INTELLIGENCE FAILURE

by Jon Sedran

  “Thank you,” replied Simpson, nodding slowly.

  * * * *

  The ISI junior agent in charge of watching Tehrani’s comings and goings, had followed him to a large industrial machinery and metals supplier in Islamabad where he had spent most of the day. Then to a restaurant for two hours, and then back to his hotel. He now called the senior agent in charge to report. He in turn, notified ISI Section Chief Hurami.

  “He spent the day at an industrial machine supplier,” reported the senior agent, adding, “The agent checked with the company after he left. They were reluctant to speak to him until he threatened to have their export license revoked.”

  “Hurami glanced at his PC monitor. It was getting late and he was tired. “So, what was he looking for?” he asked.

  “Meranging steel, very specialized high-speed bearings, high-grade tubing, and a variety of precision components,” replied the agent.

  “No doubt for centrifuges,” said Hurami.

  “I am almost certain so.”

  “Where is he now?” asked Hurami.

  “He went back to his hotel about two hours ago.”

  “And where is Mr. Mahdavi?” he asked.

  “Still in Mumbai…as far as we know.”

  “Okay. It is late, but I don’t want to miss him. I will meet you at his hotel shortly. Get a room key and wait outside his door,” Hurami instructed. He logged off his PC and headed to the hotel. The ISI Director General wanted to know what Tehrani was up to, and it was time to find out about those fast switches his men had overheard him discussing with Mahdavi at the café.

  The three men met in the hotel room hallway, knocked on Tehrani’s door and announced themselves as ISI. He was lying in bed watching television and slowly got up. But before he could get to the door, it flung wide open.

  “We want to speak to you,” announced Hurami, holding up his ISI identification as the three entered.

  “What is this about?” he asked them indignantly, as he stepped back from the door.

  “We will explain it all to you,” replied Hurami, motioning for Tehrani to go sit down in a chair.

  “Where have you been all day?” he asked.

  “I was shopping.”

  “Shopping for what?” asked the senior agent.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” Tehrani protested.

  “Answer the question,” Hurami instructed, firmly.

  Under the stern gaze of the three men, he reluctantly stated, “I am a registered buyer of military hardware and materials.”

  “Restricted hardware for centrifuges?”

  “No.”

  “And your dealings with Hamid Mahdavi?” Hurami wanted to know.

  Tehrani looked up concealing any emotion. “He is…a...business associate; a legitimate licensed arms dealer,” he answered calmly.

  “He is a criminal, and likely a spy for India,” Hurami announced in a loud voice.

  Tehrani threw up his arms. “Nonsense!” he declared.

  “We know you purchased special switches and shipped them to Iran,” said Hurami, adding, “These are items clearly restricted from export.”

  “You are mistaken,” he protested.

  For the next twenty minutes they questioned him about his business in Pakistan. He repeatedly denied he was dealing in restricted nuclear weapons-related technologies.

  Hurami’s cell phone rang. The call was short. Hurami listened, and then answered, “Right away.” He took his two agents aside, “There has been a major nuclear event in the Middle East.” He looked at Tehrani. “You are leaving on the next flight out. Your Visa will be revoked, as will Mr. Mahdavi’s…and if either of you ever return, you will be immediately be arrested.”

  “You can’t do…”

  “Shut up…take Mr. Tehrani to the airport and make sure he leaves on the next flight,” he instructed his agents, and then he quickly left the room.

  * * * *

  The truck stopped and Shirazi was praying he had made it out of Iran. He could hear voices and then footsteps. Suddenly the hatch door on the truck’s hidden compartment opened.

  “The border is sealed, we cannot get through,” the driver told him. “Something has happened…we heard there was an attack on Israel and on Jordan.”

  “What kind of attack?” asked Shirazi weakly. He was nearly sick from the long bumpy ride in the cramped space.

  “We do not know, but they are not allowing any traffic to cross into Iraq. You have to get out of the truck, quickly.” He grabbed Shirazi by the arm and pulled him out.

  “Where will I go?” he asked, stumbling to his feet. Shirazi looked around in the dark as the driver threw his belongings on the ground and closed up the hatch. Then he got back in, made a U-turn, and in a cloud of dust and sped off into the night. Shirazi picked up his small bag and slowly walked toward the side of the road. The lights on the side of the border crossing station illuminated a scene of trucks and cars of all shapes and sizes sitting, engines idling, and people milling about.

  * * * *

  Within an hour of the blasts, news helicopters had taken to the air at both locations and were streaming back video. The pilots and news crews apparently oblivious to the dangers of the radioactive particles which had been lofted high up into the air and were now drifting with the wind currents. At both locations, hellish scenes of thousands of fires big and small provided an eerie illumination for the cameras.

  Televisions around the world were now showing the first images of Haifa. Amazingly, most of the city’s lights to the west and the city’s industrial and port areas were still on. As the camera on-board the helicopter panned to the hills to the east, hundreds of what appeared to be small orange lights flickered in the darkness. Over Amman, another news helicopter camera was revealing similar scenes of horror. Here the city center was almost completely dark, while the eastern side of the city was dotted with thousands of bright orange glows. A pallor of dirty grey smoke mixed in with the clouds and drifted overhead.

