INTELLIGENCE FAILURE Read online

  Defense Secretary Alex Simpson took the report and sat back down. “Mr. President, they hate us because we stand for doing what’s right and for our democratic ideals,” he assured him. The Defense Secretary had been with the administration since the beginning of Acosta’s first term and had engineered a major downsizing of the department forced by congressional budget cuts.

  Acosta held two documents up, shaking his head in frustration. “CIA Intelligence Assessment, DIA Situation Report Summary. We’re the world’s Goddamn policeman and we’re going broke doing it!”

  Simpson nodded as he glanced through the report. “Mr. President, I understand, but who else can do it?” After a few moments he added, “Hell, if we don’t lead, who will?”

  “Alex, we read these reports every day. After twelve years of war, I doubt one person inside the Beltway, or in the whole damn country for that matter, believes we are one bit safer now. We have droned and bombed almost a dozen countries…and what the hell is going on in Iraq?” He took a sip of coffee from his presidential mug and set it back down.

  “Mr. President, we are supporting the Iraqi military with training and with logistics…and the Kurds too…it seems to be working…albeit slowly.”

  Acosta let out a sigh. “Damn it Alex, half the shit we gave them is now in ISIS’s hands.”

  Simpson nodded.

  “And damn near every time they get into a battle, the Iraqi’s fold up like lawn chairs,” Acosta added.

  The intercom on the President’s desk came alive, “Mr. President, National Security Advisor Alby is here for his ten am appointment.”

  “Please send him in, Margaret,” Acosta replied. He cut off the speaker, “I though Ray might have some suggestions for us.”

  The Secretary sat back in his chair and set down the report.

  “Yes Mr. President,” his executive secretary replied.

  “You may go in now Mr. Secretary.”

  “Thank you Margaret.”

  “Hello Ray,” said the President as Alby entered. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Ray, I asked you here because I would like your input on the mess in Iraq. Please sit down. I have a press conference in fifteen, so forgive me but I’ll have to keep this short.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You know we have been trying to stabilize the Iraqi security forces so they can push ISIS back, but it seems like an impossible task,” Acosta bluntly admitted.

  Alby knew he could not offer a magical solution to a very complex problem. “Mr. President, I agree with what DOD and CIA are doing. The bombing has been effective in slowing down and even halting new ISIS advances. And I understand more special forces trainers were added to teach the militias to fight alongside the Iraqi military…and they are training Kurdish forces as well. CIA has people inside ISIS and they are giving us valuable intelligence on their top leadership so they can be taken out.”

  Acosta leaned back in his chair “I just read through a DIA assessment of the Iraqi military. They state they are doubtful their security forces can ever set aside their internal differences and become an effective fighting force.”

  There was silence for a few moments and then in a somber tone Simpson said, “I’ve seen that assessment Mr. President…but our options are limited. We all agree no Americans in combat over there.”

  “I think we have to hold the course for a while longer, Mr. President.” Alby recommended, adding, “If we walk away now, ISIS will take over Baghdad in less than four months…then who knows?”

  “I believe Iraq will wind up being partitioned…and much of Syria too. And Iran will almost certainly expand their influence in the region,” Acosta lamented.

  “Mr. President, we can’t let Iraq collapse…total chaos would engulf the entire region. A bloodbath lasting years would result. And Iran might invade Iraq to neutralize the ISIS threat to them,” Alby stated, firmly.

  “I agree…I too think Iran might decide to invade them,” Simpson added.

  Acosta looked directly at him. “Alex, are the Iranians complying with the nuclear agreement, or are they building a bomb?” The question caught the Defense Secretary completely off guard.

  “I’m fairly certain they are not building a bomb, Mr. President,” replied the startled Simpson, adding, “Although none of our intelligence agencies have been able to get anyone inside Iran’s nuke program, the IAEA reports have verified they are in compliance, and DIA and NSA have found nothing to say otherwise.”

