Oil

by Jeff Nesbit

  Nouradeen knew specific acts were required during war and on the battlefield. This was one, and he did not regret it.

  He could now turn to other matters. He placed a call from his mobile to one of his trusted deputies who’d gathered forces at a highly secretive camp on the outskirts of the Bahr al Mihl Lake north and west of Karbala in southern Iraq.

  The forces commanded by his deputy had been training for months. They’d recently met secretly with Iran’s president, who’d managed to make his way undetected into the American-occupied country in the middle of the night to ensure that the carefully orchestrated plans were proceeding. They were.

  Nouradeen often wondered if Iran’s president and Supreme Leader were of one mind on the matters at hand. But he couldn’t spend too much time on the question. There was too much to prepare for and too much work ahead. They had a plan for the oil fields of southern Iraq— the treasure that, Nouradeen believed, had always been at the heart of America’s interest in the region—that would create serious problems for the occupying forces of the United States and others.

  “You are ready for the ride?” he asked his deputy.

  “Yes, the men are ready,” his deputy replied. “It will take us several days, once we have left camp. We will make much of the first part of the journey in trucks, pulling the horses behind us in trailers. But we will abandon those once we are a day’s ride out, as we have discussed.”

  “Good. We will wait a day, then set out,” Nouradeen said. “Your journey is longer and more difficult through northern Saudi Arabia.”

  “Fine. We are prepared to create our diversion.”

  “That will keep everyone occupied. They’ll be forced to focus everything on the oil fields. You may get two or three days in before anyone realizes you have entered the kingdom.”

  “And when we are challenged by the Saudi troops?” his deputy asked.

  “Do what you must,” Nouradeen said. “Just make certain that some of your men arrive in Mecca.”

  36

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Prince Abdul was beside himself. He paced in the outer offices that surrounded the king’s quarters. He desperately wanted to order troops somewhere. He was sure they were under attack. The enemy was at the door. A time the House of Saud had long tried to delay had arrived.

  But he’d seen too much in the world to think that force alone would defeat the wolf at their door. No, they would need to convince allies like the United States and others to challenge Iran, forcing them out of the war against the kingdom they’d just launched. Diplomacy was needed more urgently than ever. Abdul wished he’d already been named as foreign minister.

  He’d come to the king’s office in an effort to convince them to go to the United Nations, to challenge Iran there and involve their country in the peace talks between the US and Iran. Abdul had heard talk among members of the royal family that a military strike against Iran was being contemplated. He hoped to convince the king of another path.

  Abdul knew they needed to strike back—not at the terrorist camps in north Yemen but directly at Iran. If they did not respond with some show of force, then their weakness would eventually lead to chaos and revolution as their enemy gained momentum.

  First, there had been the terrorist attack on a member of the royal family. But it had not been just any attack. It had been against Muhammad al Faisal, the governor of Mecca, who would one day become king of Saudi Arabia.

  And now, like a bolt from the blue, terrorists had moved in behind security at Saudi Aramco, planted enriched nuclear rods in places very few knew about, detonated explosives, and destroyed or contaminated a vast portion of the huge oil complex.

  Military retaliation against Iran would only incite more violence, solving nothing. But, Abdul believed, they needed to contain this now on the world stage—before it got much, much worse. And that required diplomacy, not force. They needed to surround Iran with others more capable of forcing the regime in Tehran to back down.

  The world did not yet know the extent of the damage to the Saudi Aramco complex, but they would soon. Once that news was public, the price of crude oil would go through the roof on worldwide markets as the one, constant supply from Saudi Arabia dried up.

  Saudi Arabia had always been the constant in OPEC. When other countries were in turmoil, the world could count on Saudi Arabia to boost production to keep oil prices from skyrocketing. No longer. The terrorist actions at the Aramco complex had changed that equation forever.

