by Jon Sedran
“Where are you taking me?” Shirazi asked nervously. Neither man answered.
The drive ended twenty minutes later when the car pulled up to a building on the eastern edge of Tehran. There was only a small sign to identify it as a Ministry of Internal Security building. The first man stepped out of the car and motioned with his hand. “Get out of the car and come with us,” he directed.
Shirazi got out and briefly scanned his surroundings. He did not recognize this place. The men escorted him into the building, then down a long hallway to a room near the end.
The first man opened the door. “Go in,” he ordered.
Shirazi hesitatingly entered the room. It had one window which had been boarded up. Two men were standing next to a heavy metal chair near the center of the room. The taller one wore a Republican Guard uniform, the other an ill-fitting grey suit.
“Sit down,” the man in the suit directed, as the two escorts left the room and closed the door behind them. “Ali, I am Yasom Armami, Chief of Counter-Intelligence.” Shirazi slowly sat down and said nothing.
“I understand you were very lucky…you left just moments before the explosion,” a stern-faced Armami informed him.
“Very lucky, indeed,” added the man in uniform, scrutinizing Shirazi.
“I don’t remember any explosion,” Shirazi shrugged. The two men glanced at each other.
“Ali, I have a report here…clearly the explosion was caused by the chemical composition you had formulated,” stated the uniformed interrogator. He stood next to Shirazi flipping through the pages of a report.
“May I see the report?” asked Shirazi, uneasily.
“No!” replied Armami abruptly. “You are here because we believe Mossad got you to deliberately alter the mixture and cause the explosion!”
“That is insane. The mixture was verified by others. And I do NOT work for Mossad…and accidents can happen!” retorted an agitated Shirazi.
Armami briefly checked some notes. “Why have you requested three transfers?” he demanded to know.
Shirazi sighed loudly. “Look, I would rather be doing something else. But I’m loyal and I do good work…ask my supervisor.”
The interrogator leaned over and grabbed him tightly by the chin. “Your supervisor was blown to bits!” he roared, as he pushed Shirazi’s chin hard causing him to cry out in pain.
“I didn’t know,” Shirazi mumbled, looking down tearfully. “Look, I’m dizzy and my head hurts.”
“Ali, you can tell us the truth,” Armami assured him. “If you help us to capture a Mossad agent we will ask the court for leniency at your sentencing.”
“I have done nothing wrong! This is not Nazi Germany; you cannot hold me without evidence!”
The uniformed interrogator backhanded Shirazi across the face, nearly knocking him out of the chair. “We will lock you up for one-hundred years!” he yelled, as Shirazi again cried out.
Armami stood directly in front of him. “Ali, we can see you are hurting, so will let you go home and rest for now, but think about our offer.” He handed him his business card, then motioned to the uniformed officer. “He will drive you home now Ali…in two days you we will bring you back here for the polygraph test.”
“Let’s go,” said the interrogator, as he pulled Shirazi to his feet by his collar and shoved him toward the door.
“Just give us names Ali,” said Armami as they left. “Oh, and don’t try to leave the country, we have revoked your passport.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Barillas raced up to the office receptionist, who was on the phone. He waited a few moments and then went over and knocked on Maddy’s door.
“Come on…” she started to say, but Barillas was already opening the door. She looked up somewhat startled.
“Sorry, Director…I mean Maddy, but look at these,” he said, spreading several satellite photos out on the desk in front of her. “It looks like there was a big explosion at the Parchin site.” He waited for a few moments as she scanned through the photos. “These are high-resolution KH11 satellite imagery taken twelve days ago. Look carefully, the center section of the roof on this building is gone, and there appears to be debris spread all around the building.”
Maddy set a report aside and adjusted her reading glasses. “What exactly can we see?” she asked.
“We were lucky, the satellite passed directly overhead before they could cover everything up. NRO got this shot looking almost straight down.” Barillas pointed to the center of a photo. “You can see here just outside the damaged building, these are likely two machined blocks of shaped explosive. Then we have what looks like pieces of possibly machined graphite and other shiny concave shaped metal pieces, not sure yet. The force of the explosion most likely blew all these out through the roof and they landed here on the ground. Inside the building you can make out heavy machinery. I have someone working on identifying the equipment.”
Maddy got out a magnifying glass and closely examined a photo. “Look right here...what you think this is?” she asked, pointing to a shape lying on the partially collapsed roof as she handed Barillas the magnifying glass.
He examined the photo for few moments. “I’d say it was a body…a body with no arms.”
“Incredible. When did the explosion happen?” she asked, now looking more intently at each photo.
“We’re not sure, there was cloud cover for a couple of days and NRO said their assets were busy and this was low priority. But best guess is definitely no more than two weeks ago.”
Maddy chuckled. “So, I guess they haven’t stopped using Parchin for explosives testing.”
Barillas smiled. “Apparently not.”
“Okay, let’s get a full assessment from the NNSA weapons lab. And asks ops if they can coordinate for some covert assets to sample the air downwind; just to see if there was any radioactivity released.”
Barillas nodded. “That would really be something. Okay, so who the hell should I ask about that?”
