by Jon Sedran
“Allah Akbar,” said one of the four, as they got up to leave.
“Go with Allah,” replied their instructor. They each shook his hand and then quietly filed out the door and got into a waiting van.
* * * *
“Ali, we have made final arrangements to get you out of Iran,” said the voice on the phone. “Do you have the testing data?”
Shirazi recognized the Mossad agent’s voice. “Yes, I have uploaded all the data I could get to my phone…I am very nervous.”
“Transmit the data now. We will live up to our agreement Ali. We have arranged transportation for you by truck from Tehran to Baghdad and then on to Beirut. The driver is very reliable and will ask no questions,” assured the agent.
Shirazi sighed. “Okay,” he said.
“You are to take nothing but a change of clothes. You will get everything you need when you get to Baghdad,” the agent instructed.
“When do I leave?” he asked nervously.
“Tomorrow at seven pm sharp. We are texting you the instructions now. Memorize them and then quickly delete them. Do not go work…call in sick again. Do exactly as the instructions say.”
“Tomorrow,” Ali mumbled. So soon, he thought.
“We will see you when you are safely away from there Ali. Goodbye.”
Shirazi read through the brief text message:
A blue delivery truck with a white top will stop at the rear of the grocery store next to your
apartment at 7pm. The passenger will bring a box into the store. The driver will walk around to
the back of the truck and get out a small green notepad
You will ask the driver if he has a delivery for number two-five-five.
The driver will reply no, number one-three-three. Walk away immediately if you do not get this
answer.
There is a special compartment in the back of the truck. Get into it as they instruct.
They will take you across the border to Baghdad. Do not be late.
* * * *
Marid had set up an office in a small room perched on a dusty mezzanine in a run-down hangar at the Beirut-Rafic Hariri Airport. His furniture consisted of a rickety brown leather chair on wheels, an ancient wooden desk, a green four-drawer metal filing cabinet missing the two lower drawers, and two folding metal chairs. A PC and printer took up nearly one-third of the desktop.
“I see the four pilot trainees have done well,” said a confident Marid, sitting down in his chair looking across the desk at Kasim. “I reviewed the final training reports from the flight school.”
“Yes Commander, they will be ready to do Allah’s glorious work very soon,” agreed Kasim, enthusiastically.
“They have left Damascus and will be here tomorrow afternoon,” said Marid.
“Why so soon Commander? I though you said a couple of days ago you wanted them to stay another week to learn how to fly the planes using instruments, just in case there were clouds?”
“Some people are apparently getting nervous. Word is an American military intelligence person was snooping around in Pakistan and learned of a recent shipment of certain restricted parts to Iran,” Marid responded, adding, “And the longer we wait, the greater the chance we will be betrayed or discovered. Mossad has their people and informants in Lebanon.”
“Allah is with us,” Kasim said, confidently.
“I will now give you the details of our plan.” Marid opened up a map on the desk. “We are going to destroy Tel Aviv and Haifa…and that will be the end of the Zionist state.
Kasim looked shocked. He figured it would be a martyrdom mission, but not to destroy whole cities. “But how?” he asked.
“The plan is ingeniously simple,” proclaimed Marid as he reviewed some documents on his desk. “As long as the weather cooperates, and so far the forecast is good, it should all go smoothly.”
“I am anxious to hear,” said Kasim.
Marid laid out the plan to destroy the two Israeli cities. “Two nuclear devices are travelling partially assembled in two trucks and will be here shortly after midnight tonight. Each device has been broken down into its main components, placed in shielded crates, and labeled as oil drilling pipes and machinery.” He thought for a moment. “I cannot tell you where they originated from, but our allies understand Zionist aggression and want to help us end the Zionist menace forever.”
“Excellent,” said Kasim, still not sure he could believe the good news he was hearing.
“The devices will be uncrated and assembled here in the hangar in about twelve hours by highly trained technicians who are already in Beirut. They are dedicated men who can be trusted. Tomorrow morning the two empty cargo planes will be delivered here from Damascus by ferry pilots and put into this hanger. The technicians will finish the assembly and load the devices onto the planes.” He took a deep breath. “Then tomorrow night the crews will go on their one-way missions to glory.” Kasim was at a loss for words and just nodded his approval. Marid got up and walked over to a small wall map of the region and pointed to two orange shaded areas. “Our drones have found gaps in Zionist radar coverage, here and here,” he said.
“Praise is to Allah,” said Kasim.
“I have selected the two men with more flying experience to fly the longer and more difficult flight to Tel Aviv. The other two will strike Haifa,” Marid said, as he spread their photos out on the desk.
“They will do their duty,” said Kasim, looking over the photos.
Marid next opened up an aeronautical chart and spread it out on the desk. “I have finalized the flight plans.” Kasim studied the chart as Marid reviewed the information on his note pad, confident he had not forgotten anything: Aircraft speed and distances, route of each flight, time schedule, drone decoys, air traffic control procedures, Israeli air defense radar blind spots, and weather. Marid, a former pilot himself, explained that he had selected the twin-engine Shorts SD-360 turbo prop aircraft because it was easy for the pilots to learn to fly and reliable.
