The Assassins

by Oliver North

  The JCS Chairman, well aware of the help that Samir and his father had provided over the years, agreed—and a half hour later called Goode back: “I've talked to the SecDef about the report you sent. He's called the White House Chief of Staff, Bruce Allen, and we all think you should be at the 0900 meeting in the Sit Room.”

  “If you wish,” Goode replied, “but you should be aware that the DNI isn't going to like it.”

  “Tough,” said Grisham. “You're coming at the request of Secretary Powers, Bill. If Straw gets his knickers in a knot, he can take it up with the SecDef. Can you put Samir's report on a disc and come here first? We'll all go to the meeting together.”

  Powers, Grisham, and Goode arrived early—but after the DNI—who seethed when he saw the CIA Ops Chief walk into the Sit Room. Straw, glaring at Goode, started around the table, but the President's arrival preempted any confrontation.

  The meeting followed the usual format—Straw presented the latest intelligence, what little there was. Secretary of State Luce was next, and she described the latest diplomatic initiatives; and then Powers outlined the ongoing operation to evacuate the embassy in Riyadh.

  After describing how Captain Christopher's detachment had successfully parachuted into the embassy compound and how all American personnel were to be extricated by MV-22 after dark in Riyadh, the SecDef added, “Mr. President, General Grisham and I believe you also need to hear some other information from William Goode, the Deputy Director of Operations at the CIA. He was our last Station Chief in Tehran and knows more about the Iranians than anyone in Washington. I've taken the liberty of inviting him here this morning because, in the process of supporting our military operations in Saudi Arabia, he's come across some disturbing information.”

  All eyes and faces around the conference table turned in Goode's direction. Without preamble, he stood behind Secretary Powers and spoke in a soft but compelling voice: “Mr. President, based on credible evidence I have concluded that the situation in Saudi Arabia is being fomented by the Iranians with the help of the Russians; that Iran is in possession of a number of nuclear weapons, and that they plan to use them.”

  There was a collective gasp around the table, and Perry Straw started to sputter. The President simply waved his hand to cut him off and said, “How many nuclear weapons?”

  “The bad news is that they very likely have no less than eleven. The even worse news is, we don't yet know where they are.”

  Once again the DNI started to interrupt. This time the President scowled at him over his reading glasses. “What's the Russian connection?”

  Goode continued: “There's a Russian named Dimitri Komulakov—a former KGB general. He's presently an arms merchant—though we're not sure he's really a freelance operator. He was active in Iraq in the 1990s and again in 2003—just before we launched Operation Iraqi Freedom. He has very good contacts in Syria, and the British have verified that he was seen frequently in Tehran over the course of the last several years. He dropped out of sight just before this crisis.”

  “Elaborate some, Bill,” said Dan Powers. “Tell the President what the Brits told you about this guy.”

  Goode nodded and then said, “MI6 has sources that claim Komulakov got involved with the Iranians beginning in 2000 or 2001—about the time that the IAEA began to poke into Tehran's nuclear weapons program. They say that in early 2003, just before the start of Operation Iraqi Freedom, Komulakov was hurriedly pulled out of Tehran by Moscow and sent to Baghdad to take charge of packing up and shipping Saddam Hussein's nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons stores and equipment out of Iraq.”

  “To where?” the President asked.

  “The MI6 source says that it was trucked to Syria and Iran.”

  “Do they—British intelligence—and more importantly, do you believe that this Russian is involved in this Saudi situation and the nuclear weapons you mentioned?” asked the President.

  “Yes, sir, I do,” replied Goode. “But we don't know how—nor do we know where he is at the present. But it's my belief that Komulakov may well be the person who supplied nuclear weapons to the Iranians. The initial findings from the two Nuclear Emergency Search Team scientists who went to the site of the Ar Rub al Khali detonation are consistent with the device having been a Soviet-era 152 mm nuclear artillery round. We're fairly certain that Komulakov had access to a number of them as early as 1994 or '95. It now appears that he has provided at least eleven of them to the Iranians.”

