The Inca Prophecy (13 page)

The discussion between the ‘hawks’ and ‘doves’ in the Israeli cabinet had been heated, but no one had any real stomach for another long and protracted ground war in Lebanon. As Prime Minister Ehud Olmert stood to address an emergency session of the Knesset, the Israelis were putting their faith in air power.

‘Madam Speaker, members of Knesset … Lebanon has suffered heavily in the past, when it allowed foreign powers to gamble on its fate. Iran and Syria continue to meddle from afar in the affairs of Lebanon. We insist on the return of the hostages, a complete cease-fire, deployment of the Lebanese Army in all of southern Lebanon, and the expulsion of Hezbollah from the area. We will search every compound and destroy every terrorist infrastructure. Israel will not agree to live with the constant threat of missiles or rockets used against its residents.’

But even as Prime Minister Olmert called for a complete cease-fire, the Israeli Defense Forces swung into action. In the pre-dawn darkness, a day after the hostages were taken, the Air Operations Centre in Tel Aviv was on high alert, the high-tech command engulfed in a babble of radio transmissions and target designations. The commander in chief of the air force ordered Israel’s Gulfstream G550 early-warning and control aircraft into the air, as well as the Searchers, the six-metre-long unmanned aerial vehicles, or UAVs.
The UAVs, with a ceiling of nearly 23 000 feet, were capable of staying aloft for twenty hours, and the real-time intelligence from the onboard cameras was already streaming onto the banks of screens in the operations centre. Further to the south, the UAV remote controllers were hunched over their computers at the coastal Palmachim Air Force Base.

The other Israeli bases, from the Ramat David Air Force Base in the northern Jezreel Valley, to the massive Hatzor Air Force Base in the centre of the country, down to the Ramon and Ovda bases in the south of the Negev Desert, were hives of activity. Squadrons of American-made General Dynamics F-16 Falcons and McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle fighters were being readied on the tarmacs. Ground crews were working under floodlights, sweating furiously as they attached 2000-pound laser-guided bombs. Others were working on the 600-pound air-to-ground Maverick guided missiles and, just in case the Syrians decided to join the fray, Sidewinder heat-seeking air-to-air missiles, named after the deadly rattlesnake that used its infrared sensory organs to close in on its prey. At Palmachim, the Northern Cobra Squadron’s attack helicopters were being armed with 70 mm rockets and belts of ammunition for machine guns that could fire 6000 rounds a minute. Hezbollah was about to be taught a lesson it would never forget.

Chapter 15

Jafari was nervous. He’d already activated the digital voice-recorder pen O’Connor had provided, and he placed it alongside a small notebook on the table in the private dining room of the Qom International Hotel. Hidden in the pen was a USB port for charging, and although the activation lights were all internal, Jafari could feel the sweat on the palms of his hands. Major Amin Golzar, the senior close personal protection agent sitting opposite, seemed to pay him more attention than anyone else at the table.

‘Nice pen, Farid. Did you get that in the States?’ Golzar asked.

Jafari shrugged. ‘It’s just a pen, Amin. I think I picked it up at the airport in London. Can you pass the rice, please?’

There were four members in the Pakistani delegation led by General ul-Haq, but where nuclear weapons were concerned, Dr Wasim Yousef was clearly the most knowledgeable. The Iranian delegation had been restricted to General Shakiba, Colonel Rostami
and two of the Guards’ top nuclear scientists. It was the first time Jafari had been exposed to the way international visitors were entertained, and the table was groaning under huge bowls of zereshk polo, a dish of rice, chicken, barberries, onion and saffron; dolma, which were grape leaves stuffed with rice, pine nuts, currants, dill weed and cinnamon; and a dozen other dishes reflecting a diverse Persian culinary tradition. Jafari had also been surprised to find wine served with dinner. Once the dishes had been cleared away, the doors were closed, leaving the Iranian Revolutionary Guards assigned out in the corridor; and the talk turned to how the Iranians might achieve a workable design for a nuclear bomb.

‘The American attack on Iraq was based on a tissue of lies, and we’re determined that won’t happen to us,’ General Shakiba informed his guests. ‘And it’s not only the Americans. The Israelis have also been known to strike without provocation.’

‘The Israelis are the most dangerous,’ General ul-Haq agreed. Everyone at the table knew that in 1981, the Israelis had launched Operation Babylon, a deadly strike against a nuclear reactor the French and Italians were constructing for the Iraqis, 17 kilometres south-east of Baghdad. Six Israeli F-15s and eight F-16s equipped with 2000-pound bombs had flown nearly a thousand kilometres across Jordan and Saudi Arabia, using Jordanian and Saudi call signs to hide their identity. Once in Iraqi airspace, the Israeli pilots had dived beneath Iraqi radar, streaking towards the reactor at just 30 metres above the desert. The attack lasted less than two minutes, but the Iraqi reactor was completely destroyed.

‘The Syrians are building a nuclear reactor at al-Kibar near the Euphrates,’ General ul-Haq confided, ‘and are no doubt mindful of
the risks posed to them by Israel. I wouldn’t put it past the Israelis to strike again. And you’re right to be concerned, General Shakiba. The Israelis may not limit their attacks to Syria.’

