by Alan L. Lee
Nora looked at Alex with apprehension. If they left now, they could make it to the nearest boarder and cross without incident. He could return to his tranquil life in the islands, and she could face whatever punishment awaited her. Whatever the Israelis and Senator Lipton had cooked up would either succeed or fail. The world wouldn’t spin off its axis, no matter the outcome. The rich would only find a way to get richer.
Alex’s stoic demeanor told her everything she needed to know. There was no need to waste her breath on that idea.
She made a decision. The worst thing she could do was think about all the risks. She wasn’t going to give her mind the opportunity to debate courses of action. Nora stood and sauntered over to Alex, who was resting with his legs extended in a chair. When she reached him, her blouse was totally unbuttoned, her bare breasts peeking through. She straddled his legs and, as if doing a push-up, rested her hands on the arms of the chair, inching her way down to kiss him. Alex had a perplexed, unsure look on his face, but he rose to meet her lips. He reached out to fondle a breast, her kiss bringing back memories. Nora sat on his lap, pleased to discover he was aroused. Alex intently watched as she took off her blouse. Nora pecked at his chest as she began sliding downward, a free hand massaging his groin. She playfully worked his zipper open and explored before undoing his belt and the snap on his pants. She then paused to look back up at him. With a wicked grin in place, Nora continued.
CHAPTER 63
The cover hadn’t yet been blown off of what would become one of the biggest stories inside the Beltway. In a town that prided itself on secrets, few really were. Members of Congress historically had a problem keeping their mouths shut. Some loved to read their secrets in print, attributed to “According to a source.…” A select few couldn’t resist flaunting their connections by discussing sensitive topics during sexual rendezvous that, in their very nature, were supposed to be secret as well. And then there were the various news outlets. It wasn’t just the Bob Woodwards and Carl Bernsteins anymore. Cable networks were staffed around the clock, and the Internet had opened a whole new can of worms. A carefully placed tidbit in an otherwise obscure blog could develop into an active volcano, spewing a mixture of truths and innuendos.
The president had gotten very little sleep during the past couple of days. He managed to join his wife in the residence to sleep for a few hours and had made a point of sharing breakfast with her, a precious twenty-five minutes. Then it was back to the Oval Office, where FBI Director John Layden and Attorney General Lewis Farber were waiting. Both men had been there for several hours the day before. The AG had assembled his best legal minds and put them to the test without mentioning Senator Bryce Lipton by name. He wanted to know precisely, given the facts they had, what charges could be brought forth that would hold the most weight. And he’d promised that if a single word got out of the building on this speculative case, a career would be ended. For Layden, preparation was a much simpler matter. Once he got an arrest warrant from Justice, he’d order his men to apprehend Senator Lipton. He didn’t really like the cantankerous old bastard anyway.
The attorney general was in the midst of explaining to the president that he felt they had a good case. There was a litany of headline-grabbing charges they could throw at the senator. His high-priced lawyers would earn every penny looking for a way out. They’d also throw the book at his son, in an attempt to pressure the senior to cave in. It all sounded promising, and that was a blessing, because the president knew he couldn’t be wrong about this one. He was about to give both men the go-ahead when the first call came in on the crisis line about Iran’s missile exercise.
The White House was now bogged down with yet another issue, but there was growing speculation that one had something to do with the other. The secretary of defense had reported that his analysts were certain the IRBMs fired by the Iranians were of North Korean origin. That further backed up Champion’s suspicion about North Korea’s “misplaced” inventory. President Hudson spent the better part of the day on the phone with leaders from the EU. They’d all wanted to come together to form some kind of unified front. The British prime minister was prepared to move a fleet of warships in the Persian Gulf, just close enough in international waters to give the Iranians something to mull over. The president told none of his counterparts about what he was dealing with on the home front. Doing so might have given them the impression he was trivializing their concerns. A prominent senator’s breaking the law did not seem to be on equal footing with the possibility of bombs dropping in Europe and Israel.
CHAPTER 64
The facility was immediately recognizable. The route was unmistakable. Salt Lake in Qom, southwest of Tehran, was the first landmark. They continued along Freeway 7, the Chocolate Mountains near Kashan an impressive focal point. The topography reminded Alex of the Sonoran Desert, except there were more agricultural fields than he’d anticipated. The various photos Duncan had laboriously gone over paled in comparison to what Alex was looking at now. Those photos had mostly been satellite imagery. The ground was level, partially guarded on two sides by mountains. Antiaircraft stations and guard towers protected the perimeter. No attack was going to take place without a sizeable resistance.
The SUV nearly circled the compound before being stopped at another security checkpoint. Heavily armed guards on either side peered inside and then waved the vehicle through. Farid sat in the front passenger seat, while Alex occupied the back with the African, who he’d learned was from Botswana. That was about all he got out of the man. Farid had made it clear the day before that no conversations about occupations were to take place. That was fine with Alex, especially for this trip. He needed to focus on every detail, and that wasn’t easy, considering what had transpired between him and Nora. He hadn’t been looking for it to happen, but he had certainly been a willing participant. Her body and its fluid movement were incredible, and the mental and physical release of making love was rejuvenating. He had no answer for what exactly the union meant, and for the moment, he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.
