by Isaac Stormm
"These readouts are compilations of each of country's stations. You'll see it first at normal speed, then slowed down."
The clock reached zero and started forward. The readouts came alive, scrawling green in continuous blurry waves that rebounded like a taut spring being stretched and released. Ticking past six seconds, the waves steadied into a smaller but sustained form for about a second and a half.
"This last portion is the evidence." The signal began again slow and he narrated. "Conventional explosions start the first expansion of the scale. After the shockwave rises and starts to fall, another detonation occurs. This is a classic use of ripple-fired explosives to achieve a sustained detonation."
Anderson watched the slow etch of lines and discerned when the next blast started. He knew ripple-fired explosives found use every day in mines, construction projects and anything else where large amounts of earth needed moving quick. Anyone trying to achieve a chain effect was limited only by how much explosives they had. Done right, a long multi-second blast might come off as one big detonation. Like the kind he watched right now. When it died down into a much less continuous disturbance that final second and half, which he knew left a signature still representing a thousand tons or more and sustaining itself like no conventional blast ever could, that's when he knew...only an atom being split spoke that way. His mind shot back to the briefing two months ago with Mitchell and the Air Force officer whose name he forgot. The man wore a Major's leaves and explained to him better than anyone of much higher rank ever did. The test graphs, the possible disguising methods, and a sustained signature dying slow would be the sign. And right now, he watched that pattern shimmer and die into nothingness before his eyes. A scenario he hoped he'd never witness. He looked over at Mitchell as his mind dragged him back to catch the man's last sentence.
"That, I'm afraid, is the telltale sign of a nuclear explosion."
Audible groans sounded in the room when uneasy bodies shifted in chairs and each man realized the moment. They became expressionless and just watched the readouts play over, almost like they expected them to change. Anderson looked around, scratching at the absent stubble on his chin. He ran some fingers through his hair, messing its form a bit when he rubbed the scalp. He then rested a palm under his chin and raised his eyes. He picked up the coffee and took a sip, swallowing it slow. That's when he looked up and noticed the eyes of not only Krause, but everyone else's upon him like they wanted some certainty before the other evidence presented itself. Instead, he refused the silent goading, inquiring, "What does this area look like?"
"Right here, sir." Mitchell tapped the fingerpad on a small icon and produced four small blocks of color satellite images. He selected one and enlarged it. Angles became defined and sharp under the three-dimensional stereoscopic view which portrayed the jagged formations of two enormous mountains covered with evergreen trees. Between the ridges of one coursed a disjointed narrow path. It almost looked like a dry river bed until the picture closed in revealing a dirt road which curved and crept up a substantial incline and concluded in a small level plateau about thirty to forty meters in circumference. “As you can see, it's quite an inhospitable place." He moved the cursor over a point showing where a section of road washed out in a recent mudslide. Through it ran tracks of vehicles, no doubt heavy, due to the depth of tread patterns which led up and congregated at a spot on the plateau which the cursor traced and stopped in front of a shadow. "This feature has a bit of an overhang. However, we're certain the mouth of the cave begins here." He next brought up a photo showing the same position. Three trailer-like structures were sited about fifty meters away from the entrance and two small dark pickup trucks stood parked nearby.
"At first it doesn't look like much," Mitchell said, "but these photos were taken just three days ago at four hours apart." He selected the next picture, which seemed to be a duplicate save for absence of the trucks and a large white tractor trailer parked in the same spot. Its path led back to the overhang. "The Iranians have become quite good about disguising their facilities." He zoomed in on the rear of the truck which showed a small dark plate on the bumper's left, written in white Farsi language with the numerals '04'. "They forgot about one thing, though," he placed another smaller photo inset, showing the same plate. "Notice the numbers. He began enlarging the picture showing the vehicle sited in a row among several more in a parking area of a huge facility ringed with fences and several large buildings. All in the room knew it instantly. "This is the truck park at Natanz. This was one of the vehicles used to move centrifuges into the place.”
Natanz was one of the primary locations of Iranian nuclear research. Underground beneath eight-foot concrete walls, seven thousand centrifuges ran. Of these, five thousand were thought to be producing low enriched uranium—the primary element needed for a nuclear device. Mitchell surmised elements here were moved to the target location. He nodded. "Krause, I want to thank you and your boys for giving us this on such short notice."
The man acknowledged him and said,
"The Russians sold them intel on our spy satellite tracks over the country. That's why the next photo of the mountain shows nothing." Up it came and all that remained was empty space where the three trailers once stood. Even the imprints of tracks in the parking area no longer existed and even the road appeared unused.
"This last picture," Mitchell added," is seventy-three minutes old. Whatever they were doing, they wanted any traces of it gone. They must have dragged something behind the last vehicle to distort any tire patterns from being studied from the sky." He switched to infra-red. The image became black, appearing to be a negative except for the different shades of white that scorched the earth. The brighter the color, the hotter or more recent usage of the area. The dullest streaks scribbled about the parking area and rose to a blaring white further down the road. Mitchell folded his arms on the table, linking fingers. "All in all, this is what we have, sir. The seismic activity, the secretive activity on these photos and a vehicle we've tracked hauling equipment to and from Natanz."
