‘Relatively,’ said Mikhailov. ‘It was only introduced in the last five years, but it’s a powerful rocket with a three-stage solid propellant motor and it can carry up to 1300 kilograms, so they can fit it with a 750-kilogram single nuclear warhead, or low-yield MIRV warheads.’
Rabinovich noted Mikhailov’s intelligence on the yield. If the Israelis’ MIRV, or Multiple Independently Targetable Re-entry Vehicle warheads, were low yield, then they would be wrestling with the same problems she had encountered at Sarov.
Mikhailov flicked up a video of a Jericho III launch. As if in a warning to Tehran, located a mere 1500 kilometres to the east, the 15-metre, 30-tonne missile, capable of carrying nuclear, biological and chemical warheads, rose into a clear blue sky above the Mediterranean, leaving a surreally graceful white trail.
‘I’m well briefed on Israel’s fears of an attack from Iran,’ said Rabinovich, ‘but are they worried about ISIS?’
‘Yes and no,’ said Mikhailov. ‘No, because firstly, the US is still a staunch ally, and for political reasons, the Americans would almost certainly come to Israel’s aid. Any candidate who is serious about gaining the White House has always supported Israel. Secondly,’ Mikhailov continued, ‘Israel has one of the best trained defense forces in the world. The United States pours US$3 billion a year into the Jewish State – about US$500 per Israeli – and most of that is spent on defense. Israeli technology and equipment are at the cutting edge, and with the exception of the ultra-orthodox Jews, every Israeli has to serve in the military – the men do three years, and the women two. Armed soldiers on the streets of Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and other towns and settlements are just a way of life, and ISIS would have to contend with that. That said, ISIS is still a threat,’ Mikhailov concluded, ‘and Israel is right to be concerned, although their Iron Dome provides them with a strong shield. The system uses an Israeli-built radar to track incoming missiles and artillery shells and it then launches a Tamir interceptor. It’s interesting too,’ Mikhailov added with a wry smile, ‘that the very first Dome deployment was in the vicinity of Beersheba, close enough to defend Dimona, but not advertising the nuclear base itself as a high-value target. But there is also an internal threat. Shin Bet – the domestic security service – is keeping a close eye on Israeli Palestinians. The Israelis face the same problems with radic alisation as we do here and the possibility of an ISIS attack from within Israel’s borders can’t be ruled out.’
For the next hour, Mikhailov briefed Rabinovich on what they had on the Israelis before announcing a very different training segment. ‘Tomorrow we will go out to the Moscow Raceway where the president’s driver will put you through your paces on a bike, and in a car.’
Rabinovich floored the Audi R8 as she crossed the start–finish line on the home straight of Moscow’s Formula One racetrack, located 60 miles out of Moscow near the villages of Sheludkovo and Fedyukovo. With a price tag well north of US$300 000, the R8 was the most expensive and powerful production car Audi had ever built and the V10 responded instantly as 610 horsepower came into play. It was the same V10 engine that powered the Audi R8 LMS racecar. Rabinovich had quickly mastered the myriad paddles, buttons and scroll wheels on the racing steering wheel, and the virtual cockpit display was an added bonus. The Audi topped 200 kilo metres an hour before Rabinovich braked hard at the first corner and shifted down – fifth, fourth, third . . . as she used all the track in order to line the Audi up for the second double apex corner.
From his position in race control, President Petrov looked on with approval. With him was Alexander Bobrov, the swarthy head of Russia’s shadowy Department 12. The existence of Department 12 was one of the most closely guarded secrets in Russia, known only to a few at the highest levels, and the need for Department 12 to be so tightly held was immediately apparent to those briefed into the compartment. Department 12 was responsible for running what were known as ‘the illegals’ – spies that Russia embedded in the United States and other countries for years at a time. Russia’s spies were provided with false identities, but only unofficial cover, so that if they were discovered, Moscow could disavow any knowledge. In America, the Russian spies all led very normal, unremarkable lives as US citizens, barracking for US football and baseball teams, serving on the local school PTA, and bringing up their kids who rode their bicycles in leafy cul-de-sacs. In reality, they were all well-trained spies, tasked with a highly sensitive mission of recruiting agents, sending anything of interest back to Moscow and working their way up the ladders of departments and businesses, to position themselves for whenever Moscow might need them. Their future tasks would include targeting military bases, food stores, biotechnical and pharmaceutical targets, and sabotaging drinking water supplies with a view to disrupting the US economy. In June of 2010, the FBI arrested 11 illegals – astounding those who knew them well as average, law-abiding citizens. Amongst them was Anna Chapman, the CEO of an international real estate company. She had taken up residence in Exchange Place, just one block from Wall Street.
