Peace
Page 12
When the blasts had indicated they were testing an atomic bomb of only four kilotons or so, the Western media had rushed in to declare that North Korea hadn’t quite reached the “real” nuclear club yet. They belittled North Korea’s progress in joining the nuclear club. The yields were too small to do much damage, they all said.
“How stupid the Western leaders are!” You Moon’s friend had said one evening, laughing. “If they only knew that we have perfected the atomic bomb!”
The generals of the Korean People’s Army, though, had given Pak Jong Un only part of the story. They told the Dear Leader’s son only what he needed to know—which was that the West was wrong, and that they had, in fact, perfected an atomic weapon.
Kim Grace’s knowledge of the field and what was being tested near Camp 16—and You Moon’s knowledge of what the high echelon of the military was spending money on, and what his friend had told him during their late-night Nintendo sessions—allowed them to collectively understand the real picture emerging near Camp 16 and in the halls of the nuclear research centers Kim Grace had once roamed.
The truth—built on the backs of political prisoners from Camp 16, who’d been marched to the nearby underground facility to build it and then served as human guinea pigs for the tests—was a much more complicated one.
The North Korean leadership genuinely believed the United States would one day invade their country as they had in the 1950s. North and South Korea were still technically at war, and American military troops were only a stone’s throw away from Pyongyang.
They believed, passionately, that it was only a matter of time before the West returned and overran North Korea—the way they’d gone into Iraq, Afghanistan, and, now, Iran.
What Kim Grace and her colleagues had been searching for with every fiber of their being for years was a way to keep the Western principalities and powers at bay. They needed an equal, opposing force that could not be resisted. And, Kim Grace knew, they had likely found it.
North Korea had long ago crossed the nuclear threshold. Kim Grace knew they were fully capable of detonating a twenty-kiloton atomic bomb, or greater. They’d long ago mastered the fission part of the equation. That was no longer what they were interested in, however. One atomic bomb—or six of them, for that matter—would not change the game.
What North Korea was now testing, or perfecting, was a much different version of a weapon of mass destruction. There was some reference to it in the old literature—the scientific papers that Kim Grace and others had read and re-read until every copy in the libraries at the Yongbyon nuclear research center was dog-eared with use.
They were now looking at something that could only be characterized as a fission-fusion-fission bomb—a weapon that would, in stages, unleash the strong nuclear forces and energy of multiple isotopes. And they weren’t even all that concerned about whether it could be carried on a plane, truck, or boat to a remote location.
It could sit there, right near Camp 16, and affect half the world’s population in Japan, China, Russia, and even India.
Nuclear scientists had been experimenting with different atomic isotopes—and their interaction with each other in fission and fusion processes—for a generation. There were three isotopes of hydrogen, for instance. Two of them are stable and not radioactive, but a third—tritium, with one proton and two neutrons—is unstable.
Nuclear scientists had long ago perfected the fission process—the splitting of the atom to create an enormous release of energy. That was the atom bomb. Next, they produced a fission reaction in a tightly controlled, closed system in order to generate enough heat and might to fuse two atoms together and release even greater energy. That led to the hydrogen bomb, which had the capacity to make entire local regions of the world radioactive.
Over time, they’d made the process of fission leading to fusion simple. They didn’t need underground tests for that part. The technology for a closed system with uranium or plutonium surrounded by a dry, solid powder of lithium-deuteride was so simple that it did not, in fact, require testing.
Once North Korea had perfected the small kiloton fission bombs, Kim Grace and her colleagues were certain they could, in fact, create a hydrogen isotope bomb that allowed the small fission explosion to trigger a thermonuclear fusion release of energy.
The fission tests near Camp 16—the ones that had been dismissed and ridiculed by the Western press and intelligence analysts—were actually the final phase of a process that created a thermonuclear hydrogen isotope bomb.
But the next part was what had begun to frighten Kim Grace and had sent her to Camp 16 when she’d begun to express misgivings privately to a colleague. While the hydrogen process was being perfected, they’d begun to test two other isotopes—cobalt-59 and cesium-137. Cobalt-59 was easy to test. Cobalt-60 was widely used in nuclear medicine throughout the world. Non-proliferation groups had been worried for years that terrorist groups would create dirty bombs by exploding easily obtained cobalt-60 sticks with dynamite, irradiating a neighborhood. Cobalt-60, which was highly unstable and radioactive, had a half-life of five years or so.
Cesium-137 was even more unstable—and more dangerous. With a half-life of thirty years or so, its release into the atmosphere could have devastating, long-term consequences for an entire generation. Cesium-137 was available through nuclear medicine as well.
Kim Grace and her colleagues had been told to look at ways in which cesium-137 could be stabilized long enough to salt a nuclear weapon—to surround the fission-fusion process of a hydrogen isotope bomb with cesium-137 released in a final fission process.
This fission-to-fusion-to-fission process was what the nuclear research center at Yongbyon had been focused on for years. They were creating a weapon that had, at its core, a four-kiloton fission atomic bomb. That, in turn, triggered the fusion process with the dry lithium-deuteride powder. And, in rapid succession, that fusion process created a final, devastating fission process, releasing cesium-137 into the atmosphere.
