with so few machines over such a short period of time.”
Kirkpatrick’s brow scrunched as he evaluated the data. “Gordon, is there a chance we’re being deceived by the information provided by Opal?”
“Dr. Kirkpatrick, it is my belief that we are being deceived, but not by Opal. The data has been vetted through multiple groups, each looking at the information from a different angle. It’s been ‘Red Teamed’ and dissected by technical experts. Opal’s data appears to be accurate and authentic. The uranium enrichment path is almost certainly not going to provide the Iranians with the necessary material for a test device any time soon.”
“What about the plutonium path then?” countered Kirkpatrick.
“It’s nowhere near ready, either, if our information is accurate,” answered Patterson. “All indications are that the reactor has had difficulties of its own and only went critical a few months ago. That’s not nearly enough time to produce a sufficient quantity of weapons-grade Plutonium-239.”
“Gordon, are you seriously suggesting that the test preparations are the deception? For what possible purpose?”
“Sir, I believe the test preparations are real. Every piece of data says the Iranians are following the correct steps to conduct a test. The problem is, we can’t find anything to test!”
“General Duvall, this makes absolutely no sense at all. Why would the Iranians do something so blatant, unless they had a device to test?” The national security advisor’s tenor showed his growing impatience with Duvall’s cryptic theory.
“We don’t know the answer to that yet, sir. We are looking at all the possible options, to include the remote possibility that they procured a weapon from another nation. But what I can tell you, is that the Iranians’ actions are having an effect.”
“In what way?”
Duvall pulled a short report from his briefcase and handed it to Kirkpatrick. “As of this morning, the Israeli Air Force has grounded the 69th and 107th squadrons at Hatzerim Airbase, as well as the 119th, 201st, and 253rd squadrons at Ramon Airbase. In addition, the Saknayee Boeing 707 tankers of the 120th squadron have backed out of an exercise with the Sixth Fleet, because of ’maintenance issues.’”
Kirkpatrick looked solemn as he read the report’s key judgments. Patterson didn’t understand the significance of the NIC chairman’s statement.
“Forgive me, General. But what does this mean?” Patterson asked.
“Dr. Patterson, these squadrons are composed of F-15I and F-16I tactical aircraft. They are the only aircraft in the Israeli inventory that can, with in-flight refueling, reach Iranian targets.”
“Oh my,” she said.
Duvall leaned forward, his face showing intense concern. “Sir, we need more of the information that Opal possesses to help us nail down this problem.”
“I’d like to accommodate you, Gordon. But that isn’t possible right now. Opal and company left their hiding place an hour ago and are out of touch for the next several hours, at least,” replied Kirkpatrick. “Furthermore, the young lady who is the true source of the information is reluctant to provide more until she and her husband are out of Iran. It seems they’re afraid we’ll leave them high and dry once we get the information.”
“Then let’s ask her for just one more file,” suggested Patterson. “Have Captain Guthrie ask her to give us a report on the status of the Arak reactor. The file inventory list says she has one, and if it’s in line with what we know, odds are General Duvall’s assertion is correct, and we can warn the Israelis.”
“They’ll want to see the proof themselves,” warned Kirkpatrick. “Are we ready to release this kind of information?”
“Normally, I’d be very reluctant to provide such sensitive data to anyone but the Brits,” admitted Duvall. “But given the circumstances, I think it’s in our best interest to share this with the Israelis. But that may not be my boss’s position.”
“Very well,” Kirkpatrick replied as he stood up. “I’ll make the recommendation to the president, after I discuss this with the director of national intelligence.”
“Dr. Kirkpatrick, General Duvall, I’d also like to request that you consider bringing my husband in on this.”
“Senator Hardy? Why, Joanna?” Kirkpatrick actually looked surprised by her request.
“Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, the senior officer of the group that is stranded, served under my husband on
Kirkpatrick thought it over for a moment, and then looked at Duvall.
“I have no objections to reading Senator Hardy in,” Duvall remarked.
“Alright, Joanna, I’ll raise this with the president as well. But I make no promises.”
Phillips and Lapointe burst through the door, their weapons at the ready. Ramey followed right behind them. Only after a hasty inspection to ensure the building was abandoned were Jerry and the others allowed to stumble in. Fazel shut the door and anchored it against the howling wind with an empty cabinet.
The shamal had hit them a little under an hour earlier with twenty-five-mile-per-hour sustained winds, driving rain, and a ten-degree drop in temperature. While the shamal was on the mild side, everyone was thoroughly soaked, chilled to the bone, and covered with sand.
Phillips was the first one to get his mouth cleared. “Okay,” he gasped, as he spit some sand out of his mouth. “That officially sucked!”
“I haven’t been this miserable since Hell Week,” agreed Lapointe. His reference to the fifth week of the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, or BUDS, is the standard metric by which SEALs compare the relative unpleasantness of a situation. If it’s “like” or “worse” than Hell Week, it’s really, really bad.
“I don’t know, Pointy,” Phillips argued. “I’ve been cold, wet, and sandy before, but never sandblasted! Hey, maybe I should suggest adding a driving wind to Hell Week.”
“You’re a sadistic bastard. You know that, Philly?”
“Can it, you two,” Ramey barked. “Since you’re so full of energy, Phillips, you can take the first watch.”
“Yes, sir,” responded Phillips coolly. Jerry noticed Lapointe’s jaw tighten.
“Doc, report. How’s our favorite spy?”
“She’s really cold, Boss,” replied the corpsman.
“We all are, Harry,” observed Ramey. His voice was cynical, uncaring.
“No, sir, I mean she’s dangerously cold,” Fazel repeated more sternly. “Her body temperature is low, and she’s showing symptoms of mild hypothermia.”
“What can you do about it?” injected Jerry. Ramey’s head snapped around at the sound of his voice.
“We need to get her out of those wet clothes and under some warm blankets. I’ve already asked her husband to strip her down as much as possible.”
“I bet that didn’t go over well,” Jerry noted with a little sarcasm.
Fazel snickered. “No. It didn’t. But I think I got my point across.”
“What else can we do, Doc?” asked Ramey impatiently.
“I’ll start making dinner or breakfast, or whatever, and get her some hot tea, but we need to get her off this concrete slab. Any insulating material that you can scrounge up would be really helpful.”
“I think I can handle that,” Jerry volunteered. “You guys have more important issues to deal with.”
He started walking toward the back of the building, when Lapointe called over, “Hey, XO, I think I saw some cardboard boxes in the back left-hand corner.” Jerry thanked him and started rummaging through the junk. The building looked like it had been used for shipping, and was filled with all kinds of miscellaneous packing material. He found the boxes Lapointe had referred to and started breaking them down. Jerry also found a canvas covering and some twine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lapointe and Ramey having a quiet, but animated conversation. Neither looked very happy.
Jerry stacked the flattened boxes, along with something that looked like rough packing paper, into the canvas and tied the corners together with the twine. It wasn’t fancy, but it would keep both Naseri and Akbari off the cold