  The President leaned forward, his arms flat on the table, peered at Goode, and said emphatically, “For more than five years the Iranians have been assuring the UN—as well as the British, the French, and the Germans—that they have no intention of acquiring nuclear weapons. If you're correct, Mr. Goode, we've had an intelligence failure even more colossal than 9/11 or the Iraqi WMDs.”

  It suddenly seemed that everyone at the table was collectively holding their breath. After a moment of stunned silence the President continued, “If the Iranians are behind what's happening in Saudi Arabia, what do they—and this Russian—want?”

  Goode glanced at the DNI, who was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. Straw nodded his head—a gesture imperceptible to all but Goode, who responded, “Mr. President, in very broad terms, the ‘shadow-ayatollahs’ who really run Iran want to be the leaders—not just of Iran—but of a revolutionary, global Islam—a caliphate. They see the West as decadent, dissipated, corrupt, and moribund. For the past year, pronouncements by their leading clerics have emphasized that Europe is now 25 percent Muslim, and they are having a growing influence. They also keep preaching that the all-volunteer U.S. military has been exhausted by operations in Iraq and Afghanistan and that the U.S. and Europe are incapable of stopping an ‘Inevitable Islamic Revolution’—particularly if the leaders of that revolution are armed with nuclear weapons.”

  The President held up his hand and said, “What do you mean by the term ‘shadow-ayatollahs’ that you used a moment ago?”

  “These are the real leaders in Tehran, Mr. President,” Goode answered. “It's not the ‘elected’ government that we see in the news or the clerics who meet with foreign leaders. That's a facade. The real power resides in the Tasmimgiran—the Supreme Islamic Council—held by eight or ten ayatollahs who form the camarilla around their ‘Supreme Guide’—a mid-level mullah named Ali Hussein-Khamenehi. He is the ultimate decision maker and he has absolute authority.”

  “What about all the commitments that the Iranians made to the Europeans in the nuclear talks back in 2004 and 2005?” the President asked. “I thought we confirmed that they had stopped their uranium enrichment.”

  “By then they likely already had enough enriched uranium—or had closed the deal on acquiring old Soviet-era weapons from Komulakov—or both.”

  “Then why did they keep the talks going?” asked Secretary Luce, interjecting herself into the discussion for the first time.

  “We don't know for certain,” Goode admitted. “But it's likely their plans for what we have seen this week weren't yet finalized and so the Iranians used the talks as a diplomatic smokescreen—like the Japanese did on the eve of World War II. And, in the aftermath of Iraq, they continued the talks to serve the purpose of driving more wedges between the United States and our European allies. At this point, it seems to have worked—no European government is prepared to join us in military action to restore order in Saudi Arabia, much less action against Tehran.”

  At this, Helen Luce nodded her head and slumped back in her chair. What she'd just heard confirmed her most feared suspicions, and she was disheartened.

  The President, still uncertain that he understood the full implications, asked, “Bill, several times you have said that the Iranians have eleven or more nuclear weapons. Why eleven?”

  For the first time Goode hesitated. He couldn't tell the Commander in Chief that it was information relayed from a praying mystic—although of all the men and women in the room, it was the Presid
ent who might best understand how a man of deep faith in God could know such things. Still, there were many others in the room who would not understand. He simply replied, “Mr. President, the number eleven is from an unconfirmed report from a normally reliable source. We have not yet been able to verify his report—but that source also reported that another nuclear detonation is imminent, and I believe we need to take it seriously.”

  Nearly everyone around the table looked stunned except the President, who asked, “How imminent?”

  “Today,” replied Goode, catching in the corner of his eye Straw's grimace.

  “Does this source say where?” asked the Commander in Chief.

  “No, sir!” Perry Straw interrupted forcefully. “Mr. President, this source that Mr. Goode is relying on is a religious nut case who walked in to our embassy in Baghdad yesterday with a wild-eyed story about radical Iranians committing all manner of heinous deeds based on some crazy numerology of the number eleven. Secretary Powers and General Grisham apparently think that this is something worth worrying about. My staff is inclined to think that this is bogus at best and disinformation at worst. It certainly isn't worth wasting your time speculating what it might or might not mean.”