‘Rabinovich is doing well today, Alexander,’ President Petrov remarked.
‘Rabinovich is arguably the best we have ever had to train, Mr President,’ the head of Department 12 responded. ‘She has completed the course in record time.’
‘No doubt small arms training was superfluous,’ Petrov observed wryly.
Bobrov didn’t smile. The Russian spy chief was completely lacking in humour. ‘That’s true, Mr President. She is a first-class shot, both with a pistol and a submachine gun. But she’s also done well in every other facet of her training. She’s excelled in the covert use of cameras and listening devices and in the arcane art of hacking. It’s been a very impressive performance.’
‘Perhaps, Mr President, Colonel Rabinovich could have a career on the race track,’ said Viktor Gagarin, Petrov’s personal driver and himself an ex-racecar driver. Gagarin had been assigned to ensure Rabinovich could get out of any tight spot she might find herself, which included throwing a tail, and driving at high speed in reverse.
‘She’s that good?’
‘She’s a natural, Mr President, both on a bike and in a car. The best we have ever trained. There have only been five female Formula 1 drivers in the world, and all of those have competed with sub-standard cars. With the right car, Rabinovich is not only Formula 1 material, she could win.’
The president smiled in agreement. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said, ‘but at the moment, we have other plans for her.’
Gagarin nodded. He was well versed in the need-to-know principle and well aware that in this case, he didn’t.
Rabinovich came to the next corner, the most difficult on the Moscow racetrack. The Audi threatened to become airborne over a crest, and Rabinovich braked hard as the V10 protested, with the revs on the limits of her gear changes. She accelerated just as hard, correcting the oversteer on the next corner before flooring the Audi again on the long penultimate straight. She quickly reached sixth gear, topping 230 kilometres an hour before ratcheting down in a series of gear changes and again braking hard at the final corner. Rabinovich crossed the finish line and she gave her instructor and the president a wave as she passed the control tower.
Back in the Kremlin, President Petrov summoned the head of the FSB, General Nikita Zherdev.
‘Next Wednesday evening, Colonel Rabinovich will give a speech at the Moscow University. That speech will be critical of government policy, and will get wide media coverage. You are to position three of your people and they are to arrest her when she leaves the university. For her part, she’s been instructed to do whatever it takes to evade them.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’ It wasn’t the first time General Zherdev had been asked to stage an event that on the surface, looked like something it wasn’t, but to him, three FSB agents up against a woman didn’t look like good odds.
‘I’ve been taking a keen interest in Rabinovich’s training. To date, she has displayed a level of ability that few, if any of our agents possess.’ The
president fixed his internal security chief with a steely gaze. ‘My rubles are on her, but if by chance your team is successful, we have a plan B. If your people do manage to arrest her, she can be roughed up, but I want her kept alive. On the other hand, your team is expendable.’
A week later, Rabinovich parked the Audi R8 in the visitor’s spot reserved for her outside the main entrance to Moscow’s prestigious State University. Founded in 1755, the university had been constructed on a hill overlooking the Moskva River. In 1953, a 240-metre tall, cathedral-like building had been added and it contained more than 5000 rooms and corridors that stretched for 33 kilometres. The university was one of Moscow’s ‘seven sisters’ – seven Moscow skyscrapers that had been designed with a Stalinist-style architecture. Moscow University had been the tallest building in Europe until 1990, when it was surpassed by the MesseTurm – the Trade Fair Tower in Frankfurt.
