aligned against us. They work to undermine not only this program, but also our government and our economy. They are hurting us, and I’m not sure how much more damage we can stand.”
Sabet nodded, agreeing with Moradi, but the general pressed his point. “Doctor, you don’t understand. The government can issue all the press releases it wants, but the sanctions do have an effect. And it’s getting worse. The situation is not static, nor is it in our favor.”
The doctor answered, “Of course, you may have access to information I don’t. Is there anything specific we need to worry about? Is there a deadline?”
Moradi shook his head. “Nothing specific. But eventually, we won’t be able to find a key material or technology, even on the black market. What do we do then?
“This is a battle, Dr. Sabet. Even without guns and trenches, the rules are the same. A short battle is better than a long one. Move slowly and your opponent has time to react. He may block your advance or even find a way to defeat you.” He gestured toward the crippled pilot plant. “And it gives your own people more time to make mistakes.”
“You approved the test schedule. . .”
“Based on their recommendations. I’m not a fool, Doctor, or a scientist. I will let the specialists practice their craft, as long as they get results. And I don’t see any.”
“Are you saying it’s fruitless to…” Sabet started to ask.
“No, Doctor, your scientists and engineers should redouble their efforts. Tell them time is limited, and precious. But if we’re blocked on two paths, it’s time to look for a third.”
“A short cut? General, we are already cutting corners.”
“A bypass, an end-around,” Moradi replied. “We’ve gotten quite good at those.”
~ * ~
General Moradi bid Dr. Sabet farewell by the Mi-17, then followed his staff onto the helicopter for the trip back to Isfahan. Their mood was upbeat, chatting happily as they belted in, pleased to be returning home after a few days away. Moradi’s own feelings were harder to define. He wasn’t as angry or frustrated as he’d expected to be, or depressed about the program’s setback. Certainly his conversation with the Supreme Leader would be unpleasant. As the helicopter took flight, he realized he’d reached a conclusion.
This wasn’t going to work.
~ * ~
2. SEQUENCE
11 March 2013
Liberty Crossing Intelligence Campus McLean, Virginia
Ed Randolph walked into the conference room to find it jammed, buzzing with conversation. Thankfully, government buildings were nonsmoking, but it was still stuffy. With even the janitors cleared for Top Secret, classification hadn’t been much of a barrier to attendance. And there had been rumors. He quickly walked to the front of the room, past the two briefers setting up.
He held up his arms, and the murmur quickly faded. “There are too many people in this room. If you’re not a principal or designated representative, leave. If you’re not from the WMD, Near East, Military Issues, or Science and Technology Offices, leave.” One analyst rose to protest, but Randolph forestalled him. “Yes, Clark, you’re entitled, but not yet. This is only a preliminary meeting. The Office of Transnational Threats will get their chance to review and comment on the draft product.” He raised his voice. “And the fewer discussions I hear in the halls, the better.” There were no more arguments, and people began to file out of the room. As the National Intelligence Officer for Weapons of Mass Destruction and Proliferation, Randolph had the authority to limit the meeting’s attendance.
The Chairman of the National Intelligence Council, General Duvall, appeared in the door and the stragglers made a path for him, then hurried out. Randolph checked his watch: 1500 exactly. He checked the two briefers. One was now standing at the podium while the other tended
Sabet nodded, agreeing with Moradi, but the general pressed his point. “Doctor, you don’t understand. The government can issue all the press releases it wants, but the sanctions do have an effect. And it’s getting worse. The situation is not static, nor is it in our favor.”
The doctor answered, “Of course, you may have access to information I don’t. Is there anything specific we need to worry about? Is there a deadline?”
Moradi shook his head. “Nothing specific. But eventually, we won’t be able to find a key material or technology, even on the black market. What do we do then?
“This is a battle, Dr. Sabet. Even without guns and trenches, the rules are the same. A short battle is better than a long one. Move slowly and your opponent has time to react. He may block your advance or even find a way to defeat you.” He gestured toward the crippled pilot plant. “And it gives your own people more time to make mistakes.”
“You approved the test schedule. . .”
“Based on their recommendations. I’m not a fool, Doctor, or a scientist. I will let the specialists practice their craft, as long as they get results. And I don’t see any.”
“Are you saying it’s fruitless to…” Sabet started to ask.
“No, Doctor, your scientists and engineers should redouble their efforts. Tell them time is limited, and precious. But if we’re blocked on two paths, it’s time to look for a third.”
“A short cut? General, we are already cutting corners.”
“A bypass, an end-around,” Moradi replied. “We’ve gotten quite good at those.”
~ * ~
General Moradi bid Dr. Sabet farewell by the Mi-17, then followed his staff onto the helicopter for the trip back to Isfahan. Their mood was upbeat, chatting happily as they belted in, pleased to be returning home after a few days away. Moradi’s own feelings were harder to define. He wasn’t as angry or frustrated as he’d expected to be, or depressed about the program’s setback. Certainly his conversation with the Supreme Leader would be unpleasant. As the helicopter took flight, he realized he’d reached a conclusion.
This wasn’t going to work.
~ * ~
2. SEQUENCE
11 March 2013
Liberty Crossing Intelligence Campus McLean, Virginia
Ed Randolph walked into the conference room to find it jammed, buzzing with conversation. Thankfully, government buildings were nonsmoking, but it was still stuffy. With even the janitors cleared for Top Secret, classification hadn’t been much of a barrier to attendance. And there had been rumors. He quickly walked to the front of the room, past the two briefers setting up.
He held up his arms, and the murmur quickly faded. “There are too many people in this room. If you’re not a principal or designated representative, leave. If you’re not from the WMD, Near East, Military Issues, or Science and Technology Offices, leave.” One analyst rose to protest, but Randolph forestalled him. “Yes, Clark, you’re entitled, but not yet. This is only a preliminary meeting. The Office of Transnational Threats will get their chance to review and comment on the draft product.” He raised his voice. “And the fewer discussions I hear in the halls, the better.” There were no more arguments, and people began to file out of the room. As the National Intelligence Officer for Weapons of Mass Destruction and Proliferation, Randolph had the authority to limit the meeting’s attendance.
The Chairman of the National Intelligence Council, General Duvall, appeared in the door and the stragglers made a path for him, then hurried out. Randolph checked his watch: 1500 exactly. He checked the two briefers. One was now standing at the podium while the other tended
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