Exit Plan

18. PERSUASION

7 April 2013

0800 Local Time/0600 Zulu

Ben Gurion International Airport, Tel Aviv

The C-37 was fitted for VIP transport, and they both managed a little sleep after talking late into the night about Iran, Israel, and Jerry. There’d been no new information since his last report, and the conversation swirled in her mind.

“I keep thinking about Emily,” Joanna complained. “I know we can’t tell her a thing. Even if we told her, all she could do was worry.”

“You’re worrying enough for the two of you. He’s been in bad spots before,” Hardy reassured her. “Don’t let it distract you.”

“I understand, Lowell. Is this what you felt when you commanded Memphis?”

“Sort of. You didn’t send Jerry into this mess, but you know him, and of course you care. There are seven people on the beach, and I try to worry about all of them, even the Iranians. Go read the writeups on the SEAL team. Learn their names. Look at their faces.”

She’d fallen asleep with her tablet open to a webpage entitled “SEAL missions.”

One of their security detail had awakened Hardy an hour before landing, and he woke Joanna immediately. By the time they’d washed, dressed, and had some breakfast, the plane was ready to land at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv.

As they buckled in their seats, an Air Force staff sergeant handed them their message traffic. Most of it was classified. None of it shed any more light on Iran’s activities or Israel’s preparations.

The morning news summary was useful only for gauging the world’s stress level. Several nations had already taken sides, either urging Israel to act against Iranian aggression or supporting Iran’s right to develop its own nuclear capability. An interesting side discussion was underway about Israel’s own nuclear capability, which the country had never publicly admitted having. If a conventional attack failed to derail Iran’s nuclear ambitions, would Israel use its own weapons?

There were also articles on America’s role in the crisis. Some criticized the U.S. for not allying openly with Israel. The threat of a two-nation strike would surely deter Iran. Others complained about “American indifference,” and its refusal to restrain their ally. Many assumed Israeli compliance would be automatic if the U.S. gave the order.

As much as the U.S. tried to stay on the sidelines, it was already a major player in the crisis, based on past decisions and policies. If Israel attacked Iran, they would use U.S.-made planes and many U.S.-made weapons. Even if America did nothing, the country was involved.

And the Iranians made it clear they would do their best to involve the world if the Islamic Republic was attacked. Statements came from either General Moradi himself, or a government spokesman in Iran, and they seemed to be in a competition to see who could make the wildest claims or the darkest threat. Iran would make the Strait of Hormuz an “iron barrier” to the world’s oil tankers, and would “drown Israel in its own blood.”

Iran’s rhetoric wasn’t doing a thing to calm the situation. It fit with what Jerry had told them, but the Iranians routinely trash-talked their enemies. Still, with Israel hypersensitive about its national security, and Iran dedicated to a policy of confrontation and provocation, Patterson wondered if there was any way it could end well.

The pilot’s voice interrupted her reading. “We’ll taxi to the military terminal. The tower says we will be met.”

They had to wait after the door opened while the head of their security detail met with the Israeli security personnel, performed the proper rituals of greeting, and gave the “all clear.”

Hardy and Patterson stepped out into brilliant, almost blinding sunshine. A small, compact-looking man introduced himself. “My name is Adir Ben-Rosen. I’m Dr. Harel’s assistant. He cannot meet with you until later today. In the meantime, we’ve made arrangements for your lodging.” His English was heavily accented, but understandable.

Hardy shook his hand, but did not smile. “I hope Dr. Harel understands the urgency of our visit.”

“Two presidential envoys? In normal times, the deputy director would be here to greet you, but these are not normal times, Senator. Dr. Harel is not in Tel Aviv at the moment, and neither is the director. Dr. Harel is expected back this afternoon, and will meet with you as soon as he returns.”

Ben-Rosen greeted Patterson warmly but did not shake her hand, and gestured toward the waiting cars. As they got in, Joanna whispered, “Orthodox Jew?” to her husband, and he nodded. “Likely, unless you’ve got some history with Israel you haven’t told me about.”

The half-hour drive through Tel Aviv’s center was accompanied by a fascinating description of the sights along the way and the city’s history. Neither of them had been in the city before, and Ben-Rosen recommended restaurants, museums, shops, even plays that they might want to see.

Joanna answered for them. “Tel Aviv has many things we’d love to see, but that will have to be on our next visit. Like your boss, we have a tight schedule.”

The Daniel Hotel was on the west edge of town, almost on the water. The lobby was modern and almost tropical with lush greenery and a stunning view of the Mediterranean. It was located in Herzliya, a suburb north of Tel Aviv that was also the location of Mossad’s headquarters.

