The Leveling

“Also, there could be a decent amount of both low and highly enriched uranium at the bomb site, which will complicate onsite confirmation of complete destruction. The cleanup team that goes in will have to be prepared for the radiation factor.”


The CENTCOM commander said, “They are. But when it comes to Natanz, everyone needs to understand that heavily fortified means that the two main centrifuge halls we know of are both protected by two-point-five-meter-thick walls made of reinforced concrete, are buried at least ten meters in the ground, and further protected by a thick surface layer of concrete. Even with the new bunker busters, those underground halls are a tough aim point. The only way the air force feels comfortable guaranteeing their demolition is with an actual tactical nuke.”

“We’ve talked about this,” said the national security advisor.

“We’ll hit it with the bunker busters until we get the job done,” said the president. “If the SEAL team we send down to confirm destruction needs to finish the job, then that’s what they’ll do. We’ll need boots on the ground to take out Fordo anyway.”

“Target accepted with conventional armaments,” said the national security advisor.

The rest concurred and the president confirmed the decision, as he did the decision to hit Fordo—a heavily fortified uranium-enrichment site that the Iranians had built under a mountain—with a combination of conventional armaments and a Special Forces cleanup team.

“Aim point four, Tehran Nuclear Research Reactor.”

“Obviously this is a tough one,” said the secretary of defense.

The satellite image showed a red dot in the middle of an urban area in northern Tehran.

“Define high collateral damage,” said the president, after reading the accompanying slide.

“Two to three hundred civilians plus the technicians on site. Plus they use the reactor for medical purposes. Somewhere in the neighborhood of ten thousand patients a week are dependent on it.”

“Are the heavy bombs necessary?”

“If we play it safe and dial down the armaments, we’d probably be able to limit immediate collateral damage to the technicians on site. But if we want to be sure we’ve taken it out completely, including the tunnels we believe are buried beneath the visible buildings, then we should go with the targeteers’ recommendation.”

“North Tehran is the stronghold of the reformists,” said the secretary of state. “If we kill large numbers of civilians there, it will only drive them to the hard-liners. Intelligence is spotty about the tunnels and what they might contain. I’ll accept the aim point, but with reduced armaments.”

“My view is that the aim point should be accepted with recommended armaments,” said the national security advisor. “The reformists will rally around the flag the second the first bomb falls, collateral damage or not.”

“I agree,” said the president. “Level the place.”

The rest of the committee concurred.





38


Ashgabat, Turkmenistan



“IS HE ALIVE?” asked Daria.

Mark sat beside Thompson in the rear seat of the commandeered Volga. He put his finger on Thompson’s neck, feeling for the carotid artery.

“Yeah.” He gave Thompson a light tap on the stomach. “William, you with us!”

There was no response.

“What do we do with him?”

Mark’s head was pounding. “The US embassy. We’ll leave him there. How did you find me?”

Daria explained how she’d gotten the message he’d left on her phone and set up a surveillance post with a view of the arch. After the Chinese had closed in and shot the Turkmen soldier, police from all over the city had descended on the scene within minutes. One of them had left his car running, so she’d stolen it—with all that was happening in the square, no one noticed her driving off—and had headed to the Chinese embassy. “I recognized a few of the guys who grabbed you. They’re definitely Chinese Guoanbu. I knew they operated out of the embassy. So I took my best guess and drove right there.”

“And ran straight into us.”

“The Turkmen spent a ton on new Mercedes police cars last year. I figured the Mercedes had airbags and I was hoping you were in the backseat of that Lada.”

“Lucky guess.”

“My options were limited.”

Mark couldn’t argue with that.

“I couldn’t let them take you past the embassy gates,” she added. “If that happened—”

“You did the right thing.” He’d been planning on running, but he might not have made it. “Thanks.” He turned to face her, and they locked eyes for a moment. “Really, I appreciate what you did.”




The US embassy in Ashgabat, a boxy, low-slung building clad in bluish-gray tiles, reminded Mark of a shower stall. The only remarkable thing about it was the massive satellite dish mounted in the rear of the property and the bristling nest of antennae protruding from its roof.