  Acosta nodded. “Cabot believes they are living up to the agreement. I got an advance copy of a National Intelligence Estimate he is working on; it seemed to state as much. I will likely agree to meet with Iranian President Massoud when he is at the U.N. in two months. He says he is ready to enter into further negotiations in order to facilitate a trade deal between our two countries…your thoughts Ray?”

  “I think a meeting could be productive Mr. President,” Alby threw out, haltingly. “Unless the IAEA or one of our intelligence agencies detects a violation, we should not let the opportunity for improved relations slip us by.”

  “The Israelis and Saudis continue to believe the Iranians are building a bomb, but they have never provided us any solid proof,” Acosta threw out.

  “I might add with the sanctions removed they are selling oil and buying new and improved military hardware from Russia,” Simpson acknowledged.

  “Alex, how are our Syrian operations going? Is Iran still sending in men and materials to support that criminal regime?”

  “Yes they are Mr. President, but our special forces are training and arming the insurgents. We drone and bomb ISIS and the other bad actors, as necessary. The Saudis are footing most of the bill and CIA is coordinating the effort with Jordanian assistance…we are making progress.”

  “Okay,” said Acosta, as he took another sip of coffee. “Gentlemen we a have a huge problem over there…with no apparent good solutions.”

  The intercom came alive again, “Mr. President, they are ready for you in the Rose Garden.”

  “Thank you both for coming, photo op time.”

  * * * *

  Kaviani wasted no time getting the Guardian Council meeting started. “I know some of you are skeptical and do not believe the nuclear agreement was in our best interest. However, in exchange for allowing more U.N. access to our nuclear sites, the economic sanctions have been lifted.” He cleared his throat and went on, “The threats to our national security and sovereignty have not gone away and we must remain ever vigilant. I want you all to understand why I approved signing the final agreement.” He looked down at his tablet PC screen. Then choosing his words carefully, continued, “The sanctions were crippling our economy and holding back progress to improve the lives of the Iranian people. With the sanctions removed, hard currency from oil sales is again flowing into our coffers. I expect the military to upgrade those areas which have languished for years. Both the Zionists and the House of Saud want the Americans to fight and die for them. The Americans are arrogant, but they are over-extended around the globe and are having great financial difficulties…many have grown weary of war.” He pushed his tablet PC aside. “We now have a presentation from our esteemed physicist…I caution everyone, the information he presents must be handled with the utmost secrecy.”

  He shot a glance at Benuit who stepped up to the podium where a PowerPoint presentation was ready to go. Benuit picked up the remote and began. “There are portions of our nuclear program that we must not let the IAEA inspectors see. Per the final agreement they are only allowed into the sites shown here on this slide, and not into all areas at those sites.” He advanced the slideshow speaking as he went. “This shows the special underground enrichment area at Natanz. It is cleverly separated from the main underground facility…soon Fordow will have the same arrangement. Here you see our reactor at Arak which is open to U.N. inspection. I have designed and directed some modifications which I am confident the
inspectors will not notice. He paused and looked out at the participants and then went on, “This slide shows a high-speed X-ray photograph of a successful two-point implosion test at our Parchin testing site.” He continued showing various aspects of the project until reaching the last slide. “We will not need to conduct extensive time-consuming tests on the devices, as we have received sufficient test data from the Koreans and Pakistanis…any questions?” He set the remote down on the podium.

  “When will everything be ready?” Kaviani inquired gruffly. All eyes were on Benuit.

  He swallowed hard. “I am confident we will be ready in six to nine months.”

  Kaviani surveyed the room. “Very good…thank you for this impressive update.” Glancing up, he saw the large portrait of Ayatollah Khomeini hanging on the wall. We will make Persia great, even more than you could have imagined, he told himself. “Our President can of course, continue to publicly deny this program exists. We will not tell him about any of this until I feel the time is right…and we will continue to negotiate to buy us more time.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at Javadi. “You will continue to closely monitor our progress.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “We have gone to great lengths to ensure we have the means to guarantee our nation’s survival against outside aggression,” Kaviani reminded everyone. Then he put away his notes, got up from the table and walked out. Javadi watched as the door closed behind him.

