Chapter 15. The Gift

“I want to know for sure. Get some goddam face recognition software or something. This is bad. I’m gonna’ be asked what the hell is going on and I need answers fast.” The President slammed the phone down and turned to Leon Panetta.

“NSA’s on it. You on it?”

Panetta peeled his glasses off his face and looked the President in the eye, “Mr. President, it is Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Ayatollah Khamenei. We’ve just killed the government of Iran, probably all the Ayatollahs. They tend to travel together in a gaggle. This is precisely...”

Obama cut him off.

“David, get Gibbs and start working. And not just for domestic consumption,” he turned to face the balance of the team. “Hillary, could you have someone get with David and work on a diplomatic statement?”

“Sure, but I need to know our position.”

Obama shouted at her. “I don’t have a fucking position on taking out a foreign government. I want you to give me one.”

“You don’t have a position? Let me recommend that the US position is that we didn’t do it. That it may have been political opposition or insurgents.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” said National Security Advisor Jim Jones. “I have Bob Gibbs on the line.”

“What line? asked the President.

“4”

The President punched the button.

“Gibbsy. What’s up? Who the fuck is Malini, what? Malini Wilkes? Hang on.”

“Malini Wilkes has a story,” Obama reveals to the assembled group and puts the phone back to his ear. “Fox? Oh, shit. Major, punch up Fox News on the monitor!”

The face of Fox News Channel’s Bagdad reporter appeared almost full screen on the Hi-def monitor. The caption read, “Malini Wilkes, Tehran EXCLUSIVE”

"My cameraman had put the long lens on our camera and was scanning the neighborhoods, the horizon, and we spotted these two jets. You can see the flight path is a typical bombing run, the jets are on a fairly straight and level flight and they suddenly drop their bombs and peel off that flight path, and then we lose them in the sun. These are F-22 Raptor fighter jets. They were manufactured in the United States and the US Congress refused to let Boeing sell them outside the country in a move critics said was designed to kill the program. President Obama, in fact, did kill the production of F-22s shortly after he was inaugurated, citing budget overruns. That was just a few weeks before his administration insisted on the $3 Trillion stimulus package to prevent unemployment levels above 8 percent. The F-22 program employed about 3,000 people.

"The bombs created a huge explosion followed by this mushroom cloud just about a mile from our building. We watched the cloud for several minutes. No word on radiation, Brian...”

“Oh, shit,” the President was watching his job, his reputation and his presidency come apart before his eyes.

“Malini, we have Colonel Hunt on the line. We haven’t put him on yet but we want you to know that he already told us that it was extremely unlikely that a bomb could set off a nuclear explosion. Also, tactical nuclear weapons are much more sophisticated than Iran would be capable of producing. This was more likely a Daisy Cutter, a giant conventional weapon.”

“Well, I am very glad to hear that, Brian. We were concerned that there might be radiation or additional explosions. We have this footage of an Iranian HazMat team combing through debris near the scene. We were shooting through streets and alleys but you can see them definitely dressed in anti-radiation coats.”

“Turn it off,” ordered Obama. “We’re in a world of shit here people. Fox was tipped off. How did they get that footage? I need ideas and I need them fast.” He grabbed his cell phone and made a quick speed dial call to Robert Gibbs while the group cross-talked and tried their own arguments out on their neighbors.

“Yes, sir,” the standard answer Gibbs offered Obama whenever he called.

“Bob, you don't need to know what’s going on right now. I want you to remain in the safety of deniability, got it?”

“Got it. But, listen, I’m getting a lot of calls and there are suggestions that there’s some video out there of US military in HazMat suits walking through the rubble of this attack in Iran and machine-gunning some survivors.”

“Not our guys,” said Obama.

“Good. Can I say that?”

“You better say that,” replied Obama emphatically.

“I think it’s probably a good time for me to call the President, Ehud,” suggested the Israeli Prime Minister.

“He’s probably quite upset. You could wait until he calms down a bit.”

“He won’t calm down. The pressure will build from the media, from the Arab states, Islamic nations, his liberal political base. It will get worse fast.”

“Then we risk his making a mistake, making a bad judgment.”

“Right. There’s a high probability of that. The only good judgments he’s made are those we forced him to make.”

“Very well. I will arrange to have the package delivered to the consulate.”

“No, no. Deliver it in Tel Aviv to the American Embassy. I don’t want it in Jerusalem. How long do you need.”

“The plane arrived from Teheran about an hour ago. I’d say thirty minutes.”

“Fine. Have Pinkus call the Ambassador, and make sure the package is driven over in a military vehicle. No limos.”

“Yes, that’s good. I’ll make the arrangements. Thirty minutes?”

“Yes, from right now.”

“Listen people,” Obama had made some decisions about the direction this crisis needed to go. “As a practical matter we need to lay this off on Israel. I really don’t care as much about your religious or cultural sensitivities right now as much as I care about what kind of grief the US is going to get if we’re caught up in this.”

