Triple Identity

by Haggai Carmon

  I returned to the consulate and set up shop in a small conference room next to Lovejoy's office. Three hours later I had a fax with the power of attorney. The cover letter said that the “original” was being mailed next day to my hotel. I sent the paper on to Guttmacher and called him moments later. “Yes, yes,” he double-talked again, “it's OK. So, I can tell you that the meeting is scheduled for this afternoon. I'm glad you are substituting for Herr DeLouise, whom I couldn't find. These gentlemen don't like to wait.”

  “Yes, tell me about the meeting,” I said. “Who is attending?”

  “Cyrus Armajani and Farbod Kutchemeshgi as well as Roberto DiMarco from Broncotrade.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Just you and me.”

  Broncotrade. I'd heard that name earlier. Where had I heard it? And those other names. Who were those guys?

  “At what time?”

  “My office. Two o'clock.”

  I wracked my tired memory. Then it came to me: Broncotrade's telephone number had appeared on DeLouise's hotel bill.

  I burst into Ron's office without so much as a knock. “Ron,” I said, as he raised his head from his desk in surprise, “have you heard the names Cyrus Armajani, Farbod Kutchemeshgi, and Roberto DiMarco from Broncotrade?”

  Not surprisingly, he came back immediately.

  “Broncotrade is an Italian trading company suspected of supplying embargoed materials to the Iranians. DiMarco is president of the firm. The other names don't ring a bell, but I can check with the Company upstairs.” He meant the CIA.

  “Please ask them. I need to know.”

  “I'm not sure they'd tell me without knowing why I need the information.”

  “Turf wars again?”

  “No,” he said, “plain vanilla procedures.”

  “I'm about to participate in a meeting, as DeLouise's substitute, with a German banker and these guys. I have no idea why the meeting was scheduled, but I couldn't ask because I was supposed to be in the loop, being DeLouise's business partner. The German banker who arranged the meeting apparently doesn't know that DeLouise is dead — or, if he does, he's a good actor. If he or any of the other participants of the meeting know about the DeLouise murder and had something to do with it, then I'm walking into a trap.”

  “Why?” asked Ron. “You could still be the partner who doesn't know about the murder.”

  “Because if these are the guys who murdered DeLouise, they could conclude that I'm as dangerous to them as DeLouise was. They don't know what DeLouise may have told me. If DiMarco's connection to Iran indicates that the other two men are Iranians, then I'm sure you know that human lives are cheap for these guys, and if they have any doubts, they eliminate you without prior or further notice. I'd like to live; I still have unfulfilled plans.”

  “Let me run upstairs and see what they have on these names.”

  I waited in Ron's office. Ten minutes later he returned with another man.

  “This is Eric Henderson, Chief of Station, CIA,” said Ron, introducing a balding tall man in his forties who wore rimless eyeglasses over shifty blue eyes. “He's interested in hearing more about your meeting.”

  Hell, I thought, I came here to get information, not to share any.

  “What do you want to know?” I asked, slightly annoyed.

  “Everything you know about the participants in the meeting and its purpose.”

  I started from Genesis and went right through to Deuteronomy, the whole story of my mission up to this point. When I finished I looked at his face, waiting for a muscle to move. No go.

  Eric kept up the sphinx act for a moment and then said, “I'm not sure it's a good idea to let you go to the meeting by yourself. Cyrus and Farbod are Iranian agents on a purchasing mission for nuclear materials and missile technology. DiMarco is one of their fronts for the actual purchase and shipment arrangements. Now that Iraq has invaded Kuwait, and the U.S. and its allies are sending threats in the Iraqis’ direction, the Iranians in general and their intelligence services in particular are on high alert. This whole thing is a matter of national security. I ask that, until otherwise instructed, you do not attend the meeting. I need to call Langley.”

  He got up and left the room without another word. I was puzzled and fuming.

  I looked at Ron. “Do I take my instructions from this guy who can't make a move without calling headquarters? Does he always stick his ‘No's’ into other people's business?” I punned.

  Ron didn't answer. Maybe he didn't get it either.

  I picked up the phone and called my man in Washington, D. Stone. He wasn't in yet, so I left an urgent message to call me back at Lovejoy's office at the Munich Consulate. I was angry and frustrated. I thought I was running my own show, and now this guy Henderson was trying to take over.

  Thirty minutes later the phone rang. Henderson walked back into the room as I lifted the receiver.

  “Dan,” said David Stone in his soft voice, and then continued without waiting for my response, “they say it's a matter of national security. I want you to cooperate.”

  “David,” I said trying to keep my composure, “this guy is rocking my boat. I'm making good progress. He's talking principles but acting on interests.”

  “I can understand your frustration,” said David. “As always, you continue to take your instructions from me only. But don't make any unnecessary waves.”

  “OK, David,” I put the phone down quietly This was no time to refuse my boss's instructions.

  “You can go to your meeting, but we want you to wear a wire,” said Eric.

  “What for?” I asked innocently, already knowing the answer.

  “We've got to get a record of that meeting. We don't have enough time to bug the place, so it's up to you.”

  I decided to use this opportunity to score some points for my side.

