Damascus Countdown (22 page)

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

Zalinsky picked up the phone and dialed Tom Murray’s extension. He briefed the deputy director for operations on David’s call and his plan. Then he asked for Murray to relay the translation request to Eva. And he requested permission to retask a Predator drone over Tehran University Medical Center.

JERUSALEM, ISRAEL

“Mr. Prime Minister, Defense Minister Shimon is on hold.”

“Put him through,” Naphtali said. He was sitting in his office, poring over dispatches from each element of the ongoing war. When the secure connection was made, he asked for the latest update.

“Six deaths in Dimona so far,” Shimon said, “but none from radiation. They’re all due to the fires. Several dozen injuries, too. But the hazmat teams are in. The fire-suppression efforts are going better. I think we’re going to be able to contain the damage, but it’s too soon to say more than that.”

“What about Tiberias?”

“The hotel is a disaster. It’s not just the collapse of the building. It’s the fire and smoke. The rescue crews can hear tapping coming from the bomb shelters in the basement, but they can’t control the fires, and until they do, they can’t get to the people. The death toll is climbing. I should receive updated numbers soon.”

“Please, Levi, as soon as you can get them. The Foreign Ministry is screaming for details and a statement from me, but I don’t want to put out anything official until we know more.”

“I know, and we’re working on it.”

“Okay, what’s next?”

“Good news and bad,” said Shimon. “Which do you want first?”

“The bad.”

“I just talked to Roger Allen at Langley. He says they’ve got credible evidence that we’ve destroyed six of the eight warheads but missed two.”

“How does he know?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“But they’re sure?”

“All he said was the evidence was ‘serious’ and ‘credible’ and they’re throwing everything they have at hunting down these two warheads and destroying them.”

“What’s the chance that it’s just disinformation?”

“Unlikely. I know Roger. He wouldn’t tell us this unless he was worried. I’m not entirely sure he was even authorized to tell us this. But he clearly wanted us to know. And he can’t think that’s going to make us back down from the fight or accept a cease-fire.”

“True.”

“Anyway, we’re using every asset we can to hunt for the warheads as well, and I’ll keep you posted. But there’s more.”

“What?”

“Well, for starters, our ground forces are encountering severe resistance in southern Lebanon. Hezbollah is using a new kind of Russian antitank missile. We haven’t seen it before, so we weren’t expecting it. We’re taking heavy casualties. And we just lost two F-15s—one from triple-A fire over Sidon, the other because of mechanical troubles over the Med. But Hezbollah and the Iranians are taking credit for both.”

“When’s the good news?”

“Not yet,” Shimon said. “Our ground offensive in Gaza isn’t off to a strong start. There are a whole host of reasons. It’s house-to-house combat right now, sometimes man-to-man. Booby traps. Land mines. Real ugly stuff. I’ll get you a more detailed report soon. But the bottom line is we’re taking heavier losses than we would have expected and it’s going slower than we’d hoped. Hamas and Islamic Jihad are still firing rockets into the south at pretty near the same rate. But obviously we expect
that to diminish once our forces gain the upper hand and we can begin clearing more territory of the launchers and the jihadis operating them.”

“And the Syrians?” the prime minister asked.

“Still nothing,” Shimon reported.

“Is that the good news?”

“No, this is. We think we can take out Darazi, eliminate some of their leadership.”

“Tell me.”

“Our agents inside Tehran have been noticing an unexpected increase in helicopter activity near the Imam Khomeini Mosque in Tehran. When they looked more closely, they noticed an odd level of security around the mosque, especially in the plaza out front, where the helicopters are arriving and departing.”

“Okay . . .” Naphtali indicated that Shimon should get to the point.

“Political VIPs have been known to worship there from time to time. But with the war under way, you wouldn’t expect any VIP activity there, and certainly not this much. They’ve actually erected a tent out front to obscure those getting on and off the choppers from viewers outside the grounds. What’s also strange is that there is new, high-tech microwave relay equipment installed on the roofs of the office buildings that are connected to the mosque. Just went up in the past twenty-four hours. But officially the mosque is closed. They’re not holding prayer services. The general public is pretty much staying indoors. There are hardly any vehicles on the streets, besides ambulances, fire trucks, various military vehicles, and some police cars.”

“You think Iranian political officials are going there to worship during the war.”

“No, sir,” Shimon said. “We think the military high command could be preparing to use the mosque as an operations center.”

“I thought they were operating out of the bunker at the airport.”

“We’ve decimated most of that military base. But we haven’t actually tried to hit the bunker.”

“Why not?”

