They’re still working out issues with the J-20’s engines and flight control systems, and deliveries aren’t even half complete. It’s the only true fifth-generation stealth fighter to be fielded by anyone but us, and they would have never managed it without the technology they stole from our F-35 program.
So, why would they sell even two to Iran?”
Patterson chewed on his lower lip. “OK, now I’m going to go to speculation, which is why it wasn’t in the report.”
Bishop nodded, and made a “give it to me” motion with both hands.
“My contact made references that I noted in the report about irregularities in the sale. When I pressed him he refused to give me details, and of course that normally means bribes.”
Bishop nodded. Patterson continued, “I had the sense, though, that it was more than that. Like the J-20s were going to Iran, but not to the Iranian Air Force.”
Bishop stared. “That’s quite a leap, Tom. Who else in Iran would know what to do with a J-20?”
Patterson shrugged. “I’m no expert on Iran. But I do remember reading that the Pasdaran is basically a parallel armed force, and there are also government-sanctioned militias, called the Basij if I remember correctly. Or maybe some other organization we don’t know about. I warned you this was just speculation.”
Patterson paused. “I just think the guy was hoping we’d spill that we knew about this sale, and then it would be called off, and the planes returned.”
Bishop cocked his head. “Really? The J-20s have been there now for months, so how likely is it that the Iranians would give them back? Also, isn’t he smart enough to worry that if we did that then our learning about the J-20 sale might get traced back to him?”
Patterson nodded. “Even though he’s smart enough, I think he really believes the sale is a bad idea that’s worth some risk to stop.”
Bishop made rapid notes. “OK, Tom. You were right not to put this in the formal report. I’m going to add some detail, though, based on our conversation. Maybe our stations in the region can find out something.”
Patterson nodded, but knew as well as Bishop did that their ability to find out what was happening inside Iran was limited at best.
As Patterson left his office, Bishop weighed whether to recommend that US knowledge of the sale be disclosed as widely as possible within the administration. Bishop was old school, from the days when the ideal still existed that the CIA should be solely the collector of intelligence, and leave policy decisions about what to do with that intelligence strictly to the State Department and the White House.
With a firm shake of his head, Bishop made his decision. Whatever the Iranians were doing might not, strictly speaking, be his problem. But whatever the Chinese were doing to stir the pot in the Middle East, he knew it wasn’t going to be good news for the US. No, it was time to ring a few alarm bells, even if he had to risk upsetting his superiors to do it.
Neda Rhahbar didn’t have any idea what to do about the terrifying plans she had heard her husband and nephew discussing just two days earlier. She was sure, though, that she needed to know more before either confronting her husband or doing… something else.
So, when Neda told Kazem Shirvani she was going to visit her sister Azar, she was pleased to see that his reaction was relief quickly followed by poorly acted disappointment. She guessed that the relief came from knowing the apartment would be free for Kazem to meet with Farhad again.
This time, instead of coming home and falling asleep, she actually prepared a hiding place in the bedroom wardrobe. Filled with full-length garments, it would be impossible to see her hiding in the back unless it was both opened and the clothes swept aside. Neda doubted that either would happen, but was concerned that it would be even harder to hear than when she had listened before at the bedroom door. She finally decided to keep the same perch as last time next to the barely open bedroom door, with the wardrobe door open in case Kazem came upstairs.
Their cat Shiri was normally not interested in either being played with or being shown any sign of affection, and only perked up when food was being placed in her bowl. Naturally, it picked this time to circle around her ankles.
Finally, out of exasperation Neda picked Shiri up and tossed her onto their bed. Shaking herself, Shiri curled up in a pillow and looked at Neda reproachfully, but made no further moves.
Finally, Neda’s patience was rewarded when she heard her nephew Farhad Mokri‘s voice, along with her husband’s, as they entered the apartment.
“I regret that there will be no snacks to accompany the tea today,” Kazem said. “I was concerned that if I told your aunt you were coming she would have canceled her plans with her sister to see you, and we obviously need privacy for our discussion.”
Farhad nodded. “Understood. Besides, I’m honestly too nervous to eat. I hope you have good news for me.”
Kazem frowned. “As usual in this life, both good and bad. But, first things first. Let me make the tea.”
They were shortly sitting together in the living room, sipping from Kazem’s usual strong black tea.
“Excellent,” Farhad murmured. “Now…”
“Yes, yes,” Kazem growled in response. “I well remember how my father used to complain about the impatience of youth. Proof I am growing old myself, I suppose.”
A brief glare at Farhad was met by the wisest response — silence.
“Very well. I was able to make a quick trip to the nuclear weapons storage facility. When I left I told the guards I needed additional tools to complete my maintenance work, so they should expect to see me again soon.”
Kazem paused. “I confirmed the information in my notes regarding the weapons’ dimensions, and consulted the technical documents on site to confirm the weights. The good news is that each weapon can be transported in an ordinary delivery truck, and we have the equipment on site to assemble and load each weapon.”
Kazem had also used his cell phone to take careful photos of the technical documents, which he later copied to his personal laptop, but left that out of his account.
Farhad nodded. “And the bad news?”
Kazem shrugged. “Actually both good and bad. Two of the weapons will have to be delivered to their targets by vehicle, or I suppose by boat if you wanted to attack a port. That is, both the plutonium weapon as well as one of the uranium-based devices. The other uranium weapon is designed to be dropped from an airplane. But it won’t be easy.”
Farhad shook his head. “I’m not a military man, but don’t you just drop such a weapon from a bomber?”
Kazem smiled. “I’m no more a soldier or pilot than you. But I have had many discussions with those who are. In order to be dropped from a modern bomber, the weapon would have to be fitted with a mount allowing it to be attached to the bomber’s wing, in such a way that the bomb could be jettisoned by the pilot when he was over the target. It would also need to have an aerodynamic shape, in order to prevent problems with aircraft handling.”
Farhad grimaced. “I thought bombers could just… open their bay doors, and push a bomb out.”
Kazem nodded. “I thought the same thing. I was told, not by anything we have, or by any bomber built in the last thirty years. So, our tentative plan was to drop it from a cargo aircraft designed to do air drops. We do have C-130s, so that’s probably what we’d have used. Until, of course, we were told to drop the entire project.”
Farhad looked puzzled. “I don’t understand, though, why only one of your weapons could be dropped by air. If you’re pushing it out of a cargo aircraft, couldn’t you do that with any of them?"