by Tom Clancy
Another characteristic the Russian Republic shared with its Communist predecessor was that it demanded long hours and hard work from its Foreign Service officers. One of Rogov's many duties was maintaining contact with the hundred or so technicians down at Bushehr. Officially, they were independent contract hires, working directly for Iran's Energy Ministry. Some of them had Ukrainian or Kazakhstan passports, but the project was based on an agreement between Russia and Iran, and the Iranians expected the Russian Embassy to keep the men happy, healthy, and out of trouble. No women were permitted, an irrational and unfortunate local custom, Rogov thought.
Several times a year, the various team leaders flew up to Teheran for an extended debriefing with Rogov. This was also an opportunity to update and check the contingency plans for an emergency evacuation of the crew in the event of a military or political crisis. Rogov's contacts in Bahrain and Dubai maintained a fleet of small speedboats, normally employed in the lucrative trans-Gulf smuggling trade, but instantly on call if it became necessary to clear out. Lev Davidovich Telfian was an ethnic Armenian, but his people had lived in Novorossiysk for generations, and he was a Russian citizen. His job at the plant was Training Manager, which gave him unusual freedom to move about, and a wide range of close personal contacts with Iranians on the site. He was one of Rogov's best informants. Unfortunately, this trip Telfian had had nothing new to report regarding the SVR's highest collection priority, the Chinese and North Koreans who occupied a separate, heavily guarded compound on the military base adjacent to the plant. As Rogov sipped his tea and re-read the report, he knew that there was something here. Or perhaps, the absence of something? He decided to send an Eyes Only message to SVR headquarters, and let them try to sort it out.
Iranian Ministry of Machinery Automobile Plant #3, near Bandar al Abbas, September 5th, 2006
Wendy Kwan sat uncomfortably in the director's lobby of Iran's newest automobile plant, carefully sipping a cup of tea. One of CNN's top foreign correspondents, she was here to interview the Iranian Minister of Machinery, as well as the factory manager. The American trade embargo, dating back to the 1990s Clinton Administration, had been tough on Iranians, but their response had surprised Western observers. Rather than knuckling under, they had launched a modest industrialization program, which had grown dramatically in the last few years. Plant #3 was the prototype, based on the latest Japanese flexible manufacturing techniques. It was configured to produce everything from new automobiles to tractors and other heavy equipment. It could also produce combat vehicles. Though her current beat was financial news, Wendy had started as a Far East correspondent fifteen years before, and she knew more than she wanted to know about military hardware. The interview went almost too well. Both men and their assistants (bodyguards?) were pleasant. This put her ill at ease. She was not on some Wall Street trading floor. Here, she could disappear at the whim of one of these men. Today, however, no problems developed. Following the interview, they escorted her and the camera crew on a factory tour.
It was impressive. She was surprised by the sophistication of the technology. The Iranians had made deals with companies in Russia and the former Soviet Republics for start-up capital in trade for a guaranteed flow of equipment at favorable prices. All around, brand-new robots and computer workstations were being installed. Every piece of equipment, she was told, was tied into a central computer, which held a complete design database for every product built on the line. As they passed the Engineering Department, she noted that the doors all had cipher locks, and that a plainclothes guard seemed to be checking workers' ID badges before they went in. Rather odd for an automobile plant, she thought. Then, as she was finishing up her close-out shot for the story, she saw on the edge of her vision someone who made her blood run cold. Trying not to look again, she calmly told the crew to pack up and head back to the airport. Only after they had returned to Bahrain that evening did she even allow herself to think about the man she had seen.
Wendy had first seen him ten years earlier. In those days, Professor Kim Ha Soon had been a top physicist in North Korea's now-dead nuclear weapons program. And he had led the delegation that negotiated away that program for energy and food supplies at the end of the Cold War. Wendy had covered those talks with CNN's field team. She never forgot the war scare that swept the Korean Peninsula back in 1994 and 1995. She had seen him then, and remembered rumors around the press pool. Not only was Kim the brains behind their uranium enrichment program, he had also devised the deception and cover plan that had hid the Korean effort for years. Now he was at an Iranian automobile plant, coming out of a security zone, talking with the plant director. She decided to make a quick detour through Washington, D.C., on the way home, and to take the master tape with her. Her old Georgetown University roommate was now an Army major working for the Defense Nuclear Agency at Fort Belvoir. Wendy thought she might be able to feed this to someone who could make use of it.
