The Hand of Christ

by Joseph Nagle

  The President spoke, “Thank you, Mrs. Childs. Everyone, please find your seats. As we begin, I need not remind you that everything we speak of today is classified. You will not speak to the media or anyone else that is not in this room unless I have explicitly authorized it. If it comes to my attention that this order has been disobeyed, the guilty party will be immediately relieved of their position and duties. Do I make myself clear?”

  A flurry of nods in the affirmative and “Yes, Mr. Presidents” could be seen and heard by those in attendance.

  “We are here for the second time today to discuss a matter of grave importance. As you all know, the attack by Hezbollah on peace talks at Umayyad led to the deaths of nearly all in attendance including the US Ambassador to Syria. Almost two hours later, the Ayatollah of Iran was assassinated. Iran has placed the blame of both events on the United States.”

  His response unprompted, Dr. Montag, the head of the National Security Council voiced loudly, “Utterly ridiculous!”

  The President raised his hand acknowledging the man, but had no intention of responding to him directly, and said to all those in attendance, “All of you sat here when President Ahmad demanded that we hand over Dr. Sterling in forty-eight hours. I have no intention of doing so. Ladies and Gentlemen, because of Ahmad’s belief that the US was behind the attack and the assassination, war has been declared on our country.”

  The anxiety of those present amplified.

  “Mr. President?” the Secretary of State stood up and asked, “Do you intend to respond with the same declaration? Are we going to declare war on Iran?”

  “No, Mr. Secretary, we are not. We will, however, respond by positioning some of our fleets within striking distance of Iran’s borders. Our message will not be that of a timid dog with his tail between his legs. We will not declare war, but we also will not sit idly.”

  “But, Mr. President,” the Secretary of State continued, “that will be an overt and aggressive action; it would be interpreted as a military action that may precede a strike. I suggest that we consult with the United Nations first, open diplomatic channels to Iran.”

  The President had already thought of this and responded, “There isn’t time, Mr. Secretary. Your suggestions have already been considered. Diplomatic channels have already failed, they want Sterling. It seems that the clock is ticking.”

  “Then why not just give them Sterling?” The suggestion by the DHS appalled a number of those in the room including the highest ranking military officer in attendance, General Zachary Diedrick.

  The enraged Chairman of the Joint Chiefs stood and shouted out, just short of a reprimand, “Are you serious, you would have us hand over one of our fellow Americans as if he is just a chip to barter with? Dr. Sterling is a solider, a patriot, and a legend; he is one of the finest Americans to walk our land! He has done more to keep this country safe from terrorists than most of us in this room combined! Further, the man is innocent. He had nothing to do with the assassination! How could you even mouth, much less, think of such an idiotic suggestion?”

  The DHS rose to his feet and spat out to the Chairman, “General, we have no proof that Sterling wasn’t the killer other than a verbal report by the CIA that he was in Damascus. He works for the CIA; they would say anything to keep their name clear of this, to keep a black operation secret! The CIA never admits when they have failed!”

  Director Fundamen could feel his own temper beginning to fume from the DHS’s declaration about his beloved CIA. The CIA always admits its failures just never its successes. He decided it was better to stay in his seat and let this argument play out. Pick your battles, he thought.

  The DHS continued his rant, “Dr. Sterling is just one man; we have a nation to protect! War would lead to tens of thousands of American servicemen’s deaths, all of them soldiers and patriots. The potential deaths do not even take into consideration the number of civilian lives that would be lost. We could demand that he receive a fair trial, involve the UN as arbitrators. This is a better option than another war! We are already stretched thin with Iraq and Afghanistan!”

  Tempers were flaring; others were readying themselves to jump into the argument.

  “Gentlemen!” The President was on his feet and boomed at the men, “Knock it off, both of you!” Pointing at the DHS he commanded, “Take your seat at once!”

  The Director immediately sat down; the General was still on his feet.

