INTELLIGENCE FAILURE

by Jon Sedran

  The two men laughed. Then Tehrani said, “I need help locating special machine parts and materials which are restricted from export to our country, but would be useful in our peaceful nuclear program. Would you possibly have a source for such parts…I could provide you a list.”

  Mahdavi again looked around and did not reply for several seconds. “I always follow the laws of each country and international too…I do not want to attract unnecessary attention.”

  “Of course, I understand. Well please think about it…I will send you the list electronically.”

  Mahdavi shrugged. “I cannot promise anything.”

  “My country compensates very well…come on, let’s take walk.”

  The ISI agent signaled to his assistant that their subjects were moving. He would listen to them now from a distance using a shotgun microphone and recording equipment concealed in an enclosure in the back of a pickup truck.

  Tehrani paid the bill. They left and walked slowly down the street.

  “Rostam, I want to ask you something, but it is most sensitive,” said Mahdavi

  “Of course, what we say here stays here, it is always that way,” Tehrani assured him.

  They stopped walking. “I was at the airport a week ago in the warehouse checking on the consolidated shipment we arranged for export to your country,” Mahdavi said, glancing around. “I was checking the manifest against the shipping number on the crates; customs had not yet put seals on them. I noticed one crate of machine parts from Lahore had the top removed and two men were placing some small items into it. I watched them put some small foam packs into the crate and then return to their truck and get two more. I walked up to the crate and looked inside, “What are you doing?” I asked. “I was worried they were smuggling drugs and would jeopardize our shipment.”

  Tehrani said nothing, but wondered what he was about to hear.

  Mahdavi took a deep breath and looked around. “I must have startled them, because one of the men dropped a foam pack and something rolled out. He quickly retrieved it and told me they had permission from the supplier in Lahore to add some items which had inadvertently been left out of the shipment. Well, I was not armed and I saw no security personnel nearby, so I did not pursue the matter and left.”

  They resumed their walk. “Rostam, I was able to see the item that came out of the foam pack. I am almost certain it was a Krytron tube. I am familiar with these and it definitely looked like one. It was black, about seven centimeters long. I estimate there had to be at least seven or eight of them…did you know about this?’

  They again stopped walking, Tehrani turning to look directly at Mahdavi. They both knew the small fast switches had one primary use, to trigger a nuclear bomb, and they were prohibited from export to Iran.

  “I am telling you this Rostam because I fear where this may lead if the authorities learn of it. They could make our lives very difficult,”

  Tehrani looked away for a few moments. “Perhaps that is what you saw, or maybe not, but if they were those switches they have other uses too,” he suggested.

  Mahdavi nodded. “Of course,” he half-heartedly agreed.

  “Hamid, your country saw a need to have nuclear weapons.”

  “Yes…to counter the threat posed by India.”

  “Then I ask you Hamid, does our country not face similar threats too?”

  “Then you knew of these items?” Mahdavi asked, smiling faintly.

  Tehrani again glanced away. “I must go now, it was good to see you again my friend. I need to hear back about the missile guidance parts in two weeks’ time.” The two men shook hands and went their separate ways.

  The two eavesdropping ISI agents set down their equipment. “We must report this right away,” said the lead agent, “Let’s get everything packed up.”

  * * * *

  Maddy had been anxious to meet Mark again for dinner and spend some time trying to mend fences before she left for Pakistan. She had left him a text message telling him she would be leaving the next afternoon and traveling half-way around the world, although she couldn’t tell him exactly where she would be going. She so hoped he would want to see her before she left. He didn’t disappoint and called her just as she was getting ready to leave the office for the day. They agreed he would pick her up at her house at six forty-five.

  Now seated at a table in one of the nicest steak houses in the D.C. area, they talked and reminisced about the good times they had together. Mark asked Maddy to select a wine from the wine list, but she deferred to him.

  “I’m glad we could get together,” Maddy confessed, adding, “I’ll probably be gone for about five days.”

  Mark just nodded.

  “Honey, I just want you to know, I never stopped loving you…and I’m so sorry this damn job came between us.”

  He smiled understandingly. “I’m sorry too. I tried hard, but you were always…well…too busy for me. And I had that damn business…and it took a lot of my time too,” he admitted.

  “We could try again,” Maddy suggested, the words seeming to come out all by themselves.

  “We could,” Mark replied, tasting an appetizer. “And the business is gone now,” he added with a slight smile.

  For the next two hours they enjoyed each other’s company. They sat and talked and looked at family pictures on her phone; all the good times they had watching their kids grow up.

  “I’m extremely proud of both our kids,” Maddy said, adding, “They turned out well in spite of us.”

  Mark nodded in agreement. “We were good parents, just not good partners,” he said.

  When they were done with dinner, they headed for Maddy’s house; packing for the trip would have to wait until morning.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  At the Islamabad headquarters of Pakistan’s ISI, the game of cat and mouse continued. “Our microphones picked up most of the two arms dealers conversation,” reported the ISI senior agent, adding, “They are obviously dealing in illegal weapons and restricted materials and using a front operation to conceal their real transactions”

  “Maybe…do you know their present whereabouts?” asked, Singh, taking a long draw on a cigarette.

