graduate school when the protests broke out after the June 2009 elections. Both brothers, like many Iranians, had believed the election was stolen by Ahmadinejad, but Ali had taken to the streets, part of the “Green Revolution.”
He’d been arrested, taken to Evin Prison, and had disappeared. Inquiries about Ali’s welfare had brought questions about the family’s loyalties, and threats about their fate if they pressed the matter too strongly. Later, after word of the deaths at Evin Prison leaked out, Ali’s name appeared on a list of those who “died resisting arrest” released by the Ministry of Justice. The family was never officially notified, and his body was never returned.
“Yes, at first, that was my reason, but it isn’t just about Ali anymore, or the others that died.” They came to a corner and Yousef paused for a moment, looking as if he was choosing which direction to walk. There were a few people on the street now. They were all at least a block away, but he turned nervously, taking her down an empty street. “We’ve said enough.” He kept his voice so low, that Shirin could barely hear him.
A chill found her, and she said, “It’s time to go back.” She kept her arm tight around Yousef, pulling him close as they walked quickly back. Venturing one last comment, she said softly, “I miss Ali, too. And I think you are being very brave.” She patted his shoulder, and they didn’t speak until they returned to the apartment.
Moradi may have been a general, and handpicked by the Supreme Leader to command Iran’s nuclear program, but when he wanted to speak with Rahim, he went to the “major’s” office.
Rahim’s part of the building had been purpose-built, with the entire intelligence section enclosed in a “screen room.” Electrically grounded metal sheeting built into the walls shielded the area from electronic eavesdropping, and prevented unwanted transmissions from computers or other electronic devices from going out. If one had private matters to discuss, this was the perfect venue.
Moradi was sure his conversations there were being recorded by Rahim, simply because Rahim taped everybody, including himself. The general wasn’t worried about Rahim possessing a record of their conversation. He was VEVAK. If they wanted to accuse him of a crime, they could easily make up any charge they chose, with evidence to match.
Even Moradi didn’t know Hassan Rahim’s actual rank, if such things mattered in VEVAK, but he’d been assured by Khamenei himself that Rahim was their best man — efficient, thorough, and utterly ruthless. Thankfully, Moradi found Rahim shared his views on many things. That had been important before, but it was utterly vital now. His plan could not work without the intelligence chief’s cooperation. And with it, he was almost assured success.
Moradi returned the guard’s salute, turned in his cell phone, and signed in. Instead of a conventional door, the entrance to the intelligence section was bare metal, with security warnings in bright colors. Moradi pulled on a lever to open the door, as if he was stepping into a refrigerator. It even made the same kind of noise.
Inside, another guard greeted him and logged his entry. The hallway inside was unremarkable, lined with filing cabinets, with gaps for doors to the offices on either side. Space was at a premium. Above the cabinets, portraits of Supreme Leader Khamenei and President Ahmadinejad in different poses were mixed with other religious leaders.
The door to Rahim’s office was flanked by an oversized image of Grand Ayatollah Khomeini. The door was open, and as Moradi entered, Rahim’s aide sprang to his feet and greeted the general. Moradi noticed the assistant’s right hand moving down, away from his sidearm. “The major’s waiting for you,” the young soldier reported. Knocking once lightly on the door, he quickly opened it for the general, then stepped aside.
Rahim was standing, almost at attention. Gesturing, he invited the general to sit. A fresh pot of tea was already waiting, and as Moradi sat down and accepted a cup from the major, he heard the door close and lock behind them. He knew Rahim’s aide would make sure they were not interrupted.
As Moradi sipped his tea, Rahim reported, “The information was sent, but there has been no reaction from the Americans or Israelis. It may still be in transit.”
Moradi was silent for a moment, considering. “Will we be able to tell when the information has been received?”
“Only by their reaction. We know it was sent.” Rahim smiled grimly. “Our ‘friend’ is watched very carefully. He’s been well trained by his handlers, but tradecraft is designed to help someone avoid notice. If you’re already watching, and expecting him to act, then it’s trivial to watch him send a message.”
“So when will the enemy react?”
“You really mean, will they believe and act on it?” Rahim asked. “I understand your eagerness, but we could paint a sign on the roof that said ‘nuclear weapon being built here!’ and they still might not respond.”
Moradi nodded. “They won’t believe it’s worthwhile unless they steal it from us.”
“Exactly!” Rahim almost exploded. “And they won’t move quickly. Even the Israelis will argue for a while, and we both know how long it takes the Americans to make up their minds.”
“It will be the Israelis,” Moradi insisted. “They are our true enemy. They want to strike us.”
“It is as God wills,” Rahim replied. “But imagine it: Their intelligence agencies collecting, analyzing bits of information, just as we do. Some will become convinced that we are in the final stages. Others will not. We must supply the enemy with enough evidence, from different sources, to convert even the most cautious doubters. We will give them more than one ‘smoking gun.’ “
“Like the IAEA inspectors,” Moradi said.
Rahim nodded. “A week from tomorrow, on their regular monthly inspection, they will find traces of uranium enriched to much higher levels than is needed for any reactor. The amounts will be minute, but within their analytical capabilities.
“They are looking very hard for evidence of our progress, so we will give them exactly what they are looking for. And they will decide they have to stop us. As if they have the right to decide our actions.” There was anger and defiance in Rahim’s words.
“And they will strike Natanz, brutally and thoroughly,” Moradi continued. “The pilot plant, the buried centrifuge halls, anything connected with the nuclear program will be completely destroyed.” Both of them had seen the accuracy and destructive power of modern ordnance delivered by a first-line air force. And they had no illusions about the effectiveness of Natanz’s air defenses — or the national air defense organization. The raid might suffer casualties, but it could not be stopped.
“The world, and especially our enemies, will believe they have stopped our nuclear program, but they will start a war,” Rahim declared with finality. But after a pause, he asked, “Is this really the only way?” His question had a reluctant tone.
Moradi reassured him. “Our leaders want a war. They always planned to strike Israel, to deal it a mortal blow. I am convinced that under the current conditions, we will never be able to produce a nuclear device. And if we can’t, then we have to find some other way. A cold-blooded attack by Israel or America will rally all the nations in the region to our side. Even the Saudis would have to acknowledge that we were the aggrieved party. We will lose Natanz — which will finally justify its existence — and some lives, which is regrettable but necessary.
“And what if Israel attacks unilaterally, without informing America? They’ve done it before.” Moradi smiled at the idea. “The damage to their relations would be catastrophic — for them. Dissention among our enemies.”
“At the very least, Israel would be crippled, too weak to ever recover,” Rahim agreed. Then he asked, wondering, “But what if it isn’t enough? What if the Twelfth Imam is waiting for the actual destruction of Israel before he returns?”
“
Moradi raised his hands. “I do not question Allah or his will, but we all await the Imam’s return, and are commanded to do all we can to hasten it. The Israelis or Americans could attack tonight, and I would be a happy man.”
“They won’t,” Rahim replied. “It will be as least a week, maybe two. The information I fed to our tame traitor and the IAEA report will take at least that long to percolate through the spy agencies. And then our enemies will have to gather their courage.”
“What about Dr. Sabet?” Moradi asked. The program’s scientific leader had not been brought into Moradi’s plan and had recently found out about construction of the site near Qermezin and the changes at Natanz.
“He was definitely not pleased when he discovered you had changed the plan and given orders behind his