  The President continued, “This meeting will be handled in a civil fashion. All opinions are welcomed, but I will not tolerate belligerence or ignorance. As I had made clear a moment ago, we will not hand over Dr. Sterling. That is a more appalling option than war; we are not in the business of deciding which American life is more valuable.”

  The President was staring, more like glaring, directly at the DHS, “Further, I believe Dr. Sterling to be innocent and trust the word of Director Fundamen.”

  The Director couldn’t help but smile.

  “The man is not a criminal and will not be treated as one. I should not have to remind any of you that The United States does not negotiate with terrorists or with terrorist backing nations: not now, not ever.”

  The DHS was growing red and slumped deep into his chair having been shamed by the President. General Diedrick silently gloated having always disliked the bantering ego of the sniveling and unnecessary Director of Homeland Security. What a worthless position, he thought.

  Behind the President, the largest of the room’s six LCD screens lit up, on it was a map of Iran. At the direction of the President, General Diedrick walked to the screens; he picked up the wireless remote from the audio/visual podium at the front of the room and used it to control the images on the screen.

  He pointed the remote at the screen, which now showed what appeared to be columns of military vehicles moving along a highway, and said, “These images are live satellite footage of Iran, right now it is late morning in the region. The Islamic Republic of Iran Army is moving west and en masse.”

  The General walked to the LCD panel, and placed one of his long lean fingers over a number of vehicles, “These transport vehicles are carrying Shahab-2 and Shahab-3 missiles.”

  “Excuse me, General?”

  General Diedrick turned toward the Secretary of State and replied, “Yes, sir?”

  “General, how do you know those are Shahab’s and not just a flat bed of supplies? They are under large tarps.”

  “Mr. Secretary,” the head of the NRO interrupted and stood to his feet to answer the question, “certain NRO satellite technologies are able to see thermal and infrared images beneath cover.”

  General Diedrick, as if prompted by an unspoken cue, pointed the remote at the LCD screen, and the cover over the Iranian missiles faded and became nearly see-through.

  The head of NRO continued, “These images come from a satellite that is code named LACROSSE; as you all can clearly see, these are missiles.”

  Those in the room seeing the technology for the first time were mesmerized by the images on the screen that were clearly missiles.

  “But, General,” the Secretary of State continued and re-directed his questions back to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, “in your briefings on Iran’s military capabilities, you have stated that Shahab’s have a limited range. If I remember correctly, you have said that their effectiveness is only between three-hundred and thirteen-hundred kilometers. What is the large concern? The Iranians couldn’t possibly get one to the US.”

  “Mr. Secretary, that is correct. Shahab’s are not the concern; I believe they are in the column for air defense,” replied General Diedrick.

  General Diedrick clicked a button on the remote and a second LCD panel on the side of the room displayed the schematics of a Shahab, “Here, you can see that this missile uses a rocket-nozzle steering method which is retro-fitted onto the Shahab. Our intelligence has reports that the missile’s guidance system has been reconfigured to be used for long range missile defense.”
/>   “Like our Patriot missile system?”

  “That’s right;” returning to the satellite images, “under the Shahabs in the column are Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) platforms. These missiles are ready for use and can be fired from this platform for missile air defense right now.”

  “You said air defense, General,” it was the Vice President’s turn to ask a question. “That would imply that they are being positioned to defend something on the ground from an air attack, what would that be?”

  General Diedrick sighed deeply, “Mr. Vice President, this is what is most disturbing.”

  He pressed another button on the remote and a circle with cross-hairs appeared on the large LCD screen. Able to move the circle with the remote, the General positioned the cross-hairs over the middle of the column and zoomed in on a large number of odd looking vehicles in the column.

  “General, what are those?” The question was coming from the President as he leaned forward to garnish a better look.

  “Mr. President, those are Russian 16-wheeled MZKT Transporter Erector Launchers. On top of each of them is the Ghadr-110X; they area an experimental version of the Ghadr-110 and each would appear to be nuclear tipped. The Shahabs in the column would be used to defend these missiles.”