“Blame the Jews? Not very original, Mr. President,” said Mrs. Clinton. It was a stunning comment to be spoken aloud. Obama decided to respond calmly as though it was good advice.

“I know, Hillary. But it’s not a hollow claim. The world knows they led a strike on Iran. We’re not making that up. Now the world knows we sent two jets into Iran. We need to explain why.”

“And that explanation is...?” asked the Secretary of State.

“Classified.” responded Obama.

“That’s it?” asked Mrs. Clinton.

“Absolutely. We indicate we may be able to reveal the reasons in a few days, maybe a few weeks...”

Emanuel spoke up, “Mr. President, that’s just not going to fly. We just blew the entire government of Iran to hell. Now, I’m not saying we should feel real bad about that, but it just isn’t done. We can’t say we have to be mum about what’s happened because everyone fucking knows what happened. I mean why we did it can be pretty much inferred from what happened, you know?”

“Ah, shit. You’re way too practical,” replied Obama in frustration. “Listen, if we say we can’t talk about it, it’s going to imply that there’s more to the story that just the strike and its results. It makes it bigger than it even appears to be.”

“Nope. This is as big as it gets. This is ‘we screwed up” time,” pleaded The Chief of Staff.

“I’m not gonna’ do that, Rahm,” insisted the President. “I’m not taking the fall for this when our decision was the right one. This is Israel’s fault. I was lied to and we were tricked,” Obama shot back angrily. "Now, get the Speaker, get the Leaders and the minority leaders and get them in here. I also need to call the Chief Justice and inform him, too. See, Rahm, where this bullshit gets us. It was a trick and I'm pissed."

“I know. We all know. We were here when it happened, Barack. But the explanation that we can’t talk about it is bullshit. It’s bullshit. Do you know what the Republicans will do with that? What I would do with that. They’ll say, ‘we’re waiting for the president to order an attack on Pyongyang, or Caracas, or Havana, or Toronto, or Boise. Hopefully, after he has a few weeks to craft his story, he’ll tell us about it.’”

“Rahm. You’re leaving me no way out.”

“There IS no way out.”

“Nope. There’s always a way out. We just have to find it. Mike, I want an evaluation of our current state of security. You and Jim work that out. Leon, help them out, and anyone else who needs to give input. I don’t want to be caught flat-footed if we’ve pissed off someone. Just get the leaders in here.”

Most of the military officers had long since checked-out of the conversation mentally and emotionally. The battle was over, at least for the time being, and Israel had performed an amazing feat. They had somehow defeated their enemy with a flock of medium range ballistic missiles, a computer hack, six helicopters and bunker buster bombs delivered by an unseen hand. It was shock and awe on a scale that had never before been achieved.

The politics of the matter was a morale-killer, however, for those who were true warriors. Some generals have political aspirations, like Wesley Clark. He and the Clinton Administration were part of the same political machine. But is arrogance never caught on because he had no folksy side to give it balance. He was no Ike. But it was uncomfortable, when you were among those who deal with the outcome of battles conducted with lethal force, to sit among the politicians and maintain one’s silence while such trivial and inconsequential matters, like the outcome of an administration, were being discussed. As a result, only the political types were animated.

Mrs. Clinton spoke up, “Mr. President. Ambassador Cunningham is calling me from Tel Aviv. He says Alon Pinkus is pulling through the gates in an Israeli Army lorry.”

“What the hell is that all about?” said Obama shaking his head is disbelief.

“Mr. President?” the Major interrupted, “Prime Minister Netanyahu is on Green 10, sir.”

Obama punched the button and picked up the handset.

“Mr. Prime Minister. I have been lied to and compromised because I trusted you. We are at risk now because we treated you as a friend and confidant.”

“Yes, I understand. But I did not lie to you. You spoke with Ehud about this and not me. I didn’t make you any promises so save your anger for Barak.”

“What?” Obama was incredulous. “Like you didn’t know we were being suckered into making a raid on Ahmadinejad?”

“No. You were not persuaded to attack Ahmadinejad. That’s not what happened. You were persuaded to attack Osama bin Laden. Is that not true?”

“Yes. That’s precisely the case. But Osama was not the target. The target was Ahmadinejad and the Ayatollahs and you knew it.”

“What I knew was that you would never help us. You would never attack. You wouldn’t even allow us to fly over a country you occupy - not your country but one that you occupy - in order to protect our own people and the stability of the entire Middle East. What kind of a foreign policy is that? How do we separate ourselves from the way the United States treats its enemies. So don’t tell me you were lied to. I know when I am being lied to. There is no slavery Jews haven’t experienced and no lie we haven’t heard, so don’t try to claim any moral high ground.

“Like it or not, Mister President, you have done the right thing and every nation in the Middle East knows it. You have found a way to earn the respect of a culture that has been based on tribe against tribe for thousands of years. A culture that respects the use of violence as a measure of your resolve and even your veracity. They will believe you now merely because you have cut the head off this snake. Don’t you see that unless you’re willing to do that there’s no reason they should believe you?”

