by Jon Sedran
“I should hope not,” replied the protocol officer, smiling. “I will let them know, Director.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Maddy was at her desk entering some notes on her laptop when the intercom came alive. “Mr. Barillas is here to see you,” the receptionist announced.
“Send him in,” Maddy replied. She glanced up as Barillas entered and motioned him toward a chair. “Arron, I’m going to go to Pakistan in a few days and wanted to review the latest intelligence on Iran’s new missile with you before I leave.”
“Why Pakistan? Their nuke program?” Barillas asked.
Maddy nodded.
“We received some updated information from CIA about a transfer of weapons grade materials to Iran which likely happened a few years back…I know it’s a long shot.” Long, Barillas thought, Better odds of winning the lottery. “Anyway, let’s look at their missiles, please have a seat.” She pushed her laptop off to the side, cleared a space on the desk and picked up a document. “You’ve seen this report which confirms the new Iranian ballistic missile facility at Shahrud is in full operation?” she asked.
“Yes, I’ve looked at,” Barillas replied.
“The imagery we got from NRO shows what is almost certainly a large missile being assembled there for a launch. Estimates make it out to be almost sixty feet long which would make it the largest missile they have ever tested.” She turned the folder around facing Barillas and spread a small map and some satellite images out in front of him.
“But Maddy, I have spoken with our technology people and they insist neither the implosion design the Libyans sold them, nor the Hiroshima Little Boy bomb design they likely got from Pakistan, will fit on a missile. CIA believes the Iranians will not assemble a weapon until they can miniaturize it…and that will take least five more years.”
“Arron, maybe they will use a fricking airplane, or a Goddamn garbage truck to deliver it, but they are working on a bomb. And if they can put a nuke on a mobile missile, it will be game over.”
Barillas nodded as he continued to look the photos over. “It matches up with CIA’s and Mossad’s information,” he confirmed. “Even the Israelis have said it is an excellent choice of location for launching missiles.”
“Yes, I just wish we could get people inside these programs, and soon,” said added, an air of desperation in her voice.
Barillas felt she could use some encouragement. “Maybe this Pakistan trip will get you what we need to make our case.”
“I sure hope so.” For the next twenty minutes they went through intelligence reports on the missile launching site and reviewed the latest satellite imagery.
“Depending upon the course and trajectory selected, a missile on a test flight could fly over sparsely populated areas of Iran for almost nine-hundred miles. They would be able to collect a lot of test data before the missile fell back down in the Ocean,” Barillas said.
“Do we know how heavy of a payload their new Shahab III missile can lift?” Maddy asked.
“The foreign tech folks at Wright-Pat say their best estimate is around thirteen hundred pounds.”
Maddy took off her reading glasses and set them down. “Okay, it looks like they may test soon.”
“Yes, within six months is our best guess,” Barillas replied.
Okay, see if you can get a firm launch date, and arrange to have NRO assets overhead. We need to find out all we can about the missile.”
“Will do,” he replied. He wanted to ask Maddy more about her upcoming trip, but decided against.
“I better get back to getting ready for my trip,” she said.
Barillas nodded and put away the reports.
* * * *
Iran’s ballistic missile test facility at Shahrud had finally been completed three years behind schedule. It was now fully operational and would soon be the site for the flight testing of Iran’s newest and largest ballistic missile. Javadi and Benuit arrived by car at the site, passing through two security gates. Their military driver parked the car and then got out and opened the door for Javadi. From a distance of four-hundred yards the men could see the impressive launch tower painted red and white and gleaming in the bright sunlight.
IRGC Aerospace Commanding General Farshid Yazdi walked up to greet them. “Would you like a tour?” he asked.
“Yes, but just a short one general,” replied Javadi. “We have to get back to Tehran and we have some things to go over with you before we leave. General, this is Dr. Benuit, our nuclear power program consultant.”
“Hello doctor,” he replied, “Please gentlemen get into my car and my driver will take us close to the launch pad.”
They drove as close as the narrow service road would allow and stopped where they could get a good view. Yazdi stepped out of the car while his driver opened the door for Javadi. The three men walked a short distance toward the tower, stopping about one-hundred feet from the launch pad.
“As you can see Ayatollah Javadi, it is all quite impressive,” said Yazdi. He pointed to an area next to the tower. “To the right of the tower is the exhaust deflector that directs the missile’s hot exhaust gasses safely away. Our new missiles will use solid fuel as it is easier to handle and a missile can be ready for launching in minutes.”
“How soon will the new missile be ready to test?” asked Javadi.
“I am hopeful the Shahab III will be ready in three or four weeks,” replied Yazdi. “It is being assembled in the building a short distance from here. We will drive past; the building doors are open and you can see it from the road.”
Javadi nodded. “Thank you general, you are right, it is very impressive. Praise be to Allah,” he said, as he started back toward the car. Yazdi walked alongside him, Benuit following behind.
“Do you have time for lunch?” Yazdi asked, as they got back into the car.
“Yes,” Javadi answered, glancing at his watch.
“Good, we have a small cafeteria nearby.”
