Duvall said, “Thanks,” studied the document, and smiled. “This will keep everyone busy. I’ll send it up the chain.”
Randolph asked, “I wonder what the Israelis will do with this.” The same agreement that allowed the U.S. to receive Israeli intelligence data required that the fruits of that data be shared with the Israelis.
“Shoot, Ed, I don’t know what we’re going to do with it.” Duvall replied. “This is counter to everything we know about the Iranian program. That’s why everybody was so shocked in there.”
Randolph nodded. The U.S. had devoted considerable effort to tracking the Iranians’ nuclear progress, and he’d seen plenty of both “technical intelligence,” meaning satellite photos and communication intercepts, and “human intelligence,” meaning agents on the ground. It all said that an Iranian bomb was years away. Now everything they knew was suspect.
“I’ll review what we’ve got and look for holes or hidden assumptions,” Randolph promised the general.
“See you at eleven tomorrow.”
They tried to eat together at least a few times a week. Between Shirin’s long hours in the lab and Yousef’s air defense duties, it was often hurried, with a return to work for one or both of them, or a solitary meal while the other worked through the evening hours. And sometimes, rarely, they both had the evening free.
Married only a few years, separations made evenings together all the sweeter. Shirin was out of her first trimester, and her appetite had partially returned. The meal was simple — kebabs, vegetables, and Lavash bread — and the maid had used a southern recipe, reminding Shirin of home. They avoided shoptalk, sticking to office gossip and plans for the baby’s arrival. They discussed plans to visit Shirin’s mother in a few weeks.
After dinner, over Shirin’s protests, Yousef insisted on an evening walk. “It’s mild enough with a coat, and the baby needs the exercise.”
“Then let the baby do the walking. I’m tired.”
“You sit in a laboratory all day.” Strong-willed in so many things, she let her husband usher her out the door of their dormitory apartment. It was nice enough, suitable for a middle-grade Pasdaran officer, but not large.
They walked quietly for a while. In spite of what Yousef had said, the air was chilly, but there was no wind to speak of, and both were warmly dressed. They were alone on the street.
There were few places to go. The Natanz facility had been built for one purpose, and had few amenities. There was a mosque, of course, and a canteen and dispensary, and housing for the workers. So they strolled along the sidewalks, not going anywhere.
“Major Sadi says they’re bringing in more guns, several batteries of fifty-seven millimeters.”
“Those are smaller than the ones you command, aren’t they?” Yousef was in charge of the heavy antiaircraft weapons, ten batteries of 100mm guns, four guns to a battery. They were updated copies of an older Russian design.
“The major says they’ll close the gap between all the light stuff and my weapons.” Her husband sounded unconvinced.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea.” Shirin sounded a little worried.
“If the Israelis or Americans attack, they will probably use GPS-guided weapons. They can loft them from twenty or thirty kilometers away, well beyond the range of my guns, much less the smaller ones.” The captain sounded disgusted. Ten batteries of radar-guided heavy guns sounded deadly enough — if you were dropping dumb iron bombs. His guns didn’t even reach out to ten kilometers. “My only hope of shooting down anything is if our attackers display gross stupidity.”
“What do you know about the work they’re doing to the south wing?” Shirin asked. The pilot plant where she worked was shaped like a plus sign with one building in the center and four others laid out from it in the cardinal directions. “We have some offices in there, and Moham says we have to be out in two days. He also said they’re setting up a new department, just like the centrifuge program, with its own director.”
Yousef didn’t answer for a moment, then said, “I think it’s for bomb assembly.”
“What?” She stopped suddenly, and he took a few steps past her before turning back to face her. He looked around, but there was nobody in sight.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, and continued in a softer voice. “I was just surprised. That goes against every plan I’ve seen since I joined the program. Fabrication was supposed to take place at Isfahan. They already have a shop that works with exotic metals, and it’s close to Moradi’s headquarters.” Shirin paused, and Yousef could imagine her working through the information, trying to fit the pieces together.
Finally, she started walking again. “What makes you think they will assemble the weapon here?”
“It’s why they’re improving the defenses. Sadi says there may be other ‘secret weapons,’ brought in as well. I think he’s talking about some GPS jammers. He said ‘the final stages of our jihad will happen here.’”
“And Moham said the new department head was coming from Isfahan, along with specialized equipment. This explains why I saw Dr. Sabet so upset yesterday. He was complaining about ‘arbitrary decisions.’ First the test site, and now an assembly facility. Those were supposed to be built at the last minute, after we had enough material for several bombs. In fact, we weren’t going to test the first bomb we assembled. We’re confident enough of the design that we were going to make three, then test one.”
Yousef nodded. “You can hide a bomb-making lab from satellites, but not a test site — or the test itself. That’s why it was going be done last, and quickly. The period of greatest danger is when the Israelis think we are close, but haven’t actually detonated a device. The Jews have already said that is when they will attack. Once we actually have a bomb, they won’t dare strike.”
They’d discussed all this before, of course, but academically. “My friend Assef went up to Qermezin to help set up the equipment at the test site. Are we really that close?” Shirin asked incredulously. Hope flared for a moment, but reality pushed back. If their lack of progress with the centrifuges and the Arak reactor was to be believed, completion was still a long way off.
“Could we have acquired a weapon from somewhere else? Or fissionable material perhaps?” she wondered aloud.
“Maybe… that would be consistent with why he needs the assembly facility,” Yousef replied. “But what country would give us a kit for an atomic bomb? And if it’s a complete bomb, why do we need to test it?”
“And that still doesn’t explain why they will assemble it here instead of Isfahan,” she persisted.
“Better security, maybe? That bloodhound Rahim’s been all over this place. Perhaps he doesn’t trust someone at Isfahan.”
Shirin laughed sarcastically. “I don’t think so. You know what happens if you lose Rahim’s trust.”
He smiled grimly in agreement, but demanded, “Do you have an answer, then?”
“No, but I have friends and contacts throughout the program. I will find out,” she declared.
“Regardless of the explanation, we are now in real danger.” Yousef’s tone was intense. “We can’t hide that test site. The Israelis will see it. We all know it’s a provocation, and we’re not ready to use it. What is the general thinking? I know there’s a bomb shelter in the basement of the pilot plant, but we need to find a safe place for you near our quarters.”
“I’m more worried about you, Yousef. If there’s a raid, won’t the command post be a target?”
“Not likely. They won’t waste bombs on a military target. The centrifuge halls, the labs, and” — he patted her shoulder — ”engineers are their targets. Besides, if there actually is a raid, I’ll probably be out untangling the ammunition supply for one of the batteries.”
“In the open?” She stopped walking again and struck a pose of mock anger. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better!” She punched his shoulder, maybe a little harder than she needed to.
“Ouch,” he said softly. Deliberately changing the subject, Yousef asked, “So will you chat with your uncle tonight?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Should I mention the new guns?”
“No,” he replied sternly. “Definitely not! I am a loyal Iranian military officer, and I will not compromise our defenses.”
“But you will send information about our nuclear program out of the country.”
“You’re the one doing the talking,” he pointed out. “You believe it is a waste of resources, and a path leading to disaster. I do it because our leaders, however pious they may be, should not possess nuclear weapons. They are too eager to use them.” A moment passed, and he added, “They are unfit.”
“Your brother made you believe that,” she commented softly. Yousef’s younger brother, Ali, had still been in