  When the DNI had finished his tirade, the President said simply, “Thank you, Perry. Anyone else?”

  Secretary of Homeland Security Sarah Dornin had been silent throughout the meeting. Now she interjected, “If it's possible that a nuclear weapon is about to be detonated here in the United States, we need to put our response teams on alert. And Mr. President, if Washington is even possibly a target, you need to move to one of the emergency relocation sites.”

  As others began to speak, the President held up his hand and said, “Stop. Sarah, you have the floor. Go ahead and alert your regional response teams. But hold off on any announcement or warning to state and local authorities. We don't know that this report about a nuclear attack is accurate—and we don't know the target—is that correct, Bill?”

  “Yes, sir, that's correct.”

  “Well then,” continued the Commander in Chief, “I'm staying right here. The Vice President will depart immediately for an emergency relocation site with a Continuity of Government Team. Which one are you going to put him in, Sarah?”

  “We've been using Mount Weather too much,” the Homeland Security Secretary replied. Turning to the Vice President, she said, “If it's OK with you, sir, we'll fly you and your wife down to the one at Fort A. P. Hill, south of Fredericksburg.”

  “Fine with me,” said the Vice President with a smile. “As the ‘government inspector for undisclosed locations’ it doesn't matter where the boss sends me, just so long as the microwave works and the popcorn is fresh.”

  The meeting adjourned, and as the President left the room, Straw said something about “…the sky is falling.” Goode looked at his watch. It was 1000. If no nuclear weapon detonated in the next fourteen hours, the word would quickly spread around Washington's official circles that Bill Goode was “Chicken Little.” As they walked out to their car on West Executive Avenue, the CIA Deputy Director for Operations sighed deeply and said to George Grisham, “Let's pray that I am the boy who cried wolf.”

  Continuity of Government Emergency Relocation Site

  ________________________________________

  Fort A. P. Hill,

  VA Friday, 19 October 2007

  1455 Hours Local

  Seven hundred feet beneath the red clay of Fort A. P. Hill, the Vice President of the United States was perched on a high stool inside the “Coordination Module,” calmly watching as some of his 350-member military and civilian staff smoothly went about the business of setting up an alternative seat of government—in the event that the unthinkable happened and Washington ceased to exist.

  Two levels below on the “VIP Gallery,” his wife was resting comfortably in their concrete and steel encased “suite.” They had arrived by helicopter shortly after noon and been whisked through the huge blast doors and into an elevator. As the car rapidly descended, his wife had reminded him to clear his ears—a lesson learned from previous trips to facilities such as this.

  Now that technicians had established voice, data, and video links with every government agency in Washington, all U.S. military commands and FEMA Emergency Resource Centers in each of the fifty states, the Vice President was ready for an update on the situation. Having once served as the Secretary of Defense, he was much more familiar than most in government with U.S. military capabilities. Turning to a young Air Force officer, he said, “Major, can you connect us with the NMCC and NRO so that we can see what's happening in Saudi Arabia? The embassy evacuation should be getting underway shortly.”

  “Right away, sir,” the major replied as he sat down at a computer console. In a matter of a few dozen keystrokes a satellite image appeared on the screen and the major said, “This is live imagery from the KH-13 approaching Riyadh from the west right now. Because it's night over there, we're using a ‘thermal scope’ so it looks like a photo ‘negative.’ The NMCC duty officer will be on speaker 1, right in front of you. The NRO watch officer will be coming up on speaker 2. We'll have the State Department Operations Center on speaker 3 in just a moment. Just so you know, sir, the mikes on all these circuits are ‘open’ in both directions—so everyone can hear what's being said at both ends. Anyone else you want on?”

  “How about CIA Operations?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the major, as he typed more commands into the computer. “CIA Ops will be coming up on speaker 4.”