“You lied to me. You knew we were targeting Ahmadinejad and you didn’t tell me. That’s the bottom line.”

“No, Mr. President, that is NOT the bottom line. The bottom line is you have preserved the stability of the Middle East. You have stood by a putative friend. You have demonstrated to those who would attack you and call you a Great Satan that they could incur your wrath - not a bad thing.”

“We do those things with diplomacy, not with violence.”

“Precisely wrong, Mr. President. War is merely an extension of diplomacy that works. Diplomacy does not work until after wars have been waged. You haven’t noticed that? It’s in every history book. Diplomats fail, wars are fought, diplomats rush in to fill the void and things go along well for a couple generations. What are you missing?”

“Prime Minister, I don’t need a lecture right now. I am going to issue a statement condemning Israel for the raid. I’m going to indicate that we were close to an agreement with Iran...” Netanyahu interrupted.

“Then what do you want me to do with the body?”

“What?”

“The body of Osama bin Laden was just delivered to your embassy in Tel Aviv. You can take it to the States for DNA testing and claim it was a casualty of the raid, or we will claim we captured him in Pakistan and flew the body back on a cargo flight from Pakistan, which we did, and which we have the video to prove.”

“Bullshit.”

“Mr. President, Ambassador Alon Pinkus and Jim Cunningham are on the line,” interrupted Mrs. Clinton as she held her Blackberry aloft.

“Pinkus and Cunningham are on Hillary’s phone Benjamin, what’s that about?” asked the President.

“They’re confirming what I’m telling you, I knew you had no reason to believe me without proof, so here’s proof.”

“Hang on. Hillary, confirm...I mean, tell them you’re here with me, I’m on the line with Netanyahu and I said for them to tell you whatever they have to say to me.” Clinton nodded her understanding.

“Mr. Prime Minister, if you hand that body over to me, my immediate problems are solved. But the political crap I’m going to take for killing the Iranian government is not going to go away.”

“I know, Barack. But this is the truth. We did not know the Ayatollahs were with him. This was a miracle. We believe we may have also, you may have also, eliminated the Mahdi Army and Hizbollah with this raid. We’re still checking.”

“A miracle, huh? We need to meet. I’m okay with this on the short term, but long term we have issues we need to get straightened out.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Benjamin?”

“Yes, Barack?”

“Are you sure this is bin Laden? I'm serious.”

“Absolutely. This is no trick. We also have video you can use for media releases that we will supply to Ambassador Cunningham.”

“Thank you for keeping your promise.”

“No. Thank you, Mr. President. You are a pragmatist. I knew you would understand.”

Chapter 14. Target Acquired

The US attack on Teheran was devastating. The fact that it was the only attack of the 4-hour war to specifically target personnel was not lost on Obama and his assembled senior advisors. It had to be done. This was the first chance to get Bin laden since Spring, when with Musharraf’s cooperation, there had been a joint strike in Waziristan. Of course, someone - or everyone - in the ISI, the Pakistani Intelligence Service had tipped him off and the valley where Osama was guaranteed to reside was devoid of everything except footprints and feces. The raid was scrubbed after the Predators couldn’t spot a living thing in the valley after an hour of scouting.

There was someone looking back, however. Because for the first time since they began using the drones over Pakistan and Afghanistan, a Predator returned with a cal. 30 hole in the left wing. No accident.

The fact that UBL was in Teheran was also important. It meant several things to Obama. For example, Obama could now de-emphasize the war in Afghanistan, claiming that the cabal between Al Qaeda and Ahmadinejad had been broken up. The threat was gone or reduced to a point where the enemy could never recover. Plus, Obama could hasten the departure from Iraq. With Al Qaeda humbled, there was no chance they could supply lines from Pakistan to Iraq without great difficulty. The time it took them to rebuild was time the Iraqis could build their own defenses.

Politically, it meant Obama could return to his base with a promise kept, while simultaneously handing the head of Osama to the right. It was a beautiful thing.

The Situation Room watched the attack play out. It was great theatre. It was the best reality show on TV and had the most limited audience. It was also the most expensive pay-per-view.

The Chinook landed in a nearly-vacant parking lot 12 blocks from the apartment complex. That maneuver gave the guards on the upper floors something to look at. The satellite view showed them looking through field glasses and pointing. They had to have seen the Iranian markings. To add to the legitimacy, some crew exited the helicopter and ran around to the other side. A couple others walked away from the craft, toward the apartment complex and examined maps and papers on the top of an automobile. They returned to the helicopter, the rotors returned to full revolutions and the craft rose into the air.

It made a large sweep away from the apartment complex in order to appear to have no interest in that particular district. As it did, it gained altitude until it was at 2,500 feet. At that altitude the beating of the rotors was still very loud and would cover the sound of the incoming F-22s until it was too late.