Anderson contemplated the picture a moment; his eyes left the screen and looked at the coffee. Picking it up, he exhaled and downed the liquid, letting the warmth fill his throat. Whatever doubts he had when speaking with Grozner left him. "James, I want to thank you for your presentation. You just gave me more than I expected." He leaned back in the chair hearing it creak a bit under his weight and inspected the counsel before him, holding the cup a few inches from his mouth. He let his eyes dip and feelings rid themselves of uncertainty as he sat silent for a few seconds. Then confident of his next words, lowered the cup. "What we have in and of itself is very convincing. The next question that needs to be asked, once we get the final results from our aircraft and it confirms everything, is should we try to get anyone else on board to take action with us? The Israelis know I'm going to the U.N., and I didn't quite tell Grozner what I'd like to do when it comes to a joint action."
"Build a coalition?" Mason spoke up, pushing his glasses back over his ears. "Get the U.N. to convene an emergency session? Get N.A.T.O to provide aircraft for a strike?"
"You just said everything I already thought about and in the right order, Joe,” Anderson asserted, surprised the man read him so well. He'd already thought about the possibility in the shower. Such a course of action certainly held advantages. A declaration authorizing use of force similar to one issued after the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990 would give the impression the world believed the evidence presented and would provide the muscle needed to remove the threat. Ideally, it presented the best option. How long would it take? A resolution might come quick; the subsequent haggling and fine details might take weeks, something he knew he could never wrangle from the Israelis. "It's something I want to do. We'll have to bend some arms twice to get things going. Just a few nations would work, although I don't know if Grozner will give us more time than I asked for.”
"It's worth trying," Greene interjected. "If you got Grozner to ag
ree once regarding this matter, he might do it again. We'd just have to press him harder. He has his doubts, remember."
"Yeah, for now, " Anderson replied. "We also have to consider what he may do if that plane comes up with nothing." He didn't want to bring it up.
"Lone wolf?"
"Possibly. If so, I'll make it clear to him and the world that we want no part of this. And any attempts to get us into it will set our relations back decades." He hoped he was right about that ring of hollowness with Grozner. "Is there anything else?"
"No, sir." Mitchell closed his laptop. The others followed suit.
"Very well then." He swallowed the last bit of coffee, rubbed his thigh and rose, waiting for the others to stand. He acknowledged Mason. "Joe, coalition it is. Even with so little time, it would be foolish not to try it. Crazier things have been accomplished in less time. As soon as we get the findings from this plane, what's it called again, James?”
"Constant Phoenix, sir."
"Once the Constant Phoenix sends its report, that will determine our course of action. If it's positive, I'll head to the U.N. James, you get in touch with NATO; Peter, contact their intel services and we'll go from there. If it's negative, we still have to worry because the Israelis might act, and I'll insist to Grozner they'll have to go it alone. If I can emphasize that, and its consequences, we might be able to defuse this thing and go the covert route for a final answer." He placed his hands into his pockets and stretched his back, "Peter, I want to see you at lunch to offer suggestions, and one more thing," he said, not letting Krause think he might escape, "bring any information you can get on why our intel failed. This is pointing at a fuck up of major proportions, and I want to know why."
"Yes, sir. I'll have some answers for you then."
"I want everybody to work your schedules to fit in being back here at three this afternoon. Any new developments, no matter how insignificant, either from Iran or Israel, I want to know about." He started away then turned around, the feeling impressing him too much to keep to himself. "You know, I was just thinking." He shook his head slow, realizing the importance of the moment. "When the crew of that plane reaches its destination...If they'll know just how much rides on what they find. If it's nothing then the world might go on as it always has, and play diplomacy. If it's what we fear...then hell itself is going to start raining down and I believe it'll be for much longer than any of us expect."
"We'll be ready, Mr. President," Mason said.
Anderson turned almost as if he never heard the words and stepped out the door. "Perhaps," he muttered so no one could hear. Dark thoughts hovered above and within him, trying to break through the calm facade he placed in their path. "Perhaps."
Something else grabbed him. Could Grozner be right? Would they be so bold to send a message to the Jews while trying to hide it at the same time?
He swore he heard a clock ticking.
Tehran
Supreme Leader’s Residence
12:47 P.M
The twin wrought iron gates closed behind the sparkling black Mercedes, its shine reflecting the gaze of the two security guards as it began its roll toward the presidential estate. Inside, Mustafa Omera, President of the Islamic Republic of Iran, looked off from the backseat at the remnants of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi’s royal compound passing to his left. He thought back to the November 1979 revolution when the hordes of people stormed the grounds of the Shah, while he blindfolded the U.S. Marines guarding the American Embassy. A smile, just as then, drew upon his face as he remembered the moment an unsuspecting world took notice of Islam’s power, specifically, the brand wielded by Ruhollah Khomeini. He felt the spiritual leader of Iran’s presence every time he entered the estate. He wished the Ayatollah were alive if only for today, so he could kiss his hand to thank him one more time for the country’s deliverance. He imagined all the dead martyrs fighting the west for decades surrounding the spirit of the old man as they looked down upon him from heaven, a messenger carrying out the will of Allah.