  * * * *

  After staying up all night, at six am Israeli Prime Minister Klein re-convened the Knesset into emergency session. “Mister Prime Minister we must retaliate immediately!” demanded Defense Minister Dayan.

  “We will retaliate, but we must be sure who did this,” replied Klein, still trying hard to remain calm.

  “We know who did this!” yelled the foreign minister at the top of his voice.

  “They have been threatening to wipe us off the face of the earth for years.”

  “I have been in contact with President Acosta, and King Haddad of Jordan, said Shamir. “Please quiet down. Please, quiet, let me speak,” said the Prime Minister in an exasperated and hoarse voice. The yelling of the ministers added to the cacophony in the chamber. He had gotten no sleep since that awful call had come in at just after midnight. “Please everyone listen to me.” Finally the room quieted down, and he went on, “We know Israel has been hit with a nuclear bomb on the eastern edge of Haifa.” He paused and looked around the room. “The first casualty figures are in, two-thousand dead and another three-thousand injured, many seriously. There were gasps from all around the room. “We all know the main suspect and they will be dealt with accordingly, but….we must have irrefutable proof!” Loud shouts erupted from several ministers, “NO!”, “Hit them now!”, and “Attack now, before they do it again!” The Prime Minister glanced down at the podium and then surveyed the room. The shouts died down, and it was dead quiet.

  “I was born here, you all know that, and I will not allow our enemies to destroy Israel. Our forces are on full alert and all needed preparations are complete. But I will tell you, most of the world is with us now. Our technicians are getting samples at the blast site right now, they will do the analysis and determine the source of the nuclear material, then we will deliver hell to our enemies.”

  “How long will that take?” the minister for internal affairs asked in a loud voice.

  “We should know within twenty-fo
ur hours.”

  “What if they do it again, what then?!” came an angry question from the floor.

  “All U.S. forces are at DEFCON Two, and President Acosta has directed his naval and air forces to fly twenty-four hour a day cover flights over both Israel and Jordan. Our defense staff is coordinating this now.” An aide stepped up to the podium and handed the Prime Minister a small piece of paper. He lowered his glasses on his nose and read the note. Then looking back up he announced, “We have just received word, over six thousand Jordanians are believed dead, and many thousands more will die if they don’t get treatment for their burns and radiation exposure.”

  “My God!” shouted one minister.

  “They meant both bombs for us, you know that!” shouted another.

  The Prime Minister silently nodded.

  “How many more nuclear bombs do they have with our names on them?” shouted a third.

  * * * *

  By eleven pm in Washington D.C. it was early the next morning and starting to get light in Israel and Jordan. Daylight had revealed the full extent of the destruction in each city. DIA staff, who had been working late into the night collecting intelligence for the Joint Chiefs, gathered in front of the wall monitors and stared in disbelief.

  “My God,” was all Maddy could offer. The world watched in horror the streaming video taken from the now numerous news helicopters and from the ground news teams, revealing the shocking scenes of destruction.

  Newscasters made frequent comparisons to Hiroshima. DIA staff found it hard to concentrate on the tasks at hand. Early on, it was apparent Amman had been more severely hit than Haifa. Fortunately, the same breezes which had created the low clouds the night before were now pushing the radiation away from inhabited areas in both cities. The world was watching in real time as emergency personnel struggled to cope with the devastation and the cries for help from people horribly burned and buried in the rubble. There were numerous scenes of burnt corpses piled high in empty lots throughout sections of Amman. Completely exhausted and emotionally drained, a few emergency responders just down sat amid the rubble, unable to go on. Some took off their now filthy dust masks, exposing themselves to radiation particles in the air. Others had only been able to find rags to cover their faces. For the next several hours, news teams tried to outdo each other. Ignoring the radiation dangers, and wearing only light protective gear, some foolishly entered the center of the blast zones.

  Relief planes from all over the world now were flying around the clock flights to bring in medical supplies, assist in search and rescue operations, and remove the injured. Area hospitals in both cities had been quickly overwhelmed.

  * * * *

  “Mr. President it’s getting light over there now, our embassy in Tel Aviv is sending data and video; still no contact with our embassy in Amman,” reported Simpson.

  “Mr. President one of our satellites is moving over the area now and there is a break in the cloud cover,” reported Alby.

  “Video coming in from Al Jazeera now Mr. President on monitor two,” shouted a Presidential aide.

  “My God, look at that,” exclaimed Acosta, staring up at the screen while simultaneously trying to field calls from many of the worlds’ leaders.

  The helicopter cameraman panned the hills on the east side of Haifa, as he reported live. “We can see hundreds of small fires,” he announced, choking up. “The camera is uhmm…we’re looking east toward the hills and away from the city center and seaport...there are many small fires. We can see a landscape of burning and flattened structures and the twisted remains of many vehicles, most also burning. We cannot safely go any closer…okay, standby. Okay, we are being told by the IAF, we must leave the area immediately. We are now turning back toward the city center…we…uh, we do not see the same damage looking in this direction. The city itself appears to be mostly intact. We can see the port area appears undamaged. Okay, standby, network says they are switching to ….”

