by Ted Halstead
Kazem shrugged. “Well, yes. There were plutonium fires in the 1950s and 60s at Rocky Flats, a nuclear weapons plant not far from Denver."
Farhad stared, horrified. "Plutonium fires?"
Kazem nodded. "Yes. Plutonium is pyrophoric, meaning that it can spontaneously combust in ordinary atmosphere, particularly the thin shavings produced during the weapons production process. Safe handing requires working with plutonium in a sealed glove box flushed with argon."
Farhad repeated, "Glove box…"
Kazem smiled. “Yes. I'm sure you've seen them in movies. A clear plastic box with gloves set into them, so that you can reach into the gloves and manipulate whatever is inside the box without allowing the contents to be exposed to the air you are breathing.“
Farhad nodded. "Of course. Didn't they have these at Rocky Flats?"
Kazem shrugged. “They did, in fact some of the largest I've heard of, over sixty feet long. But, something went wrong, twice."
Farhad lifted both hands. "What went wrong, exactly?"
Kazem grinned. “Who knows? Both fires were covered up until the seventies. Even after the Americans admitted they happened, they continued weapons production there through the eighties. Then a joint raid by the FBI and EPA collected enough evidence to shut down the plant. After that it was torn down and turned into a wildlife refuge. The government started to allow in hikers in 2018.”
Farhad shook his head. "What you are saying makes no sense. How could the American government raid itself?"
Kazem raised his eyebrows. "Rocky Flats was run by a private company.
Until the government found evidence of wrongdoing, it was bound by its contract."
Farhad grimaced. “Uncle, I am impressed that you were able to stand living there as long as you did."
Kazem laughed. “Well, there's indeed much in America that is difficult to understand. However, they are not to be underestimated. Remember, Americans are the ones who invented nuclear weapons in the first place."
Farhad frowned. “Uncle, this story is interesting, but doesn't really answer my question. What were the casualties from the plutonium fires?"
Kazem smiled. “The government said there were none."
Farhad looked at Kazem incredulously. “None? But what about cancer? I thought you said the plant wasn't far from Denver. Isn't that a big city?"
Kazem nodded. "Yes, it is. But whatever the impact may have been, I think it's good for your plans that the plutonium fires didn't produce casualties or cancer at rates too high for the government to deny responsibility. The problem for our comparison is that the fires consumed much of the plutonium, just as the many successful plutonium-based nuclear weapons tests did. If either the Americans or the Russians ever had a fizzle, they certainly haven't admitted it. Since the very first nuclear weapon the Americans tested was plutonium-based, and successful, it's possible they never had one. So, we can hope that a plutonium fizzle won't be as dangerous as some fear. But the truth is, nobody really knows."
Kazem paused. "That brings us to the next thing you should know."
Farhad said nothing, and waited expectantly for Kazem to continue.
"The Saudis will be able to quickly confirm once the weapons are detonated that they came from Iran. The International Atomic Energy Agency inspectors have samples of the uranium and plutonium we have produced, and they will be able to match fallout particles from a successful explosion within days. Of course, a failed detonation or a fizzle would leave more nuclear material, and make the match even easier. From what you have said of the planned follow up to the detonation that may not matter, but I thought you should know in any case."
In the bedroom Neda's right hand flew to her mouth. Planned follow up?
What insanity was this?
Farhad nodded. "You're right, uncle. I don't think it will matter. Still, it's useful to know. Now, how soon are you scheduled to maintain the weapons?"
Kazem shrugged. “There is no schedule, per se. Remember, these weapons are held in secret, and very few people know they exist. There are no formal procedures. The truth is, I decide on my own when to check on them."
Farhad smiled. “Excellent. We have to think about the best way to deliver the weapons to their targets, and decide which weapon to assign to each target. And, now we have to confirm which target is farthest from a population center. I can say offhand that the desalination plant at Jubail cannot be the target for the plutonium weapon, since it is not far from a city of at least eight hundred thousand people."
Farhad paused. "Can you get me basic specifications on each weapon, like dimensions and weight? Also, I presume the men carrying out the attacks will need protective gear to handle the weapons?"
Kazem nodded. "I can give you approximate dimensions and weights from memory right now, with more precise details later once I can consult my notes at the lab. The devices are shielded, though if your men aren't doing the attacks as a suicide mission I'd recommend lead-lined gloves."
Farhad grimaced. “I don’t intend these to be suicide missions if I can help it, particularly since I plan to lead one of them myself. Of course, the dimensions and weights will give us a better idea of our options in carrying out the attacks. We have more work to do to determine how tight security is at each of the targets. Our organization is still working to determine which assets will be available to deliver the weapons to their targets. In short, we have a great deal to accomplish in very little time."
Kazem frowned. “What's the rush? Mecca and Medina have been in Saudi hands for centuries. What difference does a few weeks or months really make?"
Farhad sighed, and tiredly rubbed the right side of his face. "Uncle, once a plan like this is in motion, it is only a question of time before our enemies learn of it. There are simply too many people involved to keep it a secret indefinitely. Our only chance of success is to carry out the attacks before the inevitable leaks are pieced together by whoever would like to stop it."
