Even though Mixell had displayed no intent to include Maddy in his retribution, Harrison wasn’t taking any chances, ensuring his daughter would be nowhere near him during his next confrontation with his former best friend. Prior to Harrison’s disappearance a few weeks ago, he had arranged for Maddy to stay with his parents inside a gated, guarded community. Christine had assisted, assigning a four-person team to watch over the girl.
Upon reaching I-695, Christine’s SUV traveled clockwise around the Baltimore Beltway until speeding outward on I-795 toward Owings Mills, eventually stopping before a tall metal gate. After the guard verified Harrison was on the visitor list, the CIA vehicle pulled forward, parking in front of a four-story condominium. As Christine and Harrison headed toward the building, Christine knew that two members of Maddy’s protective detail were somewhere nearby, monitoring the approach to the condominium entrance.
After knocking on the second-floor door, Harrison’s father answered, embracing his son in a short but firm hug. Jake had called ahead, letting his parents know he was coming, but it appeared they hadn’t told Maddy in case the planned meeting fell through. Sitting on the couch watching television, the young girl’s eyes went wide upon seeing her dad. She raced across the living room, jumping into her father’s arms. Harrison lifted her off her feet, holding her tightly for a while before lowering her back to the floor.
Harrison greeted his mother with a long hug, then Christine and Jake joined Maddy and her grandparents at the dining room table. At first, the four adults barely got a word in as the girl rattled on about how much she missed her dad, what her new school was like and the new friends she had made there, ending with a series of questions: where had her dad been, how long would he back, and when would they move back home together?
“Soon,” Jake replied to Maddy’s last question. “There’s one thing I need to take care of, and then we can be a family again.”
Jake’s words were meant to soothe his daughter, but tears formed in Maddy’s eyes instead.
“We’re not a family anymore. Mom’s dead! And you’re never home!”
Christine’s heart went out to the young girl. She had essentially lost both parents, at least until Jake returned home. To assuage Maddy’s grief in the meantime, Christine offered encouraging words.
“Your father is working on a critical assignment, one that gets briefed to the president himself.”
Maddy brightened at the revelation, so Christine enhanced Jake’s role. “Your father is a very important person. If you want, I’m sure he can arrange a tour of the White House and maybe even for you to meet the president himself.”
Maddy’s eyes grew wide, her gaze shifting to her dad. “You can do that?”
Technically, Jake didn’t have the connections, but Christine did. And there was an easy opportunity only a few weeks away. Easter was approaching, and the White House would be open for tours that weekend and on Easter Monday.
“Actually,” Jake replied, “Christine will make the arrangements, not me. She knows the president very well. She’s practically on a first name basis with him. In fact, her last job was in the White House itself.”
“Really?” Maddy asked.
“Really,” Christine replied. “I tell you what — I’ll take you on a personal tour of the White House.” She leaned toward Maddy and whispered, “I’ll even show you some of the special places most people never see. Sound good?”
“Sounds great!”
Maddy beamed with excitement, and Christine even caught a glimmer of a smile from Jake. It felt good to see Maddy excited and Harrison smiling. It had probably been a long time for both of them.
26
NATANZ, IRAN
Not far from the Jameh Mosque in Natanz, Behrouz Khavari sat alone in a booth at the back of Charsooq, a small, family-owned restaurant specializing in traditional Persian cuisine, savoring a cup of chai tea while he waited. It was early for dinner, with only one other table filled with patrons, and Khavari’s eyes studied the restaurant guests, convincing himself that there was nothing to worry about. After all, he had met his friend, as he preferred to think of him, on many occasions in this restaurant without being discovered.
As he took another sip of tea, Khavari spotted Karim Rashidi, a tall, thin man wearing a light sports jacket in the day’s heat, entering the restaurant. After spotting Khavari, he joined him in the back of the restaurant, sliding into the seat on the opposite side of the booth. Neither man greeted the other, instead waiting silently for Ariana, the owner’s daughter and waitress, to approach and take their dinner order. Once their order was placed and Ariana entered the kitchen, Rashidi spoke.
“What information do you have?”
“We received a shipment of advanced Russian gas centrifuges this week.”
Rashidi’s eyes widened.
“How many?”
“One thousand.”
Khavari’s friend, a CIA field agent, brought his hands up to his head, rubbing his temples, his eyes staring down at the table. Looking back up at Khavari, Rashidi asked, “How long until they’re operational?”
“A few days.”
Rashidi muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
Dinner was soon served, and Khavari spent the time while they ate conveying what he knew about the centrifuge design, their uranium purification rate, current Iranian stockpiles of low-grade and purified uranium, and the status of the new facilities being built within Kūh-e Kolang Gaz Lā.
“I need to know more about the mountain complex.”
After surveying the restaurant customers and staff, verifying that no one was watching them, Khavari pulled a folded envelope from his back pocket and slid it across the table to Rashidi, who quickly concealed it inside his jacket.
“Everything I know about the facility layout and security is in the envelope.” Khavari leaned toward Rashidi. “You must act swiftly.”
27
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The journey from CIA headquarters into the District was only a few miles. During the short trip, Christine O’Connor pulled a folder from her satchel and reviewed the information related to Russia’s shipment of advanced centrifuges to Iran. The president’s administration had been wrestling with the issue — how best to deter Iran’s pursuit of nuclear weapons — but had been convinced they had time to sort things out. Iran’s centrifuge fabrication facility at Natanz had been destroyed and its replacement was not yet producing new centrifuges, handicapping Iran’s enrichment effort with an insufficient quantity of older and less efficient centrifuges. That assessment had changed earlier this morning.
After Christine’s SUV rolled to a stop beneath the West Wing’s north portico, she passed between two Marines in dress blues guarding the White House entrance, then descended to the West Wing basement and entered the Situation Room. Inside the conference room, seated at the rectangular table, were Secretary of State Marcy Perini, acting Secretary of Defense Peter Seuffert, and Thom Parham, the president’s national security advisor. Also attending today’s meeting were Chief of Staff Kevin Hardison and Vice President Bob Tompkins. Hardison buzzed the secretary, informing her that they were ready for the president, who arrived a moment later for the meeting Christine had requested.
“How serious is this?” the president asked after taking his seat, having been notified of the meeting’s topic — Iran’s ability to enrich uranium to weapon-grade purity.