“First, it’s located underneath and to the side of the main passenger terminal. Our IAF commanders say there would be too many civilians
killed if we bombed it. Second, the Iranians think we don’t know about that bunker. We believe the main IRGC op center is six or eight stories underground. We’re not entirely sure we could destroy it with a bunker-buster if we tried. But we’ve got a drone monitoring the site, hoping the Iranians will make a mistake and give a clear and direct shot at one of their top people, maybe even the Mahdi.”

“Then if the op center is still up and running, what’s the deal with this mosque you’re talking about?” Naphtali asked.

“Sir, we think the Iranians may be setting up an alternate facility, a new or separate command center. By definition, the mosque is a religious site. It’s in a residential neighborhood. It’s not close to any military buildings or other major government buildings. Thus this particular mosque isn’t likely to be watched by satellites or by spies. They probably think it won’t be noticed by Western intelligence agencies, and even if it is noticed by us or others, they expect that we’ll hesitate before attacking a mosque. Honestly, sir, they were pretty close to being right. We just got lucky to even pick up on the activity going on there.”

“And why do you think Darazi is there?” Naphtali pressed.

“We don’t think he’s been there yet, but we do think he’s coming,” Shimon said. “One of our men photographed Darazi’s chief of staff and head of security strolling the grounds a few hours ago.”

“You think they were advancing the site?”

“Zvi does, yes,” said Shimon, referring to Zvi Dayan, the Mossad director. “I’m ambivalent so far. Not enough information. But it’s certainly got my attention.”

“Now it’s got mine, Levi. But tell me this: if Darazi arrives, is he likely to have Hosseini and the Mahdi with him?”

“I don’t know. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“One-stop shopping? Sure,” said the PM. “Okay, what do you need?”

“The Mossad wants to put snipers in place and position a dedicated drone overhead to take out Darazi, if they spot him, and others, if they’re there too.”

“Shouldn’t every drone we have be looking for the nukes?”

“I know. I thought that myself at first. But if we could actually take out Darazi or others in the high command . . .”

“It’s awfully risky,” said Naphtali. “Hitting a mosque in the heart of Tehran? If we’re wrong, or we miss, or we flatten the place and can’t prove we hit Darazi, can you imagine the blowback?”

“They’re trying to nuke us, Mr. Prime Minister. Do we really care about blowback?”

TEHRAN, IRAN

David and his team were approaching the outskirts of the Iranian capital. For much of the drive from Karaj, they had sketched out a detailed plan of attack and tried to imagine everything that could possibly go wrong and how they would handle each scenario. David knew they really could have used another few hours. He also knew they’d have been far better off attempting this in the dead of night. But they didn’t have the time to wait. He knew that Torres and his men were consummate professionals. If this could be done at all—and it was a big
if
, to be sure—these guys would not let him down.

David’s satphone rang. That had to be Zalinsky, and he was late. David glanced at his watch. It was 3:14 p.m. in Tehran and 6:44 in the morning back in Washington. They would be at the hospital in less than fifteen minutes. He put on his Bluetooth and took the call hands-free even though Torres was driving.

“Jack, where’ve you been?” David said. “We’re almost there.”

“Actually, it’s Agent Fischer. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, Eva—no, not disappointed, just surprised,” David said.

“How are you?” she asked.

“A little stressed.”

“Guess that makes sense.”

“How about you?”

“A little stressed,” she mimicked. “It’s been a long night. I’ll fill you in later. But listen, I just finished translating Javad Nouri’s calls, and I
wanted to try to get you before you headed in. Tom briefed me on what you’re about to do.”

“You think it’s crazy?”

“It
is
crazy,” said Eva. “I just hope it works.”

“Me too,” David said. “So what did you find?”

“The only call Javad made, the six-minute one, was to his mother in Mashhad,” Eva explained. “It was pretty straightforward, just explaining what happened to him and that the doctors say he’s going to be fine. That call was last night, and his mother said she and Javad’s father would call back after work tonight.”

“Okay, how about the nineteen-minute call he received?” David pressed. “Please tell me it was from the Mahdi.”

“No, sorry,” said Eva. “It was actually from Darazi.”

“President Darazi?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Why? What did they say?”

“Hold your horses; I’m getting to that,” Eva said. “The call occurred just after nine o’clock this morning, local time. Darazi says the Mahdi asked him to check in on Javad to see if the doctors have cleared him to come back to work. Javad says he needs a couple more days, at a minimum. And get this. Darazi says, ‘No, that won’t do. The Mahdi says this will be over in a couple more days. We need you now.’”

“He said ‘a couple more days’?” David asked.

“That’s verbatim,” Eva confirmed.

“What else?”

