He shrugged. I think we can find a way to placate the Russians about this. And the Sunni countries will live with it.
Why dont the Israelis send their own spies in to look for the bomb? Susan said.
We talked to their intelligence people. They think the mission is a sure failure. They would prefer to bomb Iran indiscriminately and destroy all of Iranian military bases and infrastructure, in the hopes of hitting any nukes they might have. We are encouraging them encouraging them very strenuously to refrain from that course of action. Obviously, the risk of bombing Iran and leaving even one nuclear missile operational is too high to contemplate what
Susan looked at Luke. Hello, Agent Stone.
He gazed directly into her eyes. This was the thing she hated, the thing she had been dreading. She wanted to stop time right here and not have him say another word.
Madam President.
Do you intend to take this mission?
He nodded. Yes. Of course. It was my idea.
It sounds to me like a suicide mission, Agent Stone.
Ive heard of worse, Luke said. In any case, its exactly the kind of thing the new Special Response Team was organized to do. Ive already talked to my team. We can be ready to leave in a couple of hours.
She tried a different tack. Agent Stone, youre the director of the Special Response Team. My records indicate that youre forty-two years old. Wouldnt this mission be better handled by a more junior operative from your agency? Someone a little younger, say? Someone a little more energetic?
I plan to go in with Ed Newsam, Luke said. Hes thirty-five. And anyway, Im still pretty energetic for an old geezer.
Agent Stone and Agent Newsam both have extensive operations experience in the Middle East, Tweedledum said. Both are elite combat veterans, have been deep undercover, and are familiar with Israeli, Arab, and Persian culture. Both have some ability to speak Farsi.
Susan ignored him. She glanced around the room. Everyone seemed to be staring at her. They wanted to talk about the design of the mission, she knew. They wanted her to green light it immediately, so they could gather the resources needed, come up with contingencies in case it failed, develop strategies for plausible deniability in case it went public. In their minds, who was going was not even in play anymore the issue had already been decided.
Can you gentlemen give me a few minutes alone with Agent Stone?
* * *Luke, are you out of your mind?
The other men, and all of the Secret Service, had gone.
I wouldnt send my worst enemy on this mission. Youre supposed to parachute into Iran, and then wander around the country with people trying to murder you, until you find nuclear weapons?
He smiled. Well, I hope itll be a little better thought out than that.
Youre going to get yourself killed.
He stood then, and went to her. He tried to hug her. She was stiff for a moment, then melted into his embrace.
Do you know how ridiculous it looks for the President of the United States to be overly worried about the life of one special operative, whos been doing exactly this type of thing his entire adult life?
She shook her head. I dont care. This is different. I cant sign off on a mission where you might get killed. Its nuts.
He looked down at her. Are you telling me that in order to be with you, I have to give up my job?
No. Youre the head of your own agency. You dont have to take this on. You dont have to volunteer for this. Send someone else.
You want me to send someone else even though you think this is a suicide mission?
She nodded. Thats right. Send someone who I dont love.
Susan, I cant do that.
She turned away then, and abruptly, miserable tears started to flow. I know. I know that. But for the love of God, please dont die over there.
CHAPTER TEN
4:45 p.m. Israel Time (9:45 a.m. Eastern Standard Time)
Samsons Lair Deep Underground
Jerusalem, Israel
Tell them to shut up.
Yonatan Stern, the Prime Minister of Israel, sat in his customary chair at the head of the conference table in the Israeli crisis command center, his chin in his hand. The room was a cavernous egg-shaped dome. All around him, his military and political advisors were in a state of chaos, shouting, recriminating, jabbing fingers at one another.
How had it come to this? seemed to be the prevailing question. And the answer upon which most of these brilliant strategic minds had landed was, Its someone elses fault.
David! he said, staring at his chief-of-staff, a burly former commando who had been his right-hand man since their military days. David looked back at him, big dark eyes baleful, teeth biting the inside of his cheek, as he did when he was nervous or distracted. Once upon a time, the man would kill enemies with his bare hands, and yet somehow appear apologetic while he did so. He still looked apologetic now.