  The Situation Room was instantly enveloped in loud voices at the revelation that these were nuclear missiles at which they all stared. Voices rose until they were screaming over others, shouting questions at the General.

  The Director of Homeland Security bellowed antagonistically at the General, “What the fuck do you mean nuclear tipped, I thought the Iranians weren’t nuclear capable? That’s what you’ve been telling us and the press for years!”

  The President had enough of the inexorable, child-like rants of his staff, in particular, of those from the DHS; his meetings would not be hallmarked by irrational finger pointing and a lack of control. Jumping to his feet he boomed, “Enough!”

  Everyone in the room halted whatever words were about to come out of their mouths and stared with fear at their President. Straightening his tie and the sleeves of his coat, the President calmly commanded those present in the Situation Room to take their seats, and then said, “If I have to pass an executive order requiring you to raise your hands and be called on like third graders, so help me, I will!”

  Mrs. Childs stirred slightly in her seat smiling at her President, even feeling a bit aroused by the powerful man. Enough of that, what would Mr. Childs think? Subtly she cleared her throat and straightened her posture to a more dignified manner. Her icy gaze returned, but her cheeks bore the hallmarks of being slightly flush.

  Turning to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the President asked, “General, I have been briefed during both of my terms that Iran is nowhere near nuclear capable. Please do not offer any conjecture, we are well beyond that point. Iran has openly declared war upon the United States, and now you are telling me, all of us, that Iran has nuclear weapons. Please explain.”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Returning his focus to the display the General continued, “the Ghadr-110 only has a three-thousand kilometer range, but this experimental version is a true Inter-Continental Ballistic Missile (ICBM) with a range that would bring the Ghadr to the doorstep of every major city in the United States.”

  Around the room the faces of powerful men and women looked sheepish and were still working to process what they heard.

  With a bit of trepidation, the DHS raised his hand creating a fraction of levity but only slightly breaking the disquietude of the room.

  “Yes, John, what is your question?”

  The DHS stood up and questioned the General, “How can you be certain that these weapons are actually nuclear tipped and have the capability of striking the US from Iranian soil?”

  The President responded first, “That was precisely my next question, John. General?”

  The General looked toward the head of the NRO who, in turn, rose from his seat once more and walked to the front of the room.

  Answering for the General, the head of the NRO briefed the room, “Mr. Director, Mr. President, as you know we have been monitoring the nuclear program of Iran for some time. It wasn’t until today, when our analysts first took a look at these images, that we could confirm what we now know. Iran is indeed nuclear.”

  The head of the NRO looked a bit unsteady, as if he really wanted to be anywhere but in the Situation Room.

  He pointed to the body of one of the Ghadr-110X missiles and noted, “The engine assembly is clearly Russian made; I suspect a derivative of the RD-170 made by Energomash, and modeled after the cold launched Topol-M ICBM. Infrared satellite imagery is able to see and measure the three-stage APCP solid propellant system. The readings show high levels of Ammonium Perchlorate, Hydroxyl-terminated Polybutadiene, and traces of aluminum. This is the propellant system required for inter-continental flight; it is quite obvious that Iran has the technology that gives them the capability of delivering a missile to North America.”

  “And what of these rockets makes you believe that they are nuclear tipped?” The DHS was still on his feet and clearly believed that he still commanded the floor; he had quickly moved away from raising his hand to ask a question.

  “Their configuration is precisely that used for Russian nuclear ICBM’s, and our satellites are also able to measure the level of radioactivity emitted from the warhead.”

  The head of the NRO paused for a moment knowing full well that he was about to deliver the worst information that the men and women in Situation Room have ever heard. He zoomed in onto the rounded tip of one of the Ghadr’s, “This image shows that each rocket has six warheads, two of them are counter measures. There are twelve rockets for a total of forty-eight nuclear warheads. Each warhead is a MIRV, a Multiple Independently targetable Reentry Vehicle; Ladies and Gentlemen, these are nuclear weapons and each warhead can be guided to multiple targets in the United States – forty eight targets to be exact.”

