’s customized Google news site.

The last item caught his attention. Thorn had set it up to provide regular searches for news items that turned up any of a number of names, the recent aliases he had used as well as the name Thorn itself. If the authorities were looking for him, it was one way to stay alert. He could discontinue the use of an alias the second he had any warning.

He opened the e-mail and started reading: “Chicago Lawyer Warns of D.C. Terror Plot.” The moment he saw the name Snyder it set off bells. Bart Snyder was accusing a man named Thorn of being involved in the murder of his son, James, in Washington, D.C. The old man had held a news conference. The story was brief, only six short paragraphs, but it was enough to make the hair on the back of Thorn’s neck stand up. “Mr. Snyder stated that the man he identified only as Thorn, also known as Dean Belden, is believed to have extensive ties to international terrorist organizations. He claims that his son, James Snyder, may have inadvertently discovered evidence of terrorist activities, and believes that he was killed for that reason. Mr. Snyder told reporters that he is conducting his own investigation and will be releasing further information early next week.

“A spokesman for the FBI confirmed that James Snyder was the victim of an apparent homicide in Washington, D.C., earlier this summer, but declined further comment, stating that the matter was under investigation by the Metropolitan Police. A spokesperson for the police department confirmed that Bart Snyder had been attempting to assist police in the investigation of his son’s murder, but that at this time police have no credible information concerning any terrorist activities in connection with the case.”