Jericho 3 (24 page)

“One of many nuts in the area I’m sure. I need a flight plan by 0830 and Kate in the skies by 0900.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Kenton developed his flight plan based on the most recent tracking from the birds in orbit. It would take less than 90 minutes for Kate to get to high altitude and beyond Iran’s rather advanced radar systems and reach Damghan where the machine appeared to be stationary and parked in a warehouse. Kenton was excited. He had never flown over Iran before.

Careful not to fly over Turkmenistan, Kenton flew the RQ-170 Sentinel over Herat and Gurian before flying over the Iran-Afghanistan border, up toward Mashhad and then almost directly down over Highway 44 and into Damghan.

Kenton checked his satellite imagery one more time before allowing Kate to track on to the signal. He blinked twice and refreshed his screen. The target was moving.

“Colonel, are you seeing this?” Captain Kenton said into his headset as Colonel Abrams was watching the same thing in the Tactical Operations Center two buildings down on Creech.

“Roger, the target’s moving too fast for ground, looks like she’s getting a lift.”

“Sir, I’ve got it heading south, by southwest at 140 miles per hour.”

“Helicopter,” Abrams confirmed.

“Slowing down now, sir and…stopping. Looks to be a rural area between Khomein and Aligoodarz.”

“Brady, we’ve got an intel officer looking at the area now, stand by…” Abrams said as his computer screen came to life with information from the intelligence officer on duty. “Five small villages…Dehno, Khorzend, Farajabad, Bahmanabad and Sangesfid. The area is called the Bourvari.”

“Anything significant?” Brady asked.

“Maybe, hard to tell, but these are all Persian-Armenian settlements.”

“And that’s somehow important, colonel?”

“They’re Christians, Brady…not a great country to be living as a non-Muslim, if you know what I mean.”

Captain Kenton and Kate circled above the Bourvari for 20 minutes. The video images from Kate were fed to the TOC at Creech for Abrams and his team to watch as Special Agent Daniels and Agent Fallon Jessup watched the same video feed from a CIA command center at Langley.

“Sir, you seeing this?” Brady asked as Abrams, Daniels and Jessup all listened to the anxiety in Brady’s voice. “The machine is on a truck and appears to be driving up and down the village streets.”

“Roger that, looks like the village of Dehno. Can we get the camera in closer?”

“We’re getting a view that feels like 2,000 feet up, sir. Can’t get any better optics unless I take Kate down closer.”

Lieutenant Colonel Abrams stood and took aggressive command in the TOC.

“I need some close range satellite optics. Give me the radar ceiling in the area.”

Abrams reviewed the information on his computer screen seconds after he asked for it.

“Negative Brady, Kate needs to fly high on this first one. We’re just observing today.”

Abrams received a still satellite photo that sucked the wind out of his lungs. The image looked straight down on top of what appeared to be a maintenance truck. The vantage point could have been from the top of an oak tree, if it weren’t for the fact that it was a military camera on a spy satellite.

Three intelligence officers had also gathered in a joint command center at the headquarters of the Directorate of Military Intelligence in Tel Aviv as they watched the same Iranian event unfold through images from their Ofek 9 military spy satellite. The officers were from Agaf Ha Modi’in, otherwise called Aman, as well as Mossad and Shin Bet. Aman was tasked with Israeli military intelligence; Shin Bet handled internal security; and Mossad handled intelligence collection and covert operations. Launched from Palmachim Air Force base on Israel’s coast south of Tel Aviv in 2007, the Ofek 9 had a high resolution camera second to none in the world.

Ofek 9 could clearly see the man in the back of the maintenance vehicle spraying a light mist from a tank of fluid as local children played in the mist and chased the truck passing up and down the dusty roads of the Bourvari villages. The camera resolution on the Ofek 9 was so clear that each of the Israeli intelligence officers wrote down the same word on their paper tablets at the exact same time: SkitoMister.

Lieutenant Colonel Abrams and Captain Brady Kenton sat captivated by the video feed from Kate as Kenton flew the drone.

“Okay captain, let’s take Kate home.”

Kenton pulled back on the stick and took off for Kandahar with intermittent thoughts of Chinese carryout when his combat mission was over. It was, in fact, Tuesday he reminded himself.

