Yet Zandi would not listen. He got up, bolted out the door, and demanded to be taken back to the production line. He had a nuclear missile to finish building, he insisted to the guards, and he was running out of time.
Torres hit the gas, and they were flying along the border between the desert wilderness of eastern Syria and the fertile Euphrates River valley. In the backseat, David reviewed the maps again and explained what was ahead. They were heading northwest on Highway 4. Shortly they would come to the town of Al Ashara and then Al Mayadin. After that, another thirty miles would take them to Dayr az-Zawr.
David explained his plan of attack to Torres, his rationale for sending Crenshaw and Fox to follow them in a semi and a van, and what he saw as the most serious risks facing them once they made contact with the enemy. Torres liked the operational concept but made several suggestions that David recognized as significant improvements. Minutes later, when they were satisfied they had the best plan possible under the circumstances, David was about to call Zalinsky when his satphone rang first.
“We’re tracking the ambulance with a Predator,” Zalinsky told him. “They’re about twenty-five minutes from the base. We’re tracking you guys, too. You’re about twenty minutes out. But why the convoy?”
David quickly explained, and Zalinsky liked what he heard.
“How many other vehicles are with the warhead?” David asked.
“It’s a package of three,” Zalinsky said. “A police car out front, two ambulances following. The warhead is in the first ambulance.”
“How many men in the package?”
“Fourteen — four in the lead car, four in the car with the warhead, and six in the tail car.”
“That’s it?” David asked, perplexed. “Why so few?”
“I’m guessing they felt more cars and more men would draw too much attention,” Zalinsky replied.
“Do they have air support?”
“No, none,” Zalinsky said.
“Do we?” David asked.
Zalinsky didn’t respond.
“Jack, are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Do we have air support?” David asked again.
Zalinsky paused, then said quietly, “I can’t promise you anything. Just do your best without it, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“What kind of answer is that?” David shot back. “The president’s national-security directive was clear. We’re authorized ‘to use all means necessary to disrupt and, if necessary, destroy Iranian nuclear weapons capabilities in order to prevent the eruption of another cataclysmic war in the Middle East.’”
“I think we’ve passed that point,” Zalinsky said. “The cataclysmic war is already under way.”
“Meaning what, that now we’re now supposed to use less force?”
“Look, Zephyr,” Zalinsky replied, “that directive was designed for operations inside Iran. Now you’re operating inside Syria. Everything’s changed.”
“No, no, I memorized that document. Every word. Every comma. The president’s authorization for covert action wasn’t limited to inside Iran.”
“You’re out of line, Zephyr.”
“I’m risking my life here and the lives of my men, and for what?” David asked. “Is there authorization for this mission or isn’t there?”
Zalinsky took a deep breath. “There is.”
“Under the same NSD that we’re talking about?” David pressed.
Zalinsky hesitated for a moment, then said yes.
“Does the president want us to be here? Does he want us to move forward or not?”
“He does,” Zalinsky replied, “and so do I. So does the director. But you’ve got to admit — the entire dynamic has changed. The Mahdi now has control of more than three hundred Pakistani nukes.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” David said. “But these are the two he’s trying to launch today. All I’m asking for is some help here. Just give us the tools. Give us the air support we need, and I promise we’ll do everything we possibly can to stop them.”
“I know, and your country is grateful, Zephyr. Like I said, I’ll do my best. Really. I promise.”
David was furious. It wasn’t enough. But he realized he was no longer doing this mission for Zalinsky or Murray or Allen or the president or even for his country anymore. He was responding to a higher calling, and he’d have to leave his fate in the hands of a higher power than the bureaucrats at Langley or the politicians in the White House.
44
“He’s here!”
General Hamdi burst into the hall where Dr. Birjandi was now all alone.
“Who is here?” Birjandi asked.
“Imam al-Mahdi,” Hamdi replied breathlessly. “He just arrived a few minutes ago, and he ordered me to summon you to his chambers.”
“What time is it?”
“About 11:20,” Hamdi said.
“I thought he wasn’t arriving until noon. Wasn’t that what they told us?”
“Yes, they did,” the Syrian general confirmed. “But let’s just say that was a bit of misinformation for security purposes. Believe me, Dr. Birjandi, he is here now, and he is calling for you to come to him immediately.”
Zvi Dayan entered the command center of the Israel Defense Forces looking ashen.
It was not because Israeli cities were still being pummeled by a seemingly never-ending shower of rockets, missiles, and mortars fired by Hezbollah, Hamas, and Iranian forces. Nor was it because IDF mechanized units and ground forces were encountering heavy resistance in southern Lebanon and Gaza. Nor was it because three more Israeli fighter jets and an Israeli reconnaissance plane had just been shot down — one over Tehran, one over the Persian Gulf, and two near the Iranian-Turkish-Iraqi border. All of these weighed heavily on his heart and mind, of course. This war was far from over, and international pressure on Israel to commit to a cease-fire was mounting by the hour. Yet Dayan had something far more urgent in his hands when he strode through the main war room and knocked on the door of Defense Minister Levi Shimon, operating out of a side conference room.
“Come in,” said Shimon, looking up from his laptop, where he was reading the latest dispatches of his commanders in the field.
“Levi, we have a serious situation.”
Shimon took off his trifocals. “What is it, Zvi?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“We just got a call on the line dedicated to Mordecai,” said the Mossad chief.
Shimon instinctively stood. “What did he say?”
“It wasn’t him.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t him?”
“Someone called the number. Someone had the authorization code and password. Someone got all the way through our security, but it wasn’t Mordecai. He started talking, but after a few moments the voice-recognition software determined it wasn’t our man and cut off the call.”
“Then who was it?”
“We have no idea.”
“How did he penetrate your security?”
“I cannot tell you that either.”