  “We must move cautiously but deliberately to finish this project,” Javadi said firmly, “The future of our country is in our hands. May Allah guide us to success.” He looked at the others. “Does anyone have anything else they wish to bring up?” All shook their heads. “Then I have nothing else for today’s agenda; thank you all for coming. Would Dr. Benuit and General Namazi please remain behind for a few minutes?” The others got up and filed out the door.

  “We will be just a couple of minutes,” Javadi informed a guard who had entered the room. He nodded, stepped back out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

  “Ayatollah, as you wished, I did not mention the other project,” said Benuit, nervously eyeing the towering Namazi now standing a few a feet away and glaring menacingly at him.

  “And what is the status?” Javadi asked, coldly.

  “All the structural components will be ready for final assembly within three months,” he replied, “We are completing the final machining of the special material we have had in storage, and it should be ready about the same time. Then we will need one more month to finish.”

  “Excellent news,” said a beaming Javadi.

  Namazi stood stone-faced.

  “Ayatollah, are you certain we should keep this from the others?” Benuit asked, hesitatingly, wiping some perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.

  Javadi sat silently for a moment. Namazi’s dark threatening eyes remained fixed on Benuit.

  “Yes, trust me…just keep both projects moving forward,” he directed.

  Benuit nodded and headed out of the room.

  Javadi sat thinking, I will not sit back and wait for the Zionist state or the Great Satan to attack us. I cannot let that happen. Persia’s enemies will fall to our swords and we will take our rightful place in the world as an Islamic superpower.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The intelligence community had been within the purview of men ever since “Wild Bill” Donovan had laid the groundwork for the wartime OSS and later, the newly formed CIA.

  Maddy’s father had worked for the OSS in the fifties and sixties, and then for the CIA as that organization was formed from the ranks of the OSS. He had encouraged her to go into the intelligence business telling her he felt there were not enough women in the field, and that women have better insight than men into many things. Now she was driven to prove that her theory on the existence of an Iranian nuclear bomb program was correct. She would save the world from this emerging menace, and in doing so make it to the top civilian position at DIA. After all, she was smart with a Master’s degree in Economics from William and Mary College, an accomplished marksman, and could still teach the guys a few things in the aikido dojo. These jerks still don’t believe a woman can cut it in intelligence, she thought. Hell, it was a female analyst who played the key role in locating Osama bin Laden; the men had gotten it all wrong.

  Aaron Barillas was the Chief of DIA’s Analysis Section, and the most senior analyst at DIA. He had had worked with Maddy for almost twenty years. Tall, thin and balding as he pushed sixty, he was thinking retirement. But for now he was a key member of Maddy’s team. Experienced and talented with a knack for taking incomplete, ambiguous, and even deliberately deceptive information, and drilling down to the truth. She believed he was the best person to help her uncloak the shroud of secrecy she was convinced Iran had in place over its nuclear weapons program.

  The two had again been slogging for over an hour through the large number of intelligence sheets relating to Iran she had printed off the secure Joint Worldwide Intelligence Communications System, called J-WICS.

  “We’ve been at this for almost two hours now Aaron…let’s just re-establish who the main players in a bomb program likely are,” she suggested, rifling through the stack of sheets on her desk and pulling out three. Each contained photos and a brief overview of an Iranian person of interest. “Okay, I’m certain the ayatollahs want a bomb.” She pointed to one of the photos and circled it with a red felt-tip pen. “Their supreme ruler, Ayatollah Kaviani is one hard-ass for sure…and then there is this guy, the head cleric on their Guardian Council, Ayatollah Javadi…also a hard-ass.” Barillas pointed to a photo near the bottom of the page. Maddy nodded. “Yes, Republican Guard Commander, General Namazi…he makes the other two look friendly...he would be a major player in any bomb program,” she said with certainty. “The rest are just followers.”