U.S. Embassy

Ashgabat, Turkmenistan

T
he sedan carrying US Navy Captain “Camp” Campbell and Billy Finn pulled up in front of the Embassy at Number 9 1984 Street. Formerly named Pushkin Street when Soviet influence permeated the capital, the American Embassy was understated but efficient.

“Some things never change in the former Soviet bloc,” Finn said as they passed through the gate complex watching the same unmarked car park on the other side of 1984 Street. “You look good today, Camp. Get some sleep, a beer and a hot shower?”

“I look good because you can see my gorgeous face again. Felt great to finally shave the jihad beard.”

As promised, Undersecretary Miller had cleared Ambassador Annette Pfister’s calendar for Camp and Finn. She had been briefed on the rail shipment from the Kirov Oblast down the Trans-Siberian, over to the Trans-Caspian railway and into Ashgabat. Their 9:30am meeting would be a brief get-acquainted session before they would be joined by the Deputy Ministers of Railways and Trade for Turkmenistan and their entourage.

The Ambassador’s scheduler entered the office where the three were having coffee and swapping stories about where they all grew up in America.

“Madam Ambassador, the Deputy Ministers and their staff are seated in the conference room.”

After a few social courtesies, Ambassador Pfister got down to business.

“Allow me to start first with the railways. I sent a letter of request to Minister Seyitgulyyew earlier this week. I hope you have some information for us.”

The Deputy Minister of Railways had never been to the US Embassy before and couldn’t speak a lick of English other than “movie English.” He spoke through a translator.

“Madam Ambassador, we routinely receive freight and rail shipments from all parts of Russia, including the Kirov Oblast. The shipment in question was transported on the Trans-Siberian from Kirov to Koshagyl, Russia. It passed through Kazakhstan where it was transferred to the Trans-Caspian railway, and was rerouted in Beyneu, and then down to Bekdash where it was placed on a cargo vessel, crossed the Caspian inlet and then here to Ashgabat. It was more than 3,700 kilometers for the trip and perhaps a three day transport with switching.”

“Sir, is the shipment still here in Ashgabat?” the Ambassador asked.

“No. A few weeks ago we transferred six boxcars filled with 55-gallon drums onto the IRIR where it was moved through Mashhad. The shipment was transferred to Damghan.”

“IRIR?”

“The Islamic Republic of Iran Railways.”

“How many of these 55-gallon drums were in the boxcars?”

“The bill of lading was for 500 drums.”

“And the contents within those drums?”

“Pesticides. Iran is rich with agriculture, Madam Ambassador.”

Ambassador Dunn turned her attention over to the Deputy Chairman of the Cabinet of Ministers for Trade, Commerce, Textiles and Customs.

“Sir, does Deputy Chairman Gurbannazarow conduct a lot of business with Iran?”

“We are very close trading partners. But Turkmenistan is more of a trading gateway, an intersection of world trade for the region. We collect a tax for all goods traveling between Russia and the region. We take great pride in our rail system.”

Billy Finn nodded to the Ambassador and took the floor.

“Sir, do you ever inspect the contents of shipments that pass through your yards, to verify that the contents match the freight bills?”

“Do we taste the tea to make sure it’s tea? Do we turn on the radios to make sure they’re radios? Do we test the pesticides to make sure they kill the red palm weevil bug that eats away at Iranian date palm trees and pistachios? No.”

“You mentioned Damghan as being the final destination. Isn’t that where the Iranians produce their biological and chemical weapons?” Camp quizzed the Deputy Minister of Trade.

“I know nothing about weapons, Mr. Campbell, but as for trade, Damghan is a manufacturing city. There are many chemical factories and distributors for plastics, petroleum products and additives.”

“Do the IRIR trains come to Ashgabat for switching, or do you transfer loads off the Trans-Caspian onto IRIR once they reach Mashhad?” Camp asked.

“We transfer here…onto IRIR trains in the main rail yard.”

“Do Iranians come here to conduct business often?” Finn asked.

“Of course, we are friends. They especially enjoy holidays close to the Caspian Sea.”

The meeting was adjourned, and the Ambassador thanked the Turkmenistan staff and Deputy Ministers for their time and candor. The Ambassador’s scheduler stepped into the conference room and handed Camp a note as final farewells were being exchanged.

CALL GENERAL FERGUSON AT ISAF ON SECURE LINE ASAP.