  A moment later a voice came over speaker 1: “NMCC, Brigadier General Stenner, Marines. Can I help you, sir?”

  “What's the latest THREAT-WARN?”

  “Nothing new on any WMD. The situation here in Washington is unchanged since you departed, sir.”

  “Good. Any news from Riyadh, General?” asked the Vice President.

  “Sir, it's taken a lot longer than expected to clear the LZ for the Ospreys. About two hours ago someone lobbed a couple of mortar rounds into the compound and wounded two Marines from the extraction force, but things have gotten quiet out on the street. Up until an hour ago there had been sporadic small arms and RPG fire from out in front of the embassy, but that's all stopped. It seems to be very quiet right now. The Ospreys have lifted off from the USS Makin Island and are loitering out over the desert east of the capital. SOCOM advises that they plan to start the extract in the next thirty minutes or so.”

  “Good,” said the Vice President. “I don't want to get in the way of any of this so I'll just monitor from here. I'm looking at the current KH-13 thermal pass over Saudi Arabia. When the bird gets closer to Riyadh, can we get a close-up of Embassy Row?” he asked. “Or do they have to reprogram the bird for that?”

  As if on cue, a female voice came over speaker 2 saying, “How's this, sir?” as the image zoomed in.

  The major sitting beside the Vice President moved the mouse in his right hand, and the image that had been on the computer in front of them suddenly appeared on the large plasma screen in front of the room. After staring at the image for a moment, the Vice President asked, “That building in the center of the screen—with what looks like a truck parked in front of it—is that our embassy?”

  The female voice on speaker 2 replied, “I think that's the French Embassy, sir. Ours is coming up.”

  The next image proved her right. As the satellite's high-resolution lens tracked across the scene, the room suddenly became silent as the camera caught the stars and stripes fluttering in the breeze. In the courtyard behind the embassy, several dozen figures could be seen in the final stages of clearing the last of some forty large trees and uprooting bushes and shrubs. They had even leveled the fountain in the center of the proposed landing zone.

  The Vice President squinted at the image and said, “What do those men have in their hands that are glowing? Are they weapons?”

  “No, sir,” said the female voice over speaker 2. “Those are chain saws.
They appear to be glowing on the thermal image because they are hot. If you look on the roof you can see others with weapons—and they aren't as ‘white’ because they haven't been firing.”

  “Well, that may be a good sign,” said the Vice President hopefully. “Maybe all the terrorists have decided to get a night's sleep and we can get our people out of there. Do we have State on the line yet?”

  “Yes, sir, Walter Beasley here at State Department Operations,” said a voice from speaker 3. “We're watching the same KH-13 pass you are. And I've got the ambassador on the line via the Sat-Com terminal that the Marines brought with them when they parachuted in this morning.”

  “What does he say about how soon they can get out of there?” asked the VP.

  Beasley replied, “They just reported that the LZ is ready and litter bearers are already moving the casualties out of the embassy. The Marines want to take the wounded out first.”

  Then from speaker 1: “SOCOM reports that the first two MV-22s are inbound to the embassy escorted by two AV-8 harriers. We also have four F-18s ‘upstairs’ and an AC-130 orbiting south of the city if it's needed. All of 'em are in contact with the team leader on the ground, a Captain Christopher.”

  Everyone in the room was now watching the large screen at the front of the room. As the KH-13 satellite soared 101 miles over Riyadh, Beasley's voice could be heard over speaker 3 as he talked to someone on a radio from the State Department's Operations Center: “…Roger, I understand, the 113 ‘pax’ are all U.S. nationals. Were you able to contact any of the other embassies?” There was a pause and then: “Understood, negative contact.” And then, a few seconds later, Beasley's voice again: “Roger, birds inbound.”

  The Vice President and everyone in the room stared at the screen as two white shapes materialized over the embassy—the MV-22s. On the ground, man-shapes holding infrared strobe lights could be seen signaling their landing points. The huge aircraft rotated their wings and altered from forward to vertical flight and first one, then the other, settled down into the embassy courtyard.