‘Which is why we’re planning for just such an eventuality,’ Shakiba replied. ‘Tomorrow we’ll show you around the centrifuge facility at Natanz, and from there we’ll take you to the new reactor at Arak, which is heavily protected by both radar and surface-to-air missiles.’ General Shakiba paused, allowing himself a smile. ‘We’ve also built a top-secret site about 30 kilometres to the north-west of where we’re sitting now. On the way back from Arak, we’ll show you that facility as well. Very few people are aware of its existence,’ he declared, a note of pride in his voice. Shakiba considered this one of his greatest personal achievements.

‘Uranium enrichment?’ Dr Yousef asked.

Shakiba nodded. ‘We’re in the pilot phase and we’ve installed 3000 of the latest P2 centrifuges. Ultimately, the facility will house more than 60 000 centrifuges, so deep underground that the American bunker-busting bombs won’t touch it.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ warned General ul-Haq. ‘The Pentagon is working on a new version. They call it the massive ordnance penetrator … 15 tonnes of explosive designed to penetrate 60 metres of concrete.’

‘We know, and we’ve allowed for it. Our intelligence indicates that if the Americans struck now, they would have to drop the 5000-pound GBU-28, which can only penetrate six metres of concrete. But even if they get this latest bomb up to speed, we’re far deeper than 60 metres. That will leave the Americans and the Israelis with the unpalatable option of a nuclear strike, and we doubt that even
the Israelis are stupid enough to try that.’

‘Again, I wouldn’t be too sure,’ ul-Haq said. ‘The Israeli politicians couldn’t care less what the international community thinks.’

‘Perhaps,’ Shakiba conceded, ‘but that only makes our own program all the more important, and we’re developing both the uranium and the plutonium options.’

‘Why do you want both?’ Dr Yousef asked.

General Shakiba and Colonel Rostami exchanged glances. ‘The uranium enrichment is not without its problems,’ Shakiba replied, sticking to the agreed line. ‘The plutonium is our fall-back option.’

‘Hopefully,’ said Dr Yousef, ‘the new P2 centrifuges will overcome any of your previous enrichment problems. But as the North Koreans found to their cost, when it comes to a plutonium bomb, your bomb will fizzle unless you can get the plutonium to compress uniformly into a critical mass. It will literally blow itself apart before the explosion reaches its maximum efficiency.’

‘But it’s possible?’ Rostami asked, his dark eyes glistening.

Yousef’s smile held no humour. ‘In theory. All the nuclear tests we’ve conducted in Pakistan to date have employed highly enriched uranium, not plutonium.’

‘But we’ve brought the designs with us,’ General ul-Haq confided, helping himself to another glass of wine.

Jafari knocked quietly on the door to Room 203: three taps, followed by two louder taps, then three softer ones. Sometimes the simplest methods were the best.

O’Connor ushered Jafari inside. ‘What are you doing here, Farid? I said no contact unless I initiated it.’

‘I know, but I wanted you to realise what they’re planning,’ Jafari replied breathlessly. ‘I’ve recorded tonight’s meeting, all of it,’ he said, extracting the silver pen from inside his jacket. ‘Major Golzar commented on the pen, but I told him I’d picked it up in London.’

‘Who’s Major Golzar?’

‘He’s in charge of the bodyguards – close personal protection for the Pakistanis. He established quite a reputation when he was part of the Quds Force.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ O’Connor swore softly, more than well acquainted with Iran’s Quds Force, or Jerusalem force, one of the best-trained special forces units in the world. Their primary focus, he knew, was to operate overseas, training and equipping Islamic revolutionary units like Hezbollah for their battles against the Israelis. But O’Connor also knew that the Quds Force had spread its deadly tentacles into Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Turkey, the Sudan, Yemen, and even the republics of the former USSR. Its operations were deemed so critical that its commander reported not to President Ahmadinejad, but directly to the Supreme Leader Khamenei.

‘Do you know where Golzar operated?’

‘Mainly training Hezbollah forces here in Iran, and he’s spent quite a bit of time in southern Lebanon on the Israeli border.’

‘Listen to me, Farid.’ O’Connor placed his hand on Farid’s shoulder. ‘If someone like Golzar is taking an interest in you, be doubly careful. I don’t care what happens. Unless your life’s being threatened, you’re not to contact me again, except by encrypted text message on the cell phone. Understand?’

‘I’m sorry, I just thought …’ Jafari stammered, a crestfallen look on his face.

‘Always assume you’re being watched. Always,’ O’Connor said, ushering him towards the door and then closing it firmly behind him.

Major Golzar watched with interest from his position in a fire-hydrant alcove further down the corridor.

Elegant Persian carpets hung on the walls of the marble lobby of the Qom International Hotel, and the coffee shop was just off to one side. Major Jafari sipped on his Delster non-alcoholic beer, waiting for word the Pakistani delegation had retired for the night.

‘I was on the second floor just now, Jafari.’ Major Golzar suddenly materialised in front of him and Jafari’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Who were you visiting?’

‘Visiting?’ Jafari’s mind raced as he fought to remain calm.

‘You heard me. Who is in Room 203?’ Golzar’s voice was edged with steel.

‘Oh, him. He’s just a university professor … Irish, I think. He was asking me about Persepolis earlier and I promised to pass on some information about how to get there.’

‘His name?’ Golzar rasped. Major Golzar would not have been out of place in the Nazi-era SS. Just as the members of Hitler’s Schutzstaffel, the Führer’s personal protection squadron, considered themselves superior to everyone else in the Third Reich, members of the Quds Force considered themselves above the
Iranian Armed Forces and even the Revolutionary Guards, regardless of rank.