  Abdul did not believe in coincidences. The attack against a Saudi prince who would become king was more than the work of a loose alliance of global terrorists. It was likely part of a plan by a nation-state bent on regional power. And there was only one country in the region with the resources and will to create such an opportunity.

  He had pulled many levers—and forged many unholy and hidden alliances—to keep the dark forces of al Qaeda from working in the kingdom. But with the death of their leader at the hands of the Americans and the changing of the worldwide guard, al Qaeda had chosen to move against the House of Saud.

  What seemed hard for Abdul to imagine was Iran’s theocracy working by al Qaeda’s side. Yet that appeared to be the case.

  The problem, for Abdul, was that he was not yet Saudi Arabia’s foreign minister—and Muhammad al Faisal was not yet the Saudi king. They were grandsons and had not assumed absolute power in the kingdom. He and Prince Muhammad were on the sidelines, pursuing designs without any real authority.

  Prince Muhammad was on his way back from America to Mecca. Abdul had spoken to him briefly and had learned that the Americans had identified the terrorist who’d tried to bring his Airbus down. Neither of the princes had been surprised to learn of the terrorist’s ties to the theocracy that ruled Iran.

  “The king will see you,” the receptionist said finally.

  Abdul nodded. It was about time. He gathered his robes and swept into the king’s office. He was surprised to see four other members of the royal family—including Crown Prince Saud and his brother, Prince Natal—in the offices with the king.

  Abdul took quick stock of his surroundings, knowing his work was cut out for him with this gathering. Natal, especially, was adamantly anti-Israel and would not take kindly to any suggestion to pursue a military strategy against Iran.

  “Prince Abdul, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice,” said King Faisal.

  Abdul studied the aging king, who appeared more tired and haggard than usual. The events of the past seventy-two hours had taken their toll. “It is my duty and honor to serve in such times.”

  “These are difficult ones,” Faisal said.

  Abdul eyed Natal, secretary of the interior and nominally in charge of the Saudi Aramco operations. “Do we know the extent of the damage yet at the Aramco complex?”

  “The reports from the engineers in the field are coming in,” Natal said somberly. “It is quite bad.”

  “How bad?” Abdul asked.

  “Worse than if it had merely been explosives,” Natal said.

  Abdul cocked his head. “How is that possible?”

  Natal glanced at the king, then back at Abdul. “You remember the plan we’d set in motion two decades ago, which allowed us to destroy the oil complex in the event our country was overrun?”

  “Yes, I do.” Abdul could feel his anger rise. “It was a foolish, short-sighted plan, by leaders who had no faith in our ability to manage our own affairs and defend our country. We removed all of those operations years ago.”

  “Not all of them,” Natal murmured.

  Abdul held his tongue. Nothing surprised him any longer. There were secrets within secrets within more secrets in the kingdom. He was guilty of generating such secret boxes himself on occasion.

  “What’s done is done,” said the king. “We must decide what we are to tell the world.”

  “Do we know who is responsible?” Abdul asked.

  Natal narrowed his eyes. “It is always Isra
el. No matter who pulls the trigger, it is the Israelis who are standing behind the man who wields the gun.”

  “Can you be certain of that?” Abdul asked. “Why would Israel care to attack our complex at Aramco? What possible good would it do them to cripple our complex or the supply of the oil that the world relies on?”

  “Because Israel remains our enemy forever and will always seize any advantage where they see us as weak or indecisive,” Natal stated. “They revel in chaos in our country and the other countries of the world.”

  “That is not necessarily true,” Abdul said softly. “Israel has enjoyed peace with both Jordan and Egypt for years. They have come to rely on that.”

  “But not with the Saudis.” Natal’s tone was bitter. “They would like nothing better than to see us destroyed and our country in ruins.”

  “It is not the Israelis,” a voice with a slight tremor from age said from another corner of the room. Everyone peered in the direction of Saud—the crown prince who’d never sought the throne and who held universal respect within the royal family for that lifelong decision.

