The Tehran Initiative (49 page)

David protested slightly, then signed, took his package and his room key, and headed back to the van. There he handed the box to Torres, pulled out his phone, and dialed Javad, who picked up on the first ring.

“I’m at the hotel,” he said. “The box arrived.”

“You have it?” Javad asked.

“It’s in my hands,” David said. “Where should I meet you?”

“What better place?” Javad said. “I’ll meet you in front of the Jamkaran Mosque in ten minutes.”

“Done.”

It was not ideal; it was public, and it would be crowded. But they didn’t have any other choice. David hung up the phone and quickly told the others his plan. First he told them he was going to take a cab to the world-famous mosque. Torres and his team should follow close behind. It was midday on a Thursday; there shouldn’t be much traffic.

But what he told the paramilitary team next caught all of them off guard. It was a high-stakes gamble. It could get him killed. It could get them all killed. But if it worked . . .

* * *

Four F-15s lifted off from the Tel Nof Air Base near Rehovot.

They blazed west over the Med, then banked sharply to the south. Within seconds, they had the Iranian-flagged
Jamaran
missile frigate and her sister ship, the
Sabalan
frigate, on radar. Both were now 450 kilometers from the Tel Aviv shoreline, flanked by three Iranian destroyers.

* * *

David handed his pistol to Torres and cleaned out his pockets.

Then, carrying the package, he left the van, hailed a cab, and directed it to the Jamkaran Mosque. On the way, he put on his Bluetooth headset and called Zalinsky. “Is something happening?”

“What do you mean?” Zalinsky asked.

“I’m getting a weird feeling,” David said, “like something has started.”

“No, it’s all pretty quiet right now,” Zalinsky said.

“Is the boss going to move?” David asked cryptically so as not to draw the attention of the cab driver.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Murray went to the White House. The president isn’t satisfied. He wants another source.”

“There’s no more time. We got him what he asked for.”

“He wants more.”

“Like what?”

“He wants Jalal Zandi.”

David laughed. “Is he kidding?”

“No, he’s dead serious.”

“How are we going to do that in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours?”

“I don’t know. What about Khan? He and Zandi worked closely. He has to know where he is.”

That was true, David thought, but he hadn’t asked Khan much about Zandi and couldn’t now. Then he remembered Khan’s SIM card in his jacket lining. “Wait,” he told Zalinsky. “I’m uploading something to you.”

He opened the back of his Nokia phone, inserted the SIM card, and did a search. There it was, all of Zandi’s contact information. He was angry with himself for not thinking of it sooner, but he quickly uploaded everything to Langley and got Zalinsky back on the line.

“Got it?” he asked.

“Got it,” Zalinsky replied. “Great work. We’ll get right on this. Where are you now?”

“I’m in a cab on the way to the Jamkaran Mosque.”

“Not sure this is the best time for sightseeing.”

“I’m meeting a friend.”

“Who?”

David couldn’t say openly without attracting the attention of his driver. “I’m delivering the package he asked for.”

“You’re going to meet Javad Nouri?” Zalinsky said. “I thought that was later tonight.”

“He moved it up.”

“Why is he in Qom?”

“He’s coming just to see me.”

“What if you grab him?”

“I can’t.”

“No, seriously, David, the special ops team is following you, right?”

“Right, but—”

“Then take Nouri down,” Zalinsky pressed. “Can you imagine what a coup that would be? Almost as good as getting Zandi, and maybe we can get him, too.”

“Wouldn’t that unravel everything?” David pushed back. “I mean, if he’s gone, then wouldn’t the whole project, you know, be compromised?”

David suddenly heard a commotion in the background.

“Something’s happening,” Zalinsky said. “I’ll call you right back.”

Frustrated, David checked his watch. They would be at the mosque in less than three minutes. He didn’t have time to wait around.

* * *

Washington, DC

“Mr. President, I have Prime Minister Naphtali on line one.”

Jackson forced his eyes open, grabbed his glasses off the nightstand, and stared at the clock. He turned on the lamp beside his bed.

