also in session. All the findings would then be collated and compared in the continuing search to analyze Iraq’s potential to cause appalling casualties.
There were two scientists from Aldermaston, the Weapons Research Establishment in Berkshire—they like to drop the word
There were two other scientists, from Porton Down. One was a chemist, the other a biologist specializing in bacteriology.
Porton Down has often been accused in the press of researching chemical and bacteriological weapons for British use. In fact, its research has for years been concentrated on seeking antidotes to any and all forms of gas and germ warfare that might be leveled at British and allied troops. Unfortunately, it is impossible to develop antidotes to anything without first studying the properties of the toxin. The two scientists from Porton therefore had under their aegis, and in conditions of massive security, some very nasty substances. But then so, that August 13, had Mr. Saddam Hussein. The difference was, the Allies had no intention of using them on Iraqis, but it was felt that Mr.Hussein might not be so forbearing.
The Porton men’s job would be to see if, from lists of chemicals purchased by Iraq over a period of years, they could deduce what he had, how much, how nasty, and if it was usable. They would also study air photographs of a range of factories and plants in Iraq to see if any telltale signs in the form of structures of certain size and shape—decontamination units, emission scrubbers—might identify the poison gas factories.
“Now, gentlemen,” Sir Paul began, addressing the four scientists, “the principal burden rests upon you. The rest of us will assist and support where we can.
“I have here two volumes of intelligence so far received from our people abroad, embassy staff, trade missions, and the—ah—covert gentlemen. Early days yet. These are the first results from the cull of export licenses to Iraq over the past decade, and needless to say, they come from governments that are being most promptly helpful.
“We have thrown the net as wide as possible. Reference is made to exports of chemicals, building materials, laboratory equipment, specialized engineering products—just about everything but umbrellas, knitting wool, and cuddly toys.
“Some of these exports, indeed probably the majority, will turn out to be quite normal purchases by a developing Arab country for peaceful purposes, and I apologize for what may turn out to be wasted time studying them. But please concentrate not only on specialized purchases for the manufacture of weapons of mass destruction, but also on dual-use purchases—items that could be adapted or cannibalized for a purpose other than that stated.
“Now, I believe our American colleagues have also been at work.”
Sir Paul handed one of his files to the men from Porton Down and one to those from Aldermaston. The man from the CIA produced two files and did the same. The bewildered scientists sat facing a block of paperwork.
“We have tried,” explained Sir Paul, “not to duplicate—the Americans and ourselves—but, alas, there may be some element of duplication. I apologize again. And now, Mr. Sinclair.”
The CIA Head of Station, unlike the Whitehall civil servant who had almost sent the scientists to sleep with his verbosity, was direct and to the point.
“The thing is, gentlemen, we may have to fight these bastards.”
This was more like it. Sinclair spoke as the British like to think Americans speak—direct, and unafraid to mince words. The four scientists gave him their rapt attention.
“If that day ever comes, we will go in first with air power. Like the British, we will want to lose the absolute minimum possible in casualties. So we’ll go for their infantry, their guns, tanks, and planes.
We’ll target their SAM missile sites, communications links, command centers. But if Saddam uses weapons of mass destruction, we would take awful casualties, both of us. So we need to know two things.
“One, what has he got? Then we can plan for gas masks, capes, chemical antidotes. Two, where the hell has he put it? Then we can target the factories and the storage depots—destroy it all before he can use it. So study the photographs, use magnifying glasses, look for the telltale signs. We’ll keep tracing and interviewing the contractors who built him these factories and the scientists who equipped them. That should tell us a lot. But the Iraqis may have moved it around a bit. So it comes back to you gentlemen, the analysts. You could get to save a lot of lives here, so give it your best shot. Identify the WMD for us, and we’ll go in and bomb seven shits out of it.”
The four scientists were smitten. They had a job to do, and they knew what it was. Sir Paul was looking slightly shell-shocked.
“Yes, well, I’m sure we’re all deeply grateful to Mr. Sinclair for his—er—explanation. May I suggest we reconvene when either Aldermaston or Porton Down has something for us?”
When they left the building, Simon Paxman and Terry Martin strolled in the warm August sunshine out of Whitehall and into Parliament Square. It was thronged with the usual columns of tourist buses. They found an empty bench close to the marble statue of Winston Churchill, glowering down on the impudent mortals who clustered beneath him.
“You’ve seen the latest from Baghdad?” asked Paxman.
“Of course.”
Saddam Hussein had just offered to pull out of Kuwait if Israel pulled out of the West Bank and Syria out of Lebanon. An attempt at linkage.
The United Nations had rejected it out of hand. The resolutions continued to roll out of the Security Council: cutting off Iraq’s trade, oil exports, currency movements, air travel, resources. And the systematic destruction of Kuwait by the occupying army went on.
“Any significance?”
“No, just the usual huff and puff. Predictable. Playing to the audience.
The PLO liked it, of course, but that’s all. It’s not a game plan.”
“Has he got a game plan?” asked Paxman. “If so, no one can work it out. The Americans think he’s crazy.”
“I know. I saw Bush last night on TV.”
“Is he crazy, Saddam?”
“Like a fox.”
“Then why doesn’t he move south into the Saudi oil fields while he has the chance? The American buildup is only starting—ours, too. A few squadrons, carriers in the Gulf, but nothing on the ground. Air power alone can’t stop him. That American general they’ve just appointed ...”
“Schwarzkopf,” said Martin. “Norman Schwarzkopf.”
“That’s the chap. He reckons he’ll need two full months before he has the forces to stop and roll back a full- scale invasion. So why not attack now?”
“Because that would be attacking a fellow Arab state with which he has no quarrel. It would bring shame. It would alienate every Arab. It is against the culture. He wants to rule the Arab world, to be acclaimed by it, not reviled by it.”
“He invaded Kuwait,” Paxman pointed out.
“That was different. He could claim that was correcting an imperialist injustice because Kuwait was always historically part of Iraq. Like Nehru invading Portuguese Goa.”
“Oh, come on, Terry. Saddam invaded Kuwait because he’s bankrupt.
We all know it.”
“Yes, that’s the real reason. But the up-front reason is that he was reclaiming rightful Iraqi territory. Look, it happens all over the world.
India took Goa, China took Tibet, Indonesia has taken East Timor.
Argentina tried for the Falklands. Each time, the claim is retaking a chunk of rightful territory. It’s very popular with the home crowd, you know.”
“Then why are his fellow Arabs turning against him?”
“Because they think he won’t get away with it,” said Martin.
“And he
