42
David hung up the phone but said nothing.
“What was that all about?” Torres asked. “Is Dr. Birjandi all right?”
Every man in the SUV was on pins and needles, but David remained quiet for another long moment.
“Hey, man, is everything okay?” Torres pressed. “Talk to us. What’s going on?”
David took a deep breath and nodded at a road sign. They were finally entering the area of Al Qa’im that was adjacent to the Syrian border, now just a kilometer or so ahead. That meant they had only a minute to talk, but David was still trying to make sense of what he had just heard.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he began, “but President Darazi has just been assassinated.”
“What? How?” Torres asked.
“A few minutes ago, in Tehran,” David said. “Apparently a Mossad team in Tehran fired an RPG at Darazi’s helicopter. It exploded on impact and killed everyone on board.”
“How does Birjandi know this?”
“General Jazini just got the news from Tehran and told Birjandi. Everyone’s in shock.”
“Birjandi is in Syria?” Fox asked.
“Yeah, he’s at Al-Mazzah.”
“What on earth for?”
“The Mahdi summoned him.”
“I thought Birjandi had refused,” Crenshaw said.
“That’s what I thought too,” David confessed. “I guess the Mahdi wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. He sent a chopper for Birjandi last night. The old man was having breakfast with Jazini and some senior staff at Al-Mazzah when they got the news that the Israelis had taken Darazi out. But there’s more.”
“What?”
“The Mahdi is due to arrive there at noon.”
“That’s barely two hours from now,” Torres said.
“Right,” David agreed. “Both warheads were definitely there on the base this morning, but one is already moving. An Iranian nuclear scientist named Zandi is overseeing a Syrian team that is presently attaching one of the warheads to a Syrian Scud-C missile. Birjandi says the original plan was that by no later than three this afternoon, Damascus time, the unattached warhead was going to be moved, along with Zandi and his team, to Aleppo, where it, too, would be attached to a Scud-C. But Jazini is terrified the Israelis are about to attack Damascus and Aleppo, especially now that they’ve taken out Darazi. So he started the transport early — but I don’t think he ever planned to send the warhead to Aleppo anyway.”
“Why do you say that?” Torres asked.
“Because now it’s headed to a small air force base outside Dayr az-Zawr. The Syrians have several dozen Scud missiles positioned there, but generally it’s not a base that attracts much attention.”
“Dayr az-Zawr?” Torres repeated.
“Right.”
“That’s not far from us,” Torres said. “We’re actually headed right through there. How are they sending it, by air or by ground?”
“Jazini thought it was too risky to move it by air,” David replied. “He’s convinced that any aircraft that takes off from a Syrian military base, especially one in Damascus, would be shot down. So they’ve got it on a Red Crescent ambulance.”
“The same way they got Jazini to Damascus,” Fox said.
“You got it,” David said. “Now look, we’re coming to the border crossing. I’ll take the lead. The rest of you start thinking through how we’re going to intercept this ambulance.”
“How long did Birjandi say it would take to transfer the warhead to the other base?” Crenshaw asked.
“An hour and a half,” David said. “How soon can we be to Dayr az-Zawr?”
“Maybe a little less than that,” said Torres. “It all depends on how fast we get through this checkpoint.”
“Okay, boys, look sharp,” David said. “This is it.”
David didn’t say any more, but he knew everyone on his team was thinking the same thing he was. Had Omid’s body been found? Did the Mahdi’s forces know his computer had been hacked and his IRGC uniforms had been stolen? Had the Syrian border guards been alerted?
Naphtali was just about to dash outside his residence and board an IDF helicopter to make the short hop to the war room in Tel Aviv when an emergency call came in from Zvi Dayan.
“Mr. Prime Minister, don’t get on that chopper,” Dayan shouted, already hearing the roar of the rotors.
“Don’t worry, Zvi,” Naphtali shouted back. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Whatever you have can wait till then.”
“No, it can’t, sir. We heard from one of our teams in Tehran. They just took out Ahmed Darazi.”
“Did you say Darazi is dead?” Naphtali replied, wondering if he had heard his Mossad chief clearly.
“Yes, sir, not ten minutes ago.”
“How? What happened?”
“My team took out his helicopter, Mr. Prime Minister,” Dayan said. “I’ll e-mail you the details in a few minutes. But that’s why I suggest you stay out of the air — at least for now.”
This wasn’t going as planned. There was an enormous traffic jam at the border crossing. Ahead of their SUV were at least thirty or forty 18-wheel cargo trucks, and for whatever reason, the Syrian border guards were subjecting each to a thorough inspection — and taking their sweet time.
David looked at his watch. It was just after 10 a.m. By the looks of things, they weren’t likely to cross the border for at least another hour. And they were at least a good hour away from the air base. That meant if things didn’t change quickly, they were going to miss their only opportunity to intercept the warhead before it entered the base and was too secure to be reached.
Suddenly the phone rang. Frustrated but hoping it was Birjandi with more news, David turned on his Bluetooth headset again. But it wasn’t Birjandi; it was Eva.
“Hey, it’s me,” she said. “Can you talk?”
“For a moment.”
“Good. I found it.”
“Really?” he asked. “You’re sure?”
“Hundred percent. You want me to read it to you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Now?”
“Yes, go.”
“Okay,” she said. “Here goes.”
First, Eva gave David the phone number that the mole had used to call the Mossad headquarters. David scribbled it down on a sheet of paper while waiting in this horrendously long line. Next she gave him the number of the satphone from which the mole had called, and he wrote that down too. Then she gave him the exact coordinates in longitude and latitude from which the satphone call originated and the precise coordinates of where the call was received.
“Why would I need any of that?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” she conceded. “I’m just giving you everything I have.”
“Fine. Keep going.”
Eva read the short transcript, translated from Farsi.
RECEIVER: Code in.
CALLER: Zero, five, zero, six, six, alpha, two, delta, zero.
RECEIVER: Password?
CALLER: Mercury.
RECEIVER: Authentication?
CALLER: Yes, uh, this is Mordecai. I have very important information to pass on, and I have only a few minutes.
RECEIVER: Go ahead. I’m recording.
CALLER: Eight nuclear warheads being prepared for imminent launch. Repeat: eight nuclear warheads being attached to missiles for imminent launch. Stop. The following are the precise GPS coordinates for each of the warheads. Stop. Can only guarantee these locations as of this call. Stop. Warheads could be moved at any time. Repeat. Time-sensitive information. Stop. Will change soon, and I won’t have access to their locations once they are moved. Stop.