by Jeff Nesbit
They drove across the southern Arabian border in silence. Nouradeen was pleased to see that both factions were generally getting along. They’d need to work together for today’s plan to work.
What only Nouradeen knew was that they had to infiltrate the Aramco complex and place the rods in several precise places. He had long-forgotten plans tucked inside his jacket that none of the fighters traveling with him knew about. They were the keys to the success of today’s mission.
Once upon a time, in a fit of paranoia and fear that they might be overrun by military forces led by Saddam Hussein in nearby Iraq, the House of Saud had decided to lay traps at key points in their Aramco complex. Secret triggers could be released in the event that military forces one day invaded and won control of Saudi territory.
With the fall of Iraq and the end of Saddam Hussein, the House of Saud had gradually removed most of the various triggers that could cause the Aramco complex to self-destruct. But some were still in place, known only to a few members of the royal family.
Nouradeen now kept a copy of those plans safely tucked inside his jacket. They contained locations where a few of the nuclear rods and highly enriched uranium could do the most damage. If they were lucky, they could either destroy or contaminate a significant part of the Aramco complex. In one strike, Nouradeen hoped to cripple the Saudi oil operation.
Once in Saudi territory, they proceeded quickly and efficiently. They changed into their Aramco uniforms and were ready to go by the time they’d reached the concealed truck that had been outfitted to look like just another Aramco service truck.
Nouradeen had been told of the road hacked into southern Arabia, south of Route 15, but it still amazed him to see it with his own eyes. Sure enough, the road did lead them to Route 15, behind every checkpoint that the Saudi forces maintained to keep unwanted visitors away from the vast oil complex.
They moved the nuclear rods from the back of one truck to the mock Aramco truck quickly and set off. No one challenged them.
There were more than one hundred oil fields, dozens of gas and oil separators, thousands of miles of pipelines, and a half-dozen refineries to choose from. But thanks to the plans Nouradeen carried with him, they had just three targets. If they were lucky, they would be able to drop the rods and plant the detonators in under an hour. From there, the world would change.
As they took the sharp turn onto Route 15, one of the Houthi fighters in the front seat leaned too closely in to an al Qaeda member. There was a brief scuffle, followed by a flashing knife. A fight was about to break out.
Nouradeen didn’t hesitate. Sitting in the second row of seats in the truck, he pulled a gun and held it to the Houthi fighter’s head.
“Put the knife away,” he ordered.
“But he…”
Nouradeen released the safety on the gun. “I won’t say it again. We don’t have time for this. Not today.”
The Houthi warrior reluctantly put the knife away. Why he would be carrying a knife on such a mission was beyond Nouradeen. But that wasn’t his business. He was here to get a job done.
“Good,” Nouradeen said. “Now we must move quickly. We have work to do.”
Nouradeen knew they had just enough rods and explosives— combined with the remnants of the self-destruct network the House of Saud had once put into place—to cripple several refineries. It would take the Saudis months to repair the damage and clear away the potential radiation from the rods once they’d been placed strategically.
They weren’t going to touch any of the pipelines, which could be repaired quickly. No, their target was several of the refineries and chemical plants. They could do the greatest damage that way.
They passed only two other trucks on Route 15. The drivers of both trucks had merely waved and kept moving.
They saw no one in any of the oil fields on the way to the refineries. They’d planted every single rod and their corresponding explosives with cell-phone triggers, in every location, without anyone challenging them. The Aramco complex was so large that it wasn’t surprising they’d come across only a few people.
But Nouradeen was still amazed at how easy the entire operation had been. Clearly, this was something the Saudis had never imagined in their plans. After all, there was only the one road that led into and out of the Aramco complex. Who knew that a hacked road from the wilds of Yemen could bypass the elaborate security checkpoints and give them such easy access to the open complex?
Two hours later, they were back at their original spot south of Route 15. Every rod and explosive had been set. Nouradeen called Hussein Bahadur in Tehran.