The three men sat down for lunch in the small dining hall. The room was otherwise empty except for a server behind the counter and a cook in the back kitchen area.
“You can see our long-range ballistic missile development program is progressing nicely ayatollah.”
“Yes it is…I believe Dr. Benuit has a couple of questions for you.”
Benuit took out a small note pad and put on his reading glasses. “I need to know the largest payload the Shahab III can carry,” he said.
“Do you mean the maximum weight?” Yazdi inquired.
Benuit tore two pages with some numbers and sketches on them out of his notebook and laid them on the table between them.
“Please ask the server to leave the room, general,” said Benuit.
Yazdi turned toward the server and in a loud voice announced, “Please leave us.”
The server nodded and quickly exited the room.
“I need to know the largest diameter payload, the maximum length, and the greatest weight that can be lifted by the missile to a range of twelve-hundred kilometers.”
Yazdi looked down at the paper and asked, “Can you tell me what the payload will be?”
“Does it matter?” Javadi abruptly interrupted.
Yazdi glanced up at Javadi. “Possibly, you see a ballistic missile must have a proper distribution of weight to ensure correct aerodynamic balance. That is, too much weight concentrated in one place could cause the missile to wobble and fly off course…or worse.”
“We cannot tell you what the payload will be general,” Javadi responded.
Benuit again tore a sheet from his notebook and passed it to Yazdi. “Here is a basic drawing with some dimensions and weights.”
Yazdi studied the drawing for a few moments. Then shaking his head, looked directly at Javadi.
“There is only one thing this can be.”
“Not a word, do you understand general?”
“Of course, I am a dedicated military officer and support the revolutionary cause.”
Yazdi nodded. “I will do this for you.”
“For our country and the revolution, general,” Javadi reminded him.
“Yes, certainly, for our country.”
“Thank you for the tour and your time general…I’m afraid we will have to skip the lunch, we have to get back.”
“Too bad, the food is quite good…I will take you back to your car.”
* * * *
Over the years Hezbollah had suffered numerous setbacks at the hands of the Israelis who were determined not to let them obtain advanced long-range missiles. Mossad agents had been highly effective in finding out about missile shipments, which the IAF would then quickly bomb. Al-Salim had traveled to Damascus seeking addition weapons and support. He had spent the past thirty minutes presenting his case to Generals Namazi and Aboud.
Aboud reviewed an item he had circled on al-Salim’s request. “The last item on your shopping list is SA-300 missile systems.”
“I trust you find that request to be reasonable, general. We need these missiles to fight the Zionist air force,” said al-Salim, adding, “General Namazi, if you and General Aboud can provide our organization with SA-300’s we will deprive the Zionist air force of the control of the skies they desperately need to carry out their aggression.”
“The last two shipments we sent you were bombed out of existence by the Israeli Air force,” Aboud noted. “We had to explain to Moscow what happened to the missiles they had provided us.”
“I apologize,” al-Salim responded. “We had traitors who were working for Mossad. We found the two and quickly executed them.”
Aboud and Namazi were unmoved by al-Salim’s excuses. “Has the Lebanese military agreed to allow the missiles into their country without their military keeping control of them?” asked Aboud.
“Yes, we have reached an agreement with them; after all, we share the same goals. We have stockpiled almost fifteen-thousand short range missiles as well as one-thousand medium range. Correctly deployed in large enough numbers, we will easily overwhelm Israel’s “Iron Dome” missile defense system. Haifa is now well within range of our latest missile acquisitions, and even Tel Aviv,” al-Salim explained.
“We need more of your Hezbollah fighters in Aleppo,” Aboud said firmly.
“We will provide another one-thousand shortly,” al-Salim assured him.
Namazi looked at Aboud. “SA-300’s would prevent most Israeli air attacks,” he acknowledged.
“Yes, they are deadly. As we all know, we fired a similar missile from shore in two-thousand five and nearly sank an Israeli patrol boat,” al-Salim said.
Namazi thought for a few moments. “I will ask the Council to approve sending you two full batteries of missiles when they become available,” he said, adding, “If they are destroyed again…our relationship with your organization will change, do you understand.”
“Yes…and thank you,” al-Salim replied.
“Anything else we need to discuss?” asked Aboud.
“There is one more thing general,” said Namazi.
“Yes and what is that?” asked Aboud.
“I need a small favor.”
“Of course, anything.”
“In two weeks I will need to send two small cargo aircraft to your Damascus airport. Shortly after that, two crews will arrive to train in them for about a month. They will be working with a flight school…and I would like for them to be left alone.”
“That is all?” asked Aboud, smiling. “It is done, no one will bother them…and I will not ask you why you are doing this.”
“Thank you, I will keep in touch,” said Namazi, getting up from his chair.
Al-Salim and Namazi left the office and walked out of the building to the parking lot. “If our plan succeeds, none of this will really matter,” offered al-Salim.
“Yes, but speak no more about it; there are ears everywhere,” directed Namazi.
“Of course,” replied al-Salim.
