by Oliver North
Zhdanov had hoped for something more substantial but took the water nonetheless, and after several long draughts finally muttered, “Thank you."
“You are welcome, Doctor Zhdanov," the GRU officer replied formally. Then Argozvek continued in a very quiet, almost conspiratorial tone, “We have a serious problem. You have seen the tall Iranian who has been here every day?"
“Yes, of course, he is Manucher Rashimani," replied Zhdanov. “He has been looking over my shoulder all afternoon. He doesn't say much. I do not think he is much of a scientist."
“He's not," answered Argozvek. “He works for their intelligence service. He is in charge of ‘discipline’ for the pilots who will fly these planes and for the crews of the boats. He told me an hour ago that the Iranians believe that the grenade attack that wounded the Venezuelan president at noon today may be part of an American coup attempt. They want all of the weapons installed on the boats and planes just as soon as possible. If we cannot get it all done in the next two days, they may cancel the whole operation and not pay us."
Only part of what Argozvek had just said was the truth. The part about not getting paid was a fabrication—but it had the desired effect. Zhdanov sat upright in his chair and looked the major in the eye, trying to ascertain the validity of what he had just been told. He then said, “How much does the Iranian know about these weapons?"
“I don't think he knows very much. Why?" asked the GRU officer.
“Listen to me carefully, Gregor Argozvek," said Zhdanov quietly. “It is not the installation in the planes that is taking so much time. My technicians and I have made six of the weapons ready for use. It has taken longer than expected because these warheads have not been properly maintained since they were ‘removed’ from the Ukrainian stockpiles. Still, I am certain that those six will detonate. The other four probably will not—unless we complete the replacement of the tritium gas triggers and certain other components. We will practically have to rebuild every one."
“How long will it take you to complete the ‘rebuilding’ of the other four?" asked Argozvek.
“I will need at least four more days, because the same technicians who refurbish the warheads must also install the weapons in the aircraft," Zhdanov replied.
“Can some of our other people help you do the installations?"
“Not unless you want to take the chance of being vaporized because someone does the wiring wrong," answered the scientist.
Argozvek shook his head at the prospect, paused a moment, and then asked, “If you put all your people to work on the 737 out there in the hangar, how long would it take to complete the installation and wiring?"
Zhdanov shrugged, looked at his watch, and said, “We can probably be finished with it tonight."
“Good," the GRU officer said. “As soon as you are finished with the 737, we will take the other three rebuilt warheads over to the port at La Guaira and install them in the three ships that are already there. Take a fourth warhead—one of the ones you have not yet rebuilt—just in case Rashimani insists on putting one in a container on the ship that is tied up next to the Saudi vessels."
“But it very likely will not go off, and even if it does, it will not have its full yield," protested the scientist.
“So be it," said Argozvek. “Rashimani told me that Tehran may want to put a warhead with a timing device on board that containership that is headed for Galveston in two days. Can you rig one with a timing device and put it in a container tomorrow?"
“I suppose so," answered the scientist. “The ships will be easier to rig since we have more space in which to work and run the wiring. We can probably have all three ships and one in a container completely finished in twenty-four to thirty-six hours."
“That will reassure our ‘client’ who is so worried about getting them back out to sea," said the major, smiling now. He then added, “Then, after the ships depart, we will come back here and you can complete the work on the other four warheads."
“How many more ships and planes are coming in?" asked Zhdanov.
“There are two more ships en route and three more aircraft."
“What are you going to put in them?" asked the scientist.
Argozvek smiled again and said, “Some of them will be used as ‘decoys’ for the attack on the eleventh and one of them will be our ride out of here on the night of the tenth."
Zhdanov thought about that for a moment and said, “That is probably a good idea—so long as we do not get on the wrong ship or airplane."
Qom Al-Mashhad Mosque
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Tehran, Iran
Sunday, 04 November 2007
0730 Hours Local
“Why is it not going as planned, Ali Yunesi?" asked the Ayatollah
Ali Hussein-Khamenehi, as the two men walked quietly through a back corridor of the ornate mosque. Behind them were two dozen bodyguards—six from Yunesi's secret police and intelligence service—the Vezarat-e Ettelaat va Amniat-e Keshvar—VEVAK, and eighteen from the security detail that protected Hussein-Khamenehi, Iran's “Spiritual Guide”—the real power in Tehran.
The two men had delayed their departure from morning prayers to talk without the benefit or distraction of others in the government. Yunesi knew that his job might well be on the line, depending on what Hussein-Khamenehi told the Supreme Council later that morning.
“All is not going perfectly, Ali Hussein, but then no plan ever does," began Yunesi, “yet most of it has gone very well thus far. The American puppets have been removed from Riyadh, the ‘Islamic Brotherhood’ has declared that all infidels must depart the ‘Land of the Prophet,’ and the Westerners are now fleeing all over the region. The Great Satan has been crippled by the loss of oil, and they are increasingly bedeviled by internal disarray. Witness how they reacted to four puny bombs on their trains."
“But the uprisings you promised in Iraq, Kuwait, the Emirates, and Egypt have not occurred," responded the Supreme Leader.