  “But how can we…” Natal started to say.

  “It is not the Israelis,” Saud said, more forcefully this time. “We know precisely who is responsible for this attack. It is the one scenario that we have pondered for some time. It is why we have crossed over into Yemen not once but twice in recent years to stop the rebel attacks by the Houthis and others in service to the forces that control Tehran.”

  “I agree,” Abdul said. “But do we have hard evidence to support that?”

  Saud nodded. “We have satellite surveillance footage already, from the Americans. It has arrived within the hour.”

  “And what does it show?”

  Saud shook his head. “It shows something we should have predicted and prepared for. They hacked a road from northern Yemen to the Aramco complex.”

  “Behind our security checkpoints?” Abdul asked.

  “Yes, behind all of them,” Saud said. “And they slipped in with a truck in order to plant explosives.”

  “But explosives could not possibly have done the damage we’re getting in the reports from our engineers,” Natal said.

  “What sort of damage?” Abdul asked.

  Natal sighed. “They knew to plant the explosives near a few of the leftover trigger points in the complex…”

  “Which we should have removed years ago,” Abdul said. “It was only a matter of time before someone leaked those plans to our enemies.”

  “…and it caused a chain reaction,” Natal said, ignoring the barb. “But as bad as this might be, it is much worse than that.”

  “How bad?” Abdul asked.

  “There appears to be radiation—nuclear radiation—and fallout in every single instance. There’s contamination. The explosives evidently were mixed with highly enriched uranium.”

  Abdul was aghast at the implications. “That means Aramco—big parts of it—is likely to be crippled for some time?”

  “Until we can contain the fallout, yes,” Natal agreed. “We will see our production cut, perhaps by as much as two-thirds, for the foreseeable future.”

  Abdul closed his eyes. The ramifications were unthinkable. “Do we have any hard proof that this nuclear material arrived in the hands of these homegrown terrorists in Yemen courtesy of our friends in Tehran?”

  “Not yet,” Saud said. “But we will, because we have also received word from the Americans that this incursion was likely led by none other than Sa’id Nouradeen. He has been seen in Yemen, they told us.”

  “Nouradeen is in Yemen?” Abdul asked.

  “Yes, and likely in one of the camps near the border,” Saud replied.

  “Which means Iran is behind it.” Abdul nodded. “He is Iran’s agent of choice in Lebanon. You are certain he is in Yemen?”

  “The Americans are,” Natal confirmed.

  “That’s good enough for me,” Abdul said. “So given Nouradeen’s likely involvement and what we know of Iran’s funding of the Houthis, are we prepared to confront Iran at the United Nations? To call the Americans and demand that we be included in the peace talks with Iran? If so, I am prepared to lead that delegation to New York.”

  The king and Natal exchanged glances. “I’m not sure that will be necessary. Natal and I have talked,” the king said quietly. “We believe we may have another solution—one that takes the fight directly to Iran’s own doorstep. It is time to get this fight off our soil.”

  Abdul did his best not to show his surprise. But he feared for the scheme that the aging monarch and the interior secretary had concocted. “Does it involve diplomacy?”

  “Not immediately,” the king said. “We, Natal and I, believe that it is time to bring the full force of the Arab Spring revolution to Iran.”

  “How?” Abdul asked.

  “The oil workers in southern Iran have been unhappy with the leadership in Tehran for some time. A group, Jundallah, has taken action against Iran on their behalf in the past,” the king said. “We have decided that it is time to give them some ammunition for the task at hand. Revolution can run both ways. And a nuclear option can be employed there—just as it was here at the Aramco complex.”

  Abdul looked first at the king and then at Natal. He could not believe what he was hearing. “You can’t,” he said finally. “No one in the world knows of that capability. We have kept it hidden for the entire generation we have conspired to create or acquire it.”

  “If ever there was a time, it is now,” the king said firmly. “We created the capability for just such a moment.”