Namazi got into a car and drove off. The sheik’s driver and two body guards escorted him to his limousine.
“Arrogant jerk,” he mumbled.
* * * *
Tehrani’s plane touched down at Islamabad’s Benazir Bhutto International Airport where Hamid Mahdavi was waiting to pick him up.
“Welcome to Islamabad,” said Mahdavi, as Tehrani got into the car tossing his bag onto the back seat. “I will take you to your hotel. Tomorrow we can meet and discuss your shopping list.”
Both men had been placed under surveillance the moment Tehrani arrived at the airport. When the ISI had learned of Tehrani imminent arrival, they put a surveillance team together. Two members of the team were now in a plain white sedan following close behind. The agent on the passenger side, aiming a laser microphone at the rear window of their car so he could listen to and record their conversation.
“I want to discuss the technical data and pricing on the missile guidance parts we spoke of last week,” Tehrani threw out.
“I told you I would try to get those items, but I made no promises,” Mahdavi protested.
“You have never let me down before my friend…I can always count on you.”
Mahdavi looked straight ahead and did not respond. After a short drive to the hotel, he pulled the car up to the curb and stopped. “I will meet you at eleven am tomorrow at Jia’s Café where we met the last time.”
“I will be there,” Tehrani assured him as he got out of the car. He grabbed his bag and went into the hotel.
The tailing ISI agents pulled over and called their section chief to report. Hurami listened and then instructed them to return to their headquarters; he would have a plan ready.
“We must have the camera and microphone in position across the street from that café where they will be meeting for lunch,” instructed Hurami, looking at location on a Google Earth map display on his monitor, as his assistant looked over his shoulder.
“I believe I know of a suitably place for the camera and for the microphone where it will pick up their conversation. If they start moving we will have a shotgun microphone ready to go,” his assistant offered.
“Good. They are up to no good, I can feel it,” declared Hurami.
“I will go there first thing in the morning and start getting set up.”
“Yes, go, take at least one agent with you…and no mistakes,” he said firmly. “I want to record everything they say…I want know exactly what they are doing.”
* * * *
At NSA headquarters, the automated XKEYSCORE system had intercepted an encrypted e-mail sent by an IRGC officer. Supercomputers partially had partially decrypted it and an automated search found some key words. It had been sent from the IRGC engineering group to an Iranian military transportation officer. The intercept was sorted and sent to appropriate agencies for their review and action. This particular e-mail contained key words and text about the movement of nuclear materials. Coincidentally, it also contained a reference to ‘Oghab-Three’. The e-mail was routed to DIA, where it wound up in the analysis section. Barillas and his staff would review, categorize and add it to the large Iran nuclear program analysis files.
* * * *
Tehrani sat down at a table under a canopy at Jia’s Café in Islamabad on a pleasant sunny afternoon. He sipped coffee while waiting for Mahdavi to arrive. After a few minutes he glanced down the street and saw a short stocky man approaching. Has to my Pakistani business associate, he thought.
“Good day Hamid, always good to do business with you my friend.”
“Likewise Rostam, I trust your hotel was satisfactory?
“Yes, replied Tehrani.
“Please sit, I will order you some coffee.” Tehrani said, motioning to the waiter standing nearby.
Mahdavi took a seat at the table. “Thank you,” he said, as the waiter poured him a cup.
“So my old friend how is business?” asked Teh
rani.
“Slow, but steady,” replied Mahdavi, “So, you are interested in missile parts?”
Tehrani removed a smartphone from his jacket pocket and scrolled down through the screen. “I already texted you some of the items I require,” he reminded him.
Mahdavi nodded and took out his own phone. “Yes, but I need more detailed specifications…these are not the usual items I deal in,” he replied, scrolling down the screen.
Tehrani took a sip of water. “We are looking for a stabilizing gyroscope for newest missile.” He stopped talking momentarily as the waiter approached their table. Then looking around somewhat nervously at the mostly empty cafe, he turned his phone’s screen so Mahdavi could see it, showing him a list of components needed for final production of their newest missile. Mahdavi nodded, then they sat back and sipped their coffee.
“I will of course see what I can do my friend. How soon do you need them?” he asked, looking up and down the busy street.
“Quickly…and I am prepared to pay accordingly,” replied Tehrani, adding, “We each help each other in this business. After all, we are not competitors, we are really partners,” he insisted. Mahdavi looked away. “And, most importantly we are brothers. Yes, fellow Muslims, whose countries both suffer under the yoke of American imperialism.”
“They are arrogant,” Mahdavi acknowledged.
“Arrogant? Yes, and they believe they can push other countries around at will,” replied a grim-faced Tehrani. He took another sip of coffee and continued, “Your country has nuclear weapons and the Americans respect that. They respect power…and only power, my friend.”
Mahdavi looked down at his coffee momentarily. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”
“Hamid, you know our country is only interested in a peaceful nuclear program. And you know many useful technologies are prohibited from export to my country, but clever dealers usually find ways around these problems.”
“Some clever dealers are not so clever as they think, and wind up in prison,” Mahdavi answered.