“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Casey leaned back and took a deep breath, turning his pen over in his hand as he shot a menacing look at the man across the table. “Then tell me what you think it means, Oscar.”
Heads turned to Oscar Horstein, IWG’s Israel analyst, waiting for an answer—some were actually curious, others just wanted the meeting to end. “I think it means they don’t have any more money to throw around,” Oscar said. “The economic sanctions imposed by the U.S. and UN are choking Iran.”
“That’s the easy answer,” Casey said.
“Because it’s the right one.”
“Look, Oscar,” Casey said, “I’m not saying the sanctions aren’t hurting Iran, I’m just saying they’re not hurting Iran that bad. And they’re damn sure not tough enough to keep Iran from building the bomb.”
“That’s not even the same argument.” Oscar pointed his index finger accusatorily. “You said Iran stopped overtly supporting Assad because they’ve made enough progress on a nuclear weapon that they don’t need Syria anymore.” Oscar retracted his hand and sat back. “Where’s your evidence, Casey? Do you have any?”
Casey was silent and didn’t take his eyes off Oscar. After a silent five-count for effect, he said, “No.”
“Amateur,” Oscar said under his breath but loud enough for everyone listening to hear.
“Columbus wasn’t a hundred percent sure the Earth was round, either,” Casey said, “yet, here you are.” That brought cautious laughter from many and a more vocal response from George Smithfield.
“Here you are,” George repeated from the seat to Oscar’s left. He added a playful shove and got an irritated glare in return.
The verbal jousting came to a sudden halt as Susan Williams entered the room, followed by Jim Shelton, the head of IWG’s Middle East/Southwest Asia cell. Susan sat down in the empty chair next to Casey while Jim closed the door. “I apologize for making you all wait,” Jim said as he sat down, “but we just learned some news that will affect everything we’re doing. Susan,” he said, nodding to his lead Iran analyst.
Susan looked briefly at her co-workers and announced, “Yesterday, the Islamic Republic of Iran conducted an underground nuclear test that our sources estimate was somewhere in the range of seven kilotons.”
There was a brief moment of silence around the table—not out of respect for anyone, but because people didn’t know what to make of the news. Casey was the first one to say anything when he smiled at Oscar Horstein and said, “Told ya.”
Oscar tried his best to ignore the comment. He looked directly at Susan and asked, “How could that happen? I mean, how could the U.S. let that happen?”
“I don’t think anyone let it happen, Oscar,” Susan said.
Oscar shook his head and tugged his necktie loose as if preparing for a long night at the office, though it was only nine-thirty in the morning. “What about that Stuxnet worm? Wasn’t that thing in place to strike again when we needed it to?” Oscar asked.
“That was just to slow them down,” George Smithfield, the company’s other Iran analyst, commented.
“And it was deployed at Natanz,” Casey added. “As far as anyone knows, there wasn’t any cyberattack on Fordow, so in reality, Olympic Games didn’t do shit to stop them from moving forward.” He turned to his left to give Susan a chance to talk.
When she saw Casey was done, Susan said, “Look, guys, it’s not our job to be pointing fingers and wondering who knew what and when. I’m sure Congress will be doing that soon enough. All we know right now is that a test occurred somewhere in the Dasht-e Kavir, also called Kavir-e Namak or ‘Great Salt Desert,’ about 250 miles east of Tehran based on GSN readings reported from Albuquerque.”
“G-S-N?” the India analyst, Leslie Meyers, asked.
“The Global Seismic Network,” Jim Shelton answered. “U.S. and international stations all around the globe feed into a network to monitor earthquakes, or in this case, underground nuclear detonations.”
“But how do we know it was nuclear?” Oscar asked. “Maybe it was just an earthquake.”
Susan and Jim exchanged looks before Jim said, “One of our sources reported PMOI was able to obtain atmospheric readings from the site that indicated signature levels of xenon isotopes consistent with a nuclear detonation.”
Casey smirked at the mention of the People’s Mujahideen of Iran. Almost four years earlier he argued, with varying degrees of success, that the United States was involved in a clandestine proxy war with Iran. Casey opined that congressional efforts to have PMOI removed from the State Department’s list of Foreign Terrorist Organizations was evidence the U.S. was maneuvering to provide funding and support to groups like PMOI’s militant arm, the Mujahideen e-Khalq, and by association, the Iranian Baloch resistance group Jondallah. More tenuous, but potentially more damning, Casey also accused members of Washington’s power structure of orchestrating the Manhattan bombings that killed scores of people, including Susan’s college roommate, Mariam Fahda, as part of the most despicable element of what Casey termed “The Complicity Doctrine.” Conspiracy theory or not, PMOI’s de-listing and subsequent intelligence gathering activity seemed to back up Casey’s ideas—some of them at least.
“What does that mean?” George asked Jim.
“It means the end of Israel,” Oscar answered quickly, blankly staring at the center of the conference room table.
“No it doesn’t,” Susan said.
“Not if they don’t do anything stupid,” Casey added.