“They’re in place,” Nouradeen said simply.
“Any problems?”
“None. I don’t think the Saudis anticipated that something like this was even possible. We saw almost no one.”
“Good,” Bahadur said. “And you have the numbers to the mobile devices?”
“On speed dial,” Nouradeen said.
“I’m assuming there’s enough of a signature left behind that al Qaeda will be blamed for the attacks.”
Nouradeen smiled. “We both know they’ll take credit for this immediately. And yes, there’s more than enough here to tie them firmly to the attack.”
“Then proceed. And make sure you leave Saudi territory after you’ve set this in motion.”
“I will,” Nouradeen said.
“You know your next assignment?”
“I have the camp coordinates.” Nouradeen grimaced. “But I’m having trouble believing you really want me to lead such a group…”
“Don’t worry,” Bahadur said. “We have our reasons. The Reverend Shahidi has agreed to it, within the hour.”
“But Mecca? Why?”
“We have good reason. Trust me.”
“The Mahdi,” Nouradeen said. “Seriously? That’s what you’re planning for? They’re all just ridiculous legends and old fishwife stories. You can’t possibly believe in them.”
“I don’t have to believe in them, and neither do you,” Bahadur said. “But if they serve a useful purpose and rally people to our cause, then why should either of us care?”
“I suppose. But still…”
“I know,” Bahadur said. “Just get this done and move to the camp. We have this one opportunity, and Reverend Shahidi would like to take advantage of it.”
“Understood. I’ll act now.”
Nouradeen ended the call. An instant later, he began calling the mobile numbers he’d programmed into his own cell phone. And several seconds later, the small group of unlikely allies began to hear muffled explosions off in the distance throughout the Aramco complex.
28
Dahran, Saudi Arabia
Very few people had seen the nerve center of Saudi Aramco. To get to it, a visitor had to pass through three checkpoints and by dozens of armed guards, complete with electronic screens to check for concealed weapons. For this reason, only people with a need to visit the center had seen it.
The actual Operations Coordination Center was at the center of the huge compound in Dahran. There were no windows in the highsecurity room, but a massive, curved wall extended more than two hundred feet with a digital screen displaying maps and visual shots of various points in the compound.
About twenty or so engineers kept a careful eye on the numbers and maps on the big screen. When something happened, the numbers on the screen reflected it.
And something had just happened. The engineers started scrambling long before the first phone call came in. Numbers started dropping on the big screen—first in one location and then another. After a few minutes, it was apparent that many different locations of the Aramco complex were involved.
“Find me a camera shot!” one of the engineers called across the room.
An instant later, a live video feed showed up on one corner of the massive screen. What they saw stunned them. An oil fire had erupted in a field near one of their seven refineries.
“Send a truck there!” the engineer ordered. But
even as a truck was dispatched, they received news of four more oil fires that had erupted almost at the same time.
The engineers watched in growing horror as fires and explosions occurred in and around four of their refineries. More than half of their capacity would likely be affected, the engineers calculated. Numbers careened wildly on the big screen.
“Can we contain the fires?” asked one engineer.
“Do we even know what started them? And are they connected?”
Some scrambled for answers at their computer consoles. Phones started to ring. Chaos descended. No one could guess what might have happened at Aramco. It all seemed surreal.
But it was even worse than that, the engineers learned moments later. Monitors at one of the sites had detected traces of radiation. Where it might have come from was hard to imagine, but it was definitely contamination and radiation.
The chief engineer placed a call to Riyadh and asked to speak with one of the members of the royal family. He knew he’d likely be blamed for the events at the Aramco complex. But he had to let them know.
The political consequences were hard to imagine or calculate, the chief engineer knew. It depended on what, precisely, was behind the events. But clearly, they would alter the balance of power. Someone was orchestrating the chaos erupting at the Saudi Aramco complex, for whatever reason.