They were met by the Daniel Hotel’s manager and welcomed warmly. “Rooms for you and your security staff have been arranged. Your luggage is on its way up to your room. It has a lovely view of the Mediterranean, and there is an excellent outdoor breakfast buffet.”

Ben-Rosen was ready to leave, pleading a pressing schedule, but both Hardy and Patterson forestalled him. “You still haven’t told us when we’ll be able to meet with Dr. Harel,” she reminded him.

The assistant held up his smartphone. “I’m very sorry. I’d been hoping for an update on the deputy director’s arrival while we were driving to the hotel, but it hasn’t arrived. I’ll be back at my office in fifteen minutes, and I will send you a schedule as soon as it’s ready.”

Ben-Rosen hurried off, and Patterson and Hardy headed for the elevators.

7 April 2013

0215 Washington, D.C. Time/0715 Zulu/0915 Tel Aviv Time/

1015 Tehran Time

Daniel Hotel, Herzliya, Israel

Still unpacking, they’d turned on the TV as soon as they’d gotten into the room and found a news channel.

CNN had picked up the live feed from FARS about five minutes after the press conference began. English subtitles scrolled across the screen, but the Israeli news service relaying the CNN broadcast had added their own Hebrew subtitles. The two lines of text partially covered what was not a high-fidelity image.

Patterson recognized General Moradi at once. What else could he possibly say? she wondered.

Now, he stood in front of a battery of cameras and reporters, patiently answering questions. The press conference, according to FARS, the official Iranian news agency, was taking place at a hospital in Deyyer, a town on the Persian Gulf coast, where an unidentified body had washed ashore.

Without even thinking about it, she sat down and called to Lowell. “You need to see this.”

The questions, all from Iranian reporters, were prearranged setups. “When did you find the body? What injuries had it sustained? Have you identified it?”

Moradi was careful with the last question. “We do not know the individual’s identity or nationality. He was wearing an American-made watch, and his uniform is American issue.”

“What do you intend to do next?”

“We are sending his fingerprints and a copy of the autopsy report to the Red Cross in Geneva, to be passed on to the United States so they can determine if this man is one of their service members. He must have a family, and I’m sure they would like to know what has happened to him.”

Behind her, Lowell muttered cynically, “What a considerate guy.” She shushed him.

“There are also questions that must be answered about how he came to be in our territory. Certainly we cannot release a body to anyone until this mystery is solved.”

“What if he is not American?” a reporter asked.

“If the Americans do not claim him, then in several days we will post all the information: fingerprints, photographs, and the autopsy report, on the Internet so that others can examine it, and perhaps tell us who he is. Again, our first consideration is his bereaved family members, and understanding the circumstances of his death.”

Moradi continued, “We have a sketch of his features.” He paused and looked to one side, and a hospital worker held up two poster-sized drawings of a young man, one with a beard and one without.

“It’s Higgs,” she confirmed. She felt a pain in her chest. “I recognize him from the briefing.” She tried to remember what it said about his family.

“Lovely,” Hardy said grimly. “We can get the body back and explain why we were there, or disown him.”

“We can’t do that,” she protested.

“We won’t,” he answered, “but until we get Jerry and company get out of Iran, we can’t answer questions. And thanks to the kindness of General Moradi, Higgs’s family may have just gotten word that he’s dead. How long will it take for the news media to swoop in on them? Suddenly, I want to bomb Tehran.”

The secure phone rang, and Hardy answered. “Yes, Dr. Kirkpatrick, we saw it, too. I can’t predict how the Israelis will react, but it doesn’t reflect well on U.S. capabilities.”

Hardy listened for a minute, then answered, “The best way to fix it is to get Jerry and his people out, then have our own news conference, with an Iranian nuclear engineer and a boatload of files about a weapons program the Iranians say doesn’t exist.”

7 April 2013

1500 Local Time/1300 Zulu

Daniel Hotel, Herzliya, Israel

They’d had an excellent lunch, Hardy had called his congressional office, and they’d had a brisk exchange of e-mails with Kirkpatrick confirming that the body Moradi described was indeed Lieutenant Vernon Higgs. They’d reviewed possible scenarios, and researched some finer points of the Israeli governmental structure.

And Ben-Rosen had finally called, at 1500, to explain that the doctor had been delayed en route. They were waiting for a new ETA and would have the schedule quickly after that. He asked for their forgiveness, and patience. The hotel had a pool, a spa, and offered guided tours of the historic parts of the city. Perhaps they could refresh themselves while they waited.

