Larry Bond: Exit Plan

The map was replaced by a satellite image. “This is a low-resolution shot taken yesterday evening.” It showed a collection of jumbled shapes scattered across a rocky surface.

Picking up a laser pointer, Allison systematically worked his way across the image. “This framework looks like a tower with a rectangular cross section. Measuring the components assembled nearby, its final height could be as much as twenty meters.” He moved the light. “This is probably where they’re going to be erecting the tower, over what looks like drilling equipment.” Pointing to different places on the slide, Allison said, “These trailers appear to be typical construction offices, brought in to manage the work, but there are other trailers over here, almost a kilometer from the rest of the site. They aren’t big enough to house the number of workers who would be working at a job like this, nor do they provide any services like meals or a dispensary. And they’re bulldozing a berm between the trailers and the drilling site.”

Duvall spoke for the first time. “And you think they’ll hold instrumentation for monitoring an underground nuclear test.” His tone was flat, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Allison answered, “The layout closely matches test sites we’ve seen in India, Pakistan, and North Korea. Khatam al-Anbia is owned and operated by the IRGC, the Pasdaran, who also control the Basij, and the nuclear program. There’s nothing out there to drill for that we know of, neither water nor oil, and they’re not close to any settled location. In addition to being sparsely populated, it’s also very mountainous.” He pointed to a wavy line that began at the work site and extended off the edge of the photo. “We traced this ‘road,’ if you want to call it that, back to the nearest paved highway. They just bulldozed any obstacles out of the way, and have made no effort to improve it. This implies that whatever they’re doing, it’s not a permanent installation.

“This area was last photographed several years ago, so there’s no way to say when work started, but based on my experience, it all looks recent, and it also looks like they’re in a hurry.”

“And the time line?” Duvall asked.

Akamatsu pressed a key and a diagram appeared on the screen. Allison answered, “Typical underground test bores are drilled down to a depth of three-hundred-plus meters. Allowing for time to set up the drilling equipment and drill to that depth, then place a device and instrumentation in the hole, they could be ready in as little as two weeks. Four is more likely. I’m making two assumptions: First, they will make the shaft deep enough to fully contain the blast; they don’t want anything going into the atmosphere that we could collect. The second assumption, and biggest variable, is the size of the device.”

Allison shrugged. “The bigger the boom, the deeper the hole they have to drill. They can’t make it too small. They don’t have the technology, yet. And they won’t make it too big, because they don’t have that much material. My estimate is in the twenty- to thirty-kiloton range.” He nodded to his partner, who turned off the projector, and Allison sat down.

The chairman looked to the side. “Gene, your people have done good work.”

Cooper smiled. “Thank you, sir. Todd really pulled it all together. But we had a lot of help from the nuke folks and NSA and NGA as well.”

“And that’s why I’ve asked Dr. Mizrahi to join us,” Duvall answered. He turned to the NIO for Science and Technology. “Maurice. Do you or your people have any additional dots we could connect to this?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but we’ll begin a complete review immediately.”

“Do it quickly, but quietly, Maurice,” Duvall instructed. “Too many people with clearances have reporters on their speed-dialers.” His tone mixed frustration with contempt.

Duvall stood and walked to the front of the room and addressed the entire group. “We may have the ‘whether’ and ‘when’ to one of the biggest intelligence questions of this decade. The only problem is, it goes against everything we’ve been saying. Everybody here understands how thoroughly we have to nail this down. I’ve asked Dr. Mizrahi here because his office has the in-depth technical expertise, but I will be asking other NIOs, like Military Issues or South Asia to follow the thread that Todd Allison has described.

“Look for information that confirms or refutes this analysis, and ways for us to improve our knowledge. My intention is to have an intelligence community brief on this for the president within forty-eight hours. Our next meeting on this topic will be at eleven hundred tomorrow. Do your best work, everyone.”

The meeting broke up quietly. Randolph was pleased, but wondered how long their restraint would last. He walked with the general back to his office, just a short distance. Once Randolph’s door was closed, Duvall sat and took the china coffee cup Randolph offered.

“Here are my recommendations for retasking satellites and aircraft.” Randolph didn’t wait to be told what to do.

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.”

Officer’s Quarters, Natanz Nuclear Enrichment Facility

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.