The chinook made certain that it wandered south far enough to no longer be heard. That would be a couple miles. Then, it performed a few lazy loops until the Raptors were 10 miles out. At that point the lumbering workhorse made a graceful turn and began to bear down on the apartment complex. At one mile, the argon laser was charged and aimed at the target. The crosshairs were set two floors below the roof so that there would be some DNA to recover. The giant helo would pass to the west of the complex after bombs were released. Until then it had to maintain laser fix on the target - a task which was largely automated unless the helicopter went around the building.

The Chinook was close now. A half mile away and 3,000 feet. It climbed in order to appear to the guards to be moving without sacrificing a good angle on the building. At a quarter-mile the word was relayed, “Bombs away.” The Chinook was put into a fast climb as a monstrous package was released from its gaping cargo bay. The box fell three-thousand feet in about eight seconds and a parachute popped open.

At the very moment the chute opened, a half dozen of the guards saw it pop as the floor exploded under their feet. The men’s legs and hips were instantly broken as the lift of the building’s roof sent their appendages flying before their greater mass could accelerate. Now, helpless on the concrete tiles they rose into the air like pancakes on the end of a spatula, flipping and flopping.

Some in the crowd were tossed clear of the roof and into space. They were still conscious of the upper portions of the building passing them as they fell to earth. One or two were seen rolling from a relatively unscathed section of the roof that no longer had an ornamental railing, they fell at the same rate as the debris, which had now fallen back upon itself.

It was at the moment when it looked like the building might remain damaged but standing that the package beneath the parachute shed it’s case. In a microsecond, the metal shroud of the fuel-air bomb was parted from the contents by a precise explosive. That blast also distributed a lethal mixture of ethylene oxide and a metal particulate over an 80-foot diameter. The shock wave of the initial explosion causes the metal particles to slam together and ignite at the same time. The detonation of the metal creates a blast wave that has more devastation per ton of explosive than any other conventional weapon. It would be heard over the chatter of a conversation forty miles away. Anyone within a block or two would suffer permanent hearing loss even indoors, that is if the flying glass did not kill them first. There would be no glass untouched for about a mile from ground zero.

The 200-foot tall faces of the two apartment buildings adjacent to the blast disappeared from the screen as the camera struggled to adjust to the sudden brilliance of the blast. A massive fireball gathered, rolling into itself and becoming larger, then cooling and turning dark with a glowing underbelly. Debris could be seen rushing into the space that had been occupied by the fireball and falling away as chaff. Immediately, as the mushroom shaped cloud rose to 500 feet, the two cleft buildings fell helplessly into the street below.

The Chinook was about three-quarters of a mile away when the mushroom cloud appeared. Teheran would begin to panic. A mushroom cloud is a mushroom cloud and when you expect to be bombed with nuclear weapons, you will believe your own eyes.

It was fifteen minutes before the fires had died down sufficiently for the Chinook to return. No one was at the scene. Cars could be seen on every street surrounding the fallen buildings and the one thing they all had in common was that they were all headed away from that one spot.

The Chinook settled into soccer field across the highway from the devastation. The main doors opened and men in HazMat suits emerged. Some carried weapons, some Geiger counters with live radiological samples taped to the case to provide a constant rattle, like metallic popcorn in a frenzy. One man carried an HD video camera transmitting pictures back to the Chinook, and then via satellite, directly to The White House. It was also transmitting sound.

The camera bounced as the man struggled to maintain his balance in the cumbersome space suit as he stepped over chunks of debris searching for human remains.

Bodies were seen some distance from the base of the structures, but several had dropped with the structure and were expected to be found in the rubble.

About ten meters ahead of the camera there was burst of automatic weapons fire. None of the HazMat suited men reacted, one of the men was seen pointing his weapon and waving the others forward. Whatever he saw was no longer alive.

The camera moved forward. Several men ahead could be seen moving plywood, asphalt, concrete block and drywall, revealing a massive pile of bodies. Remarkably, there was not much blood. But it was difficult to see facial features because dust and soot covered many of the faces. Each man had a spray bottle they used to direct a stream of disinfectant-laced water. As each face was revealed a number was placed beside the face, digital photos were taken, a syringe was inserted into the neck of the victim and fluids withdrawn and the actual number tag and the contents of the syringe were placed into a plastic zip lock and dropped into a fishnet bag.

This grizzly activity moved rapidly, but there were so many bodies it was taking a long time.

It became apparent to the group at The White House that something was going on before the cameraman noticed. Two or three of the Special Ops fighters were gathered in one corner of the screen. They looked down, sprayed, moved a few objects, sprayed some more and for the longest time just stared at the ground. Then they stood erect, just looked at each other. One turned toward the camera and called out in English.

“You need to get that over here,” the voice behind the clear vinyl mask could be heard to say, and even though his face was obscured, there was a clear sense of urgency.

