After finishing a few more forms that would be couriered to the IRGC headquarters in the morning, General Shahbazi checked the clock on the wall. The time was 1825 hours Zulu time. Underneath the clock that displayed Zulu time, another clock gave the time in Iran, which maintains its own time zone. The local time was 2155 hours, 9:55 p.m. The country had returned to Standard Time from Daylight Savings Time on September 22.
Shahbazi stood up to walk around. The eighteen men on duty this night were all set up in temporary cubicles using computer monitors wired to servers that had all been placed temporarily in a vacant office. The entire operations center had recently been moved temporarily into the current building. The historical operations building was undergoing a wiring and telecommunications modernization being conducted by a Chinese contractor. The general stopped to chat with most of his men. The discussion was supposed to be about business, but everyone was focused on the Classico football match that was now in the 31 minute. Shahbazi enjoyed the chance to increase the bond with his men.
60 — Protocols
At the same moment that Shahbazi completed his rounds and headed back to his desk, the pilots of the Boeing 737-400F parked on the tarmac at Ganja Airport received a communication from Mount Olympus. Their window was closing. The pilot looked at his co-pilot. “It looks like we are not getting fueled tonight.”
“Yeah, that seems to be the case.”
“We have to go. How much fuel do we have?”
“We left Zurich with a full load. We have 11,070 pounds left.”
“Enough to get us to Point Charlie. We are going. Figure out what airport we can make it to from Point Charlie.”
“Tehran,” said the co-pilot nervously in response.
“Don’t be an asshole,” replied the pilot as he glared briefly at his co-pilot. But the joke by the co-pilot had helped each man relax just a little.
The cargo plane was airborne within a few minutes and soon resuming its course for Karachi, Pakistan. The course took it to the southeast across Azerbaijan and then out over the Caspian Sea.
All 206 Israeli warplanes refueling over the Saudi desert or on the ground at Mudaysis would fly over Iraq and enter Iranian airspace in a gap that the Olympus planners knew would exist in the Iranian early warning radar network. They were headed for a spot on the map codenamed Point Delta. It was the airspace over the Dehloran radar station now in the hands of Ben Zeev’s Sayeret Matkal team.
In the radar control trailer at Dehloran, Manuchehr Moresadegh looked at his commander with a smile. Twenty minutes had passed since network access had been achieved. On the console counter top, Manu had a laptop computer open and running. From a port on the laptop to a port located on the console, a USB cable connected the portable Israeli computer to the Iranian air defense network. During the prior fifteen minutes, Manu and Isaac Mofaz had been running diagnostic programs written by the software coders of Unit 8200. The programs had confirmed connectivity and returned all of the radar and surface to air missile systems now connected to the air defense network grid. The laptop’s wireless card was also on and, without any intervention by the Sayeret Matkal operators, the laptop was communicating with the satellite burst communications device. Key information about the network was being transferred to the communications device, then being compressed, encrypted and sent in burst transmissions via satellite to Mount Olympus.
At the bunkers of Mount Olympus located on the edge of Sde Dov Airport, a team of specialists processed all of the information being received. Iranian radar frequencies were being analyzed and the status of surface to air missiles were being forwarded by satellite to three IAF G550 Eitams and two Eitan-B UAVs that would each play critical roles in Block G.
Now on the screen of Manu’s laptop a single dialogue box was open. The box held three simple words: “Execute Block Protocol?” Manu looked at Captain Ben Zeev. “Ready to go on your command.”
Ben Zeev checked his watch. “Execute the block protocol.”
Manu smiled. “Yes, sir.” He moved the cursor until it hovered over the small box that simply said “Yes.” He clicked the mouse’s left button. “Done,” he said. The time in Iran was 10:00 p.m. on Saturday, October 5.
61 — Accidents Happen
Amit Margolis did something at his desk he never did, he started chewing his nails. Around him in the main operations command room for Block G, dozens of young men and women of the Israeli Defense Force sat in front of computer screens and TV monitors. Each one had a specific job: gathering and analyzing intelligence; communicating with units now moving into combat; tracking unit locations. Several hours earlier, all of the men and women of the Golani Infantry Brigade and the Barak and Saar Armored Brigades had been quietly notified to report immediately to their units. Margolis was in awe over all that had resulted from his simple idea. He had no idea what most of these young Israelis in uniform were even doing.
A few meters in front of the twin desks of Margolis and General Schechter, a white metallic board with the map of the Middle East held a number of small plastic stylized planes. A young man moved the magnetized plane figures every minute or so. Two large planes represented the main body of attack aircraft from Shangri-La and Point Romeo. They were now passing through a radar gap in Iraq and only minutes from entering Iranian airspace.
But Margolis’ eyes focused on the four small plastic planes that were painted in red and white stripes. They represented the positions of the four aircraft that comprised Esther’s Sling. One — Kolikov’s plane — was over the northwestern portion of Iran and heading toward the underground enrichment facility north of Qom known as Fordow. A second plane — representing the Il-76 being piloted by James Miller — was now passing to the east of Isfahan and headed north toward Tehran. It would pass very close to the main Iranian enrichment facility at Natanz. Another plastic plane was being moved as Margolis watched. It has just passed over the coastline of Azerbaijan and the Caspian Sea. It was headed toward Karachi and would pass within a hundred miles of Tehran. The fourth plastic plane was over the Persian Gulf and heading west toward Kuwait City.
Margolis felt a push on his shoulder. He turned to look at David Schechter. The general tapped his watch with his right finger as he spoke. “Time for 8200 to implement Operation Accident.”
“Yes.” Margolis snapped his mind back to the tasks at hand. “Yes.” He picked up a phone that connected him to the command center of Unit 8200. Located on the northeast edge of Ramat HaSharon, the underground command center was not far from Mount Olympus. Margolis was immediately connected to a senior officer of Unit 8200. “Execute Operation Accident now.”
At the same moment, General Hassan Shahbazi was listening to a radio broadcast of the second half of the Classico match along with about half of his men. He would not have allowed this if the whereabouts of 69 Hammer Squadron was not known. But he drew the line at bringing in a television set, much to the chagrin of his men. A young adjutant had just asked the general if he wanted tea when Shahbazi’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from his wife.
Tahmineh in bad auto accident. I am on way to Arad Hospital. Meet me there.
Shahbazi’s knees buckled. He had just read the text that every parent dreads. His daughter had been in an accident and was in the hospital. “Allahu Akbar,” said the general under his breath. Like most officers in the Iranian Air Force, he was more secular than not, but he was now praying hard for his daughter. He headed to an empty office room, desperate to contact his wife and desperate to keep his men from seeing the tears welling in his eyes.