“Put him through,” he told the White House switchboard operator. “Asher, please tell me you have very good news.”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. President.”

“Of course not,” Jackson said. “Good news can always wait until daybreak.”

“Mr. President, I am calling to inform you that we have credible, actionable intelligence from inside Iran on where their warheads are. Two are on Iranian naval vessels off our coast. The rest are being attached to intermediate-range ballistic missiles. We have evidence that the Twelfth Imam intends to launch these missiles at us within the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours, and we cannot take the risk of being hit first. Therefore, just moments ago, I ordered the IDF to commence Operation Xerxes to destroy those weapons and neutralize the Iranian threat. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

* * *

International Waters, Mediterranean Sea

“Fox three, Fox three!”

The Gamma Team leader fired two AGM-84 Harpoon antiship missiles at the
Jamaran
, while simultaneously jamming the ships’ radar and communications. A split second later, his wingman fired two more Harpoons at the
Sabalan
. On cue, their colleagues fired upon the three destroyers.

Meanwhile, as the Harpoons were hurtling toward their targets at the speed of sound, an Israeli Dolphin-class submarine trailing the flotilla fired ten torpedoes in rapid succession.

* * *

Washington, DC

“I have to say I’m very disappointed, Asher,” Jackson said.

“I understand your position, Mr. President,” Naphtali replied. “But please understand mine. There was no more time. We were facing annihilation and are exercising our God-given—and UN–recognized—right to self-defense. We can do this operation alone, if we must. But I am calling not just to inform you but to ask for your country’s assistance. The Mahdi and his nuclear force are not just a threat to us. They are a threat to you and to the entire free world.”

* * *

International Waters, Mediterranean Sea

“Captain, Captain, we’re being fired upon!”
the Iranian XO cried.

“Deploy countermeasures,”
the captain of the
Jamaran
shouted back, racing for the bridge.

The sirens on the ship immediately sounded.

“Man your battle stations! Man your battle stations!”

But the attack came too fast. The men had no time to react. The first Harpoon hit the bridge. The second pierced the top of the deck at almost the exact same moment. Both erupted with enormous explosions that incinerated most of the crew within seconds, while below the water, two torpedoes tore massive holes in the underbelly of the ship. Thousands of gallons of icy seawater flooded the lower quarters, and the frigate began to sink almost instantly.

* * *

The officers and crew of the
Sabalan
had a few seconds more.

And that made all the difference. The captain and XO knew instantly that they were going to die. They weren’t going to be able to stop the inbound missiles or torpedoes. But just before the first impact, they were able to reach the fire control panel and launch all of their missiles.

58

Washington, DC

“I don’t like being put in a corner,” the president said.

“Neither do we,” the prime minister replied.

“What kind of help do you expect, now that you’ve launched a war without US consent?”

* * *

Iranian Airspace

One by one, the sub-launched cruise missiles hit their marks.

Three smashed into the fully staffed Defense Ministry headquarters in Tehran just after lunch, nearly bringing the building down and killing most of those inside.

Minutes later, three other missiles hit the top, middle, and ground floors of the Intelligence Ministry headquarters in Tehran, decimating the building and setting it ablaze.

Another high-priority target for a salvo of Israeli cruise missiles was Facility 311, the nuclear-enrichment facility in the town of Abyek, about sixty miles northwest of Tehran. One minute the complex and its 163 scientists and support staff were there; the next minute they were not.

In the south, no fewer than five cruise missiles obliterated the research and support facilities surrounding the light-water nuclear reactor in Bushehr, while leaving the reactor itself untouched. Without question, this had been the most controversial target for Israeli military planners and senior government officials. Should they hit a nearly active reactor site, particularly one built and partially operated by the Russians? The risks of striking Bushehr were high. So were the risks of leaving the site alone. A Mossad analysis noted that in the first full year of operation, the reactor could generate enough weapons-grade uranium to produce more than fifty bombs the size of the one dropped on Nagasaki. Naphtali had personally made the decision that it had to be neutralized.