The picture bounced and bobbled, for a moment it revealed the damage to the remaining buildings, then quickly tilted down and spun toward a point just three feet below the lens. The auto-focus motor attached to the protruding tube of optical glass

spun the lens around until the unmistakable visage of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad came into view.

“I got another one,” a voice called from a few feet away.

Again the camera swayed and rocked before finding its target, a hirsute and craggy face, now detached from its lifelong perch upon a pair of shoulders somewhere, elsewhere, in the rubble. A pair of blue-gloved hands reached down, grabbed the skull by the ears and pointed it right at the camera.

It was the remains of Ayatollah Khamenei.

In moments, a number of additional bodies were discovered, all in the clerical garb associated with the Ayatollahs. Each was being tagged and bagged. The Special Ops guys were suddenly on pins and needles. They didn’t expect what they found, and even though these guys were the most battle hardened in the service, it shook them up.

After all, at the suggestion of and with the help of Israel, The United States of America had just murdered the leadership of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Chapter 13. The Noose

Uri Oren was winging his way back to Israel aboard the Airbus 330 that had just delivered a death blow to Iran’s nuclear ambitions, dropping 15 ton Bunker Busters deep into hardened facilities where they pulverized the contents and sent hundreds of feet of debris falling into the rubble, effectively burying it beyond recovery. Further, any radiological materials that had been within the targeted facilities had, no doubt, been scattered throughout, making any entry by a living human being a suicide mission guaranteeing a slow, painful death.

At the moment, however, Oren could not even consider the great victory he had helped to deliver. He had been contacted through secret channels and ordered to talk anyone he could contact into getting an Iranian radio station, Irib Payam, back on the air.

He hadn’t been told why, but the station’s radio energy was being used to make a locating device reveal the location of Mamoud Ahmadinijad, the madman who ostensibly presided over the Islamic Republic, doing the bidding of a collection of throwbacks to the dark ages who were considered Ayatollahs, or penultimate religious leaders in the Theocracy. Most of them were low on intellect and big on hate-driven fervor. They were the Dons of this religious Cosa Nostra called Iran.

The American’s had been given the output of the device and the American President had become convinced that the signal reveled the location of Osama Bin Laden.

No one had actually said that to him, but Israeli Defense Minister, Ehud Barak had said that someone had referred to the target as the sheik. The Israelis had long ago decided that if Obama took the bait that they would thank the US for their support and deny they ever said the target was Obama. Obama’s favorability ratings in Israel were in single digits, yet he failed to suspect anything. As Israel suspected, Obama’s ego was too big and out of control for him to exercise the thoughtful restraint necessary during a crisis. He was hooked on the bait that Israel had dangled. If in the future Obama might again stand against the Jewish State, he could be sure that there were tapes or transcripts that would leak. In addition, there were the domestic political considerations.

Hillary Clinton was just waiting to pounce on an Obama miscue. No one would be surprised if she would resign in opposition to an Obama move to elevate herself and damage him in the process.

Obama had made a mistake putting her the big chair at the State Department, one he couldn’t easily undo. And, she had allies - like Leon Panetta. Panetta had been hammered by Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House and accused of lying to Congress. It had demoralized the CIA and made Panetta wish he’d declined the appointment. Obama had been unwilling to defend the CIA and Panetta had privately called him, “pathetic.” Clinton was an old friend, a Pelosi nemesis and a survivor. The stars were aligned against Obama and yet, at the moment, he was only concerned with the sudden loss of the signal from Iran.

Oren was waiting for young Amin Mahmudi, a technical assistant at the radio station. He had persuaded Mahmudi that he was Mohmmad Soleimani, the Minister of Information and Communications. Mahmudi would do anything for the government official in charge of the nation’s radio and television.

“Minister Soleimani?”

“Yes, Amin?”

“I have three people with me who each have a telephone.”

“Excellent, they are to use their telephone’s to provide light. Use them as torches and have them search for the emergency generator. When they find it, they are to shout out to you and guide you to their location. Then, we’ll take it from there.”

“Yes. I understand. I will explain this.”

Oren could hear Amin in the background saying, “Come, follow me to the basement. Use your phone for a light and I will tell you what we are looking for.”

Suddenly, Ami was back on the line, “Minister, what am I looking for?”

“Amin, it will look like a large electric motor attached to an engine, perhaps an automobile engine. It may be more than a meter in diameter. There may also be batteries nearby for the starter and...the entire thing may be in a cage. I don’t know. You must just look in utility areas.”

“Very good,” Amin said with an official air, and he returned to instructing his entourage as they entered the dark basement.

“I think you should call it off, Mr. President,” said Leon Panetta. He was responding to a discussion that Jim Jones, National Security Advisor and Rahm Emanuel, White House Chief of Staff were having with the President regarding the framing of the announcement should they hit Bin Laden, or should they hit and miss Bin Laden.

Emanuel asserted himself before Obama could engage Panetta,“The decision’s been made,” he said.

