by Oliver North
“Did they declare what the cargo was, Nazir?”
“Oh yes, when it set off the detector, the man in charge, Mr. Dotensk—he is a very important man and even has an Iraqi diplomatic passport—he showed me the bill of lading indicating that the cargo was three X-ray machines he was taking to Syria for repairs.”
X-ray machines don't emit radiation unless they're operating. “Do you remember where in Syria the machines were being taken for repair?”
“Of course. They were taking them to the big International Scientific Trading logistics center outside of At Tanf. Mr. Dotensk owns it. Eli Yusef and Samir have driven by it many times on their trips to and from Damascus. I am sure that they know the place well.”
Newman's heart began to race. He looked down at the map he had brought with him from Samir's truck. With his finger, he traced the road from Al Rutbah, where they were now, to At Tanf. It was just across the border in Syria, less than 175 kilometers from here—fewer than three hours' drive unless there was a holdup at the border crossing.
“This is very helpful, Nazir. Was there anything else?”
The border guard thought for a moment and said, “No I don't think so, but if you want, I can tell Eli Yusef or Samir when Mr. Dotensk brings the X-ray machines back to Baghdad.”
“Say that again, Nazir.”
“I can call Eli Yusef or—”
“No, the part about bringing them back into Iraq.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Dotensk was very explicit about that. He said he would have them fixed in a few days and would be bringing them back. He wanted to make sure the same personnel were on duty, so he would not have to pay an import duty on them. He and the captain joked about it...and he filled out a special form we have for that purpose.”
“He's bringing them back?” Newman said aloud to himself as he stared out the window at Samir and his father approaching. “What do you suppose this fellow has in mind?”
Nazir looked at the American quizzically, shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing. He thought he'd already answered that question.
Incirlik Air Base
Adana, Turkey
Monday, 23 March 1998
1835 Hours, Local
General George Grisham was on his way to the Officer's Mess for dinner when Gunnery Sergeant Amos Skillings caught up with him.
“Excuse me, sir...we just got word, there's a secure teleconference call from the Joint Chiefs. They're on the satellite line now.”
“All right, Gunny. Is this about that red rocket I sent out last night, warning about the possibility of an Israeli preemptive strike?”
“No sir...just some video of a bunch of brass hats sitting in the tank over at the Pentagon, waiting for you.”
The general hurried into his conference room, threw his briefcase on the table, and sat down while Skillings adjusted the secure video conferencing equipment. The sergeant aimed a digital video camera at Grisham and used the remote control to turn on a large-screen video monitor. Skillings handed the remote to the general and left the room. Grisham switched the tabletop control to VID/VOX, and a picture flickered on the screen showing a conference table surrounded by the highest-ranking officers in the U.S. military.
“General Grisham here. Good day, gentlemen.”
General Dwight McKee, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was seated at the end of the table. Grisham could see from Dwight's body language that he was not having a good day.
“Hello, George, good to see you. As you can see, I've got General Michaelson, Admiral Stratton, and General Hoisington here with me. We need to talk, George.”
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you gentlemen?” Where's the commandant of the Marine Corps?
“Well, George, we've been sitting here for the past hour and a half trying to come up with a polite way to deal with this problem we've had dropped in our laps...but there's no easy way.”
Something was not right. Grisham had known these men for years. Michaelson, the Army Chief of Staff, had served with him in Vietnam. He and Admiral Vince Stratton were Naval Academy classmates. And Hoisington, the Air Force Chief of Staff, had been his neighbor when they were students at National War College. But none of the faces looked particularly friendly now.
“What's the problem, sir? Is it about the nuke warning I sent out about Israel?”
McKee looked as if he'd swallowed a pin cushion. “Actually, you're the problem, George. Do you recall having a conversation with the Secretary of State yesterday?”
“I do...only it wasn't yesterday, it was just after midnight today, my time.”
“Yes...well, it seems you've crossed swords with Madam Secretary of State, and she didn't like it. She went to the President, and the President called the Secretary of Defense, and the SECDEF called me. Now George, I know you well enough to know you don't go out of your way to tick somebody off, especially somebody with as much clout as she has. What in the world did you say to her?”
General Grisham shook his head and rolled his eyes. Then he sighed quite audibly before speaking. “General McKee...what I said was inconsequential. It's what she said that's got the water boiling there at the Pentagon.
“The reason she called me to task is that she claimed I was intruding on her turf...meddling in international diplomacy. Well, I told her that was nonsense...and what I was doing was fully within the scope of my duties as CinC CENTCOM...and I left it at that. End of story.”
“Uh...George, listen...the SECDEF took a real beating from the President on this,” Admiral Stratton said. “They're both pretty rankled. SECDEF says the Secretary of State got information about an operation you have going in Iraq, and she was embarrassed she didn't know anything about it. And the fact is, neither did the Secretary of Defense, George...neither did any of us. What's going on?”
“I wouldn't call it an operation, Admiral. The matter is so small I didn't think it was worth reporting until I had something to put in the report. I've got just one man doing some on-site intel gathering and recon...that's it.” He watched the faces of the men in the other conference room, but he couldn't tell what they were thinking.
