Grishkov was given clean fatigues to wear, and then escorted to a small conference room where Vasilyev and Neda were already waiting. Vasilyev was wearing the same fatigues as Grishkov, but Neda was wearing a simple yet attractive dark blouse and skirt.
Vasilyev smiled when he saw Grishkov was dressed the same way he was.
“It appears we’ve both been drafted. Neda was luckier thanks to Alina. She radioed ahead to a Syrian contact in Latakia with Neda’s sizes, who brought her clothes to the base just this morning. I’ve been doing this work for a long time, and even I am impressed.”
Neda smiled wistfully. “It is a small thing, but for the first time in many years, I feel hope that things may be about to change for the better.”
The conference room door swung open, and into the room strode the commander of Russian forces in Syria, General Stepanov. Tall, bald, and with a trim muscular build he had been able to keep up in spite of his age, Grishkov’s first thought was, “I’d hate to run into him in a bar fight.”
An aide followed behind, who quickly took up position at the far end of the conference table and turned on a small laptop. Vasilyev, Grishkov and Neda all started to rise from their chairs, and were impatiently waved back into them by Stepanov.
Pointing at each of them in turn, he said, “Vasilyev, Grishkov, Rahbar.”
They each nodded, and then Neda said softly, “Please call me Neda, General.”
Stepanov scowled, as all the Russians present knew he would at the interruption. He then visibly reminded himself that he wasn’t speaking to one of his soldiers, nodded and said, “Very well. I understand your English is good, so we will speak in that language.”
Glancing at the file that had been placed in front of him, but leaving it unopened, Stepanov said, “I understand that you promised to give us further details on the planned attacks in Saudi Arabia once you were out of Iran. I am here to listen.”
Neda looked thoughtful. “I must stress first that my husband’s part in these attacks is limited to the ones using nuclear weapons. There was to be a follow-up attack using conventional weapons of some kind, but I have no details on that.”
Stepanov nodded impatiently.
Neda took a deep breath, and said, “One nuclear weapon will be used against each of the two desalination plants that together supply Riyadh with nearly all of its fresh water. A third nuclear weapon will be used to contaminate Saudi oil reserves with radioactivity.”
Stepanov shook his head. “This makes no military sense. Why cut off Riyadh’s water supply when you could simply attack Riyadh directly? As for contaminating Saudi oil reserves, I doubt there is a single impact point which could accomplish that mission.”
Stepanov paused. “I know you overheard your husband making these plans with a terrorist operative, and I know your husband was the head of Iran’s nuclear program. But is there any proof that these weapons really exist?”
Vasilyev’s outward demeanor didn’t change, but internally he groaned. So their mission ended. Stepanov wanted nothing to do with anything that would take resources from his mission in Syria. He would use the fact that there was no proof Iran had nuclear weapons to justify doing exactly nothing.
Then to the astonishment of everyone, Neda reached inside her blouse and pulled out a USB flash drive, the one measuring less than an inch long.
“Full technical details on each weapon are here, as well as my husband’s notes on how each were to be used in the attacks. I am a nuclear physicist myself, and I can tell you that these devices should work.”
Stepanov swung towards Vasilyev and quickly asked him in Russian, “Doesn’t the FSB search defectors anymore?”
Before Vasilyev could answer, Neda said quietly in Russian, ”It’s not his fault.”
Stepanov shook his head in disgust, and said to Vasilyev in English, “Her speaking Russian is another small detail not in her file.”
Neda said quickly, switching to English, “I have just started to learn.
Please, do not blame him or Alina. They could never have found the drive.”
Neda paused, and blushed deeply. “It was not in my bra before. We women have many hiding places.”
Stepanov grunted, and then pursed his lips, obviously thinking. He then gestured for the aide to bring him the laptop, and inserted the drive. A few clicks later, the screen was filled with schematics, and Stepanov’s frown had changed from angry to thoughtful.
Stepanov looked up from the screen at Vasilyev. “Very well. Let us assume that everything here is true. What do you propose we do with this information?”
Vasilyev said carefully, “I think we should inform the Saudi government, and leave the response to them.”
Stepanov’s answering smile had no warmth in it at all. “Very sensible, and what I plan to recommend to Moscow. Why do you think they will refuse?”
Vasilyev shrugged. “There may be concern, if the attack is successful, that the Saudis may believe we were involved and warned them too late only to avoid blame. Our weapons sales to the Iranians might cause them to think this, and maybe even to ignore our warning. They are currently very busy in Yemen.”
Vasilyev glanced at Grishkov. “We have already discussed these possibilities.”
Stepanov nodded. “I’m sure you have. Other options?”
Vasilyev frowned. “The FSB has assets in the Kingdom that could be activated and used to try to stop these attacks. It would be best if we could be there to lead that effort, but I don’t think there’s enough time to get us to the Eastern Province.”
Stepanov nodded. “Any other options to stop the attacks?”
Vasilyev hesitated. “First, I should say that I believe the attacks on the desalination plants are real. They are primarily targets of opportunity, since they are just on the other side of the Gulf from Iran. Small boats smuggling contraband, primarily alcohol but also drugs, land cargos on the Saudi coast daily — or I should say, nightly. Some are caught, most are not. I think a small boat will land the two weapons to be used on the desalination plants, and local Shi’a enemies of the government will help carry out the attacks.”
Stepanov’s eyebrows rose. “You call them ‘enemies of the government’?
Here in Syria we find the term ‘terrorists’ shorter.”
Vasilyev nodded. “Yes, General. They are terrorists planning to kill thousands of innocent people, and must be stopped. But it is important to remember that the attackers will be people with real grievances, who are highly motivated.”
Stepanov grunted. “Yes, we have seen this in Syria too. Just when we think the war is finally over, it flares up again. But you said that you believe two of the attacks are as described here,” waving at the laptop’s screen. “What about the third?”
Vasilyev shook his head. “I agree with you that contaminating all or even most of the Kingdom’s oil reserves with a single nuclear weapon is impossible. Whatever the idea’s origin, it can only have been proposed to Neda’s husband as a way to persuade him to provide the weapons.”
He turned to Neda. “Your report to Alina said that he would have refused to hand over the weapons if they were going to be used on cities.”
Neda’s face twisted, and a bitter laugh emerged. “Yes, that monster is fine with killing thousands. But he draws the line at tens or hundreds of thousands. I think he’s just thrilled that all of his years of work are going to be put to use. The devil’s use,” she said, spitting on the floor next to the conference table with a vehemence that took them all by surprise.
"So,” Vasilyev continued, “that leaves the question of the real third target.
I think there can be only one answer.”
“Riyadh,” Stepanov said flatly.