Hardy almost slammed the phone in the receiver when he hung up.

Joanna fumed. “They’re trying to distract us. They think we’re so self-indulgent we’ll happily wait while they prepare their attack.”

“I wonder how many times it’s worked,” Hardy mused. “So let’s relax. Want to take a walk on the beach?” He put his finger to his lips.

The outside temperature was seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit, with a light breeze. The Mediterranean could have been an oil painting. It was hard to be angry or impatient in a setting like that, and Patterson felt a little of her tension fade. She looped her arm through his and slowed to his pace.

Once they were away from the hotel, Hardy said, “I know our detail swept the room for bugs, but the Israelis are good. Let’s not take chances.”

“What if they call while we’re out here?” Patterson asked.

“They won’t call until we make them call,” he answered. “If they can stall us for a day, maybe just overnight, they can say ‘It’s too late now, we’re committed.’ They’re that close to being ready.”

“When, do you think?” she asked.

“As early as tonight. It doesn’t affect them as much as the Iranians. The Israelis can fly and fight in the dark as easily as the daytime. It reduces the chances of agents here spotting all the activity, the Iranian air defense crews will be tired, and it gives more time to rescue aircrews if any get shot down. I’d start provoking false alarms around midday, start messing with their minds…”

“But how do we force a meeting?” she asked.

Hardy smiled. “How did you get that meeting with the Russians on Peter the Great?” In negotiations with the Russian Navy, she’d connived suspicious, almost hostile Russians into listening to her by publicly announcing that a meeting had been scheduled. It was risky, but it had worked.

“I came at them from a different direction, through the media. Can we do that here? The Israelis don’t care about what the press says. Their national survival is at stake. Can we apply pressure somewhere?”

Hardy almost laughed. “They don’t want what we’ve got right now.” He paused for a moment. “But they will want what we’ve got later, after the strike.”

“Political support,” Joanna said.

“Right. We can promise to abstain from any Security Council vote. We can threaten to limit arms sales in the future. The Israelis have to convince us that they are using the stuff we sold them for legitimate self-defense. If the Iranians don’t have the bomb, and the Israelis won’t listen, then they’re just bombing Natanz because it feels good.”

She didn’t look convinced. “We can’t say that on our own hook. Sure, you’re on the Senate Armed Services Committee, but you’re the junior member. We need to get approval from State.”

“Or from someone higher in the chain. We’ll ask. The Israelis know that acting against their ally’s wishes will have a political cost. Maybe they need to see what the price tag actually says.”

Patterson spoke softly. “And what about the data Jerry’s group has? When we get it, we’ll release a lot of the files. It would prove the Israelis were played — that there never was a bomb. It would embarrass both the Iranians and the Israelis.”

Hardy did laugh out loud, but lowered his voice to answer. “You mean make Mossad, the world’s greatest intelligence agency, look like monkeys? Would we do that?”

She just smiled, envisioning the scene.

“Let’s go write some e-mails,” Hardy suggested.

“But we should play nice,” she added. “We could say that we’re willing to listen to their analysis. We have the president’s ear. This is one last chance before the shooting starts to convince the U.S. and get our support.”

“And to think I married you for your looks,” he answered.

7 April 2013

2100 Local Time/1900 Zulu

Mossad Headquarters, Herzliya, Israel

Given their reception, a casual observer could not guess that the U.S. and Israel were allies. Mr. Ben-Rosen was waiting in the security lobby at Mossad headquarters. He didn’t smile, and didn’t offer his hand to either Hardy or Patterson. Once they’d signed in and gone through the scanner, he simply said, “Please come with me.” At least they didn’t have an armed escort.

The headquarters was busy, even hectic, but in addition to all the activity it looked to Patterson like security had been beefed up as well. One expected security guards in the lobby, all armed with Uzis of course, but there were additional checkpoints as they moved through the building. And when Ben-Rosen pulled out his identification so they could get on an elevator, she spotted the shoulder holster under his suit coat. So they did have an armed escort after all.

The elevator took them straight to the top floor. The previously voluble assistant didn’t utter a word until they stepped out. “They’re waiting for us in the conference room.” He opened a door on the left.

Joanna went in first, followed by her husband. She expected the long table, the Israeli flags, and paintings on the wall. What she didn’t expect was the Israeli Minister of Defense, Michael Lavon, seated at the far end of the room. He’d been in the news enough to be instantly recognizable.

A second man stood next to a coffee urn at the far end. He was about the same age as Lavon. Ben-Rosen introduced them. “Senator Hardy, Dr. Patterson, this is Dr. Yaniv Revach, our Director, and General Lavon, our Minister of Defense.”