“Okay, everyone. Let’s just slow down for a minute,” Jim said, trying to take control of the conversation early and turn it into a meaningful discussion before it reverted to a shouting match. He looked at Oscar and said, “This one test doesn’t mean Iran’s busy mounting a warhead to a Shahab-3 right now. But it does change the calculus quite a bit.” He broadened his attention to the other people around the table and said, “Our job is to figure out just how much this changes things, so I want to hear your ideas.” Questioning looks were exchanged around the table, but no one jumped at the chance to be the first to speak. “We’re just brainstorming here, people,” Jim added.
Oscar finally looked up from the table and said, “I think this changes everything.”
“How so?” Jim asked.
“Well, for one, it shows the West’s response to Iranian threats didn’t work,” Oscar said. “As much as I hate to say it, Casey was right.”
“But how does that change things?” Jim pressed.
“All options are on the table,” Oscar said, echoing the president of the United States’ own words.
“That’s just political hot air,” Susan said. “There’s no way our country is sending troops into Iran.”
“What about bombing them?” George asked.
“Israel already tried that, remember?” Susan said.
“Not nuclear bombs,” Casey said. There was silence in the room as people let Casey’s words sink in. Casey saw the looks on his colleagues’ faces and said, “C’mon, man, everybody knows Israel has nuclear weapons. A few tactical nukes on the right targets just might get the job done—not that I’m advocating that course of action. The question is, would they actually go that far?”
“I don’t know, would they?” Jim asked, putting the question back on Casey.
“With Likud in power?” Casey asked. “I’d say there’s a good chance Netanyahu gives the order.”
Jim Shelton looked at his Israel expert and prodded him for a response. “Oscar?”
Oscar shook his head. “No, I don’t think they’d go that far. But I think the threat from Iran is now real enough that Israel may go public about their own capabilities—maybe try to bring back a little bit of the Cold War?”
“It’s not the same,” Bill Meyers, the Pakistan analyst and husband of Leslie chimed in. “One test doesn’t exactly make mutual assured destruction a sound reason for an arms race like we saw between the Soviet Union and
the United States.”
“It’s not even on the same level as the perpetual stand-off between India and Pakistan,” Mrs. Meyers added. “Both of those countries have warheads mounted and ready to launch. And it took them years after initial testing to get to that point.”
“Oscar makes a good point, though,” Casey said. “If Israel comes out and tells the world they have their own nuclear missiles, and they’re not afraid to use them, just watch the number of rocket, suicide, and IED attacks go through the roof. An announcement like that will threaten all kinds of folks—even if it’s only meant for Iran.”
“So not really a cold war, then,” Bill Meyers said.
“Not in the MAD sense,” Casey agreed, “but the threats and proxy wars will definitely be kicked up a notch.”
“Alright, but how is that any different than if Israel doesn’t admit what the world already believes is true?” Leslie asked.
“Because much of the Arab world doesn’t believe it, that’s why,” Susan said. “They are so used to being lied to by their own governments that they question anything they hear from the state-run media. So unless they see Netanyahu making a declaration of Israel’s nuclear capability on CNN, BBC, or some other illegally-obtained Western news source, they’re going to ignore it.”
“Let me frame the question in a different way,” Jim said, drawing everyone’s attention. “What are the short-term impacts of Iran’s nuclear test, and what are the long-term effects? Casey, you said that we’ll most likely see an increase in violence around the region if Israel publicly announces their own capabilities, and I have to agree with you there. But Leslie brought up a good counter-point, whether she meant to or not. What if Israel keeps quiet about their own nuclear arsenal? We still have Iran’s newly emerging nuclear capabilities to deal with. How is this going to affect our clients in the next few weeks or months?”
The room was quiet as everyone contemplated how to answer the question. IWG’s clients included international businesses, the U.S. government, and private individuals—each one with a different stake in the game of world geopolitics.
“Economically, I don’t think there’s gonna be a big impact,” Casey said. “Well, maybe the stock markets might take a hit, the way those folks freak out about stuff. But Iran’s so damn isolated as it is, because of the sanctions,” Casey added, glancing at Oscar, “there really shouldn’t be a big change from business as usual.”
“What business?” Oscar asked.
“Exactly,” Casey said.
“What about militarily?” Jim asked, looking around the table and hoping one of his other analysts might decide to join the conversation.
“Nothing from the West,” George obliged. “If we’ve already counted out the U.S. or Israel doing anything, I think the best chance for a military reaction is going to come from Saudi Arabia, or maybe Egypt.”
“But only if it’s part of a larger GCC response,” Susan said. “And the likelihood of the Gulf Cooperation Council mustering the forces to attack Iran on any scale is next to nil. They didn’t do anything to upset the Iranians before the nuclear test, and they for sure won’t do anything now.”
“Fair enough, but what if the Pentagon does decide to do something about it?” Jim asked. “What will be Iran’s response?”
“Mine the Strait of Hormuz,” Bill said. “Stop the shipping of 40% of the world’s oil.”
“Won’t happen,” Susan said. “Iran can’t afford to leave that mess when this hypothetical conflict we’re talking about ends, as it eventually would. They ship oil too, remember?”
“I don’t see how we can come up with a plausible answer to what Iran may or may not do in response to an American attack until we know what that attack looks like,” Oscar said.
