by Rose Fox
They delayed the discussion regarding the attack on the reactors, planned to take place on the same day, of course, until a special meeting.
Over the past few days, Abigail led two groups of tourists to the Persian Gulf oilfields. To dispel possible suspicion, she also led a third group to the oil fields in the city of Qom. While touring Qom with her group, she noticed the gigantic pipes. She knew they carried oil from the island of Kharg in the Persian Gulf and wondered whether it wouldn’t be better to attack here. She decided to propose the idea at the next meeting.
Abigail joined the debate about the nuclear reactors. She had asked to attend to make a suggestion at the beginning of the meeting.
“After my last tour of the oil field at Qom, I thought it would actually be best to attack there.”
She looked at the others and added:
“Here, the oil is conveyed along enormous pipes and they would make an excellent target for sabotage.”
“But many oil tankers move around there,” Karma remarked.
“Precisely,” she replied. “A tanker like that would be….”
”But that isn’t the idea,” Bill interjected.
“Why not?”
“Have you forgotten that you are only supposed to create a distraction? The damage you are suggesting is superfluous. Make do with a diversionary tactic that’s all, Okay?”
Karma stared at Abigail. He believed she overestimated herself and considered suggesting that an additional person should join her on this assignment.
Abigail saw his look and it didn’t occur to her how much he still did not appreciate or acknowledge her abilities. She was almost convinced that he liked her and she smiled at him, knowing that her dimples were deepening in her cheeks. They had met several times and she noticed plainly that the man was not interested in strengthening their personal relationship. Karma made every effort to show her that their relationship began and ended with their work.
“Are you prepared for action?” She heard.
“Yes, of course. I’m leading a group on the same day and will remain there to carry out the job.”
“Don’t forget that it has to be a diversion, so be sure not to overdo it,” Bill warned.
That morning, as she faced the group of tourists, a bearded man remarked in a loud voice, as he tried to make himself heard above the banging of the drill.
“Hey, everything is black! Look, even the ground we’re walking on and the water in the bay.”
He pointed to the breakwater that stretched for a kilometer into the sea. It was imprinted with black in layers up to the mark of the lapping waters. The water colored the breakwater in shades of gray according to the rising and falling tides.
“Correct. That happens because that gigantic drill splits the levels of the earth as it penetrates it,” she explained, “When it succeeds in entering the pockets, the oil bursts out and turns everything black.”
A concrete wall surrounded the artificial island where the drilling tower stood. The wall created a lagoon of calm water that was undisturbed by currents, storms or ocean waves. Abigail asked the tourists:
“Who brought a swimsuit? This is your opportunity to splash around in this marvelous pool,” then quickly added:
“I’m joking, of course.”
Dozens of people were milling around busily on the island and a ship coasting around it sailed back and forth in slow circles as Abigail explained in a loud voice.
“The ship you see over there cruises between the island and the shore with supplies of fuel and everything else they need.”
A fully loaded tanker moved beside them and Abigail pointed eastwards in the direction of the dock at the port of Kharg.
“We are looking at one of the largest harbors in the world, in terms of the cargo and trucks that pass through it.”
At that moment, another huge semi-trailer overtook them and the people in her group called out in amazement at its size. It crossed Abigail’s mind that an attack on such a vehicle would be a better distraction than sabotaging the drilling rig. But, it was too late to change the plan and the assignment. As she stood with the members of her group, she checked the inspection route the guards were using and memorized it.
The bus reached the pick-up point, hooted and the members of the group hurried on board. Abigail climbed on to take leave of them after they were seated. She waited till the bus disappeared, then returned to the place she had prepared in advance, huddled up against the trunk of a tree and waited. She glanced around the area near the bank as she tried to commit every detail to memory and waited for nightfall.
The darkness was so thick that she could not see more than a meter ahead and she was grateful she remembered every corner of the area. The clanking of the oil rigs could be heard from all directions. The banging of the big drill, some fifty yards from the shore, drowned their clatter out.
She pulled a cloth bag, containing a small explosive device connected to a mobile telephone, out of her sleeve. The plan was to throw the bag on the island and then ignite it by dialing the numbers that created a triangle on the dialing pad, zero, one, and three. The firing pin would then detonate the explosive. The idea was that the explosion would disrupt the drilling operation and delay it for a day or, at best, two days.
An unexpected drizzle began and Abigail wiped her face with her sleeve, sniffed and moved cautiously among the rocks. She remembered the inspection route the guards took, very well. Toward evening, she noticed a man holding a dog on a leash and she prayed he wasn’t a guard. And, if he was a guard, then she prayed she would not meet up with him. She could hide from the man, but she could not hide from the sense of smell of his dog.
Abigail was unarmed. Sparks from gunfire would pinpoint her location. As usual, she placed a short rope of woven nylon cord inside her sleeve, which she relied on together with her training in Krav Maga, contact fighting, classes. Today, she smeared the cord with black mud to match the blackness around her.