  In nearby Amman, similar scenes. “Are we on?” asked the cameraman from the helicopter five hundred feet above the center of Amman, Jordan. “I cannot tell if we are on…are you seeing this?”

  “Yes…we can see your video feed,” came the reply from the network control room through his headset.

  “Okay, we are looking…uhmn, looking east,” said the cameraman, trying his best to describe the hellish scenes. “It’s hard to put into words…there are fires burning everywhere…mostly on the east side of the city,” he suddenly stopped, “Okay, understand, network wants us out of here. Okay, we have to leave the area. Yes…understand, all aircraft are being directed to land immediately. We are turning back…”

  “Looks like they lost their signal Mr. President,” said Alby.

  The President nodded and took another phone call.

  * * * *

  At two am, Maddy and half of her staff finally knocked off and she headed home to get a few hours of sleep. Some analysts would remain behind to continue to gather intelligence and compile the reports Joint Chiefs desperately needed.

  Lowe wanted Maddy and Barillas back for a seven am meeting in his office. He would need to see the latest Iranian nuke weapon assessments.

  Maddy tried but couldn’t sleep; she set the alarm for five-thirty am just in case and turned on the news. She happened to notice her voice mailbox was full and there were a large number of unread text messages, but decided they would have to wait. At some point she dozed off and at five-thirty am the alarm went off. It took every ounce of effort she could muster to ready and head off to work.

  Her cell phone rang as she was pulling into her parking place at DIA.The caller ID showed it was Mark. She touched the ‘Answer’ icon, “Hello Mark.”

  “My God, what hell is going on? Two nuke blasts, one is Israel and one in Jordan,” Mark said, in an anxious voice.

  “Yes Mark, horrible…unbelievable.”

  “Who did it, does anyone know for sure? Had to be Iran…Most everyone thinks so…of course, they’re denying any involvement.”

  “Well, nobody knows for sure…at least not yet.” She knew she could not discuss sensitive DIA information.

  “I know you’ve thought they were building a bomb for a long time, but…”

  Maddy cut him off, “Mark, you know I can’t...”

  “I know, I know…stay safe, this could escalate into a full-scale nuclear conflict and D.C. is, well you know…”

  “I do know Mark, but it’s my job and I knew the risks going in. I can’t run and hide.”

  Mark was silent for a few moments, and then quietly said, “Maddy, I just know you’re going to save the world, and after you do and this is all over, let’s try a do-over. Can we? I still love you.”

  “I would like that very much Mark…I love you too. Now I better go save the world.”

  “Okay, go save the world…if anyone can do it you can.” He ended the call.

  Maddy got out of her car and made her way to her office where she retrieved a folder from the safe and went directly to Lowe’s office. She knocked lightly and let herself in. Barillas was already seated at the conference table.

  Lowe had stayed all night at the office. He too had found himself glued to the television, surfing from channel to channel, watching the live footage of Haifa and Amman. “Come on in Maddy,” he said, sounding fatigued. “This request is right up your alley,” he added, reading out loud the contents of a secure e-mail. The Joint Chiefs want to know the most likely site where the Iranian nuclear weapons are being assembled, how many more they may have, and information on possibly operational delivery systems.”

  “I take it general, they have now determined Iran was behind the attacks?”

  “I don’t know…it sure looks that way. They also want our intelligence on where they might be keeping the rest, so we can target them.

  “With all due respect general, if we knew that information we might have prevented these attacks.”

  “I understand, and it appears you were right
about them all along,” Lowe said, contritely.

  “I would rather have been wrong.”

  Lowe nodded. “Maddy, what do we have? You’ve made a career out of this Iranian nuke stuff; you must have a good guess where they assemble these things?”

  “General, I have a couple of hunches. But, the only way we are going to find what is likely a well-concealed underground facility, is with boots on the ground, or somebody inside their program who decides to rat them out.

  Barillas reviewed some notes. “General, NSA sent us a partially decrypted intercept a few days ago from an Iranian military engineer. He mentioned moving some nuclear materials. In the body of the message was a place he referred to as ‘Oghab-Three’. I ran a complete data-base search, oghab means eagle in Persian…and the Iranians also used that name a while back for some type of artillery round. That’s all I came up with. I checked everywhere…I even Googled it.”

  “And, any idea where this ‘Oghab-Three’ is?” Lowe asked, adding, “Or even what the hell it might be?”

  Maddy thought for moment. “General, I believe their assembly facility is deep underground in a remote area. It doesn’t have to be very large and if located where there are naturally occurring uranium deposits our satellite and airborne detectors would never notice anything unusual. I am also fairly certain that when the blast debris is analyzed, it will support my contention the fissile materials for those two bombs originated in Pakistan.”

  Lowe was running out of options and he needed answers fast. “Have your staff contact NRO and see if they have any assets to spare to help you locate this Oghab-Three, whatever the hell it is.” He snapped his pencil in half. “I know it’s a long shot.”