Oil

by Jeff Nesbit

  Today, there were more protests in the square—led by Houthis, Islah, Muslim Brotherhood, and several other groups that spanned the continuum from one end of Shi’a to Sunni—designed to keep up the pressure on the government to call for democratic elections.

  So when a battered, ugly, yellow VW bus pulled out of the square full of youthful protesters, no one cast a second glance. Had anyone bothered to look inside, they might have been startled to see that the bus was carrying members from both a Houthi tribe and a camp in north Yemen known far and wide as a place that refugee al Qaeda fighters frequented.

  It was common knowledge that President Kahar, with Saudi Arabia’s quiet urging, had once hired al Qaeda mercenaries to keep the Houthi rebels in north Yemen from causing too much trouble. Sporadic firefights had broken out between al Qaeda Yemen fighters and the Houthis, and there was plenty of bad blood to go around.

  But something quiet and dramatic had changed in the past six months. Someone had reached out and provided desperately needed money, supplies, guns, and aid to both the Houthi rebels and al Qaeda in north Yemen. For weeks on end, it had been quietly been raining cash for projects the Houthi tribes had contemplated for years.

  Specifically, the Houthi rebels had been given substantial assistance from these unknown benefactors in a five-year-old project to build a secret crossing from north Yemen into the southern reaches of Saudi Arabia.

  The effort was similar to what rebels in Egypt somehow managed to accomplish by continually building secret tunnels into Gaza. Funded by Iran through intermediaries, Hamas in Gaza always managed to keep at least a few tunnels open, no matter how many the Israeli military destroyed.

  But the Houthis were among the poorest people in the world and had virtually nothing beyond their own hard work to create a secret passageway into southern Saudi Arabia. Iran provided a small amount of food, money, and guns—but nothing beyond that which might give them the ability to finish their project and passage into Saudi Arabia.

  Saudi forces easily controlled the border where the one and only highway—Route 5—connected Al Hudaydah in Yemen along the coast to Mecca in Saudi Arabia. There was no other way to get into Saudi Arabia from Yemen except Route 5, and Saudi Arabia kept tight control over that highway.

  The Houthi tribes had been quietly building a narrow road through the wilds of north Yemen to cross into Saudi Arabia and intersect with Route 15, which also ran south and east from Mecca. But there was another reason the Houthis had been earnestly building and planning this narrow, secret roadway, with occasional encouragement from Iran.

  One day, they believed, they would succeed in punching through. And when they did, they would be within a stone’s throw of Dahran, the absolute nerve center of Saudi Aramco and the epicenter of the House of Saud’s oil operations.

  The effort had dragged on for so long, though, that some of the early leaders in the project had moved on to other pursuits—until an al Qaeda group with money had simply shown up one day and offered to lay down arms and join in the effort to finish the secret road project. The Houthi tribe leaders, after considering the offer, had accepted. The road was finished within three months.

  Now the yellow VW bus made its way north from Sana’a University and Change Square. Today was an exciting day. They’d crossed the Saudi Arabia border almost six weeks ago. They’d cleared brush, trees, and other significant items in their way for days, careful not to make it appear from the air as if there was a road. And this very afternoon, they were in sight of Route 15.

  What they were hoping to see was whether they’d managed to intersect with Route 15 far enough east to get past the three checkpoints manned by armed guards that kept everyone out of Saudi Aramco’s massive headquarters compound in Dahran.

  Once the group had reached the end of the existing highway in north Yemen—which was just ten miles or so from Dahran as the crow flies—they parked the VW bus and moved into three brand-new offroad vehicles that had been purchased with the al Qaeda cash in the past six months.

  From there, they followed markers until they arrived at the border between Yemen and Saudi Arabia. The group had sequestered another brand-new vehicle purchased with the newfound al Qaeda cash off to one side. They inspected it to make sure no one had stumbled on it.

