by Isaac Stormm
“Alright. Bravo detachment. What’s your status?”
“Still taking fire from the eastern end. Cannot secure yet.”
“You think it’s safe enough to move the vehicles in?”
“Yes. We’ve got them contained. Go ahead.”
“Bring them in.”
He received the all clear signal from the catwalk searches. Good timing. Now what was he going to do with the extra centrifuges? They came here to destroy all of them not most. He didn’t fancy returning to Israel without saying every one was destroyed. He needed to speak with Grozner. He clicked a different channel on the radio. The mission frequency was piped through to Tel Aviv and could be heard but not responded to. This one only he knew about and contacted Grozner directly.
“How is it?” Grozner replied.
He wasn’t going to mince words. “We may have a problem. There are more centrifuges than anticipated. Blowing them is not an option. We don’t have enough. Your recommended action?”
There was a long silence. Then, “destroy what you can.”
“Affirmative.”
He switched the channel back. “Floor is secured,” he heard.
“Heavy stuff on the way in. Begin wiring them.” He felt for the detonator in his pocket. Not really necessary, but reassuring nonetheless.
He sat down in one of the chairs and rubbed his forehead. He wanted a solution for the problem. This would haunt him the rest of his days if he didn’t find one. His thoughts started racing. For a few seconds he didn’t hear the team member’s voice, until he tapped his shoulder.
“You need to take a look at this.”
He got up and walked out into the hall. There, on their knees with their hands behind their head and gun muzzles just a few inches away, were two plant technicians. Not unusual, except these were Caucasian. “Who are they?”
“They speak Farsi like natives. But they’re Russian. Heard one of them speak the language to the other. I reckon they’re scientists or something.”
He knew they were not supposed to take prisoners. However, nothing had been said about foreigners, because no one believed there were any. This place was too secret. If he gunned them down now, they’d have an international incident on their hands. He also knew they had to be filled with all sorts of hard data that may prove useful. “Bind their hands. We’ll take them with us.”
They put their hands behind their backs and cinched them with plastic cuffs.
“Tel Aviv’s gonna love this,” Foxmann quipped. He radioed the find and wasn’t surprised to hear Grozner say “What the hell,” either.
After that his headphone crackled. “Jessy, we’ve cleared the floor and cleared all surrounding rooms.”
“Let’s begin setting the charges.”
He left the control room, and headed for the nearest row. Other men had beat him to it and were pasting the firm, yet moldable plastic explosives next to each’s control monitor. He pulled his from the vest and began placing it. Once finished, he headed back to the platform to watch. He looked at his watch. Twelve minutes total, 48 to go. He wanted out of here before then. Looking across the way, those other centrifuges stared back at him, pulling at him like they wanted him to give them attention. Something is not right, he thought. Leaving them sitting was just too unspeakable for men of their quality. He knew that it would take them well over 48 minutes even if they had the explosives to wire them all. He had to look away. And it was then that he saw the bags of explosives being brought in from the vehicles. Now they could really get to work.
He retrieved some explosives and began pasting them on the machines. He worked as fast as his hands allowed, right alongside the others, helping prep more than a dozen charges. When he was done, he went over to the other centrifuges and walked each aisle, counting. Five hundred twenty machines in all, with fading Farsi lettering underneath each switch and gauge.
He looked back at the control room and thought of the two Russians. Wow. What irony, on top of everything else occurring this night, the Russians just showed how deep their noses were in the nuclear pit. All the while pretending to just do business on the oil front while systematically holding the Iranians’ hand through the uranium enrichment process. The cold war must’ve never really ended, the old foe once known as the Soviets not wanting it to. He wondered about an explanation, how they would give it.. It held his interest enough that he was going to inquire about them in the future.
“Jessy, come back to the hall. The Russians just told us something.”
He made his way back and found one of the men shaking his head, pleading. They were trying to get him to calm down. “Listen to this.”
“We are only to supervise the enrichment process from a safety standpoint. You must not—,” he seemed to catch himself from going further. “Withdraw. Leave,” he continued. “The Iranians will be here soon,” he said in perfect Farsi dialect. He seemed to think about it. Then said, “you are violating every international law written by this act.”