* * *

Tel Aviv, Israel

“Missiles in the air!”
the war room’s watch commander shouted.

Defense Minister Shimon and the IDF chief of staff immediately rushed out of the conference room into the war room and to the commander’s side. Live images were streaming in from the four F-15s out over the Med. Other data were pouring in from the Israeli subs and other naval vessels stationed off the coast.

“Sound the alarms,”
the commander ordered.

An aide complied immediately, triggering a command sequence that would soon result in air-raid sirens being sounded throughout the country, not knowing yet which cities were targeted but not wanting to take a chance.

“How many do you have?” Shimon asked.

“I count six—no, eight!” the watch commander said.

Naphtali turned to see what was happening. “Mr. President,” he said, “I must go. Our country is under attack.”

He hung up the phone and headed into the war room only to see the radar tracks of eight ship-to-surface ballistic missiles inbound from the
Sabalan
. As the telemetry poured in, supercomputers calculated the missiles’ size, speed, trajectory, and likely points of impact. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to guess that most were headed for all of the major population centers along the coast. But Naphtali was stunned to see one of the missiles heading for Jerusalem.

* * *

Qom, Iran

David’s phone rang just as the cab was nearing the mosque.

“You were right,” Zalinsky said, coming back on the line. “Something is happening.”

“What?”

“The Israelis have just attacked the Iranian naval flotilla,” Zalinsky exclaimed. “The Iranians were able to fire off a salvo of missiles at Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. NSA indicates Israeli cruise missiles are hitting targets all over Iran. Israeli jets are in the air. I need to brief the director. He just got in. But grab Nouri if you can, get to one of the safe houses, and hunker down. I’m guessing most of the Israeli Air Force is going to be on top of you any minute.”

* * *

Tel Aviv, Israel

“Fire the Arrows—now!” Naphtali ordered.

Shimon and the IDF chief of staff barked orders at military aides, who relayed them by secure phone and data lines to commanders at air and missile bases throughout the country. But all of it took precious time.

Naphtali’s fists clenched. He scanned the different visual displays in front of him and locked onto one piece of data above the rest. It indicated that the first missile impact would be in downtown Tel Aviv in less than ninety seconds.

* * *

Iran

Ten Israeli F-15s swooped in over Hamadan.

They snaked through the mountains and took out the air defenses with little resistance. Then, turning around and taking one pass after another, each pilot fired two bunker-buster bombs on the 400,000-square-foot underground nuclear research and production complex and the administrative buildings on the surface that had been home for Saddaji, Malik, Khan, and Zandi for so many years. Facility 278 was no more. The bombs decimated all life for half a mile and shook the city so hard that many thought another earthquake was under way.

In Arak, four Israeli F-16s dropped GBU-10 bombs on all the buildings surrounding the heavy-water reactor. They were under strict orders not to hit the reactor itself and by God’s grace did not. Within minutes, the sixty-thousand-square-foot aboveground complex was completely destroyed, and the reactor was rendered useless.

The pilots turned and headed home.

* * *

Tel Aviv, Israel

The prime minister was actually wrong.

The Arrow wasn’t designed to stop short-range missiles. Their only hope at this point was the Patriot. Fortunately, there was a Patriot battalion located at the air base at Tel Nof, just south of Tel Aviv, made up of a fire control center, a radar center, six mobile missile batteries mounted on the backs of specially designed semitrailers, and more than four hundred Israeli personnel running the highly complex operation.

But as Naphtali and Shimon watched the video feeds and listened to the encrypted radio traffic from their vantage point in the main war room at the defense ministry, they weren’t sure if the team at Tel Nof was going to be able to react in time.

* * *

“I’m seeing three Tel Aviv inbounds,” the on-site commander said.

“That’s affirm—I have three,” the tactical control officer said.

“Time to target?”

“First to hit in eighty seconds, sir. Do you certify inbounds are hostile?”

“I certify all are hostile. Select firing batteries.”

“Batteries selected, sir.”

“Go from standby to engage.”