Sunday, March 13
3
Security was airtight as Marine One landed on the South Lawn.
Sharpshooters and spotters were in position on the roof of the White House and in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, carefully scanning for any hint of trouble. Bomb-sniffing dogs and their handlers patrolled the grounds of the eighteen-acre White House complex. Heavily armed members of CAT — the Secret Service’s Counter Assault Team — took up positions while patrol cars from the Service’s Uniformed Division sealed off all streets around the presidential residence, towed away any unauthorized vehicles, and completed a thorough sweep, looking for weapons, explosives, or suspicious persons anywhere within striking distance of the incoming commander in chief. So far, they had found no one and nothing out of the ordinary, but it hardly made any of them breathe easier.
It was just after midnight on a bitterly cold late-winter night. The nation’s capital was covered in an icy crust of snow, and a brisk easterly wind continued driving down the already-frigid temperatures. Bundled up in a thick wool dress coat and closely flanked by his Secret Service detail, President William Jackson stepped off the gleaming green-and-white chopper and proceeded not to the Oval Office but directly and quickly to the Situation Room, where he was met by CIA director Roger Allen, his national security advisor, his chief of staff, and several senior White House aides.
“Where are we?” asked the president, handing his coat, scarf, and gloves to an aide and taking his seat at the head of the table.
“Mr. President, we are facing a critical threat to our national security,” Allen said bluntly.
“Proceed.”
“Mr. President, the positive progress is that the Israeli air strikes have been enormously successful. At this point, our assessment suggests they have degraded 95 percent of Iran’s nuclear facilities, destroyed 75 to 80 percent of Iran’s radar systems, gained effective control of Iranian airspace, and sent the regime into hiding. Most importantly, we believe the Israelis have destroyed six of Iran’s nuclear warheads. The problem, Mr. President, is that two of the warheads remain intact, viable, and operative and are presently unaccounted for.”
The room was silent.
“You’re telling me two Iranian nukes are loose?”
“Not exactly loose, sir,” Allen corrected. “Not in the sense that they are outside the control of the regime.”
To the president, it was a distinction without a difference.
“But you’re saying the Ayatollah and the Twelfth Imam have two working, operational, fully functional nuclear warheads, and we don’t know where they are?”
“I’m afraid I am, Mr. President.”
It was again quiet for a few moments, and then the president got up and began to pace the room.
“How do we know this? I mean, are we guessing, or do we have actual confirmation?”
“We have an intercept, sir.” Roger Allen reached into his black leather folder and pulled out copies of the NSA’s Farsi transcription and the CIA’s English translation. “This is a phone call that the National Security Agency picked up from one of the satphones our man in Tehran was able to put into the mix.”
“You’re talking about this agent you’ve code-named…?”
“Zephyr.”
“Right — Zephyr — and this is the source you’re talking about?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Allen replied. “Zephyr has been a godsend for us. Now, as you know, I wasn’t convinced he could actually penetrate deep into the regime. But he has completely exceeded expectations. He’s a gifted operative, and he’s also had a string of remarkable luck. He’s gotten these satphones into the inner circle, and they’re bearing fruit.”
“And this call — who’s talking to whom?”
“Mr. President, it’s a call between the Twelfth Imam — whom you’ll see designated as TTI on the transcript — and General Mohsen Jazini, who, as you know, sir, is the commander of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps.”
“When did the call take place?”
“About twelve hours ago, Mr. President.”
“Twelve?” Jackson said, incredulous. “Why am I just hearing about it now?”
“Well, sir, we’re… we’re doing the best we can, sir,” Allen stammered, caught off guard by the intensity of the president’s reaction. “As I said, the phones have been distributed by aides to the Ayatollah and the Mahdi to nearly all the members of the high command inside Iran. That’s the good news, and it is good. Amazing, actually. But we’re struggling with the volume of calls we’re now having to process. It’s skyrocketing. The Iranian leadership has taken the bait. They trust the phones, sir, but our systems are not prepared for the sheer volume of information we’re getting. We’re talking about several hundred phones, distributed high and low on the chain of command. In most cases, we don’t know which phone has been assigned to what user. The users often don’t identify themselves or each other. They’re avoiding mentioning where they are as much as possible to keep operational details to a minimum. They’re referring quite a bit to secure e-mails they’re sending each other. That’s apparently where most of the sensitive information is getting passed back and forth. All that to say, it’s been an enormous challenge sorting all the incoming data.”
“No, no — that’s absolutely unacceptable, Roger,” the president fumed. “I don’t need to tell you how serious this moment is. We absolutely have to stay on top of these calls.”
“Yes, sir, I understand, but—”
“But nothing,” Jackson shot back. “Don’t tell me the CIA and DIA and NSA and all the rest of you don’t have the resources you need. I’ve approved every budget request you’ve given me — everything you’ve asked for. And you’d better start getting me information in real time. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, sir. We will, Mr. President.”
Jackson’s face was red, and Allen couldn’t hold his angry glare for long. He looked down at the page in front of him, hoping the president would follow his lead. A moment later, the chief executive mercifully turned to the intercept as well.
TTI: I was praying, and your face came before me, Mohsen. Allah is with you, and you have news.
JAZINI: I do, my Lord. I was going to wait and bring you the news in person, but is it okay to speak on this line?
TTI: Of course. Now speak, my son.
JAZINI: Yes, my Lord. I have good news — we have two more warheads.
TTI: Nuclear?
JAZINI: Yes, two have survived the attacks.
TTI: How? Which ones?
JAZINI: The ones Tariq Khan was working on. The ones in Khorramabad.
TTI: What happened?
JAZINI: The moment Khan went missing, the head of security at the Khorramabad facility feared for the safety of the warheads. He feared Khan might be working for the Zionists. Since the warheads weren’t yet attached to the missiles, he decided to move them out of his facility and hide them elsewhere. I just spoke to him. He’s safe. The warheads are safe.
TTI: I thank you, Allah, for you have given us another chance to strike.
The president looked up from the transcript and stared at the CIA director.
“So where do we think they are?” he asked.
“That’s the problem, Mr. President,” Allen conceded. “At the moment, we have no idea.”
“And they could be fired at Tel Aviv or Jerusalem at any moment, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Allen said. “Or…”
“Or what?”
“Or, Mr. President, they could be headed here.”
4