So instead of meeting with one deputy director, they were speaking directly with the two most powerful, and probably the busiest men, in Israel.

Neither was smiling, and while they shook hands with the Americans, there was no warmth in their grip. There wasn’t any small talk either. While Hardy and Patterson took their seats, Ben-Rosen served coffee and then left the room. The two ministers took chairs on the opposite side of the table from the American envoys. They were the only people in the room, which was big enough to hold thirty. No secretaries, no briefers, no assistants.

Lavon spoke first. In his early fifties, his trim build and short blond hair hinted at his past. He still flew fighters when time allowed.

“We are hoping this meeting will be short. That’s one reason for limiting its size. We also hope we can all speak frankly, without unfriendly, or even friendly ears overhearing the discussion. We will not take notes, and you will have to accept our guarantee that we are not being recorded.” La-von smiled a little, but it appeared forced.

As defense minister, Lavon outranked the head of Mossad. He took the lead. “We hope you will convey to President Myles our desire to resolve our differences and work together to face a common threat. You can also tell him we don’t like being threatened by our friends.”

As they had discussed, Joanna spoke for both of them. “Right now, we’re the kind of friend who takes away your car keys when you’ve had too much to drink, or tries to warn you about the girl you’re asking out. Our information proves the Iranians aren’t close to having a nuclear weapon. Not only will your air force bomb a worthless target, you will give the Iranians exactly what they want.”

“They want to be attacked?” Lavon sounded incredulous, then amused.

“To hide their failure to develop a weapon,” she answered. “If you destroy Natanz, they can claim whatever they want, and you’ve destroyed the evidence. In fact, they want the world to agree with you, that they are about to get the bomb.”

“This is the valuable intelligence you had to convey? Some speculation by an analyst to explain away the conflicting data?” snapped Revach angrily.

“This information came from the same HUMINT source as the two files we sent you recently. The individual stated with certainty that the Natanz facility is being deliberately set up as a target. The test site, the bomb assembly facility — it’s all a sham.”

Lavon and Revach leaned toward one another and spoke softly. Not only was it hard to overhear them, but Patterson was pretty sure they were speaking in Hebrew.

Revach, now calmed, said, “In the past, your government has told us that this individual is an Iranian national. From the information you’ve provided, they appear to be very knowledgeable in nuclear matters and the specifics of the Natanz operation. Can we interview this person?”

Hardy answered now. “No. Not yet. The source is a married couple trying to defect, but the operation to extract them has experienced difficulties. Several of our people are on the ground with them, and we are working to get them all out of the country.”

Revach was chubby, almost fat, with a ring of white fuzz circling his bare scalp. His English was better than Lavon’s, but he spoke slowly, as if he had to check each word before he said it. “This would explain the presence of USS Michigan in the gulf. Her minisub, the ASDS, it has a troubled history, does it not? Wait. General Moradi’s press conference this morning. Was that the body of one of her crewmen?” Revach seemed surprised at his own conclusion.

Hardy answered, “Yes. The vehicle was lost and the rest of its crew is on the beach along with the people that were going to bring them out. The reason they decided to defect was their discovery of the plan to provoke an attack on Natanz.”

Patterson added, “The source has a flash drive with stolen data — not just on Natanz, but the entire nuclear program. The file we gave you about the Arak reactor core failure was to show you the depth of information. It shows the Iranians are hampered by numerous technical problems and may never successfully develop a nuclear weapon.”

The chief of Mossad sat quietly for a moment, then added, “We have picked up some plain-language police chatter about a hunt for fugitives along the southern coast. The intercepts imply a large-scale, high-priority search is underway.”

Hardy nodded. “That confirms their story, then.”

“It confirms nothing,” Revach answered sharply. “The Iranian authorities could be searching for your couple or someone else entirely. Even if this is true, your source may be willing to say anything to get your help escaping Iran.”

“What if you could examine the files they have? We have a list of the information the flash drive contains.”

“You don’t have the files themselves,” Revach countered flatly.

“We will have them soon. A new plan is in place to get them out, as early as tonight. If you can delay your attack, you can examine the evidence with us, and prevent a war.”

Revach sighed heavily. “That new data would still have to be considered in light of all the intelligence we have on Iran’s activities. There is new data, from intercepts and other sources.”

“We haven’t seen that. What about our information-sharing agreement?” Hardy asked. There was a challenge, if a soft one, in his voice.

“This has been discovered in the past day. It will be passed to your agency in good time, but we are a little busy right now.”