  The truck was outfitted to look exactly like a Saudi Aramco truck, with the state-owned petroleum company’s distinctive blue-green background and star logo carefully re-created in the right locations. Uniforms nearly identical to those worn by Saudi Aramco engineers were folded neatly in the back of the truck’s cab.

  Most important, though, were the rods and plates that had been carefully stacked and covered on the truck’s bed. Most in this particular group did not know exactly what they were, beyond the general description told to them that they’d been carefully stolen from “swimming pool” nuclear reactors found at academic research universities around the world.

  The material that sat on the truck bed had been taken, piece by piece, from academic research centers across the world. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been especially difficult. Academic research facilities were not known for tight security.

  And despite the fact that these reactors ran on enriched uranium mixed with aluminum or zirconium, they weren’t closely guarded the way a military or commercial nuclear power plant was. In fact, it was even possible to use highly enriched uranium in these small academic reactors designed for research purposes.

  True, highly enriched uranium had largely been phased out over the years at these nonmilitary reactors as a safeguard against proliferation. However, most of them continued to use alloys that were merely a fraction less than the 20 percent threshold for enriched U-235 that would make them “highly enriched.”

  The reason was simple. An alloy that contained a fraction less than 20 percent of U-235 had a much greater lifetime. So for this reason, most of these small, nonmilitary reactors continued to use alloys that were almost, but not quite, considered to be highly enriched. As a result, the fuel elements tended to be rods or plates with a considerable amount of uranium.

  Only two nuclear engineers who’d recently come from Pakistan to join the effort—one affiliated with the al Qaeda group and the second loosely connected to the Houthis—knew anything at all about the “swimming pool” and miniature neutron source reactors that the Chinese had been outsourcing for years.

  But neither engineer considered trying to explain the nature of the plates and rods in the back of the truck. For one thing, the Houthi and al Qaeda crew members did not trust each other. If either knew they were transporting what amounted to highly enriched uranium in the back of a truck, it was anyone’s guess what might happen if a knife fight broke out.

  But more importantly, the groups funding both parties had given very clear instructions to the two nuclear engineers that they were to keep the two groups from harming each other. Ignorance served that mission quite capably.

  Once they’d made certain that the truck, clothes, and cargo in the truck were secure, the group drove their off-road vehicles across the border. They made their way slowly around boulders, up and over ridges, and then, finally, down a carefully mapped route along a line of trees until they were in sight of Route 15 in Saudi Arabia.

  They parked their three off-road vehicles and did nothing for two hours except watch a number of trucks move in either direction. But none of them stopped for any length of time, which meant that, most likely, there was no checkpoint between here and their final destination.

  What’s more, they were able to see that, at several points on the road, the trucks moving along it were able to leave the road to head out into the oil fields that dotted either side of the highway. There were more than one hundred fields, and eleven thousand miles of pipelines, connecting seven refineries throughout this area, which were responsible for moving nearly ten million barrels of crude oil every day.

  In the end, both groups were satisfied that they would have direct access to the Aramco fields and p
ipelines from here. Now it was simply a question of waiting for their orders.

  22

  Tehran, Iran

  Amir Shahidi was furious. He’d just received a report through IRGC channels that one of the Americans’ new F-35 stealth fighters had flown a solitary sortie north from the Gulf of Oman into Iran’s interior, and there had been no resistance. None. He couldn’t decide who to blame— or who to fire.

  Without question, the F-35 had been on a mission to target bin Rahman. But, as Bahadur had guessed, the Americans had pulled back because he was not alone. Still, someone needed to be held accountable.

  He called in Admiral Hashem Sanjar, his naval chief, while he was still fuming. Sanjar spent the better part of the meeting in Shahidi’s private study explaining why it wasn’t his responsibility for air defenses along the southern coastline, that his navy was still recovering from the recent conflict in the Strait, and that he’d never had the budget to counter a stealth fighter like the F-35 at sea.

  “Then whose responsibility is it?” the Supreme Leader asked, exasperated at Sanjar’s constant whining and backpedaling.