“What's this Marine looking for that the UN inspectors can't find or you can't get through satellites, the CIA, DIA, or allied channels?” General McKee asked.
“Uh...well...I'd prefer not to go into that right now, sir. I'd like you to take my word that it can wait until I get more information to—”
“George, cut the bull. She told us you've got a man inside Iraq looking for nukes. And she says she heard it first from the Prime Minister of Israel. If the Prime Minister of Israel knows it, so does the entire Middle East. Now tell us...is it true that your one-man operation in Iraq is there to find Saddam's missing nuclear weapons?”
“You can't seriously think that's even remotely possible,” General Michaelson said.
“What are you asking of me, gentlemen?” Grisham said. “What does the SECDEF want?”
“He wants you to call off your operation immediately,” McKee said. “That means right now! And then—and I quote the Secretary of Defense, who left this room just minutes before we called you—‘Tell that knucklehead to get his rear end on the next flight out and report back here to the Pentagon. I want him in my office by this time tomorrow' Unquote.”
“But gentlemen, I can't call it off right now. I'm not even sure we can get in touch with my man, let alone pull him out, in such a short time.”
“Nothing's impossible, George,” said Admiral Stratton. “Listen...the SECDEF...well, I've never seen the Old Man so ticked with you—or with us, for that matter. He thinks we should've had a tighter rein on you.”
“You should have brought us into the loop, George,” General McKee said. “We might have been able to explain your plan a little better. But not knowing anything about it caught us all off guard, You'll have to make things right when you get here tomorrow.”
“But how can I get there tomorrow? I've got a serious mess here, gentlemen. A mess we're thi
s close to solving. General McKee...Admiral...gentlemen, I need your help. This problem you've given me is just about politics. I can apologize and explain my plan, but not now—or even tomorrow. Can't you buy me a little more time?”
“Sorry George. It's a direct order from SECDEF,” McKee said. “It's out of our hands. See you tomorrow. Call off the operation and get back here ASAP. That's an order.”
“I'll do my best, sir. Grisham out.”
He turned off the video and voice feed to the conferencing equipment and sat for a moment with his chin resting in his cupped hand.
Dear Lord, what do I do? How can I follow the order I've just been given without jeopardizing the lives of Pete and Rachel? God,...I need answers—quick.
The STU-III secure phone on the pedestal table in the corner buzzed. Grisham reached for it.
“General Grisham, this is the Comm Center signal operator. I have an incoming encrypted Iridium call from a Lieutenant Colonel Newman.”
“Put him on.”
There was the usual sound of the two encryption systems synchronizing, and then he heard Newman's excited voice.
“General, I think I've found the nukes!”
Grisham sighed and rubbed his forehead. “What have you got?”
“I just spoke with an Iraqi customs official...” Newman said something about radioactive cargo, some place in Syria, and some outfit called “International Scientific Trading.” He was speaking quickly. Then he started talking about the location in Syria where he thought the nukes were being held.
“Samir and Eli have been by this place hundreds of times. They can tell us everything we need to know.”
“Hold on...let me get a pen. I need to write this down,” General Grisham said. “You said that the name of this place is At Tanf? And it's in Syria, just across the border from Iraq.”
“Yes, sir, that's right. And I have the approximate coordinates where that building should be located—where we think the weapons are being stored. Do you think you can twist the tail of one of the spy birds and have it look down in that direction and see what it can make out?”
“Give me those coordinates.” The general wrote down the numbers that Newman read to him, and he read them back for accuracy. Then he said, “Let me look into this, and I'll get right back to you. Stand by where you are for about thirty minutes or so.”
When the call ended, General Grisham called out loudly, “Gunny! Are you still here?”
“Aye sir!”
“Walk with me to the command center. I'll tell you on the way what I need. And we've got to work fast!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
“I think our friend Colonel Newman may have found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
Petrol Oasis
Near Ar Rutbah, Iraq
Monday, 23 March 1998
1900 Hours, Local
Peter Newman and Samir were growing restless. Eli Yusef hadalready departed with Nazir in order to get him to the border outpostin time for his duty shift. Newman and Samir had intended to followshortly thereafter, but Grisham had ordered him to stay put. Now thetwo men had overstayed their refueling stop at the desert gas station and, as they feared, they were beginning to draw a certain amount of attention from the laborers and mechanics who worked there. They tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, but the traffic in the petrol station was beginning to dwindle as the sun set. If they didn't get moving soon, they would be on the highway headed for the border after the curfew, an invitation for far more attention than either man wanted.
As Newman checked his watch for the fifteenth time in as many minutes, his phone began to chirp. He immediately answered and waited for the encryption to sync.
“Sorry it took so long, Pete, but I think you may have found more than we hoped.”
“What do you mean, General?”