Iranian Ministry of Machinery Headquarters, Teheran, Iran, September 15th, 2006
The Iranian Minister of Machinery sat in a high-backed chair and looked over a thick file folder of material about the "Special Machinery" project at Bushehr. So far security had held, and with only three months to completion, there appeared to be nothing to be concerned about. The CNN interview had shown only what he had wanted them to show, and his own performance had been both soothing and convincing. The image was exactly what he wanted — that his ministry was merely overseeing a plucky country's industrial program, trying to overcome the shackles of an unjust embargo. His own lack of military service (he had trained as a mechanical engineer in France) meant that he probably was not known beyond a thin file at CIA headquarters. He had never been politically active, and was considered rather boring in most trade circles. He was, he thought with a thin smile, the perfect cover for a nuclear weapons program.
The smallest details of security had been considered. For example, graduate students at several Iranian universities published scientific papers on nuclear physics under the names of key scientists in the program, so that their absence would not be noticed by Western scientists. Best of all, it was a small program, with just the two facilities at Bushehr and Bandar al Abbas on the coast 320 miles/512 kilometers to the southwest. Thanks to the new laser-plasma isotope separation process and a secure central computer database, less than 250 personnel were involved.
A folder on the desk held the time line for the final three months of the first production run — a dozen boosted fission weapons with a nominal fifty-kiloton yield, based on an implosion design using plutonium. Half would arm a squadron of intermediate-range ballistic missiles (IRBMs), and the other six would become warheads of Russian-supplied AS-19 cruise missiles, for air-launch by Iran's SU-24 Fencer fighter bombers. These weapons would allow Iran to deter any aggression from the Americans or their Arab lackeys in the Gulf while even more powerful weapons and delivery systems were developed by his ministry.
It had taken a long time. Almost fifteen years earlier, he had read the papers written by his good friend, now-Colonel Gholam Hassanzadeh. Armed with these, he had gone to an old mentor in the Defense Ministry with the proposal for a careful and discreet program to build nuclear warheads and delivery systems. It would take time and patience, but the plan would yield results. The Defense Ministry had entrusted him with industrial responsibility for the project, while Colonel Hassanzadeh handled security. That made them two of the most important men in Iran.
Now the project was about to bear fruit. He looked at the time lines with satisfaction, and mentally reviewed the schedules. Final assembly of the weapons was timed for the American holidays at the end of the year, when their attention would be focused on that bizarre form of football they worshipped more than their God. Over the Thanksgiving weekend, the components for the warheads would be moved from the fabrication shop at Automobile Plant #3 to the nuclear plant at Bushehr, where the plutonium was being extracted from the last batch of fuel rods from the twin reactors.
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Starting on Christmas Eve, twelve warheads would be assembled in a special facility at Bushehr, over a period of seven days. Finally, the warheads would be brought back to the auto plant for mating to the IRBMs and AS-19s, with delivery to operational units the following day. Once the weapons were deployed, there would be a declaration that Iran was a nuclear power and would no longer submit to unfair treaties or agreements imposed by Western powers. From that moment, they would be the regional superpower. The Iranian people would again be able to seek their destiny, without interference by outsiders.
Russian Embassy, Teheran, Iran, September 26th, 2006
To Yuri Andreevich Rogov, sitting in his embassy office, the CD-ROM in his hand felt like a disk of deadly plutonium. It might as well have been, for it held the very documents and diagrams that the Machinery Minister had been reviewing the night before. The disk had been smuggled out of Bushehr in an audio CD case, labeled as Armenian folk music. Someone had copied an actual audio CD, adding written data to the outside tracks. The disk had been passed to Telfian covertly by one of the Pakistani technicians in the secure area, while they had been in the cafeteria together. Telfian had had no idea what it was at first — not until he inserted the disk into his multimedia laptop computer to listen to it, and accidentally found the data files. Telfian had then used a special code phrase whereby the embassy could request his recall on a phony family emergency. He gave the disk to Rogov, then returned the next day to Bushehr to maintain the cover for the brave Pakistani. Now Rogov had the problem of getting the disk back to SVR headquarters in Moscow. There was really only one way. He made reservations on an Aeroflot flight home in two days, so as not to appear too eager.