  “It is…I would believe…that you should consult with General Zhubin,” Sanjar said. “Overall, he has a much better perspective on what we have that can deal with that sort of threat.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” Reverend Shahidi said. Everyone hid behind Zhubin. Was he the only military man left in Iran with any sort of courage?

  “Reverend Shahidi, he is your top commander in the Revolutionary Guards,” Sanjar said, “and would likely be in a better position to answer this sort of question… .”

  “Even though the F-35 came directly out of their fleet in the gulf?”

  “And past our air-defense system inland, I believe, which your air force is responsible for…”

  There was a knock at the door to the study. An aide peered in timidly. “Reverend Shahidi, Hussein Bahadur is here to see you, with a guest. And General Zhubin has asked to join the meeting.”

  “May I leave you to your next meeting?” Admiral Sanjar asked politely, relief visible on his face. Sanjar was clearly in such a hurry to leave that it didn’t occur to him to linger and see who Bahadur’s guest might be.

  “Yes, you may leave,” Reverend Shahidi told his navy chief, barely able to mask his disgust. Sanjar left the study quickly, leaving Shahidi to pace angrily while he waited for Bahadur and Zhubin.

  It had been years since Shahidi had last seen Ali bin Rahman. In fact, it had been more than a decade, before the events of September 11, 2001, in New York and Washington. Because Shahidi never left Iran, for any reason, bin Rahman had come to him when he was still with the IRGC with a proposal to share intelligence occasionally about their common enemies—especially the Saudis and the United States—when possible.

  The man who would later rise to become al Qaeda’s global, operational second-in-command had made a persuasive case at the time. The differences between Shi’a and Sunni were not as great as some in al Qaeda believed. They certainly had more in common than their enemies in the west. Both Iran and al Qaeda were working toward the same pan-Islamic policies and a return of Sharia law, he’d argued. Surely, they could find common ground against mutual enemies.

  Shahidi had turned bin Rahman down flat—largely because al Qaeda was nothing more than a flea on the elephant’s back at the time. Had he known the successes al Qaeda would enjoy, he might have reacted differently.

  Since then, the rift between al Qaeda and Iran’s leadership had grown to the point that al Qaeda openly attacked Shi’a citizens in Iraq and elsewhere as legitimate targets. Western governments around the world operated on the principle that they could always keep al Qaeda and Iran proxies at each other’s throats. It was a common, if slightly misguided, foreign policy.

  The truth was much more complex and virtually impossible for Western intelligence sources to comprehend. After the events of September 11 in the United States, the al Qaeda leadership had split, with some fleeing to the mountains of Pakistan and others seeking safe haven in Iran. Ali bin Rahman, for one, had not set foot in Iran since his last meeting with Shahidi.

  The IRGC had accommodated the al Qaeda elements after September 11, though. And why not? They were a steady source of knowledge and funding. But the IRGC kept them on a tight leash. The al Qaeda remnants in Iran simply did not make a move without the IRGC knowing precisely what they were doing. It made the Western intelligence officials exceedingly nervous, because it was then nearly impossible to understand what Iran’s ultimate objectives were toward al Qaeda.

  As he waited for bin Rahman to arrive, Shahidi wondered, as he had years ago, if he wasn’t missing something—if perhaps there was common ground between the two that he and others had overlooked. The Saudis and the United States were most certainly mutual enemies.

  But common ground between Shi’a and Sunni? What could that possibly be? he pondered. And why had bin Rahman returned to Tehran to meet with me again?

  When bin Rahman entered his study, Shahidi was startled to see a gaunt, emaciated shell of a man. The years of hiding had not been kind to bin Rahman. His face was drawn, his skin loosely covering a skeletal frame. Yet the man’s eyes still glowed with the intensity and fierceness Shahidi remembered.

  “Reverend Shahidi, may you receive many blessings of peace,” bin Rahman said without preamble.

