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“In addition to the Hellfires, they got a stock of Hydra rockets. Those are the seventy-mil rockets we’ve been using since Vietnam for air-to-ground support. They did not have warheads, and that’s the difference between missiles and rockets. If the Hydras slip through, the eventual buyers have a fifty-fifty chance of blowing their own asses up when they try to arm them.”
“But the Hellfire missiles are fully armed?”
“Fully armed with thermobaric warheads.”
“Thermobaric?”
“A metal-augmented charge that creates an overpressure blast zone. Like Cutler said, these babies could do some heavy, heavy damage. They are also adaptable to almost any firing platform out there.”
“Shit.”
“Shit is right. This is why I’m telling you all this. Cavanaugh wants to keep you in the dark because that’s the FBI way. But you need to know what’s at stake here. There are consequences if we don’t get this shit back.”
“I got it.”
“When they tell you to solve a forty-five-year-old murder, it’s not because they give a shit about who got killed or why. They’re just looking for leverage against Nicky Novak. If that container in Prague ends up empty and those missiles are already out there in the world, they’re going to need all the leverage they can get to bring Nicky to heel and make him start talking.”
“You think they’d let him skate on murder if he helped them get the missiles back?”
“Absolutely. Do the math. The death toll from those rockets could be in the tens of thousands; compare that to a few murders nobody remembers. I know that’s callous to say, but that’s the reality of this.”
“Right. And what is supposed to be in the shipping container?”
“Novak has a specialty car dealership over there. American imports, some of them stolen, some legit. The bill of lading and Customs inspection papers say it’s carrying four electric Mercedes G-Wagons and a Porsche Taycan, also electric. And a carton of various auto parts.”
“And the missiles are where, in the trunks?”
“G-Wagons don’t have trunks. We’re thinking in the parts carton.”
“How big are they? The missiles.”
“The Hellfire is about five feet long with a seven-inch diameter. It takes some doing to hide those. The Hydras are much smaller. They stack up to nineteen in a firing pod on the Black Hawk.”
Bosch went silent as he remembered the outboard missile pods on the gunships that had transported him to tunnels in combat zones in Vietnam. He remembered the sound of the Hydra rockets firing. The shark’s teeth painted on the tubes, and the taunts — Death from the Sky, Greetings, Charlie, Bang from Danang, and so on.
Shear checked his Apple Watch.
“I gotta go,” he said. “My train leaves in ten.”
“You go,” Bosch said. “I’ll get this.”
Shear took a last gulp of his drink, then slipped off his stool and checked his pockets to make sure he had his phone and other belongings.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow,” Bosch said.
Shear walked off and Bosch signaled the bartender for the check. He left a full beer on the bar. He knew that he needed to keep a clear head until this thing was over.
23
BOSCH TOOK AN Uber back to Cedars to collect his car. Before he was out of the garage, he called his daughter, and she answered right away.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Mads, how are you?”
“I’m fine. What’s going on?”
