Joining the group today was Karim Rashidi, the CIA Middle East field officer who had obtained the critical information: the delivery of advanced Russian centrifuges, plus an internal layout of the new Natanz mountain complex. Rashidi began his brief, progressing through slides on a large-screen video display at the front of the operations center.
“Your objective tonight is the destruction of equipment inside the underground complex within Pickaxe Mountain. There are two main levels inside the complex. The upper level is a centrifuge fabrication facility that is nearing completion. The lower level houses a uranium enrichment plant, where several thousand centrifuges purify uranium gas, increasing Uranium-235 concentration to weapon-grade level. The upper level is two hundred fifty feet beneath the mountain surface and the lower level is almost five hundred feet deep, which means the complex can’t be destroyed by a conventional munitions strike. That’s where you come in. You’ll infiltrate the facility and plant explosives on both levels.”
With the mission objective clear, Rashidi shifted to the complex’s exterior defenses. “Natanz is protected by anti-aircraft batteries, perimeter fencing, and a contingent of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard. There are four entrances into the mountain complex, two to the east and another two to the west, and all are guarded and normally sealed. Covert ingress into the complex via a standard entrance isn’t feasible, so you’ll be trying something different.”
The presentation shifted to the next slide, a satellite infrared view of Pickaxe Mountain. “There are four vertical ventilation shafts: two induction and two exhaust. These are the exhaust vents.” Rashidi pointed to two small dark blotches on the satellite photograph indicating the exhaust of cool facility air. “You’ll travel to the complex tonight aboard a CIA Black Hawk helicopter, which should enable a clandestine approach to within a few hundred meters of this exhaust vent.” He pointed to one of the two dark spots.
“It’s likely that there are surveillance devices near the vent, so you’ll have to identify and neutralize them, then gain access to the vent and rappel down to the upper level. Once you’ve entered the facility, the plan is straightforward — plant explosives and depart.”
Rashidi moved through the next several slides, which contained hand-drawn layouts of the two levels inside the complex. In addition to the centrifuge fabrication facility, the upper level contained supply storerooms, a security control room, and accommodations for the complex’s security detachment. Rashidi walked through the drawings his contact had provided, highlighting the best locations for explosives.
“Since the complex is deep within the mountain, you won’t be able to detonate the explosives on the lower level remotely. It’s possible you can trigger the charges on the upper level after returning to the mountain surface, but to ensure they detonate, the explosives on both levels will be set with synchronized timers. That means once you set the timers, you’ll be living on borrowed time. Any questions so far?”
Steve Hile, one of the former Delta Force operators, asked, “What about a possible nuclear explosion when we destroy the uranium enrichment plant?”
“That won’t happen,” Rashidi replied. “To achieve a nuclear detonation, you have to compress the uranium into a fraction of its size, which initiates the nuclear chain reaction. Your sabotage will just create a giant mess of radioactive material, highly contaminating the facility. The Iranians will have to abandon the complex or spend years decontaminating it.
“As you’re aware,” Rashidi said, “in case any of you are captured or killed, it is essential that you cannot be directly tied to the U.S. government. In support of this directive, your fingerprint and DNA signatures have been erased from every database, both domestic and international. We’ve also deleted any social media profiles and other internet records. You are now officially ghosts. Although” — he glanced at Khalila — “you’re already a ghost, aside from your recent employment as a translator for Bluestone Security.”
Khalila offered no response, either verbally or physically, simply staring back at Rashidi.
Rashidi then asked, “Any more questions?”
There were none, so he continued, “During tonight’s mission, you’ll refer to each other using code names, in case any of your communications are intercepted.”
He looked at Wilson, a six-foot-four, barrel-chested guy. “You’ll go by Leviathan.”
Rashidi shifted his gaze to Eric White, a tall, thin, wiry man. “You’re Cutlass.”
To Steve Hile, he said, “You’ll be Pile Driver,” and Harrison was code-named Riptide.
“Your pilot,” Rashidi said, referring to Bob Lesher, “will go by Falcon.”
That left Khalila, to whom he said, “You’ll go by Translator.”
Khalila frowned as she folded her arms across her chest. “They get fancy names and I get Translator? You’re kidding, right?”
Rashidi grinned. “I am. You’ll be Stingray. Is that suitable?”
“Quite.”
“Great,” Rashidi said. “Try to get some sleep. You depart at midnight.”
35
TIMONIUM, MARYLAND
A block from the Carver Construction worksite on the outskirts of Timonium, Lonnie Mixell waited in his SUV as the day drew to a close and workers headed home. When only a single car remained in the parking lot, Mixell put his car into drive and entered the expansive complex, parking behind a large warehouse. A man was waiting at the rear exit.
Craig Daniels unlocked and pushed the door open for Mixell, and the two men strode silently down a hallway. Few words would be required today. The deal had been previously arranged via secure messaging and the price agreed upon — a hefty sum for Daniels but peanuts considering the fee Brenda Verbeck was paying.
Daniels swiped his badge and pushed open a set of double doors, and the two men entered a secure storage room. Carter Construction specialized in building roads through mountainous regions, the type of work that required a large quantity and variety of explosives. The two men stopped as Mixell took in the scene: several rows of explosives stacked floor to ceiling.
“I have what we agreed to over here,” Daniels said as he grabbed a hand trolley leaning against the wall. From a chest-high shelf, he transferred two large wooden crates and a smaller one onto the trolley.
“I appreciate your business and the payment, of course,” Daniels said. “I’ve verified the funds have been deposited. Here’s fifty pounds of C-4 and three dozen detonators, as requested.”
Mixell could see the curiosity in the man’s eyes, but Daniels wasn’t the type to ask questions. The only real question was in Mixell’s mind — should he kill Daniels?
Fifty pounds of C-4 doesn’t just get up and walk away. However, Daniels had assured him that the missing C-4 wouldn’t be discovered; he had already ordered a replacement batch, which would arrive before the next inventory. The computer record of the order would be deleted the moment the explosives arrived, ensuring the computer and stock-on-hand quantities agreed. Still, things could go wrong, and if the discrepancy was discovered, authorities could tie Daniels to Mixell.
Perhaps it was better if he killed Daniels, eliminating any possibility of connecting the fifty pounds of C-4 to himself. On the other hand, Daniels’s death might prompt an inventory when responsibility for the explosive material was transferred to his replacement.
Neither solution was foolproof, and after having debated the issue for the last few days and moments, he made his decision.
“Thanks, Craig,” Mixell said as he tilted the trolley back on its wheels. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
36