“I’m afraid you’re right,” Prost admitted. “Less than four days later the Agency traced the weapons to Taganrog.”
“On the coast of the Sea of Azov?” Scott asked.
“That’s right,” Jackie interjected with an air of confidence. “The place has become a magnet for weapons exporters, and a clearinghouse for Russian scientists and engineers who have the ability to construct nuclear weapons.”
Dalton’s quick glance studied the sparkle in her eyes, quietly sizing her up while he focused his attention on Prost.
“At any rate,” Prost continued. “One of our informants spotted the truck carrying the warheads when it entered the ship repair yards. A few hours later we had an unmanned aerial vehicle monitoring the stolen weapons. Shortly after midnight, the warheads were loaded on a small cargo ship which sailed with the tide.”
“Russian?” Scott asked.
“You guessed it,” Prost confirmed with a frown. ‘The Agency stayed on top of the situation until the Vasily Proshkinov left the Black Sea and entered the Bosporus Strait. Between the flotilla of fishing boats, oil tankers, cargo vessels, and the fog, the ship simply vanished, or so it seemed to the Agency.”
Prost shook his head in mild disbelief. “Three weeks later one of the NRO’s advanced KH-lls spotted the Vasily Proshkinov as it lay at anchor in the Strait of Hormuz near Bandar-e Abbas. The 5th Fleet dispatched a destroyer and a frigate that were conducting interdiction ops near the Shatt al-Arab waterway. By the time the ships arrived on the scene, the nukes were gone.”
“Do you have any idea where they are?”
“Oh, yes.” He chuckled very weakly. “They’re sitting atop missiles on the launchpads at Bandar-e Abbas and Bushehr.”
“Out in the open — not even camouflaged?”
“That’s right. Our spacecraft data, and the photos from the recon flights show most of the details. The Tomcat that went down was photographing the launch pads with the sun directly overhead.”
Tilting his head down, Prost seemed to search for the words he wanted to say. “Their nukes can easily reach all of their regional enemies, including our military units in Turkey, Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait, and Saudi Arabia.” Prost caught Scott’s eye. “And, they’re daring us to do something about it.”
“Well, I’m not surprised,” Scott said as he struggled to contain the remark he really wanted to make. “When we didn’t take a tougher stance against Iran for helping Saddam circumnavigate the oil embargo, what did we expect? Same with Saddam’s cheat-and-retreat strategy.”
“I agree.” Prost nodded. “It made us look like fools.”
“And,” Scott added, “our lack of determination encouraged the boys in Baghdad and Tehran to be more aggressive toward us. Hell, Saddam is still playing rope-a-dope with us while he continues to strengthen his nuclear capability.”
“I’m with you,” Prost said hastily. “While everyone was focused on Saddam, Iran has been busy stockpiling advanced weapons, including nukes. Look, we all know that the Arab leaders never wanted Iraq too weak because their real nightmare is Iran, not Baghdad.”
Scott paused a moment. “We can be sure of one thing,” Dalton said as he glanced at Jackie. “Our nuclear deterrence isn’t going to stop a bunch of fanatics set on martyrdom.”
“No question about that,” Prost said in a low voice. “We can’t prevent people from committing suicide.”
Scott’s glance locked with Prost. “If the Iranians launch their nukes at our forces, the entire Gulf region would be uninhabitable for hundreds of years. If they lob a few nukes on Tel Aviv at the same time, the Israelis will turn downtown Tehran into one gigantic smoking hole.”
“Gigantic radioactive hole,” Prost added. Tilting his head back, he studied the blue Alaskan skies and turned to Scott. ‘That’s the dilemma the president is struggling with. This is very different from the Cold War era. The Soviet premiers and their military leaders had wicked intentions, but they were at least rational, and somewhat predictable. They didn’t really want to have a nuclear exchange with us and risk losing the fragile control they had over their people.”
Prost continued with a sense of dread. “Iran is an entirely different anomaly. It is, without a doubt, the greatest non-deterrable threat we face, and Tehran now has the capability to deliver chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons. One miscalculation and the Middle East could erupt into a war that might set off North Korea — and other rogue nations — and force us to use our nukes.”
“Take away their options,” Scott suggested.
“That’s what the president is considering,” Prost said emphatically. “Have you heard the latest threats from Bassam Shakhar?”
“I haven’t heard a thing for the past three days.”
Before leaving on his fishing vacation, Scott had seen extensive news coverage of the wealthy militant shouting threats at the United States, desecrating the American flag, and burning the U.S. president in effigy.
“The last I knew, Shakhar was threatening to assassinate the president if we didn’t pack our trash and get out of the Middle East.”
Prost slowly exhaled. “That hasn’t changed,” he said with a grimace, “but Shakhar added a new twist yesterday morning — a globally televised reminder of our deadline.”
Scott let it run through his mind, then shook his head. “Shakhar is backing himself into a corner.”
“He doesn’t think so.” Prost raised his arm and studied his wristwatch. “According to Shakhar, we now have less than four hours to begin removing our military forces from the Arabian peninsula, or his premier terrorists cells will assassinate the president of the United States and begin downing U.S. airliners. In fact, Shakhar brazenly stated that his primary target is President Macklin.”
“He actually said that?” Scott asked with an anxious expression of disbelief.
“Live on CNN and MSNBC,” Prost groused. “If the U.S. attempts to retaliate in any way, Shakhar said the Iranian Navy will close the Strait of Hormuz and starve the West of oil. He also said Iran has prepositioned a wide variety of biological and chemical agents in all major U.S. cities.”
The first warning light flashed in Scott’s mind. “The guy is crazy — he’s a madman who needs to be institutionalized.”
“Crazy or not, he is a major player in this whole scenario, and he has a sizable fortune at his disposal.”
“Is the president going to back down?”
“No way.” Prost’s voice was quieter, flatter. “He thinks they’re bluffing, and he intends to call their bluff.”
“What do you think?” Scott asked.
“Bassam Shakhar is not a man who makes idle threats.” Prost tossed a pebble in the river. “If they’ve prepositioned nerve agents, botulism, or anthrax in our largest cities, it would be easy to pollute our air and municipal water supplies. However, we don’t have any evidence to substantiate his claim — at least not yet.”
Prost picked up another pebble. “On the other hand, Shakhar knows our commercial aviation security system — for the most part — is inadequate and disorganized. It’s nearly impossible to develop and maintain security areas around congested urban airports. He also knows airports and airliners are vulnerable to sabotage, and shoulder-fired antiaircraft weapons.”
“And,” Jackie said with feigned nonchalance, “the terrorists understand the primal fear that airline crashes strike in the hearts of millions of people who — by necessity — have to fly commercially.”
“Absolute fear is their primary goal,” Prost agreed in a sad voice. “If Shakhar can drop a dozen U.S. airliners, and orchestrate the assassination of the president, the members of the Supreme Council believe Americans will fall to their knees in fear and confusion.”