“Self-defense is not a violation,” Foxmann snapped back.
“The Iranians will only buy more. This will not hinder their program for very long. Moscow will respond by sending more to be constructed in Iran.”
“Then we will come back. You see we don’t have any other options. And your government helping them commit this crime only leads to more chaos.”
“Crime,” the man chuckled, “is only a point of view from your side. We are assisting an ally in achieving its goal of a peaceful nuclear program.”
“Save the lecture,” Foxmann responded.
“I take it the entrance will be destroyed?”
He looked at his watch. “You’ll know in less than thirty minutes.”
More bags were brought in. He decided to rejoin them. No need to remove a pair of hands when they could still help. He noticed something unusual about the machines he prepped versus the ones he counted a few minutes ago. These were newer. The writing under the switches and gauges looked almost wet. No peeling paint either. The others were probably off grid ready to be refurbished. Unlikely something that expensive was to be destroyed. Until now.
“All clear,” came the call from Delta detachment. The outside was secure.
He worked 15 more minutes as did everyone else. Except he was still trying to figure out a way to destroy the others as well. He wanted a solution. Wanted suggestions. Nobody gave him one. They were short on charges was always the explanation. Couldn’t short circuit them either. What about starting a fire? Negative. These items were made of aircraft grade steel and would resist that. In fact, it would only blacken them. He realized they would have to leave them as is. Apart from that, he figured they achieved 99 percent success. All was not so bad. And once the 1,600 explosions happened, there’d be so much debris to pick through, it’d take months to get the survivors back online.
He went back up on the platform and surveyed the work. The final centrifuges were being wired and the satisfaction he thought he would feel was absent. On this night when all centrifuges should be destroyed or damaged, so many here remained pristine. Another visit in the future? Not here but not out of the question either. They still will fall years behind.
He looked over at the control room, and saw the Russians looking at him. A look of what he deduced to be worry. He immediately detected they hid something. He needed to find out what. He motioned for them to be brought to the platform. Once they came, he reached over and grabbed the collar of the one he’d conversed with.
“A few minutes ago I sensed you left something out about how we must not destroy the centrifuges. Why? It will help you get home a lot quicker if you tell me.” He knew he had no pull in that matter, but felt it was worth trying.
The man looked down and sighed. “My friend, what you are doing here is a grave mistake. If you blow the centrifuges, the resulting heat will be so great, it will melt the internal circuitry and cause the hoses to melt, opening the safety seals.” He motioned toward the out of service centri
fuges. “They are of North Korean origin, full of nuclear waste waiting to be transferred. Your virus, the one called Stuxnet, made them inoperable, and unsafe. That is why the newer centrifuges are here. They are Russian and do not have such defects. With the others, once the radiation is released, it will cause a radiation cloud more intense than that given off by Chernobyl’s reactor to be carried by the winds.” His tone became stern. “So you see, gentlemen, your own espionage campaign doomed this mission from the start.”
Lying? No Foxmann knew he wasn’t. He turned away and flipped the channel to Tel Aviv’s. “Prime Minister, I’ve just been told the other centrifuges are storing uranium and if we blow this place, we risk a radiation cloud escaping.”
“We’ve no choice,” came the immediate reply from Grozner. “We must carry it out and deal with the consequences later. Proceed as planned. By the way, who is telling this?”
“One of the Russians.”
“No. Regardless, you must complete the mission. Yours is the most vital. You know that.”
He turned back to face the Russians. “Start moving them to the aircraft.” A flood of anguish hit him just then. “If you’re right…” He couldn’t say more as it might make him look unresolved. The stress was there though, for all to see. He turned back to face the centrifuges. “Alright, let’s start moving out.” He headed out to the hallway. Thinking about pressing that button on the detonator, he was unresolved. Orders were orders though and he would follow them. “Alpha is egressing the target.”
“Affirmative. Expecting you.”