The planes had been leased from air freight business in Amman. They had been used primarily for hauling perishable cargo over short distances. They lacked sophisticated navigational systems, but could carry a seventy-five hundred pound payload.
Kasim could barely contain his enthusiasm. “The Zionists will soon pay…praise be to Allah,” he said.
“The attacks have to be coordinated to have the maximum chance for success,” said Marid, adding, “The first plane will depart at twenty-two hundred hours. They have further to fly, and it is mostly along a route used by commercial aircraft, before diverting from their flight plan and striking Tel Aviv. I have selected Abba Duod as pilot and Najid Gala as co-pilot. The second plane will depart at twenty-two forty-five with Faraj Mannan as pilot and Hana Fayad as co-pilot.” He looked at Kasim. “You will launch four drones at fifteen minute intervals beginning at twenty-two hundred hours on pre-programmed flight paths.”
“As you wish commander,” replied Kasim.
“This will confuse and distract the Israeli air defense systems and allow the second crew to fly low over the hills and strike Haifa,” he said, pointing to the city on the chart. “Tel Aviv will be more difficult, but our four dedicated martyrs will bring us victory over the Zionists,” he declared. He looked at his PC monitor and again checked the weather forecast. “Both planes are almost thirty-years old. They’re poorly maintained, and their GPS navigational units were cannibalized by the owner for parts to use on other aircraft.”
“So, they will they do the job commander, yes?” asked Kasim
Marid nodded. “Yes, but I am concerned about the missing GPS’s,” he said. “I called the owner and argued with him. I demanded the GPS units be replaced. He refused, sighting the cheap lease rate we had agreed to. He told me to go buy two cheap units at the store…then he started laughing and hung up. I decided not to press the issue and risk attracting attention. So, I purchased two portable units and we will use Velcro strips to hold them to the
instrument panel.” Cheap bastard, Marid though, as he continued reviewing everything. His planes will soon be vaporized; I will have the last laugh.
“That will work,” said Kasim, adding, “Allah is guiding our every move.”
It was late afternoon when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” Marid said. The door swung open and a guard poked his head in the door. “Commander, there are six men here to see you. They had the proper passcode,” he reported.
“Send them in,” directed Marid. The men entered his office; one walking up to Marid’s desk.
“Commander, I am the lead technician,” the man said gruffly. “My men and I are ready to assemble and load the devices.”
“Excellent, the materials are on their way and should be here shortly after midnight. The planes will be here later in the morning,” Marid informed him.
“Then we will unload our van now and get set up…and you have a forklift available with fork extensions and pulling chains?” he asked.
“Yes, it is parked by the side door…you can park your van in the hangar,” directed Marid. “Kasim please show them where to put their equipment…and get them whatever they need.”
Kasim nodded and led them back down the stairs.
* * * *
After meeting to discuss current priorities with Lowe, Maddy sat down with Barillas and his senior analysts to go over the Gulf situation and decide how best to effectively deploy agency assets.
With much of DIA’s resources now focused on the immediate Persian Gulf situation, the Iranian nuke weapon intelligence gathering would have to remain on the back burner. Maddy spent a half-hour going over priorities and assignments to a chorus of groans from an over-worked staff.
“Remember, JCS wants twice a day updates on Iranian military forces, their movements, deployments, etc,” Maddy reminded them, as the meeting concluded. “Any questions?” she asked. There was only silence. “Okay, Aaron please stay a few minutes.”
The others got up and left.
“Aaron, unfortunately, we are going to have to slow way down on the Iran nuke intelligence gathering, but anything new?”
“Not really. They still need to enrich sufficient quantities of uranium to eighty or ninety-percent, or produce plutonium 239, and we still have no solid evidence of either. Then they will need time to miniaturize the nuke device to fit on their newest Shahab III missile.”
Maddy was sure this was not the case. “Aaron, I found solid evidence in Pakistan that Iran got a shipment of U-235 from Pakistan’s Engineering Labs about fifteen years ago.”
Solid evidence, sure, he thought. Most in the agency had heard of this ‘ghost’ shipment before.
“I got a hold of the shipping documents and inventory sheets for the U-235 transfer. Our people are convinced they are genuine and General Lowe also okayed me sending them to the Khüfīya Bureau’s Director in India. His staff did thorough research and analysis…they are ninety-five percent certain they are authentic. Iran may not need more time to enrich uranium to weapons grade. General Lowe sent our report up to the DNI.”
Barillas nodded slowly. Then he remembered the e-mail intercept he had briefly looked at containing a reference to Oghab-Three. “You know, I was looking through some of the NSA intercepts you had requested and I saw a voice intercept from Tehran mentioning some place called ‘Oghab-Three’.”
Damn, she thought. She had completely forgotten about the request she had made to Pierson at NSA for communications intercepts of Namazi, Javadi and Benuit. It had been nearly two months. She hoped it had yielded results.
“I have never seen that mentioned before,” Barillas stated.
