Exit Plan (26 page)

It was a piece of a flight suit, with an F-14 Felix the Cat patch, showing a gray cat decked out in Persian garb, complete with slippers and a scimitar. The words “Ali-Cat” on the lower border were in bold, italicized letters. Jerry held it as if it were made of pure gold.

“I’m sorry,” he said sympathetically, as he handed the precious memento back. “I didn’t mean to bring back sad memories.”

“No . . . no, you do not understand. That is why I have been a spy for you. The leaders of the Revolution are leading us back to war. A war that will cause the deaths of many tens of thousands.” Her hands started to gently rub her abdomen. “I want my son or daughter to know their father. I want him to have time to cherish his child. The war that is coming threatens us all.”

Jerry saw his chance to ask her to be more specific, but before he could speak, Ramey’s voice popped on the radio. “Okay, people, time to get moving again. Form up.”

Annoyed, Jerry got up and started walking toward the young SEAL when suddenly, Phillips exclaimed, “Ooh snap! Boss, look to the northwest.”

Ramey and Jerry both looked up and saw the flashes over the horizon. A storm, a big storm, was coming straight at them from off the Persian Gulf.

“That don’t look good,” Jerry said dryly.

“Nope, XO. It don’t look good at all.”

~ * ~

General Duvall rose swiftly as Joanna and her boss entered the briefing room. “Dr. Kirkpatrick, Dr. Patterson, thank you for making time to meet with us. This is Mr. Gene Cooper, the head of the Weapons Intelligence, Nonproliferation, and Arms Control Center at CIA.”

“It was no inconvenience at all, Gordon. Truly. Please, sit down. I presume this has something to do with the file that
Michigan
sent us yesterday?”

“Yes, sir. But I’ll let Gene explain,” said Duvall, as he motioned for Cooper to start.

“Dr. Kirkpatrick, we’ve been going over the technical details in the Natanz centrifuge accident brief sent by
Michigan,
and we’re convinced that it’s accurate; it matches what little we have from COMINT and imagery. The file also provided a lot of background material behind the accident that makes a great deal of sense.”

Kirkpatrick raised his hand, stopping Copper. “When you say ‘we,’ who is the ‘we’ specifically, Mr. Cooper?”

“Sir,” interrupted Duvall. “The analytical work was done by an intelligence community working group that I had formed back in March. They work for me. I picked Gene to lead the effort.”

“Ahh, I see. Thank you, Gordon. It’s not that I don’t trust the CIA. I’m just leery of single agency positions. I trust the results of this analytical effort reflect an intelligence community consensus?”

“Unanimously, Dr. Kirkpatrick,” Cooper stated firmly.

“Go on.”

“The bottom line, sir, is we believe, with high confidence, that the uranium enrichment program has suffered yet another technical setback. In February, a prototype fifth-generation centrifuge cascade blew itself apart when some of the centrifuge rotors started delaminating while spinning at high speed. The root cause was assessed by the Iranians to be a manufacturing flaw, probably during the curing process of the carbon fiber rotors.”

“February, you say?” Patterson observed. “Mr. Cooper, can you correlate this Iranian briefing with the recent IAEA report?”

Cooper smiled broadly. “Yes, Dr. Patterson. Here is an imagery shot of the Pilot Fuel Enrichment Plant at Natanz taken on the third of February. Note this empty area behind this building to the west. Now, the same location three weeks later; see the pile of debris? This imagery is from 10 March; as you can see, the debris is still there. But by 13 March, two days after the inspection, the area is clean as a whistle. We have good information that these are the same centrifuges the IAEA took their samples from.”

Patterson looked closely at the series of pictures, before handing them to Kirkpatrick. “You said a prototype cascade. How many machines?”

“Sixty-four, ma’am.”

“Were they being fed uranium hexafluoride?”

“Yes, Dr. Patterson. The initial feed was at three percent enrichment,” answered Cooper.

“How long had they been operating?”

“A little over six days.”

“Six days? That’s all?” pressed Patterson, surprised.

“Yes, ma’am. The centrifuges were working on their seventh day when the accident occurred.”

She turned to Kirkpatrick. “Sir, there is no way they could have achieved an eighty-five percent enrichment with so few machines over such a short period of time.”

Kirkpatrick’s brow scrunched as he evaluated the data. “Gordon, is there a chance we’re being deceived by the information provided by Opal?”

“Dr. Kirkpatrick, it is my belief that we are being deceived, but not by Opal. The data has been vetted through multiple groups, each looking at the information from a different angle. It’s been ‘Red Teamed’ and dissected by technical experts. Opal’s data appears to be accurate and authentic. The uranium enrichment path is almost certainly not going to provide the Iranians with the necessary material for a test device any time soon.”

“What about the plutonium path then?” countered Kirkpatrick.

“It’s nowhere near ready, either, if our information is accurate,” answered Patterson. “All indications are that the reactor has had difficulties of its own and only went critical a few months ago. That’s not nearly enough time to produce a sufficient quantity of weapons-grade Plutonium-239.”

“Gordon, are you seriously suggesting that the test preparations are the deception? For what possible purpose?”