  “Look, if you're putting me into one of your operations, is there something else I should know? I can't go in there wearing your wire without some background. I'd be a sitting duck if something went wrong. Now that I know who these guys are, this whole meeting might be a trap. If Guttmacher or his friends were involved in DeLouise's murder, I'm next.”

  “You already know all you need to know,” said Henderson in a condescending tone. “You made up the story about being attorney Peter Wooten, DeLouise's partner, so stick with it.”

  “Look,” I said trying to control my mounting rage, “I don't understand what your problem is. You obviously know what's going on, so why not tell me? I can continue just so far with my fake story about my partnership with DeLouise. If I don't come up with more credible information, I'm finished.”

  “I thought you were going to the meeting before I asked you to wear a wire.”

  “True. But going there to learn more about DeLouise's connection to the bank is one thing. Wearing a wire that could connect me with the Iranians’ worst enemies if they find it is something entirely different. It's my neck that's going to be on the line in that room. Unless you give me more information about these guys and what they're up to so I can have some control of the meeting, I'm not wearing your damn wire. And you can even call the president.”

  Eric was a bit taken aback at my unexpected outburst. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too, but I guess he realized that there was no point in alienating me after all.

  “All right, here's the deal. We don't have much time so I'll try to give it to you briefly. There are several things going on at the same time, so be patient. The things I'm about to tell you are a mixture of public information, information that is still unknown to the public but isn't classified, and, finally, some classified pieces. We have no time to sort it out, so treat all of it as classified.”

  I nodded.

  Eric pulled out a folder with a few printed pages and looked at them while talking to me. “Tehran is secretly building weapons of mass destruction. That's no secret. However, that requires a vast industrial base because it's an extremely complicated process. So the
se guys are looking to buy materials and machinery. We must know what they need.”

  He'd finally gotten my attention. I nodded for him to continue.

  “Fine,” said Eric, “here is the next issue: now we're facing a new problem. Many members of the Soviet military are feeling the earth moving underneath them, after Gorbachev gave up East Germany so easily. They don't know what's next, and they fear the unknown. Their morale is very low and their wages are meager, when they're paid. Same goes for their nuclear scientists. We hear that they're looking for ways to make money off their own missile and nuclear development. We also know that Iranian agents are intensively working in Soviet Central Asia searching for nuclear material. There is a planned meeting between a source in Kazakhstan and Iranian agents. We think that the Iranians take that opportunity very seriously and plan to send a technical team, which includes U.S.-educated physicists, to check the goods.”

  “Who are their contacts?” I asked, appreciative of the quality of the intelligence.

  “Never mind,” said Eric. “The important thing is that there are scientists and maybe government officials who are willing to sell Iran nuclear materials. We need to look closer into the vibrations we're getting from that direction. See if anything is mentioned concerning the Soviet Union, or more particularly Kazakhstan and the other Central Asian republics. See if you could develop it further without arousing suspicion.”

  “Anything more specific?”

  “Just bear in mind that the Iranians are launching an accelerated effort to increase their supply of weapons-grade plutonium to build an atom bomb. Originally the program was meant to put Iran on the nuclear map and help crown itself as the superpower of the Islamic world. But now that their archenemy Saddam has invaded Kuwait, finding himself at odds with the U.S., the Iranians feel it is a good time to accelerate their nuclear program in order to deter the U.S. from attacking them while they are in the vicinity. Being a local superpower also gives a thick hint to the other oil-rich countries in the Gulf to obey Iran's directions concerning production and pricing of oil. They want to be the guys with their hands on the spigots.”

  “So you are not quite certain what the Iranian agents are up to?” I asked.

  “No. Although I'm strongly convinced that Armajani and Kutchemeshgi's mission is to continue with their leaders’ original plan to get the weapons-grade plutonium and other compounds, I'm not sure about that. They could be on a mission to get missing parts for their missile program. Therefore, you should try to get as much information as you can on their mission. If they're on the missile program, see what they still need. And if they are buying nuclear stuff, I need the list of compounds and equipment they are looking for.”

  “Obviously,” I said, “it's a known fact that the current members of the club make it especially difficult for more countries to join the nuclear race.”

  “Right,” said Eric, and continued. “We know that Iran is encountering serious problems with the development of a nuclear weapon, but, still, they could be only a few years away from producing the first Islamic bomb using indigenous facilities. They can always lower their standards by using plutonium-239 and weapons-grade uranium. There are uranium deposits in Jazd province that contain 60 grams of uranium in every 100 kilograms of ore, sufficient to produce a small stockpile of nuclear warheads in four years.

  “The Iranian government wants the world to believe that their only nuclear facility is a nuclear power station in Bushehr. But, as always, they are deceitful. They have several top secret nuclear programs, none of which are for peaceful purposes. One such facility is in Natanz, one hundred miles north of Isfahan. They claim that the reactor is intended for peaceful purposes only. Their cover story is that it is meant to eradicate the desert by creating enough energy to desalinate seawater for extensive agriculture.”

  “I think we are considered desert, for their purposes.”