Please, Yonatan said. Bring the place to order.
David shrugged. He stepped to the conference table and slammed a giant fist down on its surface.
BOOM!
He didnt say a word, but brought his fist down again.
BOOM!
And again. And again. And again. Each time the fist landed, the room became a little quieter. Eventually, all the men in the room stood and stared at David Cohn, Yonatan Sterns organizer and enforcer, a man none of them respected intellectually, but also a man none would ever dare cross.
He raised his fist one last time, but now the room was silent. It paused in midair, like a hammer. Then it floated slowly back to his side.
Thank you, David, Yonatan said. He looked at the other men in the room. Gentlemen, I would like to begin this meeting. So please, take your seats and enthrall me with your acumen.
He looked around the room. Efraim Shavitz was here, always boyish, much younger than his years. People called him the Model. He was the Director of Mossad. He wore an expensive, custom-tailored suit and Italian black leather shoes with a high polish. He looked like he was heading out to a nightclub in Tel Aviv, and not currently overseeing the destruction of his own people. In a room full of aging military men and frumpy thinkers, Shavitz the dandy looked like some sort of exotic bird.
Yonatan shook his head. Shavitz was one of his predecessors men. Yonatan kept him on because he came well recommended and seemed like he knew what he was doing. Until today.
Efraim, your assessment, please.
Shavitz nodded. Of course.
He pulled a remote control from his jacket pocket and turned to the large screen at the end of the conference table. Instantly, a video of a missile launch from a drab green mobile platform came on.
The Fateh-200 has come to Lebanon. We have suspected this might be the case
When did you suspect that? Yonatan said.
Shavitz looked at him. Im sorry?
When did you suspect that Hezbollah had obtained the Fateh-200 weapon system? When? I have never read such a report, nor has anyone mentioned to me that such a report might be coming. The first I heard of it was when long-range, high-explosive missiles began toppling residential buildings in Tel Aviv.
There was a long, drawn-out silence. The other men in the room stared, some at Yonatan Stern, some at Efraim Shavitz, some at the table in front of them.
There was a long, drawn-out silence. The other men in the room stared, some at Yonatan Stern, some at Efraim Shavitz, some at the table in front of them.
In any event, they have them, Shavitz said.
Yonatan nodded. Yes, they do. Now about Iran what do they have?
Shavitz pointed at Yonatan. Dont conflate Hezbollah acquiring powerful conventional weapons with the Iranian nuclear threat, Yonatan. Dont do that. Weve told you that the Iranians were working on nuclear missiles. We know the suspected locations. We know the people involved. We have a sense of the number of warheads. Youve been warned of these dangers for years. Weve lost a lot of good men to obtain this information. That you took no action is not my fault, or the fault of Mossad.
There are political considerations, Yonatan said.
Shavitz shook his head. Thats not my department. Now, we believe the Iranians may have as many as fourteen warheads, salted in three locations, and likely fairly deep underground. They may not have any. It may be a lie. But no more than fourteen.
And if they do have them, all fourteen of them?
Shavitz shrugged. A piece of hair above his forehead slipped out of place, very uncustomary for him. Hed better comb it back before he reached the nightclub. And they manage to launch them?
Yonatan nodded. Yes.
Well be annihilated. Its that simple.
What are our options?
Very few, Shavitz said. Everyone in this room already knows what they are. Everyone here well knows our own nuclear, conventional missile, and air force capabilities. We can launch a massive preemptive attack, all out, against all known Iranian and Syrian missile sites, and against all Iranian air force bases. If we act with total commitment, and with all of our forces in perfect concert, we can utterly destroy Iranian and Syrian military capabilities, and set Iranian civil society back to the dark ages. Those in this room with political considerations dont need me to tell them what the worldwide backlash would be.
What about a lesser strike?
Shavitz shook his head. For what? Any strike that leaves Iran with missile capabilities, with fighters or bombers in the air, or that leaves even a single nuclear missile operational, will spell disaster for us. While some of us have been sleeping, Prime Minister, or rewarding our friends with government contracts, the Iranians have been working like termites, building an almost impossibly robust conventional missile arsenal, all of it with us in mind.