The temperature in the desert was increasing slowly, the way the number on a scale might rise if a fat man were lowering himself gradually onto it, hoping for a different result to register. In an instant, an eclipse occurred, the sun disappearing as the SUV rolled ahead into near darkness. The automatic headlights flickered on, revealing part of the way. They were in a winding tunnel partially illuminated by lights mounted along the wall. The road gradually sloped downward, and about two football fields ahead was what appeared to be an opening. The tunnel’s height was expansive as well, with ample room for trucks with large loads to pass through. The opening was meant to impress. Written in gold were the Farsi words, “Welcome to Natanz.”
There were several elevator shafts, two of which had warehouselike doors, capable of accepting large loads. The other five elevators appeared to be for civilian transport. There was an area for parking a select number of vehicles, and the spaces were nearly filled. A group of around fifteen people waited by one set of elevators. Also present were a handful of Iran’s elite Revolutionary Guard troops. There was another tunnel in addition to the one they’d just traveled down. Two soldiers with submachine guns dangling from shoulder straps stood watch. As an added measure of security, a heavy gate protected the tunnel. Farid instructed Alex and the man from Botswana to head for the elevators where the others were assembled.
It was difficult to determine the tunnel’s depth, but they were well below the surface. Judging by the numbers inside the elevator as it descended, Alex determined that they passed one level and stopped on the second. The buttons indicated one level remained below. The doors opened, and the scene was perplexing. Before them was a long, wide corridor, and as best as Alex could tell, there was a reception line in place. The group ahead of them was making its way through, being greeted by a succession of what appeared to be high-ranking officials. Between moving bodies, Alex could see President Akbar Shahroudi. Alex had followed world
events only sporadically over the past couple of years, so Shahroudi was the only one he knew by name.
As Alex’s group approached, each member was detained momentarily. A person standing next to Shahroudi would sometimes consult a tablet and lean over to whisper in the president’s ear before the group member walked down the line. When it came to Alex’s turn, President Shahroudi exposed his perfectly aligned, white teeth. “Mr. McBride, it is a pleasure. We are so grateful for your contributions.”
Alex wasn’t sure what protocol demanded, but he didn’t want to linger. He shook Shahroudi’s hand firmly, but quickly. “Thank you, Mr. President, the pleasure is all mine.”
Shahroudi nodded as if Alex had already said too much. The president turned to engage the next person. The exercise was repeated six more times as Alex made his way down the line, shaking hands and exchanging forced smiles. Once he was done, Farid was waiting for him. He pulled Alex aside and led him to a room off the corridor.
“Mr. McBride, we seem to have a problem,” Farid began, the door locking shut behind them. The words got Alex’s undivided attention. He watched Farid closely, but the man didn’t have a weapon in his hand, nor did he appear anxious to produce one. Alex took in the medium-sized, soundproofed room. He didn’t sense danger, since there were only two other men present, huddled behind computer screens. They barely glanced up, their attention focused on what was being produced from their finger tapping. Several large monitors hung across one wall. Some of them showcased the various worldwide news outlets, while a few others were set to financial channels.
Alex felt better about the situation. “What’s the problem?”
“We’ve tried several times, but there appears to be an error with Mr. Green’s bank account information. More to the point, the account is closed. We’d like to transfer the balance of what we owe. Since you are his associate, can you provide a valid number?”
Janko’s closed account could mean one of two things. He’d heeded Alex’s warning and was securing what he could in an attempt to lay low, or someone had already found him and was covering their tracks. Alex surmised that if the latter were true, he’d be having a different conversation at the moment. Farid was standing next to one of the men in front of a computer screen, waiting for an answer.
“Well, Mr. McBride?”
“You have to understand, it becomes necessary to change account numbers and sometimes banks. Have to be careful about who might be watching.”
“A wise and necessary step, yes. Good to know you and your associate are so cautious.”
Alex gave Farid one number and bank he knew by heart. His own. After a few keystrokes, Farid looked up, satisfied. “Done. As agreed, two million dollars has been deposited.”
Alex didn’t let the number faze him. “Wonderful. Nice doing business with you.” As they exited, he wondered how in the hell he was going to explain that windfall on his taxes.
CHAPTER 65
The bravado was bordering on the ridiculous. The idealists were expected to foolishly celebrate, but not him. Not yet. The Iranians overlooked his gruffness. He had, after all, gotten paid serious money to make sure this day would not only come, but that it would be a glorious and crowning achievement for Iran. If all went according to plan, it would certainly be a day to remember.
After clasping his last hand in the reception line, Dr. Franz Mueller was escorted to a motorized cart. They traveled along a couple of hallways before stopping a few feet away from a thick, steel-reenforced door. Entry was gained through the swipe of a security card. The room was full of control panels, instruments, and heavy equipment positioned throughout several stations. Activity was brisk as bodies scurried about with purpose. Dr. Mueller veered in the direction of three men in lab coats who were engaged in conversation. Upon seeing him, they stopped talking and greeted him with enthusiasm, handing over a lab coat in the process.
