by Oliver North
Ali Yunesi was nodding now, clearly seeing the wisdom in what he was hearing. “But where in Cuba?” the mullah asked. “Our embassy in Havana is watched around the clock. We know the American Satans have it under surveillance and probably have spies inside it.”
“Correct,” said Komulakov. “Not your embassy. I have just the place in Cuba to run this. That's where I should be.” What Komulakov didn't say was that if the Americans responded with overwhelming force—perhaps even nuclear weapons, as this American president was liable to do—Komulakov didn't want to be anywhere near Tehran.
“What is this place in Cuba?” asked the Iranian.
Komulakov unrolled a satellite photo of Cuba and explained, pointing to a location on the chart: “This place is called Lourdes. It's fifty miles west of Havana. More than forty years ago Castro provided the USSR with access and control over this twenty-nine-square-mile facility. In exchange, my country provided Castro with oil and hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of aid. We used this facility to monitor American communications—everything from satellite to their ‘long lines’ microwave telephone conversations. The USSR manned this site more than three decades with nearly two thousand technicians, engineers, analysts, and military personnel. During that period as much as 75 percent of all intercepted intelligence that was sent to Moscow originated from Lourdes.”
Though he knew some of this already, the Iranian was trying hard not to appear to be impressed. To stop the history lesson he asked, “But didn't your President Putin shut all this down years ago?”
“Today, Lourdes looks mostly abandoned,” Komulakov answered, pointing to the aerial photo. “From the air or a satellite all that shows are these scattered buildings and old satellite tracking dishes. But what most people do not know is that the site is still picking up military signals to and from the U.S.
“Putin told the world that he was shutting Lourdes down after the Americans went into Afghanistan, but that's not what happened,” continued the Russian, exhibiting pride even for the man who had destroyed his political ambitions.
“The Russian intelligence services knew that the location of the facility—little more than one hundred miles from Key West—made it too valuable. It is still one of the largest and most sophisticated SIGINT collection facilities in the world—equal to one of the West's ECHELON sites in Australia or the ones they have built next door to you in Iraq and Afghanistan. Today it still serves Russian military intelligence (GRU), the Federal Agency for Government Communications (FAPSI) and in a separate area, the Cuban military and secret police intelligence services.”
“But I saw pictures of the place being dismantled,” said Yunesi.
“True,” the Russian responded. “But the crates of communications equipment loaded onto cargo ships and aircraft bound for Murmansk were merely for show. Only the obsolete technology was sent back to Russia. We cut our personnel by more than half, but improvements in technology had made them obsolete anyway. Putin's grand gesture was bogus. We brought in new equipment and still operate the Lourdes facility pretty much as before but with greater effectiveness.”
“But I cannot go to Cuba,” protested the Iranian. “I must be here.”
“Of course,” replied Komulakov smoothly. “You will be in complete control at all times. All orders to those who will be carrying out phases two and three will originate with you—but they will be transmitted from Lourdes. Best of all, there is a totally secure fiber-optic cable that runs between Lourdes and Murmansk—and the Americans know nothing about it. That is how I shall communicate with you—from Lourdes, to the SVR communications center outside Moscow. There, I will set up a secure satellite link to you, here in Iran.”
“If we do as you suggest, what will Castro know about this?” asked Yunesi. “I met him at a ‘non-aligned meeting’ many years ago. He makes very long speeches and seems benign in his old age. But I would still be worried if he knew.”
“Do not be concerned about Mr. Castro, my friend,” the Russian replied. “He will know nothing about this.”
Now, twenty months after that conversation in Tehran, Komulakov was absolutely convinced that the plan was flawless. It had taken a year and a half to put in place all of the necessary personnel and equipment. Multiple small shipments of gear, much of it purchased in Europe and Japan, had been delivered to Cuba and installed in the old Lourdes bunkers and above-ground buildings.
To ensure that American spies in Cuba—and their satellites overhead—could not detect any changes at Lourdes, Komulakov insisted on two iron-clad rules. First, no exterior structural changes were permitted. Second, overall Russian personnel strength at the site was unchanged. To ensure this, the “retired” general simply arranged with Moscow Centre to substitute one of his own “contractors” each time a Russian government technician rotated home. His only personnel concerns were the four Iranians Ali Yunesi had insisted on sending to Lourdes to ensure that at least one of his countrymen was on watch at all times in the communications center.
By September 2007, the Lourdes-Murmansk-Moscow-Tehran encrypted voice communications link had been tested twice. A week before “Al Dawah” began, all of the primary and secondary Internet Web sites that they would use for relaying messages to operatives in the field were up and running. Komulakov was confident that the changes at Lourdes had gone undetected by the Americans. He was correct in that assessment.
The Russian had also convinced himself that Fidel Castro, the old fool, was blissfully unaware that his island paradise was being used as the command and control center for a global terror operation of unprecedented proportions. Yet, like so many others over the years, Komulakov had underestimated Fidel.
