enough uranium for a nuclear power station -’
‘But enough to create several nuclear bombs,’ Montgomery cut in. ‘Time is running out, Mr President. We need to take out all three facilities, and we need to do it now.’
‘The Israelis are already considering that option,’ the Secretary of State added. ‘Ahmadinejad’s threats to wipe Israel off the map have tried Israeli patience to the limit, and we fear they will launch a preemptive strike.’ The Secretary of State went no further. Everyone in the room knew that Israel was an undeclared nuclear power, and there was already a precedent. In 1956, Egypt’s charismatic president Gamal Nasser seized the Suez Canal and sank dozens of ships laden with concrete to deny its use to the West, and the Israelis acted without the imprimatur of their great and powerful friend. Without informing President Eisenhower, Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion ordered Israeli tanks into the Egyptian-held Gaza and General Ariel Sharon’s paratroopers attacked deep into the Sinai Desert, surprising the Egyptians on the passes a few miles from the canal. Might Israel act unilaterally again? The question hung in the tense atmosphere around the table.
‘Are the Iranians capable of striking Israel?’ the President asked, looking at O’Connor.
‘Not yet, but they’re very close to testing a new version of their Sejil-2 missile.’ O’Connor flashed up a photograph of the latest Iranian surface-to-surface missile on a screen. The gleaming black twenty-metre-high Sejil-2 stood on its launch pad amongst the foothills of a mountain range to the south-west of Tehran. ‘The Sejil-2 will be capable of delivering a nuclear warhead and will be powered by solid-fuel rocket motors similar to those that powered our Minuteman 1 missiles. Although that’s reasonably old technology by our standards, it represents a significant step forward for the Iranians, and will give their missile a range of over 2000 kilometres.’ O’Connor pressed a remote and a map of the Middle East and Eastern Europe came up on a second screen. ‘The Iranians could then not only wipe out Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, but reach all of our bases in the Middle East, even from eastern Iran; and from western Iran, cities like Athens and Istanbul will also be in range.’
‘All the more reason we should act before they do,’ the Vice President urged.
O’Connor shook his head. ‘All of our analysis indicates that a strike against Iran would be a disaster, Mr President. For one thing, it would almost certainly result in the Iranians closing the Straits of Hormuz. Eighty per cent of the world’s oil supply flows through those straits.’
Montgomery was apoplectic, but O’Connor pressed on. ‘Mr President, our intelligence indicates that the Fordo facility is buried so deep within the surrounding mountains, even our most powerful bunker-busting bombs wouldn’t touch it. It’s a widely held view amongst many of our analysts that rather than attacking Iran, the better strategy would be to establish a dialogue with Iran’s ruling elite, and with Syria. The real power in Iran does not rest with Ahmadinejad, but with the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Khomenei. If the United States were to adopt a more balanced foreign policy towards the Occupied Territories, and increase pressure on Israel to cease building settlements and to reach a solution on the Palestinian question, in our view, the Iranians may come to the table.’
‘That’s enough, O’Connor,’ the Vice President rasped. ‘You’re operating well above your pay grade, and you’re obviously not aware of the experiments being conducted out of Alaska.’ The President looked puzzled. ‘Seismic tomography, Mr President,’ Montgomery explained. ‘Extremely low-frequency radio waves that can be targeted to discover the precise locations of facilities underground. There are promising indications that if the power is increased to sufficient levels, the tunnels and the facilities within them can be destroyed.’
‘Get me DDO Wiley on the phone, now!’ Montgomery barked at his secretary as he stormed back into his office. The CIA’s Deputy Director of Operations was responsible for all United States covert spy operations around the world, and Howard J. Wiley was now the second-most powerful man in the CIA. He often knew more than the director, an appointment held in the past by influential men like George Bush Snr and William J. Casey.
‘Who the fuck does this O’Connor think he is?’ Vice President Montgomery demanded after DDO Wiley came on the secure line.