Defense Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Bolling AFB, near Washington, D.C., September 30th, 2006
The chairman of the Counterproliferation Coordinating Committee brought the meeting to order, and quickly summarized the data the Russians had forwarded that morning. Combined with other bits and pieces that had come in, they now had a full picture of how Iran planned to join the nuclear "club." The documents detailed an exquisite deception and security plan. The Iranians had purchased daily 1-meter-resolution commercial satellite imagery covering every base in the Western world that supported special operations forces. The list read like a mailing roster for a snake-eaters convention. Fort Bragg, North Carolina; Hurlbert Field, Florida; the SEALs training base at Coronado, California. Even the garrison and training facilities for the British SAS and German GSG-9. They had arranged for Iranian nationals to emigrate to each nation and set up businesses, usually things like dry cleaners and pizza-takeout shops, just outside the bases themselves. The Iranian agents reported home though a complex E-mail path over the Internet using encrypted messages. It was an almost perfect system, and it would be noticed immediately if one of the agents were arrested. The result was that special operations units which could neutralize the Iranian weapons program were covered with an Iranian surveillance blanket, making surprise impossible.
What made the situation worse for the intelligence types was that they had done their job. Thanks to their efforts to bring together the intelligence community and build relationships with past enemies, they had achieved an intelligence coup. Yet because of the Iranians' patience and care, it seemed as if nothing could be done. But unless they did something radical soon, the balance of power in the Middle East was about to take a dangerous tilt. The Marine lieutenant colonel broke the gloom with a comment about the Iranian surveillance list. Nowhere on it was even one U.S. Marine Corps base.
Fleet Marine Force Atlantic Headquarters, Naval Station Norfolk, Virginia, October 5th, 2006
Dr. Kennelly and Lieutenant Harris were both wondering what they were doing in the secure conference room of the Fleet Marine Force Atlantic (FMFLANT) headquarters this fine day. The heat and humidity of summer had finally broken, and you could almost feel fall in the air. In the room with them were a number of Navy, Air Force, and Marine officers, none over the rank of colonel or captain. Precisely at 0800, the brigadier who served as deputy commander FMFLANT rose and went to the podium. He pushed a button to display a briefing slide onto the large-screen projector to the side of him.
"Ladies and gentleman, we have here an opportunity to excel…."
Everyone in the room tensed up, knowing exactly what that kind of invitation meant. As he outlined the situation at Bushehr and Bandar al Abbas, you could feel the anxiety in the room rise. Dr. Kennelly wondered if this was how it felt back in 1949 when the first Soviet A-bomb test was announced. If the data was correct, a new nuclear power would be born in just three months. The fact that he had contributed to the discovery just made him sicker. What the general had to say next stunned them even more:
"Your job is to stop this program, and bring home irrefutable evidence of what the Iranians have been up to."
He flipped through his charts, and the officers made furious notes on the hard-copy charts that had been supplied to them. A Marine colonel spoke next.
"Sir, am I to understand that the 22nd MEU (SOC) is the only element of the force that will actually be in the Gulf itself?"
The reply came quickly. "Yes, Colonel, you'll relieve the 31st as scheduled, with the extra training and support that we have described here previously. Other than that, we want nothing of this operation to ever touch ground in the region. We're trying to provide complete deniability for the Saudis and our other friends. The President, the Congressional leadership, and the Joint Chiefs are all behind this one, and they want it to go off smoothly. Any questions?"
"How about the name of the operation sir?"