  “It has been many years since we last spoke,” Shahidi answered. He glanced at General Zhubin and Hussein Bahadur as they followed bin Rahman into the study.

  “I must thank you for your kindness, and your willingness to grant me an audience,” bin Rahman continued.

  Shahidi glanced over at his two military leaders and then back to bin Rahman. “I hear that you bring us interesting news.”

  He did not, for a moment, believe that the Mahdi—whether one thousand years old or thirty—had made his appearance. But that was not the sort of thing he would ever discuss with anyone. It was one thing for Nassir Ahmadian, and the masses, to believe in the reappearance of the Mahdi. It was quite another thing for the Supreme Leader to believe in it.

  “Reverend, I do have news that I believe you will find of interest,” bin Rahman said, “but I would like to discuss it privately with you, if that might be possible. But first, I have other urgent news I have not discussed previously. And for this, I would ask that both of your military leaders hear it.”

  Shahidi glanced at Zhubin and Bahadur again. Both nodded and took seats at the table in the study where they often discussed matters of war, intelligence, and diplomacy. Shahidi and bin Rahman took seats as well.

  “So what is this urgent news,” Shahidi asked, “that requires a personal audience?”

  “It involves the Saudis,” bin Rahman said. “I am here to offer you information of a very confidential nature and to extend a hand of friendship.”

  “I am most anxious to hear of it,” Shahidi said.

  “The Shura Council has met,” bin Rahman continued, “and we have made two decisions. The first is that we must no longer be divided in our work with your country. We wish to form a strategic alliance. As you know, there are some in al Qaeda who have met with frequency in the eastern part of your country. The Shura Council has decided to take this to its most logical conclusion, and to seek an alliance of mutual satisfaction. We believe it is time.”

  “I will consider your offer carefully,” Shahidi said. “And your second decision?”

  “We have decided that we will no longer remove our hand from the kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the House of Saud,” bin Rahman said. “We know the king has promised reforms to the Shi’a people and others, to keep the revolution sweeping other countries from appearing at its door. But we do not believe it will be sustained. We have decided to take certain steps that will bring the revolution to Saudi Arabia. I am here to ask if you will join us.”

  Shahidi said nothing to this offer at first. He’d known for years of the many, complicated financial arrangements that had been mad
e to keep al Qaeda from attacking anyone in the kingdom of Saudi Arabia. But those financial arrangements had begun to go public, in various ways, and the House of Saud had been forced to gradually pull back its clandestine efforts to neutralize al Qaeda.

  As a result, Shahidi presumed, the al Qaeda leadership had determined there was no longer any benefit—financial or otherwise—in not targeting the Saudi government as they did others.

  “So you will act against the House of Saud?” Shahidi asked.

  “In fact, we have acted already,” bin Rahman said quietly. “We initiated an attack against one of the Saudi princes landing at Dulles airport in the United States. Unfortunately, US intelligence picked it up, and the attack never took place. But the Saudis know we were responsible, and they have begun to act accordingly.”

  “I see,” Shahidi said. “So what would you have us do?”

  “There is a second, much larger attack planned,” bin Rahman said. “And it is imminent. In fact, you may know of it already, for it involves the Houthis, to whom you have supplied arms and supplies in northern Yemen. Whether you know it, al Qaeda and Shi’a are working together against a common enemy, and the strike will be heard around the world.”

  23

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  The King Fahd Center wasn’t much to look at on the outside. But Nash knew it was the leadership who so casually made appearances there that made the center a place of great importance in the affairs of the kingdom.

  Badr had parked the Volvo three blocks away on a quiet side street. They’d walked from there. It was wonderfully quiet in this part of the city. Nash noticed that trees and vegetation had been planted recently along the streets.

  The green, bursting vegetation created a serene sense of life in full bloom, reminiscent of what it must be like to come across an oasis in the desert. So, Nash thought, the Saudis must care about appearances. For this place, they wish the appearance to be much different from opulence.