“I know,” said Panetta, “but nothing’s happened yet. There’s still time to think about this.”

Obama followed Emanuel’s lead. “Leon, we’ll keep an eye on the screen. How long before everyone’s in position for the strike, General Holland?”

Air Force General Bill Holland responded on the speakerphone. “An hour and maybe 15 minutes. The helicopter will take about that long to reach the target, the jets don;t have to scramble for another few minutes.”

“A lot can happen in an hour,” assured Obama, looking at Panetta. Nevertheless, Panetta had gone on record as being opposed to the mission and that was just where he wanted to be.

“Minister Soleimani! I think I have found it!” Came a shout through the telephone link.

“Excellent, Amin! Describe what you see.”

“It is just as you said. There is a large motor. I think it is electric because I can see shiny wires inside the motor and there is an engine attached to it. A large engine.”

“Are there any signs, or warnings?” asked Oren urgently.

“It says General Electric. I know that symbol, but I cannot read the English!”

“Okay. Look for a large switch or a push button.”

“Yes, I see a large red and green button.”

“Push the green button, Amin.”

Oren could hear a whining churning sound, like a car turning over on a cold morning. It didn’t sound right.

“Amin. Push the red button.”

“It did not start, Minister. What should I do?”

“It needs fuel, Amin. Do you see a tank of fuel?”

“No, Minister, there is an oxygen tank.”

“Amin, that’s the fuel. It’s an LPG tank. Can you tap on it, is there a gauge?”

“No, there is no gauge. The line goes to the first machine, to the engine.” Is there a valve on the tank, Amin? Damn, Amin. You must think about this. I cannot do it all.”

Oren was disappointed that he had lost his temper, except it was very much in character for anyone in the upper echelons of the corrupt Iranian government. That’s why they were hated so much. It’s why just two weeks earlier a secret group of Iranian Sunnis opposed to the government of Ayatolah had selected a member from their midst to walk into the middle of a room filled with leadership of the Revolutionary Guard and Basiji. The Basiji are plain-clothes vigilantes who do the bidding of the revolutionary guard. The Baathists in Iraq were the same kind of a hit squad. Almost two-dozen were killed and nearly seventy seriously wounded. It shook the foundations of the Khamenei regime.

The Israelis commenced the strike earlier than planned after the Sunnis struck, fearing that Ahmadinijad would strike first in order to coalesce the populace in a war against the Jews.

“Minister, there is a valve in the line right on top of the engine. It was shut. I have opened it, shall I try the green button again?”

“Yes, Amin. Now!”

No one had said a word in about 10 minutes. The equipment room in the basement of the Jerusalem apartment building was heating up as racks of electronic equipment maintained their stations in the cyberwar battle against Iran.

“It’s back!”

“They’ve moved!”

“What is that?”

“It’s one of the Apartment buildings.”

“They’re moving across the entire building like there are no walls?”

“It is the roof. They are on the roof! It’s the only part of the building without walls.”

“Is our feed still up?”

“Yes, the Americans can see it now.”

Cheers went up in the Situation Room. A couple people shook Obama’s hand as if to congratulate him for something.

“Mr. President the jets are away,” reported General Holland.

“Thank you, General.”

“Mr. President,” Mullen had his earpiece pressed to his head with his right hand. “The Pentagon has analysts on this signal. The target’s moved and it looks like he’s on the roof of one of the buildings in the complex.

“Let’s hope he’s taking nap,” said the President.

“Yeah, surrounded by a hundred of his top guys,” added Emanuel.

“Our satellite has acquired a picture, Mr. President.”

“Put it up, Morrell,” ordered Obama.

“Amin. You will receive a medal if I have anything to say about it! You have done a wonderful job under difficult circumstances.”

“Thank you, Minister. But I must go up to the studio and make sure there is something on the air.”

“Amin, I want you to just get something on the air. A CD. An opera perhaps. Leave the transmitter on and post a message. You may sign my name. The message must say that no one may enter the premise until further notice. Can you do that Amin?”

“Yes, Minister. Whatever you ask. But what about the programming? The CD will run only about an hour.”

“Amin. Just go home. These things are decided at the highest levels. The Basiji will be at the station soon, you should just go be with your family.”

“Do you see him?” asked Mrs. Clinton.

“Man, black is the new black in Iran,” cracked Emanuel.

“There’s a shitload of guys in black,” said Biden. “They might be clerics. If we blast them we’re in a world of hurt.”

“Joe, nobody likes these guys. Nobody,” countered Emanuel.

“I don’t like blowing up Mullahs, Barack,” said Biden, “Bad foreign policy.”

Mrs. Clinton perked up. “We’re way past the point of diplomacy, Mr. Vice President,” she said. It was a brilliant statement, distancing her from the decision and putting the room on notice.

“It’s some kinda’ meeting. They probably wanted to get up in the air to be safer. Forgot about our birds,” suggested Jones.

“No, they don’t think we’re in the game,” said Obama.