The men began forming back up into their teams and exiting in small groups. Foxmann began to run. He was at the tail end of the last team. They stepped over the body of the earlier shoot and headed for the entrance. A reverse of everything, and it seemed like they were moving at the speed of light versus when they breached. They turned the corner and there the exit yawned at them. Foxmann exited the platform and sucked in a dose of that warm air then he started heading for the fence entryway. More bodies to step over, victims from other teams after he was inside. No time to waste. He ducked through the fence hole and stopped. Out came the detonator in the hand of a team member. He took it, looked at the entrance, thought about what he might be unleashing. Swallowed. Then hit the arming switch. A red light came on and he rested his index finger on it.
Worry shot into him. He blocked his mind with an imaginary wall. Mustn’t think of what lays ahead. Then he heard his voice. “Press the damn button. Now,” he said out loud. His finger made the slightest movement. The red light went off.
A gaping flame pushed by the blast wave shot out the mountain entrance. The concussion nearly knocked him down as more fire shot heavenward until it reached several hundred feet high, then suddenly vanished into dirty gray smoke being fed from the still open entrance. Then more flames and sparks spewed from it, hissing like a welding torch with the power of several thousand degrees.
“Mission accomplished,” he radioed Grozner. “Am exiting the target area now.”
One of the vehicles drove up to him. “Get in back, we’ll give you a lift,” came the offer. And he scooted into the back seat. The driver peeled out and headed for the rest of the group. Behind them, the remnants of Iran’s most secret facility burned brighter than ever, a beacon warming the already muggy night.
Situation Room
Tel Aviv
“Regardless of the warning by the Russian,” Grozner said to them, “it was the right call. We simply had no choice. If what he said comes true then the rest of the world will just have to accept our apology. I will never say the decision was a mistake. Never.”
“In this case, I will agree with you, Grozner,” Houser said. “What about the Americans? They will feel betrayed. And this risk of a cloud becoming a reality. How do you plan to deal with it?”
“Look, what’s done is done. I’ll take responsibility for anything negative, reminding the world again and again of how we got here.”
“They might not be so forgiving.”
“What I anticipate is a counterstrike in the Persian Gulf,” Metzer interjected, “once the Iranians figure out what’s going on.” He looked at the time. “Our strike against the leadership hasn’t reported in yet.”
The strike was the last act in the operation. Grozner imagined some of the bleeding hearts in the U.N. would bawl once they heard they had resorted to assassination. “Even if they don’t succeed, it was worth trying. In fact, in the coming days it may be worth trying again if they escape and we’re able to pinpoint them. What about our cyber strike?”
Metzer nodded as he sipped some water. “All the viruses were successfully downloaded into the Iranian systems. They had little difficulty getting through the firewalls. All Iranian communications and oil production are now infected.”
“When the last strike reports in, I’ll notify the rest of the world of what we’ve done.”
“What do you want to do with the Russians?” Philpot asked.
“I haven’t decided. I don’t think our chances of using them as bargaining chips will gain much traction if the Russians decide to retaliate against us.”
“Think they would go to war over these two people?”
“No. No, I’m not thinking that. Since they were found at that place, there are probably others maybe even dead now. This’ll be a wait-and-see on that part. They face a great deal of international embarrassment right now once we show them to the world.” Grozner smiled just a little. “If we show them to the world, we might have a trump card.”
“We can interrogate them. And drop a few hints to Moscow in the coming days. We need some backdoor channels to open, but I think I can arrange that.”
“This will also help us with the Americans, and the U.N. The Americans may not do anything alone but they may gather a coalition and decide on sanctions. I’m almost certain the U.N. will embarrass Russia once they find out they’ve been getting lied to for quite a while.”
“All targets successfully hit.” It was the flight with the assassination order. There was no way to confirm anyone at the residences, but their homes were now rubble. He knew it likely that if they weren’t there, their family members were. He lost no time thinking about them. The bigger picture was far more important. “How long until they’re out of Iranian airspace?”
“The others are already clear. I would say no more than twenty minutes. They’ll take their path out over the Caspian like Foxmann.”