  Eric gave me a rare smile. “Right. The facility is currently being built near the old Kashan-Natanz highway in the village of Deh Zireh. They fenced an area of four hundred square miles to deter intruders. The installation will have more than one thousand employees and when completed will be mostly underground, with ten-foot-thick concrete walls wrapped by an additional concrete buffer. Once the installation is operational, Iranians would be very difficult to stop. Remember the name ‘Kala Electric’; they use that company as a front for purchasing equipment abroad. The name could surface during the meeting. They are establishing eight additional companies to disguise the true purpose of these facilities.”

  Eric looked at me like a teacher who is about to give up on a stupid student. “Do you follow?”

  “Yes,” I said. I had a few questions, but I was getting tired of his patronizing tone.

  “The other planned secret facility is in Arak's Khondaub region, on the banks of the Qara-Chai River. It will probably be used for cooling purposes. The front company for that project is Mesbah Energy Company.”

  I nodded, memorizing the name.

  Eric continued. “Now see the connection between the two facilities,” he said as he wiped his rimless glasses. “Natanz will be a uranium-enrichment plant. That's a sensitive nuclear site, much more than a fuel-fabrication installation. If exposed, their pretext would probably be that they are building it to produce low-grade uranium to be used as reactor fuel. We know that with a little effort these plants could be converted to make weapons-grade uranium. Our sources tell us that if plans go ahead as scheduled, the Isfahan uranium-conversion plant will convert yellowcake into uranium oxide, uranium hexafluoride, and uranium metal. While there could be peaceful uses for the other materials, we are concerned because they clearly plan to use uranium metal.”

  “Why?”

  “Because uranium metal has very few civil uses, but it is a basic component in nuclear weapons.”

  “Anything nearing completion?”

  “Yes. The uranium centrifuge program has been secretly operating since 1985. Next year Iran's laser-enrichment program will be fully functional. Both programs use technologies for making fissile material for nuclear-power plants or weapons. During the past two years Iran also made plutonium at the Tehran Nuclear Research Center. Plutonium production means one thing: they have a nuclear-weapons program. I have no doubt that they are building a nuclear bomb. They plan to install centrifuges at both sites as backup should the other one be bombed.”

  “Do they already have enough fissile material?”

  “No. But we estimate that Iran will have a total of almost 19 kilograms of fresh 80 percent enriched uranium in two to three years from now. They could use the irradiated fuel from their reactor and supplement it with import from other countries, with or without their governments’ knowledge.”

  “You mean stolen?”

  “Yes. Look around. We are in a buyers’ market. Someday, somewhere, someone will be greedy enough to sell it to the eager, oil-rich Iranians.”

  “How many bombs could they build with what they'll have soon?” I asked.

  “Just one. All they need is 18 to 20 kilograms of uranium,” said Eric. “We suspect that Iran, after the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, intends to use all their highly enriched uranium and even continue enriching portions of it. They are probably planning a final weaponization process to deter the U.S. from attacking them while they're in the neighborhood.”

  Eric continued, “We think that once the Iranians complete the bomb construction, they'll have two options: the first is to test the bomb in the Iranian desert. The world would then treat Iran as a local power with a nuclear capability. Then, their tacit control over neighboring oil-rich countries would be tolerated, albeit opposed.”

  “And the second?”

  “Their first bomb would be too big to launch with the obsolete missiles the Iranians currently have. Our friends at the Mossad say that the Iranians could try to detonate a bomb near Israel. All they have to do is put it on a boat entering Haifa harbor. They couldn't send an airplane because any
unidentified plane approaching Israel's airspace would be shot down immediately.”

  I knew what Eric was referring to. There were rumors that Iranian-backed terrorists had maintained all along that it was possible to cause devastating destruction in Israel by using a boat carrying even a primitive atom bomb.

  “But wait,” I interrupted. “Didn't you tell me earlier that the Iranians need the materials their agents are looking for to boost the destruction capacity of their bombs? I don't understand why, because even a small A-bomb would be enough to change history.”

  “We don't know why. Their attempt to obtain these boosting materials could be psychological warfare to scare off the West, or it could be a part of a bigger plan. I don't think the Iranian fanatics limit the area of potential use to the Middle East. There could be other targets. The United States for example.”

  “OK,” I said, “I got the picture. Are the threats imminent?”

  “No. Unless they buy or steal ready-made bombs. Otherwise they are approximately ten to twelve years away from a homemade A-bomb.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Next, have you heard of Gerald Bull?”

  “The Canadian engineer hired by the Iraqis? Yes, what about him?”

  “He was a brilliant weapons-research specialist. In 1961, Bull convinced the Pentagon that large guns could be used as launch platforms for nose cones for orbital reentry. He started Project HARP — for ‘High Altitude Research Program’ — to study high-altitude ballistics and large guns. For political reasons his financial plug was later pulled. Bull transferred HARP's assets into his private corporation and worked as a consultant to foreign armies on issues of artillery.

  “In the mid-1970s the South Africans were in conflict with the Communist government of Angola. Bull, with a silent nod from the CIA, helped South Africa design a new 155-mm howitzer with a range exceeding that of any other known cannon. With the new guns, the South Africans had no problem stopping the Angolans.