It was the most wicked doomsday device Kim Grace could imagine. There was no upper limit to the size of a hydrogen bomb you could build if you had no intention of placing it on a mobile missile warhead or even the back of a flatbed truck.
You could, in fact, build one large enough—and salt it with enough cesium-137—to irradiate nearly half of the world’s population with just one fission-fusion-fission detonation. A cesium bomb could potentially wreak havoc and decimate half the world for a generation.
No rational political or military leader would ever deploy such a weapon for the simple reason that it would irradiate and sicken every man, woman, and child in a country—and those in every surrounding country, for that matter—if the cesium bomb was large enough in size.
But, Kim Grace and You Moon both knew, North Korea’s leadership was not entirely rational. They’d been isolated and living in abject fear of Western invasion for a generation and counting. They clearly felt the need to create something that would give them the upper, final “dead hand” in a military confrontation with the principalities and powers that surrounded them on all sides.
North Korea had Russia and China to the north. The United States patrolled their southern border. And they had Japan to their east. It was hard for You Moon’s friend—and the permanent military leadership that surrounded him at all times—not to feel a little intimidated by their neighbors.
As Kim Grace and You Moon became fast friends and talked of such things in hushed whispers at the end of long, horrible days at Camp 16, they sometimes despaired. They had no friends to talk to about this knowledge. No one cared about them, or their desperate situation at Camp 16. They had been forgotten, discarded, and consigned to the trash heap of history.
Despite her faith, Kim Grace couldn’t help but think that she would die, alone, with her secrets. She couldn’t even write a note to pass on to the world. There was no pen to write with, and no paper on which to record her thoughts.
You Moon still clung to the hope that h
is friend would come to his senses and pull him back from the abyss opening up now at his feet. But he, too, had doubts that consumed him each day.
And even if someone should find them, and ask to hear their stories, what would they both say? How would they explain their secrets—the knowledge they both shared—in a way that would impress the leaders of the powers surrounding them on all sides?
It seemed hopeless.
17
TEHRAN, IRAN
Ahura Ehsan folded his finely embroidered prayer rug carefully and returned it to the closet after finishing his morning prayers. The house was quiet this early in the morning. But Ehsan knew the quiet was deceptive, and that it would not last long.
He’d gotten almost no sleep that night. Almost every manner of council in Iran had met throughout the night as the reports of the Israeli attack began to come in. Ehsan had attended as many of them as he could manage before returning to his modest home in a Tehran suburb shortly before dawn.
Ahura was worried, which was unusual for him. He was not one who ever worried for the future. He followed the still, small voice in all things, in all ways. He was a relentless, positive storm. He believed that every action demanded careful attention to detail and a strict observance to his own beliefs.
Those who followed his writings and talks could feel his deep passion. Everything he said and wrote followed the scriptures carefully and methodically. But those who knew him well also had long ago come to believe that Ahura was so much more than this careful script—he was a walking, living, breathing testament to the way of God.
It was strange to Ahura to think that his country had been under attack just twelve hours earlier. There was virtually no sign of the attacks in Tehran. The Stealth planes from Israel—and they had, almost assuredly, been Stealth fighters developed in America—had attacked sites all around the country, at locations where the IRGC’s nuclear efforts had been underway.
But Tehran had not seen the attacks and had no visual knowledge of them. Like many others in his country, Ehsan was relying on reports from people near the sites who were filing virtual multimedia reports with portals like mVillage.
It always amazed Ehsan how mobile technology had changed everything. There were people in rural parts of Iran—and throughout the world, for that matter—who spent nearly all of their disposable income on mobile phones. It was their central link to the rest of the world. It also ensured that nothing happened unnoticed. No trees fell in the world without observation any longer.
Ehsan had ignored nearly all of the incoming text messages on his own phone throughout the night. Dozens of people were trying to reach him, and he had chosen not to respond.
But there was one that kept returning to his mind’s eye. He could not turn away from this one message, no matter how hard he tried. He settled into his study, composed himself, and turned on his laptop. He could not avoid the message any longer. He knew the risk he was taking by responding…and the risk being taken by the sender.
My dearest Reza, he wrote. Greetings and peace. I hope you are well? He hit the send button and wondered, as he often did, what the digital journey was like for messages that went from his office to the rest of the world. He also wondered, vaguely, if the IRGC would someday be able to track such messages in the mobile world.
The reply was virtually instantaneous. Clearly, the former president had been waiting for his reply. I am well, Reza wrote in his text. I wish the circumstances were different. I am managing in my unjust imprisonment, which I’m certain you must have heard about by now. I hope it is a temporary thing, my arrest.
Patience, my friend, Ehsan wrote back. We are all working through these very difficult times. We are all doing our best.
I know you are, Ahura. I will not write what I know to be true in my heart, for that would put you in a difficult place.
Thank you. So what did you write about?