“Start with Benny Anderson over in Science and Tech. He should know someone at the National Nuclear Security Administration, the NNSA. They’re here in D.C. If they can’t do it, Benny should be able to tell you who can. Send me electronic copies of the imagery and I’ll forward them to General Lowe with the details.”
“I’m on it,” Barillas said, as he quickly gathered up the photos and headed for the door.
* * * *
Forty-five year-old nuclear chemical engineer Dr. Gomar el’Zaril had left his job as a professor at Tehran University to work at Iran’s Fordow nuclear site. At the encouragement of Benuit whom he had known professionally for many years, he had taken the lead engineer position. Daily, he would drive his well-worn Toyota Corolla the eighty miles to the site near the city of Qom. In four years his efforts had resulted in major increases in both enriched uranium production and enrichment levels.
The plants at Natanz and Fordow formed the backbone of Iran’s enrichment operations. Both had been built deep beneath bedrock and covered with up to thirty-feet of concrete. They were constructed to withstand even the largest conventional bombs. In spite of setbacks, including the damage done years earlier to centrifuges at Natanz by the Stuxnet computer virus; the operations had been continuously expanded. Per the nuclear agreement, both plants were now open to U.N. inspectors, that is, most areas of the plants. At each site, working late at night and away from prying eyes, crews had dug out an eighty-thousand square foot chamber. They were lined with concrete and advanced centrifuges, fabricated completely in Iran, were installed in configurations which would speed the enrichment process. The chambers had separate well-concealed entrances away from the main plant entrance. Security was exceptional tight at the plants with senior Republican Guard officers in charge and only a select few technicians allowed access to these ‘special’ areas. They had never been discovered by the U.N. IAEA inspectors.
Today, the officer in charge of Fordow’s Security, was making the rounds. He had little patienc
e for scientists, who he viewed as unreliable security risks. Experience had taught him they were likely targets for foreign agents.
“Hello professor,” he said, walking up to greet el’Zaril as he was getting out of his car in the main parking lot.
“Hello,” el’Zaril replied casually, as he locked his car door.
They walked through the parking lot toward the security gate. “How is our progress doctor?” the officer inquired.
“Excellent,” replied a confident el’Zaril. “Until Arak is fully operational, the best path for our program is still through uranium enrichment.”
The officer nodded. “Why don’t we have a look at the newest area?”
“Of course,” replied el’Zaril.
They continued through the security checkpoint leading to the main building, then down a ramp and into the complex. Two guards stood aside as they entered. From there they proceeded through a tunnel which exited on the far side of the plant. To aid in concealment, a small building housing ventilation equipment had been erected over the entrance to the separate chamber. A flight of metal stairs inside the building would take them back down into this hidden part of the plant.
Scientists…a necessary evil needed to accomplish the revolution’s goals, the officer thought as he followed el’Zaril down the stairs, then along a corridor and through a heavy steel door. They entered a large room stepping onto a metal mezzanine where they could see hundreds of spinning centrifuges below. El’ Zaril leaned on the railing and surveyed the scene. “We have enriched to sixty-percent, and another three-hundred advanced-type centrifuges will be coming on-line shortly.”
The officer seemed impressed and nodded his approval. “I have been told Arak is already running with about one-half the fuel rods installed, it will be at full capacity sooner than anyone knows. We must make sure the IAEA inspectors never find any of this,” he cautioned.
“I assure you, they will find nothing. Everything is in order…we keep two sets of records,” el ‘Zaril responded, firmly.
“Very well, General Namazi tells me you were in Pakistan again and returned with valuable information on ways to improve our enrichment processes and capacity.”
“Yes, this was my third trip there. They are eager to share their knowledge with us...off the record, of course,” he added, with a smile.
“Of course,” replied the officer, as he turned and started to walk away. “Keep at it doctor, and remember the Zionists have agents everywhere.”
* * * *
U.S. Navy Fifth Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Eric Kaminski tossed the DIA’s Iranian naval assets intelligence brief onto his desk. “Frank, have you seen the latest from DIA?”
“Yes, I just read it and it’s very sobering,” replied fleet Deputy Commander, Rear Admiral Frank Thompson.
It was clear the Iranian Navy was adding additional small but fast, and heavily armed boats to the already impressive number of vessels deployed in the Persian Gulf area. Although one-on-one they were no match for the larger U.S. Navy ships, they still presented a serious threat. Navy planners in D.C. expected the Iranians to deploy their boats using “swarm tactics” whereby they would simultaneously fire volleys of deadly radar guided missiles and fast torpedoes. If enough were launched, they would overwhelm even the most sophisticated defensive systems.
“The Russians are supplying them with their newest anti-ship missile systems,” lamented Kaminski.
“And we have fewer assets than ever to neutralize the threat,” Thompson added, “Let’s just hope all those high-tech countermeasures we have work as well in the real thing as they do in the exercises.”
“I believe in that last exercise the bad guys sank or severely damaged three of our ships, including a carrier,” Kaminski reminded him.
Thompson frowned.