Kazem grunted agreement. "Yes, I see your point."
Farhad looked at his watch. "One last question before I should leave. What is the earliest date we can collect the devices, and will we need to overcome any resistance to their removal?"
Kazem looked at his watch in turn. "I think I will walk with you to your car and answer your question there. Your aunt may return any minute and I don't want to be interrupted, since I know you need this information for your planning. How far away are you parked?"
Farhad shrugged. "Considering the neighborhood, I didn't do too badly."
He then named an intersection that brought a smile to Neda's lips. It was about three blocks away, and would let Neda pretend she had returned while Kazem was out.
Kazem nodded. "Good. Let's hurry. I'd really like to get back before your aunt gets home."
Neda waited a full five minutes after Kazem and Farhad had gone before she emerged from the bedroom, her head still swirling from everything she'd heard. There was so much that made no sense. What were the targets? What did the planned attacks have to do with Mecca and Medina? What would be the "follow up"?
One thing was clear, though. The nuclear devices her husband had worked on for so many years, that he had told her were never completed, were real.
And were going to be used.
Chapter Five
US Embassy, Beijing, China
Mark Bishop looked up as his deputy Tom Patterson entered his office.
Since Mark had been promoted to Chief of Station at US Embassy Beijing, he’d lost the ability to do any sort of field work. His interest in field work was why he had joined the CIA, but his new job came with a 24/7 Chinese follow team that represented the best they had.
And that was actually pretty good.
So, instead he got to read and listen to the reports produced by his team, and decide what got passed back to Langley, and with what priority. Though the rest of his staff was followed by the Chinese, even they couldn’t do everyone 24/7, and not all of the men they put o
n the job were truly competent. Or else Tom wouldn’t have just produced his latest report.
Bishop looked nothing like James Bond. Middle-aged, slim, medium height, brown hair, wearing silver wireframe glasses and clothes that would have made him at home in any office cubicle in America, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him.
Tom Patterson looked much the same, except his hair was black, he was seven years younger, and his glasses had a more modern looking bronze metal frame. Nobody passing him on an American or European street would have given him a second look.
“So, Tom, have a seat. Interesting report. I’ve passed a copy to our DIA friends,” Bishop said. One of the perks of his job was that he got to decide who else saw the information they collected, and how quickly. Bishop was a believer in sharing, both because he truly thought every agency at the Embassy was on the same team, and because sharing was normally a two-way street. This time, the Defense Intelligence Agency office at the Embassy had an obvious need to know about Tom’s report.
Patterson nodded. “Any reaction?”, he asked.
Bishop shook his head. “Not yet. I’m sure their first question will be the same as mine — why in the world would the Chinese sell a pair of Chengdu J-
20 stealth fighters to the Iranians? And what are the Iranians planning to do with them?”
Patterson shrugged. “You saw in my report that I asked my Chinese contact at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs both questions, and he said he didn’t know. I’ll add that I believe him, mostly because I had the strong impression he was annoyed that he didn’t know. As I said in the report, I think he was just as motivated by a desire to expose the sale as by the money I handed over.”
Bishop grunted. “But he did take the money.”
Patterson grinned. “Well, sure.”
Bishop shook his head. “The People's Liberation Army Air Force got their first dozen J-20s in 2016, and they weren’t made operational until 2018.
They’re still working out issues with the J-20’s engines and flight control systems, and deliveries aren’t even half complete. It’s the only true fifth-generation stealth fighter to be fielded by anyone but us, and they would have never managed it without the technology they stole from our F-35 program.
So, why would they sell even two to Iran?”
Patterson chewed on his lower lip. “OK, now I’m going to go to speculation, which is why it wasn’t in the report.”
Bishop nodded, and made a “give it to me” motion with both hands.
“My contact made references that I noted in the report about irregularities in the sale. When I pressed him he refused to give me details, and of course that normally means bribes.”
Bishop nodded. Patterson continued, “I had the sense, though, that it was more than that. Like the J-20s were going to Iran, but not to the Iranian Air Force.”
Bishop stared. “That’s quite a leap, Tom. Who else in Iran would know what to do with a J-20?”
Patterson shrugged. “I’m no expert on Iran. But I do remember reading that the Pasdaran is basically a parallel armed force, and there are also government-sanctioned militias, called the Basij if I remember correctly. Or maybe some other organization we don’t know about. I warned you this was just speculation.”
Patterson paused. “I just think the guy was hoping we’d spill that we knew about this sale, and then it would be called off, and the planes returned.”
Bishop cocked his head. “Really? The J-20s have been there now for months, so how likely is it that the Iranians would give them back? Also, isn’t he smart enough to worry that if we did that then our learning about the J-20 sale might get traced back to him?”
Patterson nodded. “Even though he’s smart enough, I think he really believes the sale is a bad idea that’s worth some risk to stop.”
Bishop made rapid notes. “OK, Tom. You were right not to put this in the formal report. I’m going to add some detail, though, based on our conversation. Maybe our stations in the region can find out something.”
Patterson nodded, but knew as well as Bishop did that their ability to find out what was happening inside Iran was limited at best.