Department of Homeland Security
Operations Center
________________________________________
Nebraska Avenue, Washington, DC
Sunday, 14 October 2007
1610 Hours Local
Matt Roderick's early morning call was the first exciting event for Brig. Gen. Peter Newman since he'd been appointed as the DHS Operations Director in June. In the intervening months he had made a number of “survey” trips—with the Border Patrol along the Mexican border, to the Energetic Materials Research and Test Center in Socorro, New Mexico,and to inspect First Responder training at College Station, Texas.
In August, Newman had gone to Charleston, South Carolina, with the Coast Guard to supervise a “No-notice Emergency Preparedness Exercise.” Afterward, he'd assessed the local, state, and federal participants to be well prepared to handle an actual biotoxin terror attack.
Since his arrival, Newman had been impressed with the dedication of the DHS scientists and employees, as well as the new technologies they were developing. He judged the coordination, cooperation, and communications issues that had been identified as “problem areas” by the so-called “9/11 Commission” in 2004 to be much improved. After returning from each of these inspections, Newman prepared reports and briefed DHS Secretary Sarah Dornin, though he was frustrated when his recommendations for further improvement were swallowed up in the bureaucracy.
But in the immediate aftermath of the attack on Saudi Arabia, there was no evidence of any bureaucratic wrangling. By the time he arrived at the DHS facility at 0505, the Operations Center was humming like a well-oiled machine. Within minutes of initial notification from the NRO, every relevant agency of the federal government had been alerted, the National Terror Alert level had been elevated from yellow to red, the borders had been closed, and emergency recall notices had gone out to all DHS agencies.
Before Secretary Dornin departed at 0820 for the NSC Crisis Team meeting at the White House, Newman and Roderick had briefed and armed her with a sheaf of reports. By then, every item on the Operations Center's automated Emergency Checklist had been completed.
After Secretary Dornin returned from the White House at 1030, Newman had helped her draft the DHS input for the President's statement and then spent the early part of the afternoon rev
iewing reports and responding to requests from the six DHS regional field offices, the Border Patrol, Coast Guard, the FAA, and TSA. He had spent almost three and a half hours in phone calls and e-mails with his counterparts in Canada and Mexico who were dealing with dozens of diverted aircraft and thousands of passengers stranded in Gander, Newfoundland, and Mexico City.
By 1555 every task that appeared on Newman's automated checklist had been completed. He had just poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, intending to sit at his desk and watch the President's televised address to the nation, when he saw the FLASH precedence electronic message from the White House pop up on his computer screen:
UNCLAS
FLASH
141557ZOCT07
FROM: WHITE HOUSE
TO: ALL USG
SUBJ: POTUS STATEMENT RE SAUDI ATTACK POSTPONED
THE PRESIDENT'S LIVE TELEVISED ADDRESS FROM THE OVAL OFFICE SCHEDULED FOR 1600 EST HAS BEEN POSTPONED. REFER ALL MEDIA INQUIRIES TO WHITE HOUSE PRESS OFFICE. NO BACKGROUNDERS
AUTHORIZED. FOR THE PRESIDENT, JEB STUART
BT
UNCLAS
Newman stared at the message for a moment, said uh-oh to himself, and grabbed the TV remote on his desk. Pointing it at the TV set mounted on the wall opposite his desk, he dialed up the volume in time to hear one of the NFL talking heads say, “…and now this just in from the White House: the President had asked for a ten-minute ‘time out’ in all of this afternoon's games to address the nation regarding the attack in Saudi Arabia. But we've just been informed that his statement has been postponed indefinitely. Stay tuned to this FOX station for more news as it happens. Now, back to the game …”
Hitting “Mute” again on the remote silenced the announcer. Through the large glass window that separated his office from the DHS Ops Center, Newman could see phone lines begin to light up on the watch officers' desks. He shook his head at the thought of what the next few hours were going to be like but was glad he wasn't the White House Press Secretary.
At that moment, the intercom on his desk buzzed, and the voice of DHS Secretary Sarah Dornin came through the speaker. “Peter, would you come over to my office in ten minutes, and let's see if we can figure out where we go from here?”
“Be right there,” the Marine responded, grabbing a small green notebook. But before heading off down the hall he remembered that he had promised Rachel that he would call if he were to be late.
Standing at his desk, he picked up the receiver of the “outside” phone on his desk and dialed his home number. On the third ring a voice answered with a polite, “Hello…this is the Newman residence, James speaking.”
“Hi, Jimmy…it's Dad.” Newman was proud of the boy's manners. It hardly seemed possible that it had been nearly twelve years since he was born. “How was church today, buddy?” he asked his son.
“We didn't go. Mom said we had to stay home because of the red alert. What's a red alert, Dad?”
Newman paused. He didn't want to frighten the boy but didn't want to deceive him either. He finally replied, “It's a security measure we take because some bad guys blew up some oil wells in Saudi Arabia last night.”
“Oh yeah,” the boy responded. “I saw that on the TV news this morning. Does this mean you're going to have to go away again, Dad?” Though not yet twelve, his son had already learned that when bad things happened in the world, his dad had to leave home and take care of the problems.