Everything had been planned, including the withdrawal to the forest behind her and she was equipped with a sharp knife to cut her way through the snarled vegetation. She had learned the trails, the entrances and the exits from the forest and when she toured it with her groups she searched for additional paths to assure herself of an escape route. She never forgot the black marshes and swampy quicksand that lay to her left.
A tiny bright spot lit up suddenly, illuminated the sky for a few seconds and disappeared. Her first thought was that someone sitting there was inhaling a lit cigarette and she almost made a fatal mistake. It was an intentional trick. The dot of light came on every half hour to mislead uninvited guests and ultra-violet laser beams, undetectable to the human eye, were trained on her. At that moment, the screech of a nocturnal bird was heard but, the screech was too short and ended all at once, not as she might have expected. Abigail was a Bedouin, who had grown up in the desert and the sounds of animals in the wild were familiar to her and ingrained in her soul so she immediately thought:
‘Oh, God, something is happening here.’
She lay in the hollow between the rocks and thought about the connection between the dot of light and the screech of the nocturnal bird and decided to end the matter and flee from there. She crawled toward the water like a lizard, but the ground was muddy from the rain and made crawling difficult and it took longer than the time she had planned. She stopped to listen.
The rush of the waves sounded close to her ears and the salty smell of the water stung her nostrils. She pulled the bag out of her sleeve, got up on all fours and threw it forward with all her might, in the direction of the island. She immediately put her head on the ground, counted to three and dialed her phone.
A small glare sprayed sparks in the blackness of the night that looked like rudimentary fireworks while the monotonous pounding of the huge drill continued thudding as before. Nothing happened. Abigail twisted her lips in disappointment, got down on all fours again and crawled away. Suddenly a circle of yellow fire
rose up behind her as if it was being exhaled with a ‘pouf’, illuminated the night sky for a few seconds and dissolved. It was followed by the thunder of a massive explosion that emitted great shockwaves and Abigail fell on her face on the wet earth.
Orange fire burst upwards in surprise as if set off by a lighter and spread with lightning speed. The tongues of flame illuminated dark figures running around the island and a high-pitched siren wailed. In these few seconds, cars emerged from all directions, where their existence was not even noticeable earlier. The truth was that they had stood in readiness all night in preparation for the possibility that a fire could break out in a place that was redolent with the fumes of the inflammable fuel.
Abigail rose to her feet and ran like crazy. She passed rocks that had earlier provided her with cover and hurried to get away along the route she had prepared, between the trees of the forest as she illuminated its paths. She stopped beside a large shrub and pushed her way into it, peeping out from there as she hid in it. She gazed at the great fire that had overtaken the whole island and whose light penetrated the forest, illuminating its paths.
An enormous wall of vegetation blocked her way and Abigail had to cut through it, tearing an opening through the climbing stalks of giant vines. She pushed her way through them, struggled with the thorny bushes that wound round the branches of the trees, and moved on, puffing and panting.
The rain stopped, but everything was wet. Abigail straightened her headscarf and used it to wipe her face. In the distance, she saw beams of light from cars driving along the distant roadway, which gave her direction but was still too far away.
She marched for more than two hours while the flames rose up behind her and tinted the sky orange. She stopped and faced a wheat field that spread out in all directions. She looked up at the stars for orientation and crossed the field diagonally, in an easterly direction. The vegetation reached her chest and she forged a way through it. At times, she could not see anything beyond the high stalks and the orange sky above her. But, she listened to the sounds of the cars until she found herself at the end of the field, close to the tarred highway.
Headlights drew close to her from behind and she heard a car slowing down. Her heart pounded, but she continued walking, ignoring her curiosity to turn and look back. The vehicle kept following her and suddenly overtook her and she heard the voice of a woman call out to her.
“Hello, where are you going?”
Two women looked at her, one from behind the steering wheel. Abigail knew that it was not customary for women to drive and was surprised. The light from the fire raging behind her illuminated their faces moving from one to the other and the woman got out. She opened the rear door, inviting her in but Abigail raised her hand in refusal. When she turned away to continue walking, she heard the woman say:
“We are both from your group, but we did not get on the bus. We stayed here with you.”
Abigail turned to her considering whether to defend herself or play dumb and when the woman continued talking she caught on and understood who the two of them were.
“We come from the waterfall that fills the trapped lake. Do you remember? Aisha told us about you.” She got into the car without further hesitation.
They did not speak during the first few minutes and Abigail remembered the story of Aisha’s exceptional village of injured and disabled inhabitants. She wanted to ask how they had reached her and then heard one of them speak.
“I am Nadia and this is Kahida. We know that your name is Naima and we want you to join us.” The driver, Kahida, continued speaking.
“We have been following you for many days, actually, ever since you reached the region.”
Abigail kept silent and wondered what they actually knew about her and decided to remain silent and not identify herself but then thought that she ought to say something.