“How’s everything looking?” Dr. Mueller inquired as he put on the white coat and a pair of blue shoe covers.
“Everything appears to be in working order, Dr. Mueller,” one of the lab coats responded, offering a clipboard filled with charts and notes.
Dr. Mueller checked his watch and in doing so, casually adjusted one of the outer knobs. “Let’s get going. The president will want to start soon, and”—he looked at each man—“we don’t want to disappoint. Not on this day.”
Given their orders, the lab coats all turned and disappeared behind another set of doors that required the use of a security card also. Attached to Dr. Mueller’s lab coat was an identical card that afforded total access to any part of the facility. For the past couple of years, he’d gone over the blueprints for Natanz to the point where he could navigate the facility with his eyes closed. He knew where everything was because he’d helped to put it there.
In the beginning, it had been a joint venture between Israeli and US intelligence. The partnership had worked perfectly in slowing Iran’s nuclear program. It required a tremendous amount of monitoring and was costly, but it had forced the Iranians to commit a massive amount of resources, turning up the political heat on its leadership in the process. The Iranians had no idea they were purchasing flawed equipment and parts covertly supplied by Israel and the US. The power supply had been a continuously troublesome area. It needed to be stable to ensure that centrifuges spun at the correct speed. Too often, the power supply failed, causing them to explode or malfunction. The supply of supposedly top-grade centrifuges had also contained flaws, causing more delays. Electrical parts suffered the same fate on occasion. And so it went, on and on, until the Iranians struck gold. They’d discovered a source that had widespread, reliable contacts and access to quality materials. The fact that this person also had extensive knowledge of the inner workings of nuclear materials was invaluable. The Iranians were desperate enough to go along with their new benefactor’s insistence of secrecy. Their previous supplier, a Pakistani scientist, was virtually under house arrest in his native country after immense pressure from the West to shut him down. The landscape therefore was bleak, until Dr. Franz Mueller emerged. He had one stringent rule. Any attempts to investigate him or check into his background would result in the Iranians being cut off entirely. No exceptions. To prove his credentials and access to resources were legit, Dr. Mueller went through a trial period during which he delivered quality, reliable products without attracting suspicion from the West. Once the materials held up under use, the Iranians were convinced he was the real deal. Whatever Dr. Mueller wanted, he got.
The other lab coats in the room were quick to answer any question Dr. Mueller threw at them as he went back and forth from the clipboard to gazing at his greatest prize, the two huge reactors in place on the floor below him. He was standing on an elevated crosswalk that provided a perfect vantage point for viewing the reactors’ design. Dr. Mueller inspected or asked about everything that was relevant. They were pressurized water reactors that required a system containing a mixture of air and steam. Maintaining a desired level of pressure was paramount in such a design. The control rod drive mechanism, which was affixed atop the reactors, acted as sort of a gas pedal. When the mechanism was raised, more neutrons could crash into uranium atoms. If either of the two reactors approached dangerously high heat levels, the control rods would be lowered in order to cool it down. The reactor core on both looked to be in perfect shape. The coolant pump, steam generator, turbine condenser, condensate pump, and all the other vital parts passed inspection. Dr. Mueller looked over the charts that contained testing results from previous months and saw no evidence of any hiccups.
The years of planning appeared to be paying off. He took a strategic path to every vital area that needed his attention. When he passed two critical structural beams, one of the seven smaller faces on his watch turned a different color. In doing so, the watch also gave him feedback by slightly vibrating. Dr. Mueller and the team rode a cart to another section of the structure. Behind the wall nearest to him was the central electrical cent
er. The majority of the essential electrical wiring originated from the large room. Two more of the faces on his watch changed and were accompanied by two short vibrations.
They were filing back into the cart when one of the scientists held back for a second, listening to the transmission coming in over his communication device.
“We’re on our way,” he responded, joining the others.
“Everything all right?” asked Dr. Mueller.
The lab technician put the cart in motion. “Yes, it’s just that the president is nearly ready. He’s in the centrifuge area.”
“That’s perfect. It’s the last place I need to take a look at.”
The technician floored the pedal, honking the horn to disperse those on foot.
“Is President Shahroudi waiting for me to brief him on the new centrifuges?”
“No, that’s being taken care of as we speak. He’s almost done.”
Dr. Mueller had a quizzical look on his face. “By one of your inspectors?”
“I think it’s one of the visitors.…” The technician focused on making a sharp turn. “The man who approved the latest shipment.”
“The shipment from Tbilisi? The IR-3s?”
“Yes. That would be those.”
Yadin wasn’t pleased to hear that. Apparently there was a hiccup after all. The inspector from Tbilisi shouldn’t be on the premises. In fact, the inspector from Tbilisi should be dead.
CHAPTER 66
They stood upright like shiny soldiers at attention, over a thousand of them, waiting for orders. The room itself was nearly the size of a football field. Row after mimicking row of centrifuges nearly filled the available space. There were lanes carved out for workers to navigate. It resembled a well-designed maze. Yadin’s interest, however, was fixed on the group toward the other end of the room. Because of the room’s size, all he could hear was garbled words, and even those drifted in and out due to the noise from the centrifuges that were online and the hum of massive air conditioners.