Chapter 9. The Levant

The great arcing curve of the eastern shore of the Mediterranean is known as the Levant. The word Lebanon is a derivative. A student of romance languages might conclude the meaning if they recognize the verb, “to rise” within the word.

The Levant had a mystical connotation for the Sea Peoples who first ventured from Sicily, Sardinia and the Greek islands to explore and eventually populate the Levant. They were the antecedents of the Philistines, drawn to the area now sometimes called Palestine by the promise of the rising of the sun, and the implacable human need to explore and conquer.

They discovered that other tribes living beyond the Levant had the same reverence for the East. It was there that the Sun began its daily march across the sky, the Sun that gave life to the Earth and punished the desert. This sort of dual personality exhibited by gods of the time when evidenced in a heavenly body easily explains how simpler people could attribute god-like status to a burning ball of hydrogen gas. Ra, the Egyptian sun god, depicted as a golden orb, is a prime example.

The Sumerians, an ancient people who once built a flourishing nation where northern Iraq is located today, called the East, ‘Asa’ and the West, ‘Osa’. Asa, the word, grew to embody a dual meaning, both the compass direction, and the land it represented, Asia.

Today, war in the East arose with the Sun. Israel’s helicopters and fighter jets made great loops around their targets to approach them so that the sun would be in the eyes of their defenders. Even though most defensive weapons were computer controlled, men still feared their attackers and wanted to be able to see them coming. With the sun in their eyes, defenders were always handicapped.

“I don’t get it.” confessed Admiral Mullen.

“You mean how pointless it is?” asked general Holland from the speakerphone.

“Exactly.”

“What am I missing?” asked the President.

“After all this is said and done. We’ve got a war, but no resolution. None of these weapons even approach taking out Iran’s hardened nuclear facilities. Plus, Israel’s about to be obliterated.” commented Holland.

“Maybe, I know this sounds crazy, but maybe Israel thinks they can take the punch and run Iran out of candles.” suggested Mullen.

“The Iranians are gonna’ take out Tel Aviv, probably leave Jerusalem alone, but Tel Aviv and Haifa, Joppa, Netanya, they’re toast.”

“How long have they got?”

“Missiles are just about to start crossing Jordan, sir, that’s 150 miles to Haifa and Tel Aviv...at Mach 1? say 10 to 15 minutes.”

“Sir, Ehud Barak on Secure green 6.” called the Major.

Obama punched a button on his phone and picked up the receiver.

“Mr. Barak. I’m surprised to hear from you at this moment.”

“Communicating in a while may be problematic. So, it must be now. Bibi wants to speak with you, but he is on the line with Alon Pinkus. Should be soon. I have an urgent matter he has asked me to convey.”

“Please.”

“We have a highly placed operative in Muqtada al-Sadr’s entourage. This has taken us a matter of many years of diligence and patience. Al-Sadr has been in the company of Hassan Nazrallah, the Hizbollah leader, ever since he fled Iraq. We have followed many munitions from Iran to Iraq and even on to Israel that flowed into our midst because of their collaboration. This has brought extreme violence and tragic consequences to both our countries.”

“I am aware of much of that, Mr. Barak.”

“Three days ago a man joined them for a meeting. One just one occasion he has been referred to as “The Sheik.”

“Bin Laden?”

“He has been called “The Sheik.” We have a description of a tall, thin Yemeni with a leg injury. I believe we know who it is. We suspect he traveled into Iran from a southern route. Maybe by ship. Eveyone had been looking for him in the mountains, in Tora Bora or in the caves. He’s not there. The target is in Teheran at this very moment..”

“Are you going to attack. Can you get him?”

“Oh, yes, we are certain we can. He is in a residential area. I expect they are all together.”

“But you are not going to attack?”

“Probably not...for two reasons. First, we have a special covert relationship with the Saudis and the Jordanians, the Egyptians, also. That would be severely damaged and we cannot risk it - especially at this time. Second, he is just another bad guy to us. But he is an almost mythical enemy to you. Bibi and I believe there is a lot more value in your being the one to bring him to justice than if we should be the ones to do it.”

“I see.” Obama also realized it would make all the efforts of his administration look feckless if Bin Laden was finally brought down by little Israel.

“Of course, please understand, I can not reveal how we have targeted him, but I can tell you that we have a signal and it is coming from his person. I can send you an image of the signal and its GPS coordinates by a secure data link. You can do with it what you wish. I can also promise you that our aircraft will not molest yours and that you will have little or no resistance between the Green Zone and Teheran. In just a few minutes, we will have completed taking apart their air power.

Now, Mr. President, my Prime Minister wishes to speak with you and I must attend to other urgent matters.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barak.” said the President, but Ehud Barak had already handed the telephone to Benjamin Netanyahu.

“Mr. Prime Minister?”

“Mr. President.”

“What can I do for you?” asked Obama with great compassion in his voice.