Ilana looked up at the imposing structure. Eleven Nobel Laure ates had passed through the doors, as well as a long list of distinguished alumni including Mikhail Gorbachev, the journalist Anna Politkovskaya and Anton Chekhov, considered to be the world’s best author of short stories. Ilana climbed the steps toward the rector who was waiting to greet her. Professor Glagolev was standing beside one of the eight massive columns that defined the famous entrance, but before she could reach him, a television crew approached. Normally media would have been kept at a distance from a visiting speaker, but Rabinovich was not surprised. She had been meticulously briefed on both the presence of the media and the FSB team. Unusually, in addition to those erected in prominent positions around the city, a banner advertising her address had been unfurled across the top of the entrance pillars. This particular speech had been reported on before it had even been given.
‘Colonel Rabinovich, your speech is entitled “Making Russia Great Again”. What do you intend to say?’ If Ilana had any doubts about the level of detailed planning for this mission, she could at least relax on that score. The young journalist was sticking rigidly to the script.
Ilana flashed her a disarming smile. ‘You will have to wait for my address,’ she said.
‘But isn’t this political, Colonel? There are rumours that you’re not happy with the direction Russia is taking under President Petrov.’
Ilana gave the journalist a practised noncommittal shrug. ‘Again, you will have to wait and see, but,’ she added as instructed, ‘sometimes we have to speak out, otherwise there will never be any change.’ The cameraman filmed Professor Glagolev greeting Rabinovich on the steps. Blissfully unaware of the dark hands of manipulation that surrounded her, the young journalist was left standing, wide-eyed at both the unexpected access, and the enormity of the implications of her interview.
When Professor Glagolev, a big bear of a man and himself a nuclear physicist, took to the podium, Ilana took the opportunity to look around. The 1500-seat auditorium was packed to capacity. The beautifully polished wooden seats, flanked by choir stalls either side, were padded with mustard-coloured velvet. White marble pillars supported curtained alcoves lit by tasteful lamps and four massive chandeliers were suspended from the ornate roof.
‘It’s my great pleasure to welcome here tonight Colonel Ilana Rabinovich, herself a distinguished graduate of this fine university.’ Ilana listened politely as the rector outlined her career as both a nuclear physicist and a high-ranking officer in Russia’s special forces, although no mention was made of Sarov. ‘Please join me in making her welcome.’ The applause was polite.
Ilana made her way to the lectern, outwardly confident. ‘I have entitled my address: “Making Russia Great Again”, because I have reached the conclusion that we have lost our way.’
There were audible gasps from amongst the audience and Rabinovich paused, waiting for the gathering to settle. As she surveyed those seated in the front rows, she recognised several of the more prominent members of the Russian parliament, the 616-strong Federal Assembly. But she already knew they had been directed to attend, both from the lower house or State Duma and the Federation Council, Russia’s upper house. There was also more than a smattering of generals and professors, similarly directed to attend.
‘Judging by your reaction, some of you have found my opening remarks surprising, so let me outline for you, where I think this great country of ours is headed in the wrong direction. As the rector has pointed out, I have considerable experience at the cutting edge of nuclear physics, and in our armed forces, and it is in both these and other areas that we are making grave mistakes.’
Ilana glanced at the rector. His face had assumed a deathly pallor.
‘With the election of President Travers in the United States, whose rhetoric on nuclear weapons is to say the least alarming, the world is in danger of falling into an abyss from which we may never recover. One of my early mentors was the Nobel Laureate, Andrei Sakharov, a nuclear physicist and the father of the first Russian thermonuclear bomb. As many of you will be aware, Sakharov also worked on our 50-megaton Tsar Bomb – the largest nuclear device ever exploded. But in later life, he became concerned about the ethics surrounding the development of nuclear weapons, and he began to speak out in favour of using nuclear power for peaceful purposes. In 1975, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace. The Soviet government of the time were furious. Sakharov was barred from going to Oslo to receive his Nobel and his wife, Yelena Bonner, had to deliver his acceptance speech.’