The driver turned the wheel slightly left and brought the car to a halt between the front of the house and a large ornate fountain spewing and gurgling that set the tone for the residence,which was a large mansion with a squared exterior painted thick in matte white, giving the appearance of a dwelling constructed from plaster. Gold-rimmed windowpanes stared out beyond the fountain and nonexistent front yard down the stretch of asphalt to the gate, while in back, several more offered views over a vast acreage of an immaculate lawn and two well-tended flower gardens that stretched out on either side at the yard’s periphery to greet visitors with sweet and spicy aromas as they stepped out onto the patio.
A white-gloved guard opened the back door while another stood at the residence’s entrance as Omera exited. He received a salute as he passed, his stride quicker than usual. He returned it and walked through one of the twin gold-rimmed glass doors opening for him. Acknowledging another salute, he walked around the edge of the posh living room featuring a massive rug whereupon two couches and two chairs faced each other. A few steps down the hallway, another door was opened for him and he stepped into the spacious living room of the Supreme Chancellor, Ali Rustani, who sat with arms on the rests of his chair. He was white-bearded, featuring a face scarred with small craters of acne on his cheeks. He remained expressionless and waited for the door to close.
Its click gave him the signal. His eyes widened, ready to hang on the messenger’s every word.
Omera slipped a hand under his black lapel and retrieved a folded piece of paper. "Excellency. By the grace of Allah I can report to you that it has been achieved." He extended his hand, and the Ayatollah took the paper, Omera’s happiness visible as he realized the paper confirmed the dreams of generations of men such as he.
"Excellent," he said, unfolding it to read. He picked up his glasses laying atop several folders, slipped them over his nose and cleared his throat.
‘Achieved. Operation experienced no delay. Results better than anticipated.’
Exultation swept Omera, his lips starting to quiver almost as if he couldn't find the words. “Y-Yes.”
“Yes, my friend." He rose from the chair and walked around the desk. "The day has come at last." He grasped Omera’s shoulders, and the president, somewhat taken aback, grasped his in kind. They exchanged the customary greeting, pretending to kiss each cheek. “I will inform the Supreme Council.” He turned back to the desk and laid the paper down. "I cannot tell you how joyous I feel right now."
"I share your emotions, sir."
Rustani composed himself and asked, "Our secrecy. I assume the measures we have in place worked?"
"Yes. The device was placed in the underground salt chamber we judged to be the thickest. It appears to have absorbed the blast."
"Naturally, we can expect some uh, inquiries from the West, maybe even the Zionists themselves, about what occurred. If what you tell me is true, then we can pass it off as a minor earthquake that left no damage."
Omera knew the region was always active due to the many fault lines that fractured the earth miles underground. He placed a couple fingers on his temple, rubbing it gently. He looked down a moment, contemplating what the scientists assured him. The salt mines were the best hope of concealing a nuclear blast due to their density and ability to absorb shock waves. With the confirmation, the realization that they may have pulled off the greatest secret act since the Manhattan Project would give anyone like him a cause to want to further savor the moment. He knew much more lay ahead as his eyes rose to meet Rustani’s again.
"Well done, my friend,” Rustani said. “I want you to monitor the rest of the world. Keep me appraised of any information that might relate to what we've done. As they say in the West, we must leave no stone unturned when it comes to the future from this point on.” He reached over to the phone. “I want you to tell only the closest cabinet members. Swear them to secrecy, with death as punishment.”
Omera nodded. "As you wish." He turned and heard R
ustani pick up the receiver just as he closed the door and made his way back out to the Mercedes.
Now we can reckon with the Jews. He let the thought flourish ...and America as well. The door slam brought him back. He smoothed his jacket, made minor adjustments to his tie as the car made its way back down to the entrance. He looked over once more at the Shah’s residence, and how in all the years all that decadence failed to produce a day even close to this. Yes, he concluded, opening up his cellphone, this is the will of Allah.
Chapter Two
Israeli Defense Ministry
Tel Aviv, Israel
3.48 P.M. Jerusalem Standard Time
Foxmann entered through the back. The elevator took him to the ninth floor of the seventeen-story Matkal building which assimilated into the Kyria military base and looked out across the street at the Azrieli shopping center. His office was small, featuring an Israeli flag behind his desk, file cabinet on one side and a slim bookcase on the other. It contained a who’s who of special operations histories and manuals. He never used them anymore. He'd had them formatted for Kindle which he read in an app on his iPad.
He lay a folder on his desk and went to draw the curtain. Sunlight squinted his eyes as he looked over at the shopping center. Throngs of people, mostly teenagers, congregated on the sidewalks. Cars stopped, picking up and letting off more, and he heard a siren off in the distance, which only lasted a few seconds before it stopped. He wondered for a moment, as he looked up at a long strand of cirrus clouds trying to part the brilliant blue.