“And you didn’t think we’d listen,” Patterson concluded.

Lavon spoke carefully. “Many here believe that only the detonation of an Iranian nuclear weapon outside Iran’s borders would force America to act militarily. It would be our bad luck if that detonation was also inside Israel’s borders. The United States has made war on too many Muslim nations. Your government simply doesn’t have the political will to take on this challenge.”

Revach added, “We have made it clear to Iran and the world that we cannot allow them to have a nuclear capability, yet here they are about to execute a classic nuclear breakout. Mossad has spent much of its time trying to understand how they deceived us. Unlike the United States, we are willing to admit when we are wrong, and face the consequences.”

“Our information explains both the old and the new data,” Hardy responded.

“But it requires that we sit back and watch, hoping you are right. That is not acceptable.” Lavon stood and paced. “We believe that Iran would not organize a nuclear test unless it already had the material for three or more weapons. A weapons test announces to the world, especially the Muslim world, that they can defy the West’s sanctions. But that is only half their purpose. Their other, repeatedly stated goal is the destruction of the State of Israel.”

Revach said, “Just today, we’ve detected increased activity at what we’ve identified as a bomb assembly facility established at Natanz. There is also increased security around several missile storage bunkers at the Sajjad ballistic missile depot near Tehran, and around one of the missile assembly buildings. The Pasdaran 5th Ra’ad Brigade is based there, and they operate the Sejil-2 and Shahab-3 missiles with the range to reach Israel.”

The director’s voice hardened. “How long would you have us wait? Until the missiles leave for their dispersal points? Until they are fueling the missiles? No, wait, the Sejil-2 is solid fueled. They don’t have to wait. And actually, they could launch from pads located at the depot, with almost no warning at all.”

Hardy said, “A carrier strike group is moving into the northern Persian Gulf as we speak. It has two Aegis ships with ballistic missile defense upgrades. We can position them to reinforce your own formidable antimissile defense systems.”

“Untested in combat,” Lavon remarked. “Both yours and ours.”

Hardy conceded the point, but with a twist. “True, but the missiles that Iran would launch are very similar to those we’ve both tested against. And the SM-3 has been tested more often than your system.” The two Israelis paused and looked at each other, silently evaluating Hardy’s words. Sensing a chink in their armor, he played his last card. “The most likely scenario involves Iran launching two or even three brigade’s worth of missiles at one time, perhaps as many as twelve or fifteen missiles, of which one or two would have nuclear warheads. The Iranians have never launched that many missiles at one time. Have you seen preparations for a simultaneous launch of that magnitude? We have not.”

“This is true,” Revach agreed.

“Then we have at least twenty-four hours. Let us get our people out of Iran tonight, and we will look at the data on the flash drive together. We can have the lot uploaded to us here or anywhere else within an hour of them getting out of Iran.”

Patterson added her own arguments. “Imagine getting all this data, and what it will tells us. After we have reviewed it, we release it to the world together. It’s a triple embarrassment for Iran: First, that one of their own engineers turned against them; second, that they have consistently lied about having a nuclear weapons program — no more political cover for their allies — and finally, that they just can’t get it done. A humiliation like this could potentially bring down the government. On the other hand, an airstrike will only strengthen domestic support for their leadership.”

Revach actually smiled, just a little, while Lavon remained neutral, but at least he wasn’t frowning. “What if we find the information is false, or it doesn’t convince us?” the general asked.

“We only ask that you examine the data before acting,” Hardy answered. “We believe that if you see it, the information will convince you.”

“You’re going for broke,” Lavon answered, “but it’s our money you’re betting.” He paused for another moment, and looked at Revach, who shrugged.

“All right,” the general announced. “If we were intending to launch an airstrike against Iran, we will refrain from doing so for another twenty-four hours so that we may exa mine the intelligence on the Iranian nuclear program which you will provide once you obtain it yourself. And once we have seen it, Israel is free to act as it sees fit for its own self-defense.”

“With the United States supporting your decision,” Hardy completed.

“Then we have an agreement,” Lavon said, offering his hand.

Back in their own car, Patterson first hugged Lowell in celebration, then reminded him, “You just promised Israel unconditional U.S. support, even if they do attack Iran.” Her tone wasn’t critical, but there was a note of warning in it.

“That’s just Andy Lloyd’s current policy,” he answered, smiling. “Besides, we’re already betting that the data on that flash drive will completely discredit Iran’s nuclear program. Once you’ve gone that far, you might as well go ‘all in’ to convince the Israelis.”

He smiled again. “Let’s go shock the president and give him some good news.”