“Sir, I believe the test preparations are real. Every piece of data says the Iranians are following the correct steps to conduct a test. The problem is, we can’t find anything to test!”

“General Duvall, this makes absolutely no sense at all. Why would the Iranians do something so blatant, unless they had a device to test?” The national security advisor’s tenor showed his growing impatience with Duvall’s cryptic theory.

“We don’t know the answer to that yet, sir. We are looking at all the possible options, to include the remote possibility that they procured a weapon from another nation. But what I can tell you, is that the Iranians’ actions are having an effect.”

“In what way?”

Duvall pulled a short report from his briefcase and handed it to Kirkpatrick. “As of this morning, the Israeli Air Force has grounded the 69th and 107th squadrons at Hatzerim Airbase, as well as the 119th, 201st, and 253rd squadrons at Ramon Airbase. In addition, the Saknayee Boeing 707 tankers of the 120th squadron have backed out of an exercise with the Sixth Fleet, because of ’maintenance issues.’”

Kirkpatrick looked solemn as he read the report’s key judgments. Patterson didn’t understand the significance of the NIC chairman’s statement.

“Forgive me, General. But what does this mean?” Patterson asked.

“Dr. Patterson, these squadrons are composed of F-15I and F-16I tactical aircraft. They are the only aircraft in the Israeli inventory that can, with in-flight refueling, reach Iranian targets.”

“Oh my,” she said.

Duvall leaned forward, his face showing intense concern. “Sir, we need more of the information that Opal possesses to help us nail down this problem.”

“I’d like to accommodate you, Gordon. But that isn’t possible right now. Opal and company left their hiding place an hour ago and are out of touch for the next several hours, at least,” replied Kirkpatrick. “Furthermore, the young lady who is the true source of the information is reluctant to provide more until she and her husband are out of Iran. It seems they’re afraid we’ll leave them high and dry once we get the information.”

“Then let’s ask her for just one more file,” suggested Patterson. “Have Captain Guthrie ask her to give us a report on the status of the Arak reactor. The file inventory list says she has one, and if it’s in line with what we know, odds are General Duvall’s assertion is correct, and we can warn the Israelis.”

“They’ll want to see the proof themselves,” warned Kirkpatrick. “Are we ready to release this kind of information?”

“Normally, I’d be very reluctant to provide such sensitive data to anyone but the Brits,” admitted Duvall. “But given the circumstances, I think it’s in our best interest to share this with the Israelis. But that may not be my boss’s position.”

“Very well,” Kirkpatrick replied as he stood up. “I’ll make the recommendation to the president, after I discuss this with the director of national intelligence.”

“Dr. Kirkpatrick, General Duvall, I’d also like to request that you consider bringing my husband in on this.”

“Senator Hardy? Why, Joanna?” Kirkpatrick actually looked surprised by her request.

“Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, the senior officer of the group that is stranded, served under my husband on
Memphis.
Lowell also knows Captain Guthrie reasonably well, and he is well versed in covert submarine operations. He’s also on the Senate Armed Services Committee, which gives you a knowledgeable point of contact on the Hill.”

Kirkpatrick thought it over for a moment, and then looked at Duvall.

“I have no objections to reading Senator Hardy in,” Duvall remarked.

“Alright, Joanna, I’ll raise this with the president as well. But I make no promises.”

~ * ~

Phillips and Lapointe burst through the door, their weapons at the ready. Ramey followed right behind them. Only after a hasty inspection to ensure the building was abandoned were Jerry and the others allowed to stumble in. Fazel shut the door and anchored it against the howling wind with an empty cabinet.

The shamal had hit them a little under an hour earlier with twenty-five-mile-per-hour sustained winds, driving rain, and a ten-degree drop in temperature. While the shamal was on the mild side, everyone was thoroughly soaked, chilled to the bone, and covered with sand.

Phillips was the first one to get his mouth cleared. “Okay,” he gasped, as he spit some sand out of his mouth. “That officially sucked!”

“I haven’t been this miserable since Hell Week,” agreed Lapointe. His reference to the fifth week of the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, or BUDS, is the standard metric by which SEALs compare the relative unpleasantness of a situation. If it’s “like” or “worse” than Hell Week, it’s really, really bad.

“I don’t know, Pointy,” Phillips argued. “I’ve been cold, wet, and sandy before, but never sandblasted! Hey, maybe I should suggest adding a driving wind to Hell Week.”

“You’re a sadistic bastard. You know that, Philly?”

“Can it, you two,” Ramey barked. “Since you’re so full of energy, Phillips, you can take the first watch.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Phillips coolly. Jerry noticed Lapointe’s jaw tighten.

“Doc, report. How’s our favorite spy?”

“She’s really cold, Boss,” replied the corpsman.

“We all are, Harry,” observed Ramey. His voice was cynical, uncaring.

“No, sir, I mean she’s dangerously cold,” Fazel repeated more sternly. “Her body temperature is low, and she’s showing symptoms of mild hypothermia.”

“What can you do about it?” injected Jerry. Ramey’s head snapped around at the sound of his voice.

“We need to get her out of those wet clothes and under some warm blankets. I’ve already asked her husband to strip her down as much as possible.”