29
The White House
Washington, DC
“This is a joke, right?” DJ was incredulous when he’d heard from Anshel Gould about the nature of the briefing that afternoon in a small room in the East Wing of the White House. He’d hustled down the hall from his windowless cubicle in the press office to hover next to Dr. Gould’s cluttered desk.
“No joke,” Dr. Gould said. “There are millions of people, Sunni and Shi’a alike, who take Mahdism seriously. We have folks at the NSC who track it, actually. A couple of analysts at the joint chiefs are mindful of the literature as well.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Dr. Gould said. “And if you think about it, Iran has been operating on the principle that it’s preparing for the return of their Twelfth Imam since the fall of the Shah in 1979.”
“So they honestly believe this stuff?”
“Yes, they believe this stuff—at least some of the Shi’a clerics in Iran do. But there are plenty of others, like the Grand Ayatollah in Iraq, who think all of this talk about the Coming of the Twelfth Imam that’s been circulating inside Iran for years is hugely destructive for Islam in general. He’s said as much recently.”
DJ slid one knee onto a chair near Dr. Gould’s desk. “But you said this briefing we’re going to is about the actual emergence of the Mahdi?”
Dr. Gould rolled his eyes. “According to at least two conversations NSA picked up, bin Rahman delivered the news directly to Amir Shahidi that it was so.”
“But I thought the Twelfth Imam was a Shi’a thing?”
“It is,” Dr. Gould said. “But some of the propaganda that’s been circulating is starting to confuse the two. To the Sunnis, they can witness the coming of the Mahdi to rule a pan-Islamic world. And to the Shi’a followers, that Mahdi is the reappearance of the Twelfth Imam, who’s remained hidden for centuries. It’s hard to see how it could be the same guy, but who knows?”
“Isn’t there other stuff thrown in there—you know, like Jesus coming back with the Twelfth Imam? And that they’ll defeat this evil Dajjal character who’s leading the dark forces in Israel and maybe the United States?”
Dr. Gould laughed. “Something like that. The Dajjal from the mass literature is this fat, olive-skinned Jew with a dark beard, an ugly, misshapen nose, and a blind right eye. The caricatures that you see on the front of these books in Iran and elsewhere make him look like evil incarnate. To the Mahdists, the Jewish Dajjal is the Antichrist who will rise somewhere in either Iraq or Syria and rule for a time. Then the Mahdi returns, or appears, along with Jesus, takes out the Dajjal, and ushers in the age of Islam throughout the world.”
“And what about Israel in this Mahdist worldview?”
“It depends.” Dr. Gould shrugged. “Israel is either destroyed just before the Mahdi appears or immediately afterward as the age of Islam is ushered in. You can take your pick.”
“And you know so much about this because…”
Dr. Gould sighed. “Because I’ve gotten a crash course on the sheer lunacy of it all quite recently.” He pushed his chair back. “So let’s go find out where this Twelfth Imam is supposed to be reappearing.”
DJ followed the White House chief of staff from his office and down the hall. They wound their way through several corridors, toward the East Wing of the complex. DJ figured they were heading over to this side of the White House to make sure the briefing was “off the books” and away from prying eyes. The last thing any of them needed was a reporter picking up that senior White House staff was being briefed on the reappearance of the Twelfth Imam in Iran.
When they’d finally arrived at the smallish conference room that folks occasionally used for meetings like this in the East Wing, DJ was surprised to see that it was standing room only. Aides stood shoulder to shoulder around the conference table to listen in on the briefing.
DJ looked at the head of the table and nearly dropped the notebook he was carrying. Secretary of State Jennifer Moran had come here, just for this briefing. She was sitting by herself, studying the briefing materials. And he spotted at least two four-star generals in the crowd as well. So this is serious stuff, DJ thought.
He was happy to see that Susan Wright was to lead the briefing. For DJ, that meant he would understand the briefing, its context, and its relevance. Like DJ, Dr. Wright had quiet, deeply held Christian beliefs. Neither mentioned their beliefs publicly and did not wear them on their sleeves during the workday at the White House.