Reza replied immediately. I write to urge you to do whatever is in your power to intercede with the Rev. Shahidi on the question of retaliating against Israel for their unjust and unprovoked attacks.
That is well beyond my reach, and not something I know anything about, Ehsan wrote back.
I understand. Nevertheless, decisions will be made very, very soon. The Rev. Shahidi will be in a position to keep a missile from being launched at Israel—a missile that cannot be recalled once it is launched.
They both knew precisely what was being discussed—and what was being asked. Should there be enough highly enriched uranium left for a nuclear warhead that had been created with extensive help from North Korean scientists in recent months, it was certain that the IRGC leadership would move to launch it at Israel.
Ali Zhubin, especially, had been adamant on this point for months. The IRGC’s military commander had briefed the Guardian Council in the past few days that Iran’s leadership had a moral and legal obligation to respond to an Israeli attack with a second strike.
Zhubin claimed that North Korea’s scientific help with the Shahab 3—a nearly identical replica of North Korea’s own intermediaterange missile—had perfected both the guidance system and the ability to fly through Iraqi airspace. President Ahmadian had confirmed Zhubin’s claim in several briefings with the political leadership.
Whether it could penetrate the emerging Arrow 3 air-defense system that was being deployed with U.S. assistance was another matter. But Zhubin had been quite forceful that Iran had no choice but to respond, regardless of the consequences. Doing nothing was simply not an option, he had argued quite forcefully.
The Guardian Council had not ruled yet, and neither had the Rev. Shahidi. But they would very soon, perhaps even as the two of them were writing to each other. Some sort of a response was imminent, and the options ranged from a return strike at Israel and pre-set targets like the USS Abraham Lincoln somewhere in the Arabian Sea, to a decision to deny oil to the West through the Strait of Hormuz.
I cannot say what the Rev. Shahidi is considering, Ehsan wrote. I have not been involved in those discussions.
But this wasn’t entirely correct. Ahura Ehsan was close to Shahidi. He was the Supreme Leader’s lifeline to some of the more moderate clerics, who were still united in their support of Shahidi and his agenda. Ehsan had the ability to tell Shahidi when he had gone too far and was about to lose critical support of the mainline clerics he could not afford to lose.
Yes, I know, said Razavi. But should you have the opportunity, I would urge you to consider this. The U.S. has pledged that it will sanction Israel for their actions. It will take definitive action against Israel, something it has never done in a generation—but only if we do not strike back in anger with a nuclear missile attack.
And how do you know this? Ehsan wrote back, mildly surprised.
I know this. And I know it to be true.
Ehsan sat back in his chair. He did not doubt the words he was reading. He also did not wish to probe this further, for to do so would jeopardize his own position. If this is true—if the United States will take action against Israel—what might that action look like? he wrote.
I do not know, exactly, Razavi wrote. But I know that it will be significant, public, and definitive. It will be action that could finally separate the United States from Israel, in a way that can be demonstrated to the world.
Both Razavi and Ehsan knew there were many, many leaders in the Arab world who had worked for a generation to build some sort of diplomatic, political, and military distance between the United States and Israel. To date, all such efforts had been failures. There was an opportunity now, but it was linked to Iran’s response to the Israeli attack.
Ehsan was growing uncomfortable with the nature of the discussion. It was dangerous. He understood the thrust of Razavi’s message. It was a credible back-channel effort. But he did not wish to get more explicit in his writing.
I see, and I understand, Ehsan wrote back. But I must go now. I will do what I can to discuss this, if it seems appropriate to raise it.
Ehsan closed his laptop. His mind was already turning, wondering how he could safely carry this message forward with the Supreme Leader—or whether it was simply too dangerous to raise it.
18
GILAN QARB, IRAN
The truck had rolled down out of the mountains during the night, along the historic trade route linking Kermanshah and Baghdad. The Kermanshah-Baghdad route had been ill-used for years, but the route still existed, and it was the safest way through the mountains to the plains to the west. There was also just enough truck traffic on it to mask the truck’s covert mission.
It was only one, plain-looking flatbed truck and very difficult for any satellite photos to isolate. There were no other vehicles with it. A convoy would have attracted attention. They’d managed to fit a dozen people into the cab of the flatbed and benches on either side of the back of the truck, which had been fitted with a light canopy to mask its true nature.
It was headed to a remote location that had never before been used for military purposes. It wasn’t on anyone’s tactical military map. No computer model, no matter how sophisticated, could have possibly guessed at this site as a starting point for the purposes of plotting arcs and distances.
The truck arrived at its destination without incident as the sun was beginning to make its presence known on the other side of the mountains to the east. It drove past some ruins in the ancient village. The locals had always claimed the ruins were from a large fire temple, attributed to Hercules and known as the God of Hunting. It was well-named, some of the truck’s occupants had joked.
Gilan Qarb was more than four hundred miles from Tehran to the east, in one of the westernmost provinces of Iran. The level plain of Gilan Qarb was west of the Kalhor Mountains. It was a calm, peaceful land, irrigated by the Gilan Qarb River and several others.