reached around to a small classified safe, dialed the combination, extracted a CD-ROM, and loaded it into the workstation's drive. As the program displayed various pieces of equipment, it became clear there was nothing in the wildcatter's world that could be mounted there. But the grid pattern would fit the dimensions of a vertical-launch canister cluster for a Russian SA-N-9 surface-to-air missile (SAM) system. Those round fittings at each corner of the new platforms made no sense as mountings for any kind of drilling equipment. But they were exactly the right size and shape as mounts for CADS-1 gun/SAM mounts. And what looked like racks for drill pipe might be mounts for Chinese CS- 802 surface-to-surface missiles (SSM). Rubbing his eyes, he rose to pour another cup of coffee, then picked up a phone to call his department head. While he waited for the intelligence chief to arrive, he suddenly realized that these platforms had been built to protect something. He pulled more CD-ROMs from the security safe, and began to think.
Defense Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Bolling AFB, near Washington, D.C., August 22nd, 2006
In all the vast bureaucratic labyrinth of the American intelligence community, you probably would not have found a bigger collection of prima donnas than the Counterproliferation Coordinating Committee. The Committee, of course, did not officially exist. Its funding was buried in an obscure Interior Department line item that covered long- forgotten uranium mining subsidies to a holding company in Utah. Attendees for the every-Tuesday-morning meetings were drawn from the CIA, various imagery agencies, all four military services, the Department of Energy labs, a sprinkling of academic physicists and engineers, an FBI deputy director, and whatever senior analyst the State Department could spare that week. All of them had the right 'tickets' (Special-Access security clearances). The older guys tended to be 'Kremlinologists,' long-time Russian specialists who had acquired profound cynicism and paranoia during long, bitter years of being outwitted by the KGB and its successors. The younger guys tended to be East Asia specialists, who built entire careers on the interpretation of enigmatic scraps of data from the bizarre information vacuum of North Korea. The absence of Middle East specialists might have seemed startling, unless you understood the politics of the intelligence community. In the aftermath of 1991 Gulf War, it was discovered that Iraq had operated several vast, parallel nuclear weapons programs right under the high-tech nose of countless billions of dollars worth of U.S. spy satellites. This was one of the great intelligence failures of the century; it sent a clear message to a new generation of intelligence officers. Stay away from anything connected with nuclear proliferation in the Middle East; it's not career-enhancing. Anyhow, it's the Israelis' responsibility. They can collect HUMINT (Human Intelligence) over there; we can't. Besides, they don't like anyone else messing around on their turf.
This Tuesday morning, the agenda began with a presentation by Dr. Rob Kennelly, a young nuclear engineer from the Department of Energy's Oak Ridge National Laboratory. He was describing new developments in laser- based gaseous isotope separation to extract plutonium from spent reactor fuel. Conventional extraction of weapons-grade fissionable material required construction of vast industrial complexes that were impossible to hide. But this laser plasma technique could be scaled down to machine-shop dimensions; a complete facility might be concealed on the grounds of a nuclear power plant. The only 'signature' would be diversion of megawatts of power to drive banks of high-energy lasers. At the completion of the presentation, the committee chairman politely thanked the engineer, dismissing him with a nod toward the door. He wasn't cleared for the afternoon's agenda. But he wasn't ignored. During the lunch break, the lieutenant colonel who represented the Marine Corps took the young man aside and bombarded him with questions.
Russian Embassy, Teheran, Iran, August 25th, 2006
Yuri Andreevich Rogov was carried on the official Embassy roster as Senior Science and Technology Attache, but of course he reported directly to the station chief of the SVR, the successor of the KGB. Like its Soviet predecessor, the SVR selected its officers carefully and trained them rigorously. Fluent in Turkish, Farsi, and Arabic, Rogov operated with smooth confidence and impeccable courtesy in an often suspicious, hostile, and unpredictable country. He had stood and gazed in wonder at the ruins of Persepolis, and marveled that these people had built a cultured and efficient world empire back when his own distant Slavic ancestors lived in reed huts and slogged through the Pripyat marshes as hunters and gatherers.
Another characteristic the Russian Republic shared with its Communist predecessor was that it demanded long hours and hard work from its Foreign Service officers. One of Rogov's many duties was maintaining contact with the hundred or so technicians down at Bushehr. Officially, they were independent contract hires, working directly for Iran's Energy Ministry. Some of them had Ukrainian or Kazakhstan passports, but the project was based on an agreement between Russia and Iran, and the Iranians expected the Russian Embassy to keep the men happy, healthy, and out of trouble. No women were permitted, an irrational and unfortunate local custom, Rogov thought.
Several times a year, the various team leaders flew up to Teheran for an extended debriefing with Rogov. This was also an opportunity to update and check the contingency plans for an emergency evacuation of the crew in the event of a military or political crisis. Rogov's contacts in Bahrain and Dubai maintained a fleet of small speedboats, normally employed in the lucrative trans-Gulf smuggling trade, but instantly on call if it became necessary to clear out. Lev Davidovich Telfian was an ethnic Armenian, but his people had lived in Novorossiysk for generations, and he was a Russian citizen. His job at the plant was Training Manager, which gave him unusual freedom to move about, and a wide range of close personal contacts with Iranians on the site. He was one of Rogov's best informants. Unfortunately, this trip Telfian had had nothing new to report regarding the SVR's highest collection priority, the Chinese and North Koreans who occupied a separate, heavily guarded compound on the military base adjacent to the plant. As Rogov sipped his tea and re-read the report, he knew that there was something here. Or perhaps, the absence of something? He decided to send an Eyes Only message to SVR headquarters, and let them try to sort it out.
Iranian Ministry of Machinery Automobile Plant #3, near Bandar al Abbas, September 5th, 2006
Wendy Kwan sat uncomfortably in the director's lobby of Iran's newest automobile plant, carefully sipping a cup of tea. One of CNN's top foreign correspondents, she was here to interview the Iranian Minister of Machinery, as well as the factory manager. The American trade embargo, dating back to the 1990s Clinton Administration, had been tough on Iranians, but their response had surprised Western observers. Rather than knuckling under, they had launched a modest industrialization program, which had grown dramatically in the last few years. Plant #3 was the prototype, based on the latest Japanese flexible manufacturing techniques. It was configured to produce everything from new automobiles to tractors and other heavy equipment. It could also produce combat vehicles. Though her current beat was financial news, Wendy had started as a Far East correspondent fifteen years before, and she knew more than she wanted to know about military hardware. The interview went almost too well. Both men and their assistants (bodyguards?) were pleasant. This put her ill at ease. She was not on some Wall Street trading floor. Here, she could disappear at the whim of one of these men. Today, however, no problems developed. Following the interview, they escorted her and the camera crew on a factory tour.
It was impressive. She was surprised by the sophistication of the technology. The Iranians had made deals with companies in Russia and the former Soviet Republics for start-up capital in trade for a guaranteed flow of equipment at favorable prices. All around, brand-new robots and computer workstations were being installed. Every piece of equipment, she was told, was tied into a central computer, which held a complete design database for every product built on the line. As they passed the Engineering Department, she noted that the doors all had cipher locks, and that a plainclothes guard seemed to be checking workers' ID badges before they went in. Rather odd for an automobile plant, she thought. Then, as she was finishing up her close-out shot for the story, she saw on the edge of her vision someone who made her blood run cold. Trying not to look again, she calmly told the crew to pack