But those beliefs informed their worldview and shaped the way in which they understood policies great and small. DJ, especially, liked the way Dr. Wright seemed open and willing to follow the “still, small voice” as she lived her life. It wasn’t easy to hear that voice in the chaos of Washington, but DJ knew Dr. Wright did her level best to do so. And he appreciated that.
DJ also knew the way Dr. Wright lived her faith was one of the reasons she and Anshel Gould got along so famously. While Dr. Gould often struggled to find the time to go to his synagogue, he likewise did his best to heed the “still, small voice” in his life.
There was an unspoken bond of common ground between the two that informed every decision they made on a daily basis.
Susan Wright was incredibly nervous. Never in her wildest imagination did she think she would one day be leading a discussion—at the White House—about the alleged appearance of the Twelfth Imam, or Mahdi, somewhere in the Middle East. It certainly wasn’t in her job description, and it had never been featured in a single instance of foreign policy study.
And yet, here she was, about to brief White House, NSC, and Pentagon staff on what they’d heard from conversations in Iran— and its implications for both the peace process and the military.
Thankfully, she’d been able to call on several leading, local scholars at universities nearby who’d been studying the rise of Mahdism in recent decades. They’d gotten her up to speed quickly. She’d taken careful notes and was now prepared to talk about what NSA had overheard and what it might mean.
“Before I begin,” she said, clearing her throat, “I’d like to set some ground rules about this briefing. This is strictly informational. I think it goes without saying that we don’t want any wild speculation leaving this room about the reappearance of the Twelfth Imam. That won’t do us any good and is likely to make us look foolish to our allies around the world.
“Nevertheless, the NSC staff and joint chiefs believe the information is credible enough that we need to pay attention. I’m certainly not going to make any judgments about the truth of what we’ve heard.
“But what I will say is that at least some
of those in leadership positions in Iran are likely to believe the news—whether it’s true or not and whether a person appearing as a Mahdi in Iran or elsewhere is an imposter.”
One of the generals near the head of the table leaned forward. “Dr. Wright, may I assume that we’re going to be using this concept of a Mahdi, or a Twelfth Imam, interchangeably during this briefing?”
Wright nodded. “That’s a good question. And yes, largely because there’s been quite a bit of propaganda circulating around the world— especially a recent twenty-eight–minute video sanctioned at the highest levels of Iran called The Coming, which makes no distinction between the two—we’re going to use them interchangeably. If credible leaders in Iran, Yemen, or elsewhere throw their weight behind a human being that they claim is the Mahdi, it really won’t matter much whether it’s a plain old Mahdi or the reappearance of an imam who’s been in hiding for more than a thousand years and is now resurrected.”
Wright ignored the snickers in the room and did her best to keep her own beliefs and thoughts in check. She just needed to forge ahead with this briefing. “So what have we heard? First, that Ali bin Rahman delivered news to Iran’s air force chief, Hussein Bahadur, that they were prepared to make the appearance of the Mahdi known to the world. And second, that he delivered this news, in person, to Iran’s Supreme Leader, the Reverend Amir Shahidi, in Tehran.
“But what is infinitely more dangerous to the current situation is that bin Rahman is apparently willing to make common cause with the Shi’a clerics and leadership in Iran. We’ve known for years that parts of the al Qaeda leadership have been granted safe haven in Iran. Now it appears bin Rahman is rolling the dice on some sort of Mahdi that he believes he can convince Iran is the Twelfth Imam as well.”
“Do you think bin Rahman believes it?” Anshel Gould asked from one side of the conference table.
“Who knows?” Wright answered. “And to be honest, I’m not sure it matters whether he believes it or not. If al Qaeda’s leadership joins with Iran’s to declare a live human being as the Mahdi, there isn’t a whole lot we can do about it. We’ll be forced into a posture where we’ll have to deal with that person as a de facto leader of at least Iran and its orbit.”