As Patterson left his office, Bishop weighed whether to recommend that US knowledge of the sale be disclosed as widely as possible within the administration. Bishop was old school, from the days when the ideal still existed that the CIA should be solely the collector of intelligence, and leave policy decisions about what to do with that intelligence strictly to the State Department and the White House.
With a firm shake of his head, Bishop made his decision. Whatever the Iranians were doing might not, strictly speaking, be his problem. But whatever the Chinese were doing to stir the pot in the Middle East, he knew it wasn’t going to be good news for the US. No, it was time to ring a few alarm bells, even if he had to risk upsetting his superiors to do it.
Tehran, Iran
Neda Rhahbar didn’t have any idea what to do about the terrifying plans she had heard her husband and nephew discussing just two days earlier. She was sure, though, that she needed to know more before either confronting her husband or doing… something else.
So, when Neda told Kazem Shirvani she was going to visit her sister Azar, she was pleased to see that his reaction was relief quickly followed by poorly acted disappointment. She guessed that the relief came from knowing the apartment would be free for Kazem to meet with Farhad again.
This time, instead of coming home and falling asleep, she actually prepared a hiding place in the bedroom wardrobe. Filled with full-length garments, it would be impossible to see her hiding in the back unless it was both opened and the clothes swept aside. Neda doubted that either would happen, but was concerned that it would be even harder to hear than when she had listened before at the bedroom door. She finally decided to keep the same perch as last time next to the barely open bedroom door, with the wardrobe door open in case Kazem came upstairs.
Their cat Shiri was normally not interested in either being played with or being shown any sign of affection, and only perked up when food was being placed in her bowl. Naturally, it picked this time to circle around her ankles.
Finally, out of exasperation Neda picked Shiri up and tossed her onto their bed. Shaking herself, Shiri curled up in a pillow and looked at Neda reproachfully, but made no further moves.
Finally, Neda’s patience was rewarded when she heard her nephew Farhad Mokri‘s voice, along with her husband’s, as they entered the apartment.
“I regret that there will be no snacks to accompany the tea today,” Kazem said. “I was concerned that if I told your aunt you were coming she would have canceled her plans with her sister to see you, and we obviously need privacy for our discussion.”
Farhad nodded. “Understood. Besides, I’m honestly too nervous to eat. I hope you have good news for me.”
Kazem frowned. “As usual in this life, both good and bad. But, first things first. Let me make the tea.”
They were shortly sitting together in the living room, sipping from Kazem’s usual strong black tea.
“Excellent,” Farhad murmured. “Now…”
“Yes, yes,” Kazem growled in response. “I well remember how my father used to complain about the impatience of youth. Proof I am growing old myself, I suppose.”
A brief glare at Farhad was met by the wisest response — silence.
“Very well. I was able to make a quick trip to the nuclear weapons storage facility. When I left I told the guards I needed additional tools to complete my maintenance work, so they should expect to see me again soon.”
Kazem paused. “I confirmed the information in my notes regarding the weapons’ dimensions, and consulted the technical documents on site to confirm the weights. The good news is that each weapon can be transported in an ordinary delivery truck, and we have the equipment on site to assemble and load each weapon.”
Kazem had also used his cell phone to take careful photos of the technical documents, which he late
r copied to his personal laptop, but left that out of his account.
Farhad nodded. “And the bad news?”
Kazem shrugged. “Actually both good and bad. Two of the weapons will have to be delivered to their targets by vehicle, or I suppose by boat if you wanted to attack a port. That is, both the plutonium weapon as well as one of the uranium-based devices. The other uranium weapon is designed to be dropped from an airplane. But it won’t be easy.”
Farhad shook his head. “I’m not a military man, but don’t you just drop such a weapon from a bomber?”
Kazem smiled. “I’m no more a soldier or pilot than you. But I have had many discussions with those who are. In order to be dropped from a modern bomber, the weapon would have to be fitted with a mount allowing it to be attached to the bomber’s wing, in such a way that the bomb could be jettisoned by the pilot when he was over the target. It would also need to have an aerodynamic shape, in order to prevent problems with aircraft handling.”
Farhad grimaced. “I thought bombers could just… open their bay doors, and push a bomb out.”
Kazem nodded. “I thought the same thing. I was told, not by anything we have, or by any bomber built in the last thirty years. So, our tentative plan was to drop it from a cargo aircraft designed to do air drops. We do have C-130s, so that’s probably what we’d have used. Until, of course, we were told to drop the entire project.”
Farhad looked puzzled. “I don’t understand, though, why only one of your weapons could be dropped by air. If you’re pushing it out of a cargo aircraft, couldn’t you do that with any of them?"
Kazem shook his head. “Not at all. We had to spend more time on the design for the air-dropped weapon than the other two combined. There are two approaches to successful detonation of an air-dropped nuclear weapon.
The first is to time detonation to occur prior to the bomb’s impact. The advantage is that you don’t have to worry about the detonation mechanism surviving its encounter with the ground. The disadvantage is that unless your timing is accurate, and both the plane’s altitude and your speed high, you may be caught by the detonation. C-130s have many advantages. Their great speed is not one of them.”