“Not yet," answered Yunesi. “But after they see the devastating ‘fire from the heavens’ brought down on the Zionist pigs in Tel Aviv and the American infidels on the eleventh of their month of November, there will be many uprisings."
“Will the missile be ready by then?" asked Ali Hussein.
“Yes, and so will the other weapons, I assure you," responded the intelligence chieftain. “I personally spoke with our scientists from Tabriz who are working with the Russians to install the warhead on the missile, and they assure me that it will all be ready one week from today."
“And what of the weapons in Venezuela?" asked the Supreme Guide. “Is our friend Valdez going to survive this American coup attempt?"
Ali Yunesi nodded and said, “I spoke with Manucher Rashimani in Caracas yesterday and again last night. He assures me that President Valdez is going to fully recover and will not be overthrown. Rashimani also promised that the Russian warheads will all be installed in time. They have three of the Monarchist airplanes ready. Today they will install warheads on three of the ships—and another with a timing device in a container that will be placed aboard a containership headed for the port of Galveston."
“Do you still trust the Russians you hired to help with this task?" asked the Supreme Leader. “You know that they have never believed in the jihad. They only help because we promised to abandon our spiritual allies in Chechnya—and for the money, of course."
“Do I trust them—no," replied Yunesi. “But they are useful. A year from now, after the Caliphate has been proclaimed, we can resume support for our Chechnyan brothers, and there will be no way for anyone to stop us. We will have our own nuclear weapons by then and will no longer need the Russians. The Europeans will not be able to cope with the mass uprisings inspired by the ‘Islamic Brotherhood’ movement, and Moscow will also have to withdraw their forces from all Islamic territory."
“You paint a very optimistic picture, Ali Yunesi," said Iran's Spiritual Guide, stopping his measured pac
e through the mosque. Behind the two men, their bodyguards also halted, a respectful thirty feet away. Hussein-Khamenehi, running his fingers through his beard, then said quietly to the Iranian intelligence chief, “I hope that you are correct. But you must take care that you do not forget things here at home in your zeal for spreading Islam elsewhere. Tomorrow you must come before the Council and explain why the students in Qum, Esfahan, and even here in Tehran have not embraced this turn of events. Surely you have seen the protests. Yesterday al Jazeera broadcast pictures of some of our citizens demonstrating and waving American flags."
For the first time since his Operation Dawa began, Yunesi felt a rush of fear in his gut. If he lost the confidence of the nation's Spiritual Guide and the Supreme Council, he could end up like so many of the people that his own VEVAK agents had dragged off the streets—to a dungeon or worse. He inclined his head toward his superior and said, “The CIA is instigating these protests just as they tried to kill the Venezuelan president yesterday. I will reassure the Council tomorrow that the protest ringleaders in Iran will be found, apprehended, and punished."
“Very well," said Hussein-Khamenehi, as he turned toward his bodyguards. But then he abruptly stopped and said quietly, “And after the fire from the heavens rains down on the Zionists and the Americans on the eleventh, what will become of this Russian Komulakov and his lackey in Riyadh?"
“I assure you that they both will be eliminated, Ali Hussein," replied Yunesi. “I have placed four of our best men beside Komulakov. Though I cannot communicate with them directly, they know what to do. As for his assistant in Riyadh, I have dispatched twenty-four equally dedicated soldiers there—and they too will act when the time is right."
“Good," replied the Spiritual Guide. “It would not be good for it to become known that we had to rely on infidels to carry out this jihad."
São Pedro Airport
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St. Vicente Island, Cape Verde Islands
Sunday, 04 November 2007
1915 Hours Local
“We have been given the go-ahead to proceed to Caracas," announced Oleg Solomatin, as pilot Is'haaq Al Kabil opened the door of his cheap hotel room, less than a mile from the São Pedro Airport.
The Saudi pilot grunted and said, “Finally. I thought we were going to stay on the miserable, infidel-infested island forever. I shall get the others and meet you at the hangar."
A half hour later the entire four-man crew—the two Saudi pilots, the Algerian flight engineer, and the Russian—were assembled at the hangar where their 737 had been sequestered since the 29th of October. They had not been idle in the days since arriving.
The pirated Saudi plane had landed in the Cape Verde Islands as Air Afrique Cargo Flight Juliet Six One One Seven. But now it had yet another new paint job and registration number—the second since being stolen from its murdered owner. The fuselage was now emblazoned with the words International Air Express and its tail adorned with the company logo—a winged package and the initials IAE. Just forward of the horizontal stabilizer was the plane's “new” Argentine registration designator: LV-TRK—a designator that corresponded to another Boeing 737 parked in a “boneyard” west of Buenos Aires.
Kabil ordered the tanks topped off for the five-hour flight to Caracas, filed a flight plan that would have them arrive in Venezuela at 2230, and conducted a careful preflight inspection. Satisfied, he watched two young men from the fixed base operation hook up a tug and a tow-bar to the 737's nose wheel. They were brothers and had assisted the crew in repainting the aircraft. The two affable young men had worked diligently, and though they thought it unusual to change an aircraft's “tail number," they had apparently accepted Kabil's explanation that the plane had been sold to a new owner.