  “What about that physicist whose name has come up a few times…Benuit, I think?” Barillas asked, thumbing through some other documents.

  “I’ve heard that name…but I don’t have his photo, anyway what the hell, add him to the list. Let’s take a break, we’re both tired.”

  Barillas slowly stood. “I’ll keep after it,” he assured her.

  “Thank you for coming Aaron,” she said, turning her attention to her PC monitor. Jesus, they’ll have fifty frickin bombs before we finally figure it all out, she thought. I’m not going to let that happen.

  * * * *

  Word of chemist Emud el Batam’s untimely death had spread quickly at Iran’s nuclear facilities. Supervisors had been told Zionist agents were likely responsible for his demise and all personnel must redouble their efforts at keeping the workings of the plants safe from Iran’s enemies. The ever-present Republican Guard security force had increased dramatically. All the workers now came under suspicion and several who were known to be his friends were taken away by counter-intelligence agents for questioning. Most foreign workers and technical advisors had been told their services were no longer required and directed to leave. Four military vehicles, each manned by two IRGC personnel and each sporting a mounted heavy machine gun, had suddenly appeared in facility parking lots. Iran’s supreme ruler was demanding nothing further be allowed to get in the way of the tight production schedule considered a vital part of Iran’s strategic goals.

  * * * *

  The Ministry of Intelligence And National Security’s main building in Tehran appeared well maintained from the outside, but the interior was suffering from years of neglect. Another casualty of the economic sanctions Iran had constantly found itself under. Floor tiles were cracked and the carpet was soiled and torn. The office walls had been patched too many times to count and most of the furniture hadn’t been replaced in three decades. The windows were covered with heavy pieces of cloth stapled to the window frames, placed there to defeat any attempts to use laser beam listening devices. The hallway and office lighting consisted of mostly burned out rows of dusty florescent ceiling fixtu
res.

  Yasom Armami, Iran’s Counter-Intelligence Chief, was in charge of Iran’s large security network. He sat in his small office looking at his PC monitor re-reading the report on the killing of chemical engineer el Batam. The news of his death had angered Iran’s leadership and Armami knew that some blamed him for yet another counter-intelligence failure.

  He looked up at the flickering florescent lamp. Another brazen killing, he thought. The Goddamn Mossad again…had to be. Another one of our senior chemists. “He must have been helping them…then something happened,” he mumbled to himself. But for how long? How much had he divulged? Why was he killed? There must be others involved. Of this he was certain.

  Armami had been personally selected for his position by the Minister of Intelligence and National Security. Forty-seven years old, average height, and built like a boxer, he had a reputation for brutality. But also for being smart and quick to connect the dots to thwart the intelligence gathering efforts of Iran’s enemies. He knew that CIA, British MI-6, and Israel’s Mossad were active in Iran and posed a threat to the revolution and to Iran’s national security programs. He had been fully briefed on Iran’s special security projects and highly motivated to do everything in his power to see to it none were compromised or sabotaged. To him, the gravest threat was from the Zionist state. They were Iran’s mortal enemy - for nearly thirty years he had been reminded of this.

  Armami had earned his reputation. Two months earlier his security forces had infiltrated a spy ring and identified a suspected traitor. He had personally tortured the man to get a confession. He remembered well the man’s screams of agony as he admitted betraying his country and working for the hated Mossad. Armami had had the pleasure of watching the man hang after a speedy trial. Ayatollah Javadi had personal thanked him for his efforts.

  But resources were scarce; he could only do so much. The telephone rang. The caller ID showed the call originating from the Guardian Council’s office. Damn, this can’t be good, must be about el Batam, he figured as he reluctantly answered the call, “Chief Armami here.”