Protect And Defend

chapter 16
TEHRAN, IRAN

Ashani found if he took controlled, shallow, breaths it helped minimize the coughing attacks. He sat hugging the arm of the couch, with the Chief of the Armed Forces to his right and the Foreign Minister next to him. The Supreme Leader sat alone in a simple chair almost directly across from Ashani. His meeting chamber was void of all technological advances. There were no computers or plasma TVs. No projectors or drop-down screens. There wasn't even a conference table for them to sit around. It was the century-old setting of kings and religious leaders. Supplicants and advisors came to plead their cases, and the monarch would lay down his edict. He was not to be bothered with details or execution. The advisors would sort things out later. The system also conveniently gave the Supreme Leader the ability to take credit for what worked and distance himself from what didn't.

The walls were bare, with one exception. A framed photograph of the Supreme Leader hung on the wall above his right shoulder. Between the Supreme Leader's chair and the love seat where Najar and Amatullah were seated the Iranian flag stood upright in an effort to give the dull room an air of official state business. The president and head of the Guardian Council had dropped any pretense of liking each other. They were adversaries, and everyone in the room knew it. Both men sat stiffly and leaned away from one other, Najar toward the Supreme Leader and Amatullah toward Ashani.

Ashani had hesitated for only a second when his doctor told him he would like him to come straight to the hospital so he could check him out. Ashani knew it was essential that he be at this meeting, if for no other reason than to make sure Amatullah did not try to blame him for what had gone wrong, or somehow convince the Supreme Leader to rush into some foolish act of reprisal. There was one other reason, though, that continued to nag him. He was deeply worried by what he had seen when he looked down into the pit of what was not so long ago his country's epicenter of scientific advancement and national pride. More to the point, he was worried about what he didn't see.

Persian pride would demand that they hit back. Ashani and his ministry would play a crucial roll in whatever they decided to do. A straight-out military counterstrike was foolish, but that wouldn't stop several key members of the council from advocating all-out war with Israel. There would be a lot of saber rattling in the coming weeks, but in the end they would find surrogates to do their dirty work. That part would not be difficult. There were plenty of impoverished Palestinians who would jump at the chance to martyr themselves.

Ashani's more immediate concern was in protecting himself and his people. Someone was going to be blamed for what had happened. One would think that the Ministry of Intelligence would be safe, but with Amatullah one never knew. The man never let the facts get in the way of his version of events. Things were going to get ugly. Alliances on the council were sure to shift as the inevitable blame game ensued. Who would try to rewrite history? Who would try to deflect? Who would stab whom in the back? Anything was possible and Ashani could not afford to be laid up in a hospital with doctors poking and prodding him.

The Supreme Leader finished leading the group in prayer and then gave his friend Najar the signal to begin.

Najar looked at Major General Dadress and said, "General, your report."

Like every man in the room Dadress had a full beard. His was thicker than the others and dyed an oily black. He had a broad forehead and a receding hairline. He was in his olive green army uniform, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. Leaning forward, he said, "By our best estimates the attack took place shortly after noon. We had no radar contact with the bombers, so we are assuming they used the B-2 stealth bomber. We estimate that they flew near the operational ceiling of the B-2, which is fifty thousand feet."

"I seem to remember the Russians telling us their new missile system would be able to detect the Americans' stealth aircraft," Najar said in an unhappy tone.

"They claimed that the bombers would be vulnerable when they opened their bomb doors."

"And our air force detected nothing."

"Correct."

"Wonderful," Najar said in a sour tone. "Twenty-seven million dollars for a missile system that doesn't work."

Ashani's doubts were beginning to grow. He knew the science behind the stealth bombers, and they should have in fact left themselves open to detection for five to ten seconds while they dropped their payload. More worrisome, though, was the time of the bombing. Ashani had no knowledge of the Americans ever using one of the valuable stealth bombers in a daylight operation. Why would the Americans expose their billion-dollar planes during a daylight bombing run? The answer for Ashani was that they wouldn't.

"There is a pilot," Amatullah announced, "who made a positive identification of an Israeli plane in the area. My people are debriefing him at this very moment."

Najar slowly turned his head and looked at the president. "I heard your comments on TV earlier this evening, and I saw your pilot interviewed. I am not sure I believe him."

"You are a born skeptic," Amatullah countered.

"Have you not listened to anything General Dadress has told us? The Air Force detected nothing. They think the stealth bombers flew at their operational ceiling of fifty thousand feet. Commercial air traffic flies at thirty to thirty-five thousand feet. Your pilot must have very good eyes to see a plane from such a distance."

"Fifty thousand feet is an estimate by radar operators who failed to do their jobs. At this point I am more than happy to take the eyewitness account of a veteran pilot."