  The agent scrolled down through his phone screen. “They both took early fights out this morning. Hamid Mahdavi traveled to Mumbai…and Rostam Tehrani went back to Tehran.”

  Singh put out his cigarette and thought for a few moments. “Put our operative in Mumbai on it. See if he can find out more on this Hamid Mahdavi. And I want full time surveillance the next time either one returns to our country.”

  “Yes, of course. I will make sure it happens.”

  “That is all…thank you.”

  * * * *

  In Mumbai at India’s intelligence agency, known as the Khüfīya Bureau, an intelligence debriefing was underway. The bureau is charged with gathering intelligence from within India and also conducts counter-intelligence and counter-terrorism operations. The successful terrorist attacks on Mumbai in two-thousand eight had left the bureau with a black eye and a loss in confidence by political leadership. A major shakeup at the bureau followed and moved Rashid Chopras to the senior position of Director for External Intelligence. He had the right political connections and had proven himself to be a master of getting information out of reluctant terrorist suspects, even if his methods were somewhat unorthodox.

  “Director Chopras, do you have any questions on my report on the Islamabad encounter I had with the Iranian arms buyer Rostam Tehrani or the airport shipment of those switches?” asked the agent.

  “Yes, very interesting. Are you certain they were Krytron tubes?” inquired Chopras.

  “I am not completely certain but they appeared to be, and it all fits,” replied the agent, adding, “In light of Iran’s efforts to get a bomb and those earlier reports of the theft of the U-235,” he said, adding, “And I checked with the shipper in Lahore, he said knew nothing about any parts left out of the shipment.”

  Chopras lit a
cigarette and thought for a moment. “It was never proven that Iran was behind the theft… and why did you not contact the Pakistani authorities?”

  “Doing so would have jeopardized my operation…and I was not completely sure about the items.”

  “You must be careful you do not facilitate illegal shipments,” Chopras warned, as he closed the report.

  “No, I will not allow that to happen,” assured the agent, adding, “They are shopping for missile guidance parts too.”

  “Send me an electronic copy of this report,” instructed Chopras. “I believe the Americans have a particularly strong interest in all of this. That is all. Thank you.”

  * * * *

  Maddy’s flight to Islamabad arrived on schedule. CIA Station Chief Gil Jamaki was waiting curbside at the airport in a U.S. Government unmarked white sedan.

  The porter put Maddy’s bag in the trunk as Jamaki greeted her. “Welcome, Deputy Director Teagan.”

  “Everyone calls me Maddy.”

  “Okay, well get in Maddy, and call me Gil…did you have a good flight?”

  “Long,” she replied, looking out the car window and sounding fatigued.

  “I got General Lowe’s message about your coming here and made the necessary arrangements. I’ll take you to your hotel and bring you up to date as we drive.”

  Maddy hated this part of the world. The religious fanaticism, the male-dominated culture, especially what she perceived to be the poor treatment of women. She could not get used to the way things are in the Middle-Eastern world. This was her third trip to this part of the world and each trip made her even more thankful she lived in the United States of America, and more determined than ever to prevent another Islamic bomb. She felt the entire culture lent itself to fanaticism.

  “I met with the informant yesterday evening and he has agreed to meet with you,” Jamaki said, as he glanced over at Maddy. “He wants one-hundred thousand U.S. dollars.”

  Maddy checked her cell phone for messages and then put it in her purse. “The agency allowed me fifty-thousand…and General Lowe said not one dime more.”

  “I know, they transferred the funds here,” Jamaki told her, cautioning, “Could be a problem, but we’ll see,” He again briefly glanced over at her. “At any rate, we’ll have the cash easily accessible, but not carry it on our person. And these people will not take a check,” Jamaki added, laughing.

  Maddy failed to see the humor. “He has the documents which show proof of HEU inventory counts changed to cover-up the theft of highly enriched U-235, likely by Iran?” she asked.

  “He let me glimpse two inventory sheets from the Pakistan Engineering Research Lab, storage warehouse three.”

  Maddy looked over at him. “…and?”

  “They both had exactly the same official date and time stamp, yet the total amount of ninety percent U-235 on one sheet was one-hundred twenty kilograms less,” Jamaki replied.

  “We will need more than that for proof, Gil. It was so many years ago and there are potential forgery issues, can it all be authenticated?”

  “I understand…he also says he has photos taken of the destroyed vehicles and dead security personnel from the convoy that was ambushed,” Jamaki replied.

  He maneuvered the sedan through the Islamabad traffic and up to the curb, stopping in front of the hotel where Maddy would be spending the night. “Get some rest; I will pick you up here at seven am sharp…oh, and his name is Badir Mahal, but we will use only his first name.”

  “Thank you for the ride,” Maddy said, as she unfastened her seat belt and started getting out of the car. She looked back Jamaki as the hotel bellman walked up the car. “Even if we can prove material was stolen, it may be almost impossible to find out who took it and where the hell it ended up,” she added.

  “I know,” Jamaki replied, shaking his head.