Maddy shook her head. “Oghab-Three? No I don’t recall seeing that before either. Anyway, Iran is a large country; you know they could hide a lot,” she said, adding, “Also, CIA forwarded an extremely sensitive report to the general, which I suspect came from a Russian technician at Natanz. He reported seeing a large separate underground room filled with advanced centrifuges. He saw a board he believed noted outputs of up to 80% enrichment. Anyway, we better get back to work on the Joint Chief’s requests.”
Barillas nodded and Maddy headed back to her office.
* * * *
It was almost one am when the two trucks arrived at Beirut’s Rafic Hariri International Airport. Haddish did as Namazi had instructed and made the call on the satellite phone when they were five minutes out. Marid was sitting at his desk anxiously expecting the call. He looked around the office and thought; the years of planning will soon pay off. Sheik al-Salim is truly a great spiritual leader. Kasim had dozed off, placing his elbow on the desk and propping up his head with his hand.
Marid’s cell phone rang. Kasim didn’t even wake.
“Pipeline products,” answered Marid quietly.
“The drilling equipment is here,” said the voice on the phone.
“Excellent, we will come and open the gate for you.” He gently shook Kasim awake, “It is time to go my friend; they are here!”
The two men went out of the hangar, got into an SUV and headed for the gate. Halfway there they passed an airport security vehicle parked in front of a building with two occupants inside, its motor running and its headlights off. Marid just barely glanced at them. Please just stay right there, he thought, as he sped past. He could see the glow of two cigarettes through their windshield.
Marid stopped the SUV next to the gate and Kasim got out to unlock it. The two trucks pulled up just as Kasim swung it open. “Follow us”, he instructed the lead driver. Marid made a U-turn and the three vehicles moved forward about twenty yards and then stopped. Kasim secured the gate behind them and snapped the padlock closed. Then he quickly walked back to their SUV and got in. They had driven less than one-hundred yards back toward the hanger when they saw the headlights of the security vehicle they had passed coming toward them. It had its blue flashing lights on and stopped directly in front of them. Both airport security officers got out and walked toward the SUV. As they turned on their flashlights Marid could see they were wearing uniforms and one had an AK-47s slung over his shoulder.
“I will answer their questions,” Marid instructed.
One officer walked up to each door, shining their flashlights on the SUV and its occupants as they went.
“Good evening,” Marid greeted them, while trying to make eye contact with the officer standing on the driver’s side.
The officer shined his flashlight directly into Marid eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked in a demanding tone.
Marid held his hand up to shield his eyes and calmly answered, “These trucks just arrived, and they are carrying important machine parts for an oil production rig repair project.”
“It is nearly one am,” the officer said, not convinced of Marid’s truthfulness.
“The trucks were late,” Marid replied. “They were supposed to be here three hours ago. These parts have to ship by air in a few hours.”
“Get out,” the officer instructed Marid. And go tell the driver to open the back of his truck!” Marid calmly got out and they walked up to the first truck.
“He wants to look in the back,” Marid informed the driver, adding, “I have the key.”
The driver got out and led them to the back of the truck as Marid handed him the key. He unfastened the lock and raised the latch handle, then swung one door open.
“Let me see some identification,” the officer instructed him.
“Of course,” the driver replied.
Kasim remained seated in the SUV while the other guard stood a few feet away glaring at him. The guard took out a cigarette and fumbled for a light as he juggling a flashlight and his AK-47.
“You are Iranian?” inquired the officer looking at the truck driver’s license.
He calmly replied, “Yes.”
The guard shined his flashlight inside, the beam revealing several large wooden crates. The ends of each were marked with shipping labels, showing the contents, dest
ination, and weight.
He moved the light around for a few more seconds, and then turned back to Marid, “Okay, let me see some identification.”
“Of course,” Marid replied, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. The officer shined his flashlight onto Marid’s Lebanese driver’s license and examined the photo. Satisfied, he handed it back to him. He then moved the beam onto the driver of the second truck. After a few moments, he turned the flashlight off and started back to his vehicle. Marid followed a few steps behind. The officer motioned to the other one and they got back into their vehicle, turned off the flashing lights and sped away into the darkness.
Marid let out a huge sigh of relief as he got back into his SUV. He closed his eyes and thought to himself, Allah Akbar.
The three vehicles continued on and stopped in front of the hangar. Kasim jumped out and went inside. A minute later two men appeared and pushed open the hangar doors. All three vehicles were driven inside and the hangar doors closed.
Inside, six men in white coveralls stood waiting. They had a hoist, a forklift and two large toolboxes on wheels. The truck drivers were escorted up to Marid’s office and told to wait there. The technicians worked feverishly, but carefully, to unload the crates from the trucks. After half an hour, the hangar doors were again opened.
The drivers were lead back down the stairs. “Here is your payment, get back into your trucks,” said Kasim, handing each a fat envelope. “You will follow me to the gate; I will open it and let you out.” He got back into the SUV and headed to the gate, the two trucks following closely behind. The hangar doors were quickly closed and the technicians immediately went to work assembling the devices.
At eight am the ferry crews delivered the two empty cargo planes exactly as instructed. They received payment and were taken to a waiting car for their return trip home. Each plane was then hooked up to a tug and pushed inside. Final assembly and loading immediately got underway.