“Well, first, we got a real-time scan from a passing bird with a long lens, looking for buildings and an adjoining runway that fit the description your contact gave. While we were confirming we have the correct site, one of the techs remembered something GCHQ picked up while the Brits were doing their POW extract on Sunday the twenty-second. He recalled that they had observed transmissions from that same general area. This tech said they thought it was strange because the transmissions were coming from Marconi DM-3 UHF hand-held radios in the NATO broadcast spectrum—and they were coming from At Tanf. Didn't you tell me those were the radios the terrorists holding Rachel were carrying?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Well, he just checked with GCHQ. Those transmissions have been emanating from that site almost nonstop since Sunday. And this afternoon, one of them broadcast the following message...now where did I put it?” Newman could hear the sound of papers rustling on the
general's end of the circuit. “Here it is...‘Mr. Dotensk says the general wants the women to have a shower every day and fresh clothing every two days.' Pete, it looks and sounds to me like we've found both the nukes and Rachel.”
Newman leaned forward in the seat, his head almost touching the dashboard. “Are you sure, sir?”
“Well, Pete, I can't prove it, but my gut tells me this is right. It's the same name as the fellow your border guard mentioned. So it's the right place for the nukes. And then, the reference to ‘the general' and ‘the women’—somehow I just have this feeling this transmission is also about Rachel and her friend.”
“Thank God!”
“We're checking now, but it appears everything we're looking for is right there in one place—and it doesn't seem to be going anywhere.”
“Sir...I can't believe it! That's the best news I've had all week. Now all we need to figure out is how to get the nukes and the women out of there.”
“Pete...listen to me. We need to think this through very carefully. If we're right, this may be a whole lot bigger than anyone ever imagined. If we're correct, and Rachel and her friend are being held in the same place as the nuclear weapons, then this man Dotensk is somehow affiliated with your old nemesis Komulakov. That could mean there's some kind of official Russian connection to the whole thing—including the sale of Russian nukes elsewhere.”
“General, I don't want you to think I'm going off half-cocked, but I don't think this is going to keep very long. What are the possibilities you can get me some help, sir? Do we have any idea how many bad guys there are at this facility outside of At Tanf ? We can't let this wait too long. The Iraqi customs fellow I talked to says those three crates—which are undoubtedly the nukes—are going to be brought back into Iraq in a matter of days.”
There was a pause at the other end.
“Colonel, I don't know how to tell you this. I've been given a direct order to end your mission. It was supposed to end an hour ago. And I'm supposed to be catching the next flight back to Washington.”
“What...How can they—?”
“Pete...there's nothing I can do to help you in the next twenty-four hours. I'll have to go upstairs to get the kind of help we need, considering the international consequences of what you've found. Let's pray these characters don't move the nukes or the women in the next twenty-four hours. As soon as I get to Washington for some face time with the SECDEF and/or the President, we'll figure out a way to do this job. Until then, I'm asking you just to hang loose. I know that that's not going to be easy...but for reasons I can't go into now, it looks as if I'm going to have to do this one strictly by the book.”
TOUGH CHOICES
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Duvdevan HQ
Tel-Nof, Israel
Monday, 23 March 1998
1915 Hours, Local
Major Ze'ev Rotem sat deep in thought at a desk in the Special Operations Command Center with his hands clasped below his chin. Displayed on the desk in front of him were printouts of the satellite images of the Jericho 2 training exercise held earlier that day. The satellite photos showed very clearly that six of the transporter-erector-launcher vehicles were in place, ready for the laun
ch procedures. The Jericho 2 base at Zachariah housed some fifty nuclear missiles; the six in place for a launch were enough to do horrific damage anywhere within a range of fifteen hundred to four thousand kilometers.
The warheads on these ballistic missiles put every square inch of Iraq within reach of Israel's nuclear arsenal. And Rotem knew the Jericho 2 rockets in the photos on his desk could also reach targets in Pakistan, Egypt, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, Chechnya, Uzbekistan, Yemen, and Kuwait.
Although the satellite pictures were clear, Major Rotem wished he had copies of some IRS-C high-resolution off-nadir prints from one of India's new satellites. The Indian Defense attaché had shown him a sample a year ago, and it offered not only higher image clarity but also a 3-D “slant-view” of the geography around the TELs deployed at Zachariah. Rotem liked this perspective better for evaluating an area's vulnerability to attack.
Unlike the U.S. and Russians, Israel had no weapons on submarines or in hardened nuclear missile silos with blast doors that could withstand a nearby nuclear hit. Confronted by the stark realities of size, geology, and enemies on every side, Israel had opted instead to mount its strategic deterrent missiles on mobile launchers—the TELs—stored for protection in reinforced limestone caves. But what Rotem and few others knew was that the protection afforded by these reinforced caves was wholly inadequate if a nuclear weapon detonated nearby.
The IDF major was also worried that if India could watch Israel's Jericho 2 launch exercises, it was entirely possible that a half dozen other countries, including the French, could also.
If the French have a satellite shot of this, would they share it with the Iraqis? Knowing what he did about certain French financial and business interests in Iraq, he felt he knew a potential answer to that question.
Rotem had checked the intel just an hour ago. The most recent pass by an Israeli satellite showed no new activity in Iraq. There were no communications intercepts or agent reports indicating the deployment of Iraqi Scuds or any heightened level of alert in their Rocket Forces.