“It says here they are believed to be deploying remotely-controlled fast attack craft laden with explosives...and they never fail to point out that Republican Guard sailors deployed in their navy are willing to sacrifice themselves,” Kaminski threw out.
“One of their new fast attack craft harassed one of our cargo ships yesterday, it’s in the situation report I forwarded to you,” said Thompson, adding, “It was almost certainly IRGCN crewed.”
“We will need to hit them hard and fast with EMP weapons to disrupt their command and control networks and blind them,” Kaminski acknowledged.
Thompson glanced down at his watch. “We’re due at the docks for an inspection,” he said, as he started to get up.
Kaminski nodded, put away the report and picked up his cell phone, taking one last glace at his Outlook calendar. “I see Senator Smith will be paying us a visit next month.”
CHAPTER SIX
The commander of all Iranian military forces was fifty-nine year old Major General Ahmad Rabiei. A no-nonsense, outspoken, and very capable military officer who had little time for the petty politics always present in Iran’s religious leadership. He had even less time for the prima donnas in Iran’s Republican Guard force who saw themselves as an elite entity and the most important defenders of the Islamic Republic.
Today he was presenting an update on the military situation in the region to the Guardian Council and to the Iranian President. Rabiei got up and went to the podium. Pressing a button on the remote the first slide appeared on the wall monitor as he turned to face his audience. “This map shows the countries in the region where the Americans have placed military assets in a vain attempt to surround us.” He illuminated various locations using a laser pointer, speaking as he went. “Their fleet is stationed here in Bahrain and their ships are constantly patrolling right up to our national borders.” He moved on to the next slide, “Here are their air force assets and the bases they use in neighboring countries.” He advanced through several more slides as he detailed the levels of U.S forces currently deployed around the region. “They are an arrogant nation and we must push back against their repeated challenges to our sovereignty.” He set down the remote and looked at the group. “They are vulnerable,” he announced ominously as he turned off the presentation and sat back down.
“Their military adventurism all over the world will ruin them financially,” declared Kaviani.
“Our forces have been exceedingly patient in the face of constant American provocations, and we look weak,” Javadi added. Rabiei glared at him, but said nothing.
Massoud sat silently for a moment, and then in a quiet voice said, “I agree the Americans feel as if they own the whole world.”
“They believe they can force their will on others and bring about regime change whenever and wherever they want. We will bankrupt them and they will fall apart like the Soviet Union. Allah will guide our strong hands against the infidels,” Javadi thundered.
* * * *
At seven-thirty am on a weekday morning, el’Zaril, stopped on the outskirts of Tehran to put gas into his Toyota before continuing on to his work at Fordow. He did not notice the two men on a motorcycle parked across the street. The roads were clear and the drive would take him about an hour and a half on the two-lane highway he regularly used.
After filling up, he got back into his car and negotiated the busy street, making his way through the traffic and toward the highway. He had gone about five blocks when he stopped for a red light. The motorcycle with two riders pulled up alongside him on the passenger side. El’Zaril glanced over at them and then checked his rearview mirror. Moments later the light turned green and the Toyota and motorcycle sped forward.
El’Zaril thought he saw something fly in through the partially open window on the passenger side. A dark green baseball-sized metallic object struck him in the right shoulder, fell, and came to rest on the center console. He looked down and sat frozen for just one brief terrifying moment at the sight of the grenade. The motorcycle and its two riders immediately turned off onto a side street just as car’s roof blew off and flew high into air. Simultaneously, both front doors were blown apart as the windshield and rear
window blew out. El’Zaril’s lifeless body now lay sprawled in the street, his clothing shredded and on fire. The burning car came to an abrupt halt against a lamp post. A crowd soon gathered. The Mossad would of course, be blamed.
* * * *
Secretary of State Nancy Kragen tried not to show her frustration. She was in the Oval Office with the President again discussing the final Iranian nuclear agreement. Both understood the agreement wasn’t perfect, but they were certain it was better than no agreement at all. Under the terms it was judged Iran could still possibly conceal certain nuclear processes from the inspectors.
She scrolled down her tablet PC screen. “Mr. President, it looks like we’ve gotten the congress to agree not to block this historic agreement.”
“Yes, thanks, I saw that in the daily brief from the congressional leaders,” replied Acosta, adding, “We need to stick with our strategy to move forward and create a more peaceful world.”
“I agree. I told Senator Smith that no agreement would almost certainly lead to an arms race and then to war.” And any attempts to water down the terms would only further antagonize the Iranians who were willing to compromise on several important issues, including the scope of the nuke inspections.”
Acosta clasped his hands and nodded. “This is a big step forward and congressional leaders have to understand that…let’s not let this train get derailed before it even leaves the station.”
“I think the Israeli lobby is leaning hard on the congress,” she suggested.
“Think?” replied Acosta, rolling his eyes. “If they leaned any harder, they would push the damn Capitol building over. Anyway, you and your team still feel the Iranians are sincere?” he asked.
Kragen was silent for a moment. “Yes, Mr. President, the sanctions were hurting them enough to force them to compromise on the main sticking points.”