"Really." Najar turned to Dadress. "General, how many stealth bombers do the Israelis have?"

"None that we know of."

"And if the Americans had given them some, do you think they would paint big white and blue Stars of David on the wings?"

"No."

Najar nodded and waited to see if Amatullah had anything further to add.

"You may quibble over the specifics of how it happened, but it is obvious to everyone that it was the Jews and the Americans who were behind this."

"Even so, this council would appreciate it if during a national crisis you would consult us before you rushed to get in front of the cameras."

Amatullah looked past Najar to the Supreme Leader. "My apologies."

Ayatollah Nassiri acknowledged the apology with the faintest of nods. In a soft voice he asked Najar, "How many perished?"

Najar turned to Golam Mosheni, the man in charge of the country's nuclear program and in a much louder voice asked, "How many?"

Mosheni was a large man, probably only a few pounds shy of 300. His forehead was glistening with sweat. "Sixty-seven scientists and technicians. We were fortunate that they struck during lunch. Twenty-three scientists and technicians were on their break when the bombs fell."

"Fortunate." Amatullah repeated in a whimsical tone. "I'm not sure I would use that word to describe anything that you are associated with."

There it was, Ashani thought. Amatullah had chosen his scapegoat. He had been a champion of Mosheni for years, touting him as the man who held the hopes of the future of Iran. In addition to running the nuclear program, it appeared that the diminutive president expected him to stop foreign incursions into their airspace.

"It could have been worse," Mosheni replied in a weak effort to defend himself.

Amatullah clasped his hands in his lap. His short legs barely touched the floor. "Our nuclear program has been destroyed, we have a toxic hole in the middle of our second largest city, and the West is laughing at us. Please tell us how it could have been worse?" He unclasped his hands and threw them up in the air. "I would love for you to explain to us how it could have been worse."

Mosheni's face grew flushed. He kept his mouth closed and refused to speak. His discomfort and embarrassment was obvious.

"Has the radioactive fallout been contained?" Najar asked.

"Yes."

"The rest of the facility?"

"The equipment can be salvaged, but it will have to be moved to a different location."

"Natanz?" Najar asked.

"That would be my recommendation."

Najar swiveled his head to look at Amatullah. "I seem to remember you advocating Isfahan to be the main nuclear site over Natanz. Something do to with the fact that the Americans would never attack a site in the middle of a city. "

The head of the Guardian Council was referring to the country's two main nuclear sites. Natanz was buried in a mountain hundreds of miles away from Isfahan in a remote location. There had been a heated debate years earlier over where to put the most crucial parts of the program. Isfahan was pushed by Amatullah for the reason already stated and because the country's scientists lobbied hard for the site. They did not want to have to relocate their families to the remote region of Natanz.

Amatullah bought time with one of his sly grins. "I did no such thing. I merely passed along the recommendations of others." The president glanced at the vice president for atomic energy.

"I seem to remember you guaranteeing this council that Isfahan could survive anything the Americans could throw at it?"

"If I made such a guarantee it was based on the advice of those who know about such things."

"You made the guarantee. I remember it very well."

Amatullah exhaled in frustration. "Experts who do not work for me stated that the facility could withstand anything short of a nuclear strike. Obviously, the Americans have come up with a new weapon. I am a politician, not a scientist, my friend. I am not a military expert nor am I an oracle who can see the future."

"Maybe we will have to be less trusting of your word from now on."

Amatullah looked deeply offended. "If you want to blame me for what happened today, I am truly insulted. I did not come here to discuss the past. I am here because I want to know how we are going to make the Jews and Americans pay for this." The president took a moment to glance around the room and make eye contact with each man. "It is understandable that some of us are upset, but we must put that anger aside and focus on striking back at our enemies. Who in this room was not behind our nuclear program?"

"We will strike back at our enemies," Najar said in a measured tone, "but there must be accountability. Not everyone on this council was as behind this program as you were. Several of us feared this was exactly where we would end up. Pouring countless treasure into a program that would one day be destroyed by our enemies. If I had known that you were going to speak so freely to the press about our right to develop nuclear weapons and your desire to see Israel wiped off the face of the map, I would have never supported this."

"I..." Amatullah started to speak.

"Do not interrupt me," Najar said sharply. "I think you should be removed from office." The cleric paused to let Amatullah know just how serious he was. "But unfortunately, we can't do that right now. Do you know why?"

Amatullah shook his head.

"We can't do it because the Jews would be dancing in the street. It would be a dual victory for them. Whether I like it or not, you are exactly who we need to galvanize our people and get them focused on the retribution that must be meted out."

Amatullah's face transformed from worry to pride and then elation. "The people will be behind us, I can promise you that. We will strike back at the Jews and the Americans like never before, and I know exactly where to hit them. We will make them pay for their arrogance. We will destroy them."