  Abdul rose from his chair. “If you allow that capability to be used in southern Iran, it will be impossible not to trace it back to us.”

  “We are not so certain,” Natal said. “The Israelis have long threatened to use force against Iran. Who is to say that they did not act?”

  “The Israelis, for one!” Abdul exploded. “They are in peace talks with Iran, even as we sit here debating this.”

  “But we must do something,” Natal said plaintively. “We cannot simply allow our enemy to create a revolution from within. It is time to act against them.”

  “But there must be another way,” Abdul argued. “Give me an opportunity to make the case at the United Nations.”

  “No.” The king’s tone was decisive. “We have decided on a course. And I would ask you to honor and respect it.”

  37

  West of Basra, Iraq

  It was a great irony that the United States had liberated Iraq—for the benefit of the largest oil companies in the world. Six years after the Iraq war began, large development contracts had been negotiated with the Iraq National Oil Company.

  The largest oil companies in the United States, Norway, and Russia all had contracts to develop the oil field reserves dotted across southern Iraq. The amount of recoverable oil in the West Qurna oil fields west of Basra alone was staggering—43 billion barrels by most estimates.

  Both the huge private oil company from the US and Russia’s largest state-owned petroleum company were racing each other to develop West Qurna. Both had contracts with the provisional Iraqi government to develop export capacity out of West Qurna. Turkey had pledged to spend $2 billion to build a pipeline from the oil fields in southern Iraq.

  In fact, West Qurna was the second largest field in the world after Saudi Arabia’s gigantic Ghawar oil field. The field, long closed to both Western and Russian firms for years due first to sanctions and then the war, had been opened in 2009.

  The massive American oil company signed a $50 billion contract to develop West Qurna, which included an even split between investment and operating fees. More than 100,000 new jobs would be created by the investment—an enormous boost to the struggling Iraqi economy.

  Russia wasn’t far behind, with its own commitment to develop West Qurna alongside the Americans. They too had pledged both investment and operating fees, though on a smaller scale than the private American firms. />
  Still, even with the race to develop, there was little security around West Qurna. The American military focused its attention elsewhere in Iraq, much farther north. Someday, once the fields were further developed, security could be tightened in southern Iraq. But there was no real need at the current time.

  That was the very opening the small forces at Sa’id Nouradeen’s disposal needed. All Nouradeen wanted was a diversion. If it set the Americans back in their race to develop the massive West Qurna oil fields they’d won as a spoil of their successful war in Iraq, then so much the better.

  With help from the IRGC military and intelligence planners in Tehran, Nouradeen and his deputies had plotted for months on their route to the fields west of Basra.

  The plan was as simple as they could make it. They’d targeted every well that had been drilled since the fall of 2009. Individual trucks would drive to each and set off explosives. If they were lucky, they could set off oil field fires throughout West Qurna that might burn for a month or more. Nouradeen’s men had learned how to set oil field fires quickly and efficiently by watching Libya’s psychotic dictator torch his own oil fields as American forces closed in. Then they’d modeled their own efforts after what they’d seen.

  The trucks secured by Nouradeen set off for their destinations that evening. All of them delivered their sets of explosives to the wells. Fires from the burning oil fields of West Qurna lit up the dark night within the hour.

  Shortly thereafter, these same soldiers loaded horses onto trailers at the back of trucks and set off for northern Arabia. They would make the crossing from Karbala, Iraq, across the plains of southern Iraq, toward Mecca in Saudi Arabia. They carried black flags and double-edged swords.

  Black flags from the north and white flags from the south—both were needed to fulfill prophecy in the surge toward Mecca.

  38

  Aida Palestinian Refugee Camp

  Bethlehem, Israel

  “Dr. Thompson, are you sure that you won’t spend the night? It’s late, and we have a spare bed in the back.” Shira Dagher had practically planted her slight frame in front of the door, daring Elizabeth to push her way past her.