“Javad says he would like nothing more, but his doctors are being pretty firm. Darazi says the Mahdi doesn’t care what the doctors say; he wants him at his side for this ‘final operation,’ quote, unquote. He says they’re going to transfer him sometime this afternoon and bring his doctors with him.”

“Did Darazi say when
exactly
the transport would happen?”

“No.”

“Did he say where they’re going to move Javad to?”

“Not exactly, but Javad indicates he doesn’t think the road to the airport is secure. He’s hearing reports that the bombing of the airport
has been relentless. Darazi confirms this but says they’re not bringing him to the airport bunker. Javad then asks if it’s the Qaleh, up in the mountains, because he still thinks that’s not secure either. Darazi says no. That was destroyed by an Israeli missile strike. He says they’ve set up a new war room. It’s very impressive, state-of-the-art, and unlikely to be noticed by the Israelis since it’s, as he put it, ‘hiding in plain sight.’ Javad asked for details. Darazi said he’d know soon enough. And that’s pretty much the gist of it.”

“That took nineteen minutes?”

“Well, no, Javad gave him an update on his medical situation. He’s got a pretty nasty wound in his right shoulder where the bullet passed through. They’ve got him on a bunch of antibiotics, and they’re hoping he won’t develop an infection.”

“Anything else?”

“You want me to e-mail you the transcript?”

“No, we’re almost there.”

“That’s pretty much everything,” Eva said. “Oh, well, this was interesting.”

“What?”

“As they finish the call, Javad asks Darazi how he thinks the war is going. Darazi says they’ve been hit harder than he’d expected, but that he has, quote, ‘full faith in Imam al-Mahdi and in those two aces up his sleeve.’”

“Two aces? You’re sure?” David pressed.

“That’s what he said,” Eva confirmed. “Two aces.”

“So he knows about the warheads.”

“Apparently so. Looks like your instincts were right. Who knew?”

“Very funny,” David replied, about to fire back with a wisecrack when another call started coming in. “Look, I gotta go. But good work, Eva. Let me know when you work your way through more of those intercepts.”

“Will do. Take care of yourself.”

“You too—bye.” And David disconnected.

Torres turned off Azadi Road onto North Kargar Boulevard. Traffic was nonexistent. The streets of Tehran were practically abandoned, and they were making great time.

“Heads up,” said Torres. “We’re two minutes out.”

David nodded and checked his watch—it was now 3:28 p.m. The rest of the team loaded magazines into their MP5 machine guns and screwed silencers onto their automatic pistols. David did the same, careful not to let anything he was doing be seen from outside the van. Then he took the incoming call. It was Zalinsky.

“Put me on speaker,” Zalinsky ordered.

David complied.

“Can you all hear me?” Zalinsky asked.

“We can,” David said.

“Good. Listen, I’m in the Global Ops Center. I’ve got Tom at my side. Roger is on his way.”

“Hey, Zephyr.” It was Murray’s voice. “Good luck today.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

“You guys are the main event right now,” Zalinsky said. “Even the president has been alerted to this operation. We’ve retasked a satellite, and we’re currently tracking your van driving north on Kargar. We’ve been watching the hospital from a Predator. Tom is e-mailing a layout of the campus to each of your phones along with schematics of building two. We’ve also hacked into the hospital’s mainframe. They’ve actually got Javad registered under his own name. He’s in building two on the fifth floor, room 503.”

“Great,” Torres said. “What’s the security setup there?”

“Nothing special out front,” Zalinsky said. “There’s a security post when you first enter the parking lot. Just one guy. No big deal. Rent-a-cop. Unlikely to be armed. There are two security guards at the front door of building two. We zoomed in on them. They’re heavily armed. Machine guns, sidearms, radios. Thermal imaging shows four more just like them in the lobby.”

“Is that normal?” David asked.

“I doubt it,” Zalinsky said. “We’re guessing security has been beefed up because of their special guest.”

“He’s getting more ‘special’ and intriguing every minute.”

“True,” Zalinsky said. “Obviously we want you to steer clear of the lobby. There’s an exit door on the south side. We’re not sure if it’s locked
from the outside. But that leads into a maintenance area. From there, you should split up. There’s a stairwell on the left, just inside the doors. To the right, you have to go about halfway around the building, but there’s another stairwell there.”

“Any of that guarded?” Torres asked.

“Not on the ground floor,” Zalinsky explained. “But once you guys get to the fifth floor, you’ll definitely have company.”

“How many?”

“Thermal imaging shows armed guards at each of the stairwell doors. Two more by the elevators. Two more outside Javad’s room.”

“Security cameras?”

“We don’t know, but you’ll have to assume so.”

“Dogs?”

“Not that we’ve seen.”

“Plainclothes officers?”

“Can’t say for certain.”