“Barack, I want to thank you for your forbearance. Thank you for allowing us to defend our homeland against this genocidal maniac and his regime.”

“You’re welcome, Benjamin. It was the right thing to do.”

“I agree, and very smart. I’m sure you will understand that I will not be available for the next several hours, Mr. President. Please contact Ambassador Pinkus, personally or through your representative, as you choose. You will be my first call upon my return, I promise.”

“Very good.”

And with that, Netanyahu was gone. Obama had wanted to discuss the matter of Ahmadinijad with Netanyahu directly, but now that would not be possible. He placed the handset in its cradle and asked for the group’s close attention.

“It appears the Israelis have handed us UBL, if we want him.”

“Let’s get the bastard,” roared Biden.

“Are they holding him?” asked Mrs. Clinton.

A momentary chaos erupted in the room. There were lots of questions, stunned disbelief, joy, and years of pent-up anger being released in one moment.

“Whoa, whoa..Here’s the story,” pleaded the President. They have an operative in the midst of the Hizbollah-Mahdi Army cabal and he claims Osama has just joined them. There’s a device that’s somehow on him and transmitting. Can they do that, Leon?”

They’re the best in the world, if they said they did it, they probably did”

“So, if we want him. We have to bomb him.”

“Mr. President,” interrupted Biden, “You need to be the one that gets Bin Laden. The joy that would bring to America! Now the political implications can’t be denied, and think of the demoralizing effect that success would place on our enemies. There’s no downside.”

“Can we do it, General Holland?”

“Sure, especially now. There’s not much resistance left.”

“Mrs. Clinton, the heat will be on you.”

Hillary was watching her presidential candidacy become an asterisk on a Wikipedia entry. She just smiled broadly. It brought a big smile to every face in the room.

“Alright then,” acknowledged the President. CENTCOM or the Pentagon should be getting a feed from Israel with a signal and coordinates. That’s our target.”

Admiral Mullen spoke up, ‘Can we verify?”

Obama shook his head. “They’re gone into bunkers or wherever,” said Obama. “Leon, what can you do for us?”

“Whew! We have zero assets that close up,” said Panetta. You have to believe they’ve got a bead on him. They’re the best in the world,” he repeated.

“Okay.” said Obama. He finally felt like he had accomplished something, like a decision had been made that was Presidential. Even the Nobel committee would have to conclude that the death of a terrorist brought the world closer to a peaceful state. There had been too much criticism of Obama as an undeserving warmaker in the days following the Peace Prize announcement. It was a lot more pressure on him than he had expected.

Admiral Mullen spoke up, “I want to overlay our own hi-res satellite imagery on those coordinates and see if we’ve got human movement - room to room, building to building. I want to make sure we’re not tracking a camel.”

“Go for it.” said Obama. He was feeling pretty good about how this day would dawn in Washington.

In Tel Aviv, word was reaching command centers that the Hueys were at 10,000 feet over their targets and all eight bunker busters were being dropped on a single command. That would add to the fog of war because when damage reports were being conveyed, people would think it impossible that all facilities were damaged and believe that reports were erroneous.

Fighters had been recalled and were releasing any remaining armament on secondary targets. They needed to fly back without any extra weight, too much fuel had been spent and their credit cards were only good in Israel. One limping aircraft did get permission to land in Bagdad, although he was first refused by an Iraqi controller who was only overridden when he buzzed the tower twice and caught the attention of a US Lieutenant General.

Uri Oren received a page and picked up the phone. In his best Farsi he told the tower he was getting out of there, that he was ordered out. Oren was told that the military had shut down the airport but there were no obstacles on the runway. “Then I am leaving now,” he said and hung up the phone. Oren understood the current state of chaos, the low probability he would create a problem for the military and the general loose control the Iranians had over commercial air traffic. If he went away, it would be one less variable for everyone to think about. The second aircraft had already arrived and would pull the same stunt within a few minutes, just before the first giant bunker buster hit the ground.

With the perfectly choreographed help of his ground crew, Oren got the massive aircraft backed up and the jets started whining. Two crew members jumped aboard through the open bomb bay and immediately operated it and sealed it up. Three crew remained. The fuel load was about half capacity.

Oren had reviewed the route when in Amman the night of the bomb bay installation and had decided he would fly a loose S-shape which would cover all his targets. The S-shape would make it appear that he was always flying away from the next target until he was close enough to make the turn and drop. The last turn of the S sent him westward, toward home, toward Israel.

Off the end of the runway, the Giant Airbus climbed steep and slow. Uri could begin to see columns of smoke rising from innumerable locations beyond the airport district. He maintained his climb and requested 35,000 feet from air traffic control. There was no reply. Smoke around the airport had created a thick fog of low level haze to about 1500 feet, but as the blunt nose of the Airbus escaped the haze, the shock of the bright morning light filling the cabin disrupted Uri’s concentration like the first intonations of the Call to Prayer.

He was en route to Qom. It was time for him to put an end to the madness.