“Oh, man,” Briggs said. “This sounds bad.”
“No kidding,” said Charlie.
“The shipping crate should’ve been found at an oil field distribution depot, but yeah, it wound up in Natanz,” Grim said. “So let me posit this: Our Russian oligarchs helped the Iranians obtain the neutron generator because they’re building a simple uranium target-ring type bomb using the stolen material from Mayak. It’s definitely not a newer plutonium implosion device because the facility at Natanz doesn’t have an airtight lab or room. Plutonium’s a bitch to machine and work with. Just ask the Russians at Chernobyl all about that.”
Fisher exchanged a look with Briggs as Charlie picked up where Grim left off:
“So they’ll use this off-the-shelf neutron generator to pump in a stream of slow-moving neutrons to boost the bomb’s nuclear yield. If they’ve done their homework and surrounded the uranium with a good tungsten carbide tamper to act as a neutron reflector as well as delay the explosion of the reacting material, then they’ve got a cheap, Walmart-style version of a working nuke.”
“Is the generator still there?” asked Briggs.
“We think so,” said Grim.
“And here’s another theory,” added Charlie. “The Iranians could use the generator, so they can list it within a larger shipment—”
“Which would help disguise the bomb,” Fisher concluded.
Charlie shrugged. “It might, but we don’t have a clue what they’re using for a trigger—meaning we don’t know what the finished bomb will look like.”
Fisher nodded then turned to Grim. “Potential targets?”
“Historically, the Iranians don’t directly engage in terrorism; they use proxies like Hamas and Hezbollah,” she said. “A bulky gun-type nuke warhead won’t fit on the tip of an aerodynamic missile, so Israel’s not the target. But, consider this: The market value of Iranian oil is inversely proportional to the flow of Arabian oil, and that Arabian oil is sitting just across the Strait of Hormuz.”
“So you’re thinking an oil well,” Fisher said.
“Or at least some place that would routinely receive neutron generators as part of a larger shipment. The Iranians do the oligarchs’ dirty work and both parties score big.”
“All right, I follow you so far,” Fisher said. “But now this has me thinking—we confirmed that the Iranians were not involved with the Blacklist Engineers. So what makes the Russians better partners?”
“I’m not sure, but I bet the oligarchs have been working with the Iranians on this for a lot longer than we realize. The Iranians stood by and watched Sadiq and his Blacklist Engineers initiate their plan, and they observed us and targeted our weaknesses,” Grim said. “And maybe they found in the oligarchs a better-connected and –financed ally who could pull off a theft like the one at Mayak. Maybe there were political or ideological differences between Sadiq’s people and the Iranians, and the outcomes may not have benefited Iran.”
“Maybe they thought Sadiq was an asshole,” said Charlie.
Fisher repressed a grin and nodded.
Ollie called from his station. “POTUS on the line.”
They turned their heads to the overhead screen, where President Caldwell offered a curt greeting. “I’ve been on the phone with President Treskayev all afternoon. We just showed him the video you took.”
Fisher narrowed his gaze on her. “Did you ask him if he had any suspicions about this man Chern?”
“I did. And he wouldn’t talk about that. He’s says the oligarchs on our list must’ve been tipped off and fled, but all the intel assets in Asia and Europe have been alerted. When I informed him about the neutron generator and Natanz, he flatly denied that any Russian citizens would be involved. I told him that for a veteran politician he was acting rather naïve.”
“I agree,” said Grim.
“Honestly, though, he’s not my biggest problem right now. Israel’s Knesset is debating a preemptive air strike on the Natanz facility, and the country’s air force has already slipped into our equivalent of DEFCON One. Now this whole thing could turn into a Middle East powder keg.”
“Sounds like we’re going to Iran,” said Fisher.
Caldwell sighed in frustration, then finally nodded. “If I recall, you know your way around there, at least Quds Force headquarters, anyway. You’ll have my help.”
Grim was at the SMI table. “If we fly into Baghdad, we’re still looking at an eleven-hour road trip.”
“HALO jump?” Fisher asked.
Grim shook her head. “They’ve got some serious antiaircraft guns. There’s just no good way to get there. It’s smack in the middle of the desert.”
“We’ll work it out,” Fisher assured the president.
But they were wasting their time—
Because not six hours later, as they cruised over the Atlantic, Grim heard back from one of the Mossad ground agents assigned to be their eyes and ears on Natanz.
He breathlessly reported that one of his colleagues had been in a struggle with a perimeter guard and that both men had died. Just before his death, the agent had photographed traffic coming in and out of the facility—government cars, military vehicles, and various delivery trucks.
Even more importantly, he’d moved in close to a loading dock and had captured something large and draped in tarpaulins being transferred into a tractor trailer. The agent died before he could transmit those images, which were found stored on his camera.
“That has to be it,” Grim said. “They couldn’t attach the neutron generator in the field.”
“So they’ve built their bomb,” said Fisher.
Grim nodded. “And now it’s gone.”
31
FISHER balled his hands into fists as he scanned the data passing across the SMI’s display.
“I’m doing everything I can,” Grim said, clutching the edge of the table. “It’s just the photos weren’t very clear. We got no markings off the trailer. I talked to NCS, and they’re willing to send in a drone, but it might be too late. Satellite was out of range but it’s back up now. We’re still backtracking everything that came out of Natanz. We’ve got eyes on all shipping out of Iranian ports, we’ve alerted field ops on the ground there to provide HUMINT. I’ve just queried the SMI for primary targets, calling up those sites that’ve already used neutron generators—”
“Which is pretty much every oil well in the entire Middle East,” Fisher said.
“Not all of them,” said Grim. “But it’s a long list. The SMI predicts that they’re transporting the weapon south, toward Kuwait and Saudi Arabia.”
“All right, let’s go with what Charlie said—biggest bang for the buck. What oil well target would have the most repercussions on the American economy—because that’s what this is about, right? The oligarchs are trying to weaken us through a virus, a dirty bomb attack, and by taking out an oil target to jack up the price of their own crude and destabilize the entire market.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Charlie said. “But we’ve finally received permission to land in Dubai. That should put us within range of potential targets. I’ve notified the flight deck.”
“What’s our ETA?”
“About twelve hours.”
“Damn, it’ll take them barely five hours to reach the coast,” said Fisher.
“And we’re not sure exactly when the tractor left Natanz, so it could be there already,” said Grim. “One among hundreds of tractor trailers moving in and out.”
“Flight deck,” Fisher called. “I need you to fly so fast the wings melt off. Do you read me?”
“Roger that, Sam. Best possible speed until the wings melt off.”
Fisher nodded and glanced to Grim. “Be right back.”
He headed to the infirmary, where he pulled Kasperov aside and spoke in Russian. “We were going to drop you off at Dulles, but time’s against us. We’re making a detour.”