“Any free safeties or roving teams?”

“Not that we can tell,” Zalinsky said. “But I wouldn’t rule it out. And look, it’s crowded up there. There are a lot of war wounded coming into the hospital. Plus they’re doing a blood drive this afternoon, and they’re actually getting a decent turnout, despite the fact that so few people are out on the roads. Not sure how people are hearing about it, but they’re there. So be alert. Every floor is jammed. They’ve got stretchers in the hallways, too. All leaves have been canceled. Doctors and nurses are being ordered in from everywhere. They’ve got a lot of staff on duty. It’s going to be a mess. This would be a lot better at night.”

“I agree, but I don’t see how we can wait,” David said.

“No, neither do I,” said Zalinsky. “You guys all set?”

“I guess,” David said, “though I just talked to Eva.”

“She told you Darazi is sending people to get Javad this afternoon?”

“Right. Should we be worried?”

“Let’s hope not. It’s still fairly early over there, right?”

“Just after three thirty.”

“Well, let’s just hope for the best,” Zalinsky said. “But we’ll definitely keep an eye out for unwelcome guests.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, but what else could they do? They needed more men and more firepower to do this right. But they simply didn’t have the luxury of either.

Torres turned off the main boulevard onto a side street, then pulled the van over to the curb and came to a stop. David began to assess their surroundings as he plotted each move. They were on the perimeter of the hospital grounds. He could see the guard station by the parking lot. He couldn’t see building two from this vantage point, but he could see building three, the oncology department. The team checked the maps Murray had sent and calibrated their watches.

It was 3:32 p.m. local time.

TABRIZ, IRAN

It had been too dangerous to travel by plane or even by helicopter, and anyway the runways were now unusable, so there would have been nowhere to land. So General Mohsen Jazini arrived at the Second Tactical Air Base, about fifteen kilometers northwest of the Iranian city of Tabriz, in the back of a Red Crescent ambulance, his security detail having decided such cover was the safest—if not the only—way to get the new head of the Caliphate’s army to the base from Tehran without attracting attention or another Israeli missile strike. Fortunately their plan had worked, and the general, two of his deputies, and three bodyguards (including the driver) arrived without incident. But even from a distance, seeing the thick, black columns of smoke rising into the afternoon sky, Jazini could scarcely take in how much damage the Israelis had done to the air base. Seeing it up close and personal was horrifying.

As he’d been briefed back in Tehran, every runway here in Tabriz was now pockmarked with enormous craters, the result of devastatingly accurate Israeli air strikes. Nearly all the F-5E and MiG-29 fighter jets on the tarmacs were ablaze, as were most of the helicopters, transport planes, and civilian airliners that shared the airfield. All but one of the hangars, and all of the administrative buildings, had been taken out by air strikes. Even the control tower had been hit. Some of the strikes
had occurred as recently as that very morning. Firefighters and their equipment had come from all over the area, but it was immediately clear to Jazini that they were having little success controlling the raging infernos. Ambulances, too, were converging on the base from every direction, but the destruction was severe, and Jazini had to assume the death toll was already high and still mounting rapidly.

Once they cleared a security checkpoint on the outer edge of the field, the general directed the driver of the ambulance to a small, one-story, nondescript concrete building on the eastern edge of the airfield. It hadn’t been fired upon and thus hadn’t been damaged in any way. After all, it didn’t look like a strategic target from the air or even up close. Rather, it looked like a two-vehicle garage that might hold maintenance equipment like tow trucks or perhaps lawn-care equipment like a few large commercial mowers.

When they arrived and parked near one of the garage doors, a member of the detail jumped out, walked over to the door, found an electronic keypad, and punched in a ten-digit code. Jazini could see the bodyguard then look up at a small security camera mounted on the overhang of the roof. A moment later, one of the doors opened, and two armed men greeted them and waved them in.

Jazini and all of his team except the driver quickly exited the ambulance and entered the small concrete structure. The driver then sped off and parked the ambulance with the rest of the emergency vehicles, in the unlikely but still remotely possible chance that the scene was being monitored by spy satellites.

“General Jazini, what an honor,” said the ranking officer on site, saluting once the guests were safely inside and the door was closed and locked behind them. “I’m Colonel Sharif. Welcome to our humble abode.”

Jazini, dressed not in his military uniform but in black slacks and a white button-down dress shirt, did not return the salute. “Colonel, I’m not here for you or for any chitchat,” said the highly decorated commander of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps, who at the age of fifty-nine was still quite fit and trim, though his once-jet-black hair was now graying at the temples and his beard was beginning to show more salt than pepper. “I’m here to see Dr. Zandi without delay. Where is he?”