“Well, gentleman,” he took a sip of coffee, “we are now at war. Let us go about our work with absolute dedication and devotion to our cause.”
“I will report back to Labor,” Houser said. “The time for partisan bickering is over. Good luck to us all.” He reached out his hand and shook Grozner’s.
Grozner lowered himself a little in the seat and put his fingers behind his head, stretching. It had been a tiring lead up to tonight. The actual operation was not bad. He was on pins and needles of course, but he did good as did everyone else. His mind was clear. He actually felt whole. It was like a weight lifted off his shoulder. Everything was out in the open now, no more behind-the-scenes whispering.
The White House
Washington, D.C.
10:22 P.M.
Anderson buttoned his pajamas and slid between the sheets next to Jennifer. “You know, spending time with their Foreign Minister, it’s an entirely new and strange thing for an American president to be dealing directly with the Cubans. I mean normalizing relations with them has opened up billions upon billions of dollars worth of deals on America’s behalf. Real Estate developers are going to turn it into a paradise. It’ll be a prime vacation spot in a few years and I know the Communists are going to love seeing their coffers filled to overflowing with our capitalist dollars,” he chuckled.
“We should go sometime.”
“We will. I may even go before the term is over with.” He could see it now, being welcomed by the mandatory crowds as conquering hero, and being disowned by t
he Cuban America community who supported him carte blanche’ this last election. “Really though, I would prefer to go after we’re back being private citizens. That way we can go and maybe not attract a lot of attention. Just be tourists. They’ll have some good hotels by then. Maybe be better if we were in a beach house. Who knows.”
Someone knocked on the door. Bad news? If anything like last time, yes. “Come in.”
The aide stopped by the door. “Mr. President, the Secretary of Defense is on the phone.” He picked it up and handed it to him. “Mitchell? What’s up?”
“A statement from Prime Minister Grozner just went over the airwaves. It reads as follows: ‘Tonight Israeli forces have struck Iran, a mortal enemy who has threatened on numerous occasions to destroy our nation. Despite all of their assurances that it was for peaceful purposes, we all knew that their nuclear program existed for one thing and that was to annihilate Israel. Well, it is no longer going to happen. And we will still remain vigilant in these coming days to ward off any attack with much stronger counterattacks should the Iranians attempt any kind of action against us.’”
“God in heaven.” The color left his face. His stomach dropped to his feet. Far worse than bad news. A catastrophe.
“We were not able to detect them either inbound or outbound so we can’t give you a situation report on how they did it. We don’t know just how bad the damage is either. All communications happening in Iran shut down. Probably got taken out by a virus. And Tehran is in the dark. No lights. Nothing. With your permission, I’d like to keep our forces on full alert for the next seventy-two hours at least.”
“Give the order.” No sleep tonight. His energy returned in spades. “Get everybody to the situation room. One hour.” He slammed the phone down. “That’s it. Can you believe it? The bastard lied to me. They went and did it. They struck Iran.”
“My God.”
“I’ll need him. And every other deity you can pray to. Damn it.” He reached for a shoe and threw it against the closet door, making a tiny black smudge. “Damn it. They want me to see things from their side. That’ll be their explanation.” He pinched his fingers almost together. “We were this close, Jennifer. I had hopes we could get out of this mess. Maybe open up some new avenues with the Iranians. I mean it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?” he turned away, hands on his hips and went to the window, drew the curtain and looked out over the shadows of the front lawn. He lowered his head and shook it. “God forgive me. A president is to leave office leaving the country in better shape than when he found it. We were good. On almost all fronts. Now, some more Americans are going to have to die. I have to face the American people tomorrow morning. And tell them in no uncertain terms that we’ll have to defend ourselves from possible Iranian retaliation worldwide. But, I’m going to emphasize that we will be working diligently to get this thing resolved peacefully. Strange as that may sound, we may be shooting at each other and talking to each other somewhere at the same time.” He turned back to her, tears welling up in his eyes. “I never wanted to be a wartime president. I didn’t want to call the global war on terror a war. I tried to look the other way. And I did good up to now.” He walked back over and sat on the edge of the bed.