  “Good God, how could we not have known of this?” The President’s question was on more minds than just his.

  Slowly the Director of the CIA raised his eyes to the room. He truly hated that he had to do this, and had hoped this day would never come. Clearing his throat, he gathered the attention of those in the room and stated quite clearly to the stunned audience, “Mr. President, we did.”

  The instant tension was thick and more than palpable. The mouths of many were now hanging agape at what the Director just said.

  Director Fundamen continued, “Mr. President, I suggest we dismiss everyone from this room except for the National Security Council. This information is compartmentalized.”

  The President of the United States fumed internally, but was in control externally; he eyed Director Fundamen very carefully. Before saying anything, he took his time to think clearly; after a few long moments, and without removing his eyes from the Director, he spoke, “Do as the Director suggests, all of you.”

  Mrs. Childs rose to her feet and efficiently moved everyone into the hall. As she was about to close the door, Ron Willis rushed down the hall and was able to stop her from closing it completely.

  “What’s going on? Why is everyone leaving?”

  “The President asked only for the members of the National Security Council to be present. That would include you, Mr. Willis; so glad that you could finally join us.” Pushing him through, she closed the doors.

  “She must leave, too, Mr. President,” Director Fundamen had made his way to the exit and had re-opened the door holding it open for Mrs. Childs. She stared at the President in protest. The President nodded for her to oblige and begrudgingly she left.

  “Sorry, sir, I was on the road when I heard the news of the briefing, I got here as fast as I could.”

  The President looked at Ron and pointed for him to take his seat and then turned his attention to the Director, “Dick, this had better be good, I just asked a large number of very powerful people to leave a briefing that each one feels adam
ant that they should be attending. Explain.”

  Director Fundamen cleared his throat once more, this time with a hint of apprehension. What he would tell the President might very well end his career, “Sir, nearly six years ago, at the beginning of your first term and discussed with the outgoing president, the CIA conducted an operation, in which very few participated. The operation was codenamed “Merlin.”

  “Dick, this operation, what was its objective?” asked the President.

  Ron sat next to his Director unsure how the topic of Operation Merlin had been raised, and just how much of Operation Merlin he would divulge to the men left in the Situation Room.

  “Sir, Operation Merlin was designed to slow down Iran’s production of nuclear weapons. Over three decades ago, after the Shah was deposed, the new Islamic Republic of Iran had commenced to build a nuclear power plant in Bushehr with the help of the Russians. Bushehr is a southwestern city that lies on the Persian Gulf. In 1975 the German firm Kraftwerk-Union AG signed a deal with the Iranians to build two nuclear reactors at Bushehr, but the contract was cancelled after Iran defaulted on overdue payments. They owed the Germans around $450 million at the time. When the Germans ceased the build, one reactor was only 50% complete, and the other 85% complete.”

  The Vice President piped in, “These reactors were damaged in the eighties by Iraqi air strikes during the Iran-Iraq war, and they were being built solely for domestic energy production. Are you saying that they were secretly rebuilt under our noses and now produce nuclear weapons?”

  “Not exactly, Mr. Vice President. In 1995 the Iranians signed another deal with Russia to be supplied a Light Water Reactor (LWR) for the damaged plant at Bushehr. LWR’s use uranium 235 for fuel that is enriched to 3%, hardly the level of enrichment needed for weapons grade uranium.”

  The Director paused and stood to his feet, he always thought better while moving around. Slowly, he circled the massive table as he continued, “The LWR also uses uranium 238 to facilitate the fission process by converting it to plutonium 239. The agreement between Iran and Russia required that the spent fuel rods be sent back to Russia for reprocessing.”