Camp and Billy Finn were escorted to a small video conference room. The vapor locked door made a swishing sound as they locked themselves in.

Major Spann answered the SIPRNET line that was ringing less than a foot away from Ferguson.

“General Ferguson’s Office, Major Spann speaking.”

“Major, Captain Campbell and Billy Finn.”

“Please hold, captain.”

Ferguson took another 45-seconds shuffling through the papers that he wasn’t even looking at prior to the call.

“Camp, what did you find out over there?” Ferguson finally asked.

“Sir, the Kirov Oblast shipment passed through here about two weeks ago. Five hundred 55-gallon drums of red palm weevil pesticides transferred over to the Islamic Republic of Iran Railway and moved to Damghan.”

“So CIA was correct; it did originate in Kirov?”

“Affirmative.”

“Okay, well that’s not good then. I just received a classified briefing from the SECDEF’s office. They’ve put a new stealth drone over Iran and were tracking your SkitoMister. The drone was en route from Kandahar when the SkitoMister went airborne. A chopper set it down in the Bourvari District, a compilation of five villages full of Persian-Armenians. The SkitoMister was placed on a maintenance truck that drove all of the roads in the five villages. According to the video feed it appeared as though they were spraying.”

“Spraying what?” Camp asked.

“The SECDEF is adamant that we not jump to conclusions on the whole tularemia thing. For all we know these are pesticides and a legitimate use of the SkitoMister. We don’t have an exactly stellar record of intelligence in the region.”

“Why these particular villages, general? Is this an agricultural area?” Finn asked.

“There’s some agriculture in the Bourvari, Billy, but the only notable thing is the people.”

“Persian-Armenians?”

“Christians, Billy…they’re all Christians.”

Camp and Finn took a few seconds to digest the news.

“What’s next, general?”

“Get yourselves back to Kabul, and we’ll take it from there.”

National Interagency Biodefense Center

BSL-4 Facility

Fort Detrick, Maryland

L
ieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines and two microbiologists were suited up and inside the BSL-4 lab. Tissue samples from all 16 dead rhesus monkeys were under the scope. The team needed to reverse-engineer what was clearly a vaccine-resistant strain of tularemia. The dead monkeys were living proof.

The challenge of vaccine development was more than developing suitable antigens, adjuvants and delivery methods. Numerous regulatory, technical and manufacturing obstacles needed to be considered in order to translate a vaccine candidate developed in a controlled lab over to a human setting in a clinic. It was the difference between the classroom and the streets.

Raines was focused on the adjuvants, substances that could be added to existing tularemia vaccines to boost the vaccine’s ability to produce an immune response. If Raines could cook an adjuvanted vaccine, then LyonBio should be able to produce more doses of vaccine with smaller amounts of the antigen, the active ingredient that delivered the immune response.

Even though the public demand for safe and effective vaccines remained strong, very few of the major pharmaceutical companies had the knowledge or facilities required to develop and manufacture new vaccine products. Most of the traditional work focused on small-molecule drugs and therapeutic proteins.

Raines had no choice but to choose an offshore firm. There were too many restrictions on which additives could be introduced into American-made vaccines. The complexity of the technology, the need for specialized facilities and the endless regulatory hurdles were major obstacles in the US. And with the emergence of an expanding animal rights movement that was waging effective battles on all five fronts – political, legal, social, violence, and psychological – basic science was anything but basic in America.

At her core, Raines was a biomedical researcher, a basic scientist. Raines started with
in silica
modeling. She used the finest Silicon Valley computers and software programs and looked for ways to exploit naturally occurring tularemia into a lethal bio-weapon. Based on some vulnerable areas she discovered within the gene make-up of tularemia, she cooked up an
in vitro
recipe that she hoped would be vaccine-resistant.
In vitro
was the research conducted in a Petri dish or within glass. Raines developed both her toxin and her vaccine inside test tubes. She had to find a delivery mechanism that would spread an aerosolized version of the bacteria that could be inhaled. Aerosolized tularemia was tricky. If the bacteria broke down too much during physical alteration, it would lose its potency. Raines then needed to test both the toxin and the vaccine in a living organism. She gave the existing baseline vaccine to four rhesus monkeys and delivered the inhalation tularemia. It was a pre-clinical animal trial, or what was called
in vivo
research conducted within a living organism.