Farhad looked at Kazem incredulously. “None? But what about cancer? I thought you said the plant wasn't far from Denver. Isn't that a big city?"
Kazem nodded. "Yes, it is. But whatever the impact may have been, I think it's good for your plans that the plutonium fires didn't produce casualties or cancer at rates too high for the government to deny responsibility. The problem for our comparison is that the fires consumed much of the plutonium, just as the many successful plutonium-based nuclear weapons tests did. If either the Americans or the Russians ever had a fizzle, they certainly haven't admitted it. Since the very first nuclear weapon the Americans tested was plutonium-based, and successful, it's possible they never had one. So, we can hope that a plutonium fizzle won't be as dangerous as some fear. But the truth is, nobody really knows."
Kazem paused. "That brings us to the next thing you should know."
Farhad said nothing, and waited expectantly for Kazem to continue.
"The Saudis will be able to quickly confirm once the weapons are detonated that they came from Iran. The International Atomic Energy Agency inspectors have samples of the uranium and plutonium we have produced, and they will be able to match fallout particles from a successful explosion within days. Of course, a failed detonation or a fizzle would leave more nuclear material, and make the match even easier. From what you have said of the planned follow up to the detonation that may not matter, but I thought you should know in any case."
In the bedroom Neda's right hand flew to her mouth. Planned follow up?
What insanity was this?
Farhad nodded. "You're right, uncle. I don't think it will matter. Still, it's useful to know. Now, how soon are you scheduled to maintain the weapons?"
Kazem shrugged. “There is no schedule, per se. Remember, these weapons are held in secret, and very few people know they exist. There are no formal procedures. The truth is, I decide on my own when to check on them."
Farhad smiled. “Excellent. We have to think about the best way to deliver the weapons to their targets, and decide which weapon to assign to each target. And, now we have to confirm which target is farthest from a population center. I can say offhand that the desalination plant at Jubail cannot be the target for the plutonium weapon, since it is not far from a city of at least eight hundred thousand people."
Farhad paused. "Can you get me basic specifications on each weapon, like dimensions and weight? Also, I presume the men carrying out the attacks will need protective gear to handle the weapons?"
Kazem nodded. "I can give you approximate dimensions and weights from memory right now, with more precise details later once I can consult my notes at the lab. The devices are shielded, though if your men aren't doing the attacks as a suicide mission I'd recommend lead-lined gloves."
Farhad grimaced. “I don’t intend these to be suicide missions if I can help it, particularly since I plan to lead one of them myself. Of course, the dimensions and weights will give us a better idea of our options in carrying out the attacks. We have more work to do to determine how tight security is at each of the targets. Our organization is still working to determine which assets will be available to deliver the weapons to their targets. In short, we have a great deal to accomplish in very little time."
Kazem frowned. “What's the rush? Mecca and Medina have been in Saudi hands for centuries. What difference does a few weeks or months really make?"
Farhad sighed, and tiredly rubbed the right side of his face. "Uncle, once a plan like this is in motion, it is only a question of time before our enemies learn of it. There are simply too many people involved to keep it a secret indefinitely. Our only chance of success is to carry out the attacks before the inevitable leaks are pieced together by whoever would like to stop it."
Kazem grunted agreement. "Yes, I see your point."
Farhad looked at his watch. "One last question before I should leave. What is the earliest date we can collect the devices, and will we need to overcome any resistance to their removal?"
Kazem looked at his watch in turn. "I think I will walk with you to your car and answer your question there. Your aunt may return any minute and I don't want to be interrupted, since I know you need this information for your planning. How far away are you parked?"
Farhad shrugged. "Considering the neighborhood, I didn't do too badly."
He then named an intersection that brought a smile to Neda's lips. It was about three blocks away, and would let Neda pretend she had returned while Kazem was out.
Kazem nodded. "Good. Let's hurry. I'd really like to get back before your aunt gets home."
Neda waited a full five minutes after Kazem and Farhad had gone before she emerged from the bedroom, her head still swirling from everything she'd heard. There was so much that made no sense. What were the targets? What did the planned attacks have to do with Mecca and Medina? What would be the "follow up"?
One thing was clear, though. The nuclear devices her husband had worked on for so many years, that he had told her were never completed, were real.
And were going to be used.
Chapter Five
Mark Bishop looked up as his deputy Tom Patterson entered his office.
Since Mark had been promoted to Chief of Station at US Embassy Beijing, he’d lost the ability to do any sort of field work. His interest in field work was why he had joined the CIA, but his new job came with a 24/7 Chinese follow team that represented the best they had.
And that was actually pretty good.
So, instead he got to read and listen to the reports produced by his team, and decide what got passed back to Langley, and with what priority. Though the rest of his staff was followed by the Chinese, even they couldn’t do everyone 24/7, and not all of the men they put on the job were truly competent. Or else Tom wouldn’t have just produced his latest report.
Bishop looked nothing like James Bond. Middle-aged, slim, medium height, brown hair, wearing silver wireframe glasses and clothes that would have made him at home in any office cubicle in America, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him.
Tom Patterson looked much the same, except his hair was black, he was seven years younger, and his glasses had a more modern looking bronze metal frame. Nobody passing him on an American or European street would have given him a second look.
“So, Tom, have a seat. Interesting report. I’ve passed a copy to our DIA friends,” Bishop said. One of the perks of his job was that he got to decide who else saw the information they collected, and how quickly. Bishop was a believer in sharing, both because he truly thought every agency at the Embassy was on the same team, and because sharing was normally a two-way street. This time, the Defense Intelligence Agency office at the Embassy had an obvious need to know about Tom’s report.
Patterson nodded. “Any reaction?”, he asked.
Bishop shook his head. “Not yet. I’m sure their first question will be the same as mine — why in the world would the Chinese sell a pair of Chengdu J-
20 stealth fighters to the Iranians? And what are the Iranians planning to do with them?”
Patterson shrugged. “You saw in my report that I asked my Chinese contact at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs both questions, and he said he didn’t know. I’ll add that I believe him, mostly because I had the strong impression he was annoyed that he didn’t know. As I said in the report, I think he was just as motivated by a desire to expose the sale as by the money I handed over.”
Bishop grunted. “But he did take the money.”
Patterson grinned. “Well, sure.”
Bishop shook his head. “The People's Liberation Army Air Force got their first dozen J-20s in 2016, and they weren’t made operational until 2018.