President Petrov watched the live feed from his office in the Kremlin. He had not counted on Rabinovich having such a powerful delivery, and although he had approved the speech, it was almost as if she believed every word she had written. There was, he reminded himself, a positive. He had ensured the Israelis would see the speech, and hopefully they would be taken in by Rabinovich’s fervour.
‘In his Nobel speech, Andrei Sakharov called for a universal respect for human rights, a greater respect for the environment, and an end to the arms race; and although that speech was given 40 years ago, it would be even more relevant if he gave it today. In the United States, President Travers has shown little respect for human rights or the environment, and he has fuelled a new arms race, a race which will see the development of nuclear weapons that are smaller and far more powerful than the ones we possess today.’
‘No wonder General Zherdev wants this traitor arrested,’ Alexei Vaseliev whispered. Junior Sergeant Vaseliev was one of the three FSB agents seated at the very back of the auditorium.
Sergeant Igor Federov covered his mouth with his hand and whispered in his commander’s ear. ‘I agree with Vaseliev. If I had my way, we’d arrest her right now before she does any more damage.’
The commander and most experienced member of the team, Captain Boris Lebedev, shook his head. ‘Nyet. Our orders are quite clear. We are to wait until she finishes her speech and leaves the building. We’ll continue as planned,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll get her in the car park.’
‘Many of those in power,’ Rabinovich continued, ‘have little idea of the effects of a nuclear explosion, but Andrei Sakharov and we nuclear physicists who work in this deadly arena are more than well aware of the dangers posed to the planet by a nuclear exchange. If any of the bombs being developed today were to be exploded over large cities like Moscow, New York, London and Chicago, the immediate casualties would be measured in the hundreds of thousands and eventually in the millions. In a fraction of a second after detonation, the latest bombs can reach temperatures of 100 million degrees. The fireball from a 20-megaton bomb, which is well within the latest design capabilities, would melt and vaporise buildings, bridges, cars, people and everything else within 2 miles. Winds would rise to 650 miles an hour.’ Rabinovich paused. ‘Think about that,’ she said. ‘In October 2015, off the coast of Mexico, the strongest hurricane ever recorded reached 200 miles an hour – less than a third of that of a thermonuclear blast. In addition to vaporisation at ground zero, everything within a radius of 4 miles would be torn apart and levelled. In Moscow, the Kremli
n, this university and thousands of other buildings would cease to exist. Thirty miles from ground zero, the winds would fan the flames into an all-consuming inferno.’
The silence in the auditorium was eerie. Even the FSB team was listening intently.
‘But in the longer term, that’s the least of our worries. The fortunate ones will be killed, because in a nuclear explosion, billions of minuscule dust particles are blasted into the air in a mushroom cloud that stretches for miles. All of those particles are radioactive, and the prevailing wind will take them for hundreds of miles across both the target and neighbouring countries. Tens of millions will die slow agonising deaths. And even that is not the worst of it, because any major nuclear exchange brings with it the potential for a devastating nuclear winter. Millions of tons of dust particles are taken into the upper atmosphere, blocking out the sun for months, and perhaps years.’
One or two academics in the audience were nodding in agreement, but for the most part, Rabinovich’s address was being met with a stony silence.
‘To get a feel for what might happen to us in a nuclear exchange with these new weapons,’ she continued, ‘we only have to look at what has happened with volcanic eruptions. In 1815, Mount Tambora, located in the Lesser Sunda Islands of Indonesia, erupted with a massive explosion, jettisoning 38 cubic miles of ash into the upper atmosphere. That eruption caused a volcanic winter in which global temperatures plunged by an average of five degrees. North America was subjected to widespread frosts and snow in the middle of summer; crops failed around the world and cattle died. Although at least that led to the invention of the bicycle,’ Ilana added with a wry smile, ‘because horses died for lack of feed. The Tambora eruptions resulted in the worst famine of the nineteenth century. And that was just a volcanic winter. Volcanic ash is one thing, but when radioactive ash meets precipitation, it falls as radioactive rain.’
The Russian Affair Page 13