The Fajr-3, with precision guidance and multiple reentry vehicles nearly impossible to knock down. The Shahab-3 program, with enough missiles, enough firepower, and the reach to carpet bomb every square inch of Israel. The Ghadr-110, the Ashoura, the Sejjil, and the Bina systems, all of which can reach us, thousands of individual projectiles and warheads. And, while it hardly seems pressing at this moment, they are still working on the Simorgh satellite-launched missile, which is in testing and which we can expect to see operational with a year. Once that system is in place
Shavitz sighed. The rest of the room was silent.
What about our shelter system?
Shavitz nodded. Sure. Assuming the Iranians are bluffing and they dont have any nuclear weapons, we can say with confidence that should they launch a major attack against us, some percentage of our people would make it to the shelters in time, some of the shelters would hold, and afterwards, a handful of survivors would crawl out alive. But dont think for a minute that they would rebuild. They would be traumatized and helpless, wandering across a blasted moonscape. What would Hezbollah do then? Or the Turks? Or the Syrians? Or the Saudis? Rush in to bring aid and comfort to the last remnants of Israeli society? I really dont think so.
Yonatan took a deep breath. Are there any other options at all?
Shavitz shrugged. Just one. The idea the Americans have floated. Send in a small commando team to discover if the nuclear weapons are even real, and to determine their locations. Then the American forces come in and precision strike those locations, possibly with our participation, possibly not. If the Americans make a limited, precise attack, and destroy only the nuclear weapons, the Iranians may hesitate to respond.
This was an idea Yonatan hated. He hated it because of all the fruitless loss of life the loss of highly trained and valuable agents that had already come from previous infiltrations into Iran. He hated it because he would be forced to wait while the agents disappeared, with no idea if they might resurface and whether they would know anything when they did. Yonatan did not like the prospect of waiting not when the clock was ticking and the Iranians could launch their own massive attack at any time.
Yonatan especially hated this idea because it appeared to have come from inside the White House of Susan Hopkins. Hopkins had no idea of the reality of Israels situation, and she did not seem to care. She was like a parrot with a reluctant owner, who had only taught the poor bird one phrase.
The Palestinians. The Palestinians. The Palestinians.
What are the odds that such a mission would succeed? Yonatan said.
Shavitz shook his head. Very, very slim. But attempting it would probably please the Americans, and demonstrate to them the restraint we are showing. If we made the whole thing time-limited, perhaps forty-eight hours, we might not have anything to lose.
Can we afford that much time?
If we closely monitor the Iranians for any sign of a first strike, and immediately launch our own strike at forty-eight hours, we should be okay.
And if the agents are killed or captured?
An American team, with perhaps one Israeli guide who has significant Iranian experience. The Israeli will be a deep cover operative with no identity. If anything goes wrong, we simply deny involvement.
Shavitz paused for a long moment. I already have the perfect operative in mind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
12:10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Joint Base Andrews
Prince Georges County, Maryland
The small blue jet with the US Department of State logo on the side moved slowly onto the taxiway and made a sharp right turn. Already cleared for takeoff, it quickly accelerated down the runway, left the ground, and climbed steeply into the clouds. Within another moment, it angled sharply left toward the Atlantic Ocean.
Inside the plane, Luke and his team easily fell back into old habits they used the front four passenger seats as their meeting area. They stowed their luggage and their gear in the seats at the back.
They were leaving later than he had intended. The holdup was because Luke had gone to see Gunner at school. He had promised his son that he would never leave without telling him face-to-face, and sharing as much as he could about where he was going. Gunner had asked for that, and Luke had agreed.
They had met in a small room provided to them by the principals assistant it was a place where they stored musical instruments, mostly old wind instruments, many of them gathering rust, by the looks of things.
Gunner had handled it pretty well, all things considered.
Where are you going? he said.
Luke shook his head. Its classified, Monster. If I tell you
Then I tell someone, and that person tells someone.
I dont think you would tell anyone. But just knowing would put you at risk.