Solomatin wasn't convinced. On the night of 3 November, the Russian had been drinking in a bar near the airport when the two brothers entered and sat down with him. From their conversation it was apparent that the young men had questions about why a luxury jet had been converted into a cargo hauler. The next day, Solomatin told Kabil, and after discussing the matter they decided that the brothers were a liability.
As soon as the two completed the hook-up, Kabil called the young men over to the portable stairway and presented each with an envelope containing five hundred dollars in U.S. currency and a bottle of expensive brandy—a beverage Solomatin had noticed that they preferred. “We want to show our appreciation for your good work," Kabil told them. “Please enjoy what is in the bottle—perhaps you should have a toast when we take off."
The brothers were enthusiastic in their gratitude for the generous payment—and for the libation. As Kabil mounted the stairs they smiled broadly and saluted. Once the door was closed, one brother pushed the stairway back while the other mounted the tug, started the engine, and expertly backed the large aircraft out of the hangar and well out onto the apron, leaving plenty of room for it to turn.
In the cockpit, Kabil and his copilot completed the pre-takeoff checklist and fired the APU. Then as the twin GE jet engines began to spool up, they watched the two brothers open the bottle, take generous swigs, and then stand at mock attention, smiling and saluting their benefactors as the aircraft slowly began to pull toward the taxiway.
“How much longer?" the copilot asked as he looked down from the flight deck at the two men on the ground.
“They will be dizzy in a couple of minutes," Kabil responded. “By the time we are rolling down the runway, they will feel nauseous. They will lose consciousness after we are airborne, and be dead by the time we reach ten thousand feet."
“What if the authorities inquire about their deaths?" asked the copilot.
“I doubt that they will think to look for Ricin in the alcohol," answered Kabil without a hint of remorse. “If they do, they will notice the American currency and the fact that the brandy was made in America, and they will blame the Americans. But their deaths mean nothing. We have a great assignment in the jihad—delivering Allah's wrath on the American crusaders. If they remained alive they could have interfered with our mission."
The copilot shrugged and said, “Well, those two will not be talking about what they saw in the hangar."
As he pressed the left pedal hard, turning the 737 onto the runway, Kabil replied, “Thanks be to Allah."
APPROACHING
FAIL-SAFE
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
CJR Warehouse
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867 Avenida Maiquetia, Caracas, Venezuela
Sunday, 04 November 2007
1930 Hours Local
Dan, do you think you can remain in position overnight tonight despite the curfew?" Newman asked. He was standing at the satellite radio inside his warehouse office/command post talking to Lt. Col. Dan Hart, and Sgt. Maj. Amos Skillings was standing beside him. Both men were wearing T-shirts and jeans. Neither had left the building for more than twenty-four hours.
There was a quiet whoosh and a ping as the encryption relay engaged and the two Marines could hear the fatigue in Hart's voice as he answered Newman's question. “Staying here isn't the problem. Eduardo has us in a perfect location. We have a visual on the Venezuelan Navy pier and the three Saudi boats, but we're no longer getting a reading on one of the nukes. Chief Suazo needs to talk to the tech-rep for the ‘Backscatter’ gear."
“Roger that," said Newman, as Skillings headed across the warehouse to find the needed expert.
Hart, Suazo, eight “techno-operators," and Emilio Roca had departed the warehouse in a Suburban and a rented panel truck that morning as soon as the curfew lifted. Estaban Roca had escorted an identical “expedition” headed by Sergeant First Class Nievos to a nondescript building adjacent to the airport perimeter road, about nine hundred yards from the Venezuelan Air Force hangar. The Suburbans were loaded with perso
nnel and weapons, and the panel trucks had been jammed full of electronic equipment: a Passive Millimeter Wave imaging device, neutron particle/gamma wave radiation detectors, cameras, and communications gear.
By 0800 both teams were in position. Hart and Suazo, the Navy SEAL sniper, had set up their observation post in the third-story offices of one of Eduardo's family businesses just outside the main entrance of the La Guaira Port complex. Less than an hour after Hart had his equipment up and running, a convoy of Venezuelan military trucks arrived at the gate outside their window. The young Army sergeant operating the PMMW scanner was stunned to see what appeared to be heavy artillery rounds—one each in the back of four of the trucks. He immediately summoned Hart, who verified that these were four of the 152mm nuclear artillery warheads for which they had been searching. Newman had forwarded Hart's report directly to the NMCC—marked “Flash—Nuke Warn—For The Chairman JCS."
Skillings entered the office/command post with the civilian tech-rep and put him on the radio with Hart and Suazo at the La Guaira OP. The Navy chief described their problem: “This morning when they passed the PMMW scanner we could see the images of the weapons inside the trucks—and the radiation detectors also went off. Since then we've watched them unloading heavy boxes from four of the trucks. They have put one on each of the Saudi ships—and we think the fourth one was placed inside a sea-land container on the pier, but it's hard to tell. How close do we have to be to use the PMMW device and the neutron particle/gamma radiation detectors?"