‘I’ve just heard, Mr Vice President. I can assure you, he’ll be disciplined.’
‘Disciplined? He needs to be fucking well sacked! If the O’Connors of this world get their way, we’ll be inviting Ahmadinejad and his mad mullahs to a fucking barbecue on the lawns of the White House! Get him out of Washington. He’s far too cosy with those jerk-offs in the State Department. Send him off to keep an eye on Mugabe and his gangsters. Or better still, fuck him off to Alaska. The last time I was there it was forty below. Perhaps living with the goddamned huskies and bears will give him a better perspective.’
‘Consider it done, Mr Vice President,’ DDO Wiley responded, but he was wasting his breath. The line had already gone dead.
22
T he blizzard was the worst in living memory. Icy winds tore up the Copper River Valley at over a hundred kilometres an hour. O’Connor glanced at the security-camera screen and shivered involuntarily. The mercury had dropped to minus fifty degrees. Alaska was a hell of a place to spend a forty-second birthday, he thought grimly, as another sub-zero blast shook the HAARP control centre.
HAARP stood for High-frequency Active Auroral Research Program, an ostensibly harmless scientific project, run out of a base in the Alaskan wilderness near Gakona, 320 kilometres north-east of Anchorage, but O’Connor was already wondering about the schedule of experiments. Outside the snow was piling up around the 180 high- powered antennae that were spread over nearly fifteen hectares. Each over twenty metres high and not dissimilar in shape to the backyard Hills Hoist, the combined antennae were capable of producing a staggering 3.6 billion watts of radio frequency power.
‘That storm’s packing one heck of a punch out there.’ Dr Tyler Jackson, the CIA’s senior scientist at HAARP, ducked through the outer door and ambled inside the control centre, brushing the snow from his long angular face and sandy beard. Ducking was a habit the gangly scientist had developed at an early age, but Jackson was now in his sixty-fourth year, and close to retirement. He had been with the Firm for over forty years, but, like O’Connor, he didn’t always agree with the party line coming out of the CIA’s headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
‘Not the only storm brewing,’ O’Connor replied. ‘The Iranians have just test-fired another Sejil-2 missile.’ In the two weeks since O’Connor had arrived at Gakona, a camaraderie had developed between the two men. Both had strong scientific backgrounds, both were cleared to the highest levels of security, and both were serving their country amidst the privations of the harsh conditions of Alaska.
‘Have a look at this.’ O’Connor rebooted the satellite images showing a powerful twenty-six-tonne missile rising majestically into the Iranian night sky from its launch pad at the missile test site at Semnan, outside of Tehran.
‘They’ve come a long way in a very short time,’ Jackson agreed. ‘Their next step will be a three-stage motor… which will put cities like Rome and London in reach.’
O’Connor nodded. ‘It may not be that far off, when you consider their first space launch – you could see bits and pieces falling off the rocket as it left the launch pad – yet barely a year later they’ve got a satellite into a stable orbit.’
‘You think they’re getting help? I’ve been a bit out of the loop up here.’
‘I know they’re getting help. I’ve seen the reports from one of our agents inside Iran. For starters, they needed maraging steel for the missile casing. That’s a low-carbon, ultra-high-strength steel that’s critical for low- weight missile skins. It’s a controlled item under international agreements, but the Iranians have managed to buy it; so someone’s selling. The tungsten copper alloy bars they needed for their solid-propellant control vanes are also a prohibited item, but somehow they’ve managed to get hold of them as well… probably out of China.’
‘Why the tungsten alloy?’
‘Solid propellant exhaust contains aluminium oxide, which is extremely abrasive,’ O’Connor explained, ‘but the Iranians have designed jet vanes that can withstand the entire sixty-second burn of the first stage of the rocket. If they can overcome the problems of an external heat shield and they develop a nuclear warhead, the balance of power in the world is going to change dramatically.’
‘You think they’re getting close?’