The General replied with a smile, "Back in the 90s, the old-time intelligence analysts called this plant 'the Dead Dog.' When we get done with it, it's going to be a Chilly Dog!"
There was a long pause, after which the colonel replied, "Semper Fi, sir!"
Aboard USS Bataan (LHD-5), off the North Carolina Coast, November 1st, 2006
"All right, ladies and gentlemen, this is our final confirmation brief before we do this run-through for the last time. Are we clear on all the important points?" Colonel Mike Newman was going over the last of his briefing slides.
The young captain commanding Charlie Company replied, "Yes, sir. The last time showed that we're good on time and tasks, but we need to work on order and flow?"
"That's right, Jimmy. It's not so much that you're doing anything wrong; it's just that I want to see you guys flowing like black ink through the compound mock-ups. There's nothing we can do about being noticed eventually. I just want to delay the inevitable as long as possible, so the diversion force can really get the attention of that battalion on the north side of the access road." He stopped, and then his face wrinkled into a thinly veiled grin. "I want them giving their full attention to defending their own barracks," he continued, "and not bothering with a few guys in black jumpsuits." He finished with: "Let's do it right this last time, and put it into the can, folks!"
The last run-through was nearly perfect, good enough to satisfy Colonel Newman and the SOTG observers. With this part of the preparation completed, and the procedures for the disposal of the defensive oil platforms dealt with, they would be ready to deploy in early December.
Warhead Assembly Room, Bushehr, Iran, December 4th, 2006
The Machinery Minister looked around with satisfaction at the twelve warhead assembly bays that were being finished. The movement of parts from the automobile factory had gone without incident, and the last phase of the plutonium extraction process had begun on time. In three weeks, a dozen nuclear weapons would take shape in this room, and there was nothing that the infidels or anyone else could do about it. That morning, he had received an intelligence briefing from his assistant at the ministry. The young man had a gift for this work, and amazingly, did absolutely nothing that was illegal in any country. The 1-meter-satellite imagery was acquired from a half-dozen different providers from France to the People's Republic of China. Data on movement
s by military units was also available over the Internet; it was as good as what most intelligence analysts saw in their morning briefings.
There was absolutely no indication of anything unusual at the bases where enemy special forces were plying their trade. In fact, there was a steady decline of military activity by the U.S. and her allies around the world. Even the U.S. Air Force, with its boast of "global reach," had been cutting back. The only matter of note that would be happening in the next month was a handover between two token Marine units in the Gulf. Nothing to worry about: only a single battalion aboard three ships with a couple of escorts. The carrier battle group based around the USS Constellation (CV-64) would be operating out in the Arabian Sea, and would not enter the Persian Gulf on this cruise. It was going to work.
Onslow Beach, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, December 7th, 2006
It was deployment day, and Captain Bill Hansen had the double problem of saying good-bye to his own wife and baby daughter, and getting his company of fifteen amphibious tractors aboard the USS Trenton (LPD-14). He would have the honor of taking the first unit of AAAVs out on cruise. He knew the real reason for this honor. Unlike others who had taken new systems to sea for the first time, he knew he would be taking this one into battle in just a few weeks. Luckily, the new vehicle had proven pretty reliable in field trials, and he had four contractor technicians to keep them in good shape.
His concentration was broken suddenly by the buzz of twin turboprops, and he looked up just in time to see Lieutenant Colonel Colleen Taskins banking her MV-22B Osprey to the north, followed by three other Ospreys from HMM-263. She had a fifteen-minute flight ahead, and then a landing aboard Bataan. He smiled, because Taskins faced the same problem he did. Though the Osprey had been in service for a few years, this would probably be its first combat trial. Lieutenant Colonel Taskins had been chosen as the first woman to command a Marine combat helicopter unit; now she would likely be the first female to command a Marine unit in actual combat. Not that this was a problem: Inside the pixie-faced lady who could turn the head of every male Marine in the MEU (SOC) was the heart of a warrior. He also knew that if something went wrong at Bushehr, she would be the first one in the air to come pick them up. Shaking the thought off, he climbed into his AAAV, and ordered the driver to head into the surf.