“The truth is that I am also from your group and I remained there,” she said. “But, I changed my mind because it was cold and rainy and also because of the fire that broke out there.”
“Congratulations, Naima,” Kahida said, ignoring Abigail’s remarks.
“If you like, you can join us now and, if not, let us know before you come to us.”
Abigail did not know that the people of the village were suspicious. They were considered outlaws and therefore zealously protected their closed society.
They continued driving and, after a few minutes, Abigail asked to be dropped off at a nearby town.
“I promise to come and let you know I’m coming,” she said, waved goodbye to them and stared after the car until it disappeared from sight.
The damage to the drilling rig was massive and disproportionate.
The enormous explosion and the gigantic fire created a vast crater and the massive drilling platform sank in the waters of the Gulf together with the whole island. Large quantities of fuel escaped from the well that was destroyed and poured into the sea and fish and dead animals floated on the black oil and everything around was contaminated. The fire remained out of control for two days and the awful fire that broke out on the platform on the island in the Persian Gulf could not be extinguished. Not one word about it appeared in the Iranian press.
Experts came to examine the explosion on the drilling platform. They speculated that the fire may have been triggered by a spark that ignited the oil fumes. No one conjectured or raised suspicions of an attack or a deliberate explosion. Nevertheless, security was heightened on all oil fields and when the place was reopened to the public, anyone with a sharp eye could notice the increased safety measures being taken.
Two days after the attack, when the flames had not yet been doused, five people met in the office of Jalal, the CIA agent.
Dark tea, almost black, was poured from the small samovar that stood in the middle of the table and their mood was excellent. They were pleased with the results attained in their principal sabotage of the Iranian nuclear reactors.
The British “Daily Mirror” was spread open on an armchair in the corner of the room. Its headline dealt with the attack on the reactor at Isfahan, the large nuclear center.
“Mysterious explosion disrupts activity at Isfahan Nuclear
Technology Center.”
The article expanded on the story of the damaged Technology Center. It reported that the center served as a nuclear facility for research purposes only and operated four small reactors and mentioned that the reactors had been supplied to Iran by China.
Liam paged through the Iranian newspaper, “Inshallah”, looking for a report on the reactors at Isfahan, but there was not a word to be found on the subject. He continued browsing and found a tiny notice without a frame to make it prominent, which mentioned something about an oil well and a drilling platform. It was entitled:
“Persian Gulf: fire on oil well drilling platform.”
“Look how the Iranians avoid acknowledging the sabotage of their reactors but grudgingly admit the damage to their drilling platform,” Bill exclaimed.
“Sure, they would never publicize their failures or our successes,” Karma replied.
“That’s inaccurate,” Jalal commented, “it’s true that their policy is to remain silent, but they keep strict silence about everything related to their nuclear reactors.”
“I think they understood that the fire on the island was an evasive tactic and that is why they reported only that,” Karma claimed. He whistled in admiration and called out:
“Pshaw, Bravo and Mabruk on your success, Ma’am!”
Bill raised his cup of tea to toast Abigail and nodded his appreciation. Smiling broadly, he said:
“Hey, next time you’re asked to create a diversion, don’t be so enthusiastic about it,” and when she smiled, he added:
“You don’t know how to use a light touch, eh? You were sent to pull off a small job and you turned it into the star attraction.”
“Just a second, what’s wrong with that?” Karma inquired.
“Did you ask what’s wro
ng with that? What would have happened if she had been given an easy assignment at one of the reactors? Just try and imagine the damage she could have done.” Liam responded to the laughter of the others and immediately added:
“I plan to suggest that Naima should deal with the reactors instead of sending her to sabotage all sorts of oil rigs.”
* * *
“Come and meet me in the lobby.” She heard Karma say to her in a rare conversation, on the phone.
“Just the two of us?”
“Yes, at seven.”
When she tried to ask about the purpose of the meeting, he was evasive and hung up.
It was a week after the attack on the drilling platform and this was one of their rare meetings. The meeting was short but vital to her destiny.
Abigail arrived at six thirty and Karma also came a little early. He nodded to Emir and she noticed that his mood was somber. He sat and fidgeted with his phone.
“What is happening, Karma? Why did you call me?” she asked and didn’t know whether he heard what she said because when he spoke, he did not answer her question.
“From tomorrow, you should keep your eyes and ears open and record details in your memory. It is important that you continue being cautious all the time.”
Abigail looked into his eyes, trying to understand what he was saying now. She asked quietly:
“Is this why you asked me to meet you?”
“I’m going away tomorrow.”
Abigail did not understand what was unusual about this and why he was informing her of it.
“Okay.”
“I’m going away for a month, perhaps a month and a half, or even longer.”
She wanted to ask where he was going to and whether she could keep in touch with him, but his tone did not invite a continuation of the conversation, so she kept silent. She almost blurted out that she would miss him. She wanted to tell him how he gave meaning to her life here and made her feel safe. She even believed that she would not be able to manage without him, but she could not get the words out of her mouth.