His son's question hit Newman with two conflicting emotions: a pang of guilt that he had spent so much of his son's life away from home and the fleeting twinge of desire for action he felt in his gut at the thought of “going somewhere.” But he answered, “No, Jimmy. I don't think I'll be going anywhere this time.”
“Good,” said the boy, “because I'm supposed to have a basketball game tomorrow if they have school. The TV said all the schools in the city are probably going to be closed tomorrow. But I'm hoping we have school cuz our sixth grade team is playing against ‘Schuyler’—and most of them are seventh and eighth graders—but I think we can beat 'em. Do you think you can come and watch the game, if we have school tomorrow, Dad?”
“Well, things are pretty busy here at work, champ. I won't know until later tonight. I'll have a better idea of what my workload looks like by then, and we should know pretty soon if the schools are going to be open tomorrow.” Then Newman asked the boy, “Is your mom there, Jim?”
“She's with Lizzie. Just a minute, Dad—I'll get her.”
A moment later Rachel was on the line. Normally she'd begin by telling him about some new achievement of their eight-year-old daughter Elizabeth or son James. But this time she got right to the point. “Honey, why did the presidential statement get cancelled?” Rachel asked, posing the question that most of America was probably asking by now.
The FLASH precedence notification that Newman had just seen hadn't revealed the answer to his wife's query.
“I really don't know,” Peter replied. “All I know for sure is that around noon the White House asked the networks and the NFL for ten minutes starting at 4:00 p.m. so the President could address the nation from the Oval Office. About three minutes ago they sent out an advisory that it was postponed. No reason given, though I guess this means it's going to be a long night. The Secretary just called and asked me to come over to her office.”
“When is the President going to speak?”
“I don't know.”
“What does this mean?” she posed, almost as though she was thinking out loud.
“I don't know that either,” Peter replied. “But even if I did, I doubt that I would be able to tell you on this line, honey.”
“OK, I understand that, but tell me, you're not going anywhere, are you, Peter?” Rachel asked hesitantly.
Once again Newman felt a pang of disappointment, but tried not to let it show. “No … I don't think so. If anything comes up, the Pentagon has teams already in the region,” he told her.
But her husband's tone told Rachel more than his words. She knew he wanted to be where things were happening—and that he was very good at the terrible business of war. She loved and respected his courage, but she craved his presence, feared for his safety, and prayed daily for his protection.
Rachel's response was tempered by all of this. She spoke softly and with deep understanding. “Peter, I know you'd like to be out there. But I want you to know that our children and I need you more than they do. And my loyalties are different from yours. I love you more than the Marine Corps.”
It wasn't a rebuke, but Peter heard her words in a way he'd never heard them before.
MI6 Headquarters
________________________________________
Vauxhall Cross, London
Sunday, 14 October 2007
2030 Hours Local
MI6 agent Joseph Blackman had been at his desk for almost twelve hours. Within minutes of the attack in Saudi Arabia, the Prime Minister had alerted the Chief of the British Secret Intelligence Service to call up all of his personnel and then attend to an immediate analysis of the Saudi oil-field attacks. MI6 had departments related to activities in the Middle East, and each department head was given the responsibility to cull through their most active case files for answers to the questions the PM was likely to raise.
Six of Blackman's colleagues were working with intelligence reports from Syria, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt. Other departments, including Jordan, Yemen, Libya, and Sudan, were also hard at work looking for any links to what had happened in Saudi Arabia that morning.
Three of the top MI6 agents were assigned to examine the SIS “Name Files”—highly sensitive material on individuals who were “of interest” to British intelligence. Because of its extraordinary sensitivity—much of it relating to senior officials, even heads of state in other countries—this information was never entered into the MI6 computer database. Instead, only a single paper copy was kept—filed alphabetically and secured in four drawer combination-lo
cked safes under round-the-clock monitoring.
At 0915 that morning, a records clerk had delivered to Blackman five boxes containing the A through K “Name Files.” After signing a receipt for the documents, the MI6 agent began a systematic review of the folders—each with a neat label bearing the name of the subject. It was just after 1930 that Blackman pulled out the thick file labeled “Komulakov, Dimitri.”
The MI6 officer smiled as he thumbed rapidly through the mass of paper. Blackman was pleased to see that his 1998 report on the former KGB general, turned arms broker, was included. He also noted that after his brush with Komulakov, others in Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service had documented the activities of the notorious Russian. Reports on the “retired” KGB officer were fairly regular up through 2001 when he had been spotted coming and going from Tehran. There was also a lengthy assessment for that year from the Americans that concluded Komulakov was supplying Iran with materiel and equipment for the manufacture of nuclear weapons. A 2003 entry indicated that the Russian had become Iran's “number-one supplier of conventional munitions.”
Blackman had nearly completed his review of the file and was about to place it in the large stack of “No Current Interest” folders he had already perused when he came to the four final entries in Komulakov's record. Though the reports were all very brief, he picked up the phone, called the Chief of SIS, and asked for an appointment.
“Have a seat, Joe,” he said to Blackman. The chief, or “C” as he was known to the MI6 staff, motioned toward the small conference table on the back wall of the office.
Blackman wasted no time. “Sir, there may be something of interest here with our old friend Komulakov.”