  Maddy let out an exhausted sigh as she got out.

  Jamaki popped the trunk open. The bellman took Maddy’s suitcase out and brought it into the hotel lobby. She followed him in and then got out her phone and sent a short text message back to DIA letting Lowe and Barillas know she had arrived.

  * * * *

  Back at DIA headquarters, with so many competing priorities it was becoming more and more difficult for Barillas to allocate any analytical resources to Iran’s possible nuke weapons program.

  “Deputy Director Teagan sent a text from Pakistan a few hours ago,” he announced to the group, looking at the screen of his secure cell phone. He scrolled down and read it aloud. “She wants any new info on Iran forwarded to her through the CIA station chief in Islamabad. Says she has a meeting tomorrow with a person who has valuable and verifiable intelligence. Says she’s hopeful. She will let us know how it goes.”

  “Maybe she’ll have better luck then we’ve had,” suggested one of the analysts.

  Barillas nodded. “She’s been chasing this for a long time. This may be her last chance to prove there is something to her theory,” he said, sliding his phone back into his belt holster.

  * * * *

  The next morning Jamaki pulled the car up to the hotel curb car right on schedule. Maddy was waiting and got in. He was wondering why DIA had sent someone who was obviously an administrator to do clandestine work. He had to ask.

  “Good morning,” Jamaki said, as he pulled out of the driveway. “Hope you slept well.”

  “I didn’t sleep at all,” Maddy replied. “They only served some kind of locally brewed beer in the hotel restaurant, bitter tasting and not real good.”

  “Sorry, that’s supposed to be one of Islamabad’s better hotels,” said Jamaki, unsympathetically, as he hit the brakes when a driver cut him off. “Do you want to go by the embassy and check your secure mail?”

  “Maddy looked out the passenger side window. “No thank you…maybe later today.”

  “Maddy, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Maddy hesitated and then answered, “To check on that possible U-235 shipment to Iran.”

  “No…I mean why are you here?” he asked again looking directly at her.

  Maddy understood what Jamaki was getting at. “I wanted the experience…and I guess I have something to prove.”

  Jamaki decided to let it go at that, but he knew what he had to say next would not go over well. He steered the sedan out through heavy traffic. “I made contact with our informant, he’s not comfortable meeting with a woman.”

  Maddy said nothing for a few moments and just gave Jamaki an icy look. “Should I get a sex change operation,” she finally asked in her most sarcastic tone of voice.

  “No, that won’t be necessary…I assured him you were very capable…and…”

  “And what?” Maddy asked.

  Jamaki turned his head toward the driver side window to avoid eye contact. “And I would be there too,” he mumbled.

  Maddy said nothing and just pushed her head back against the headrest.

  * * * *

  It had been a very long day for India’s Khüfīya Bureau Director. Chopras had spent the entire afternoon reporting to government ministers in Mumbai on the various security threats his department was currently handling. He slumped in his office chair thinking, I have to let the CIA know about those switches. He had a certain reluctance to call CIA ever since the public disclosures of the NSA spying, which he had always strongly suspected was happening. But he felt it should not be allowed get in way of professional ties…and CIA had helped him track down some Pakistani terrorists. He glanced up at the multiple clocks on his wall; it was six pm in Mumbai and nine am in D.C. He made the call.

  Hernandez’ telephone rang just as he stepped into his office at CIA headquarters. He was dragging from jet lag, having just returned from a three-day trip to Israel to meet with Mossad’s senior leadership. He walked over to his desk and glanced down at the telephone base station. The caller ID did not show any information in the display. Juggling a latte in one
hand and a briefcase in the other, he found one free finger to press the speaker button on the phone.

  “Director Hernandez here,” he announced into the phone’s microphone.

  “Good morning to you Lonny, this is Director Chopras in Mumbai.”

  “Hello Rashid, I was thinking of calling you, it has been almost six months.”

  “Yes, Lonny, it is good to hear your voice…I have some important information I want to share with you.”

  “Can you just send me a secure e-mail, Rashid?” Lonny pleaded, trying not to sound rude. “I just got back from a long trip and haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a week.”

  Chopras was unmoved. “I think I should use the telephone,” he said.

  “Fine, let’s go secure Rashid.”

  “I will do so,” Chopras replied.

  “Okay, what have you got?” Lonny asked, somewhat exasperated, as he slid down into his chair, put the phone to his ear and cut off the speaker.

  “Lonny, as always I must ask that you treat what I am about to tell you with the outmost care. My source could be in grave danger otherwise.”

  “Rashid, I am always careful. You know I have been in this business for many years.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Hernandez logged on to his computer with his free hand and checked to see how many unread e-mails he had waiting.

  “Lonny, you know my duties include nuclear security. That means that I have great responsibility to know exactly what is going on in our part of the world with nuclear technology and materials.”

  “Yes,” Lonny replied, half paying attention while reading his e-mails.

  “It is no secret that Pakistan is not a stable country and they worry us a lot,” said Chopras, adding,

  “And I know they worry you too.”

  One very tired Hernandez listened politely as he scrolled through his e-mails, hoping Chopras would soon get to the point.