“Then that’s your homework assignment,” Jim said. “Think about what military options America has against Iran, and then assess the probability of success or failure for each of those options.” Groans resonated around the table. “Enough, people,” Jim warned. “This is what you get paid for.” Casey was the only one smiling. He looked forward to the challenge of a military planning exercise.
“I want you all to work together on this one,” Jim said. “And George, go see if you can find Dan Hillman over in the Southeast Asia cell. He’s an ex-Marine who can give you people a quick lesson in operational planning. That should help jump-start your efforts.”
“What’s the deadline?” Bill asked.
“Next Friday,” Jim answered. “I would want it sooner, but as Leslie pointed out, the timeline from initial testing to warhead deployment isn’t an overnight affair, and we all have our regular workloads we can’t just push to the side.” Jim looked around the table. Some people jotted notes, while others just sat with dejected looks on their faces. “Are there any questions?” Jim waited for a moment, and when no one spoke up he said, “Then let’s get to it.”
There was none of the normal end-of-meeting-chatter as everyone got up from the table and headed to their respective cubicles to take stock of just how much more work their boss just signed them up for. As Casey exited the room, a vibration in his front pants pocket alerted him he had a new text message. He’d only given in six months earlier to the idea that technology’s progression wasn’t such a bad thing, and he bought his first cell phone.
It only took Casey a month and three embarrassing episodes to learn how to silence the thing—a requirement, he found out, for bringing cell phones into the IWG offices in the first place. There were some rooms where electronic devices of any kind were prohibited, but the ninth-floor conference room was not one of them.
Casey read the message and turned back around, almost knocking Jim Shelton down as the man headed back to his own office. Casey collected himself and asked his boss, “Sir, could I take my half-hour for lunch right now?”
Jim was puzzled, since it wasn’t even ten o’clock. But then, Casey seemed to operate on his own schedule when he was chasing something down that he felt was more important than published working hours. “Sure, I guess,” Jim said. “Is something wrong?”
“No, sir,” Casey said. “I mean, not that I know of. I just have to go meet someone.”
“What about?” Jim pressed.
Casey shrugged his shoulders. “I just know he wouldn’t have asked me to meet him ASAP unless it was important.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
Casey knew he was taking a risk of being on the receiving end of another stern talking to from Jim Shelton if he answered, but it would probably be worse if he didn’t. “Paul Giordano.”
Jim closed his eyes and opened them slowly. “Detective Giordano,” he said, more to himself than to Casey. “This wouldn’t happen to be about The Council, would it?”
Casey’s internal temperature rose, and he hoped it wasn’t visible on his face. “I don’t know, sir. I doubt it. We’ve both been too busy to keep going down that road,” Casey said, not lying, but not being completely honest, either.
“But you still talk to him,” Jim said.
“Yes, but not regularly,” Casey said. He was beginning to think he should have just gone without asking for permission first. “Like I said, we’re both busy.”
Jim decided not to push the issue. “All right,” he said. “Thirty minutes. And then I need you back here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You thought you were busy before?” Jim asked, not expecting an answer. “I was serious about that deadline.”
Casey nodded and made a beeline for the exit.
Chapter 5
“I can’t stay long, so I’ll make this quick,” Detective Paul Giordano of the New York Police Department said when Casey approached. He chose the meeting place for both convenience and security. The subway station wasn’t far from his office at the Joint Terrorism Task Force headquarters, and movement was constant through the station, making it easier to identify anyone loitering who might be listening.
Casey moved to the side to make room f
or the other people coming off the subway. “What is it?” he asked.
“Greg Clawson’s dead,” Giordano said.
“What? How?” Casey asked.
“Suicide,” Giordano said. “At least that’s the official story. Guard found him this morning on the floor of his cell. He hanged himself from the cell bars with his own socks...just tied ‘em together around his neck and sat down ‘til it was done.”
Casey shivered slightly at the mental image. Greg Clawson, Casey’s former neighbor in the run-down apartment building by the East River, was in prison for attempting to assassinate Senator William Cogburn. Casey was able to stop him before he succeeded, and Clawson was given a speedy trial and a sixty-year sentence with no parole for his efforts. Clawson’s partner, Anthony Ward, was not so lucky. Arguably the brains of the pair, Ward was killed by a rifle shot from Giordano, saving him from having to face any judge but Saint Peter.
Casey never got to know Greg Clawson very well, but he never suspected Clawson would take his own life. He thought Clawson would fit right in at the United States Penitentiary in Allenwood, Pennsylvania—maybe make some friends among the other white supremacists who were no doubt part of the population. “You said, ‘official story.’ Does that mean you don’t think it was suicide?” Casey asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Why not?”
Giordano looked around to verify that no one else was listening before he answered. “Clawson never stopped blaming Keith Swanson for Jared Prince’s death. He said it at the trial, and he never said different after. But over the past few months, maybe because he’d had time to think about it, he started pinning the bombings on Swanson, too. Only thing is, no one listened to him. Because Clawson had been whining for so long, they wrote it off to just more ranting from a guy who knew he wasn’t going anywhere soon and just needed something new to add to his conspiracy story.”
Truth in Hiding Page 2
