KAVEH INDUSTRIAL CITY, MARKAZI PROVINCE, IRAN—15:20 / 3:20 P.M. IRST
Term Lead, be advised that Father’s ETA is seven minutes. That’s seven minutes.”
“Root,” Nir answered Liora’s update. He tried to picture their crowded team control room. He figured a minimum of 30 people were packed in, watching and listening to everything done and said. Because this was such an important operation that would probably be reviewed and analyzed for years to come, Nir had insisted that everyone do and say everything strictly by the book.
If there had been room in the van, he would have been pacing. And despite the cold outside, he was sweating profusely. One reason was that he and the team had changed back to their full gear, and its weight was a continual workout. Yet he knew most of his discomfort was from nerves. It was essential that nothing keep Doron from pressing that trigger.
Dima remained in the front seat. Lahav had his eyes on the many small monitors arrayed in front of him. Imri and Yaron both watched their own monitors, connected to tiny cameras mounted on the outside of the van, allowing them to see anyone coming toward them. Only Nir had nothing to do except wait and worry.
I guess that’s what leadership is. Your only part is to sit and hope no one else screws up.
“Term Lead, be advised that Father’s ETA is five minutes. That’s five minutes.”
“Got a dirty approaching from the south,” Yaron said. Nir quickly moved behind him.
Yaron continued, “Military-aged male. Empty hands. No signature.” Nir leaned in close, but he, too, didn’t see the outline of a weapon. Still, he removed his 9mm and stepped toward the van’s rear doors.
They were positioned in an alley between a cellulose factory and a transportation company. Kaveh Industrial City was a bustling manufacturing area, so it wasn’t surprising that a pedestrian would be moving past. But Nir wasn’t taking any chances.
Yaron spoke again. “Be advised he has partially unzipped his jacket and is reaching inside.”
Even though he knew what position it would be in, Nir still fingered his gun’s safety to make sure it was off.
“Dirty is coming alongside in 3…2…1.”
Silence filled the van as the man walked past. By the time he reached the camera by the rear door, his hand had come back out of his jacket holding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Lahav laughed with relief. “Phew, that was close.”
“Shut up,” Doron hissed with venom in his voice. Three minutes passed before the team began to loosen up and Nir reholstered his weapon.
Lahav was back at his monitors, but Nir could see he was shaken by Doron’s rebuke. He walked to him and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “You always have to let a situation breathe. The cigarettes could have been a signal. Remember, it’s never safe until it’s safe. Lesson learned. How’s it looking?”
“Everything looks good here.” His voice was a little shaky.
Once again, Liora sounded in the coms. “Term Lead, be advised that Father’s ETA is one minute. That’s one minute.”
“Okay, boys, let’s go hunting,” Nir said, then settled behind Lahav.
Dr. Fakhrizadeh had spent several days with his wife at a home they owned along the Caspian Sea. This was a regular excursion they took once or twice a month—always the same route there and always the same route back.
So sloppy, Nir thought. Nothing kills you faster than routine.
The seconds counted down slowly as they waited for the convoy of cars to register on the small camera mounted on the stranded car with the three wheels.
“Term Lead, Father should be approaching the scout.”
Distant shadows appeared on the monitor. They grew and took shape until Nir could make out two cars in a line. From Liora’s reports and because of the eight months of collected intel, Nir knew two more cars were in the convoy. They were just blocked by the camera’s perspective.
As the lead car slowed, Nir got a close look at the front-seat occupants. The one in the passenger seat was the head of Fakhrizadeh’s security team. That was a good sign that the doctor was actually in the procession.
The first car began its U-turn around the median, giving a clear view into the second car. It was a black Nissan Teana sedan, as they’d expected. Nir could make out the passenger first—Sadigheh Ghasemi. The camera then resolved on the driver, Sadigheh’s husband, Dr. Mohsen Fakhrizadeh.
“Father ID’d,” came Dafna’s voice. “We have a positive on Father.”
“Are you one hundred percent positive?” came a gruff male voice. Nir recognized it as that of the ramsad.
“Look at the ring,” Lahav called. “The red agate!”
On the fourth finger of the man’s left hand draped over the steering wheel was a large ring set with a bright-red stone. It was identical to the ring worn by the Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. It was also a twin to the one that had remained on the severed hand used to confirm the assassination of General Qasem Soleimani.
“Mission is a go,” said the ramsad.
“Mission is a go,” Liora repeated.
“Mission is a go,” Nir announced to his team.
The next two cars also slowed and made their U-turns.
“Lead car is turning right from Firuzkuh Road onto Imam Khomeini Road. The others are following,” Liora narrated.
Three quarters of a mile up Imam Khomeini Road, their blue Nissan Zamyad sat parked on a rise by the side of the road. Nir waited with anticipation. Only one more hurdle had to be jumped.
“Term Lead, first car is accelerating and leaving the pack.”
That was it. It was at this point each trip that Fakhrizadeh’s head of security went ahead to ensure all was safe at the doctor’s house. “Esh!” sounded quietly throughout the van.
“Lahav, you’re on,” Nir said.
The analyst didn’t acknowledge his words, so intent was he on the collection of monitors. Red lines and squares were bouncing around each screen.
“Get ready, Doron,” Lahav said. Nir refrained from chiding him for not saying Term 3.
The lead car raced by the truck, and the three remaining black sedans were clearly visible. The lines and squares were slowing down. In turns, they became stationary, then broke free again.
“Steady…steady…” Lahav said.
One by one the squares on the ten monitors locked into place. When the last one stabilized, all turned green.
“Fire!” he called.
The picture on the monitors shook violently but briefly. In that short burst, 15 rounds struck Fakhrizadeh. The car veered to the left and rolled to a stop. The doctor’s wife burst out of the passenger door screaming, untouched physically by the gunfire. Nir felt a pang of sympathy for her, but then he remembered she likely knew exactly what her husband was doing in the nuclear program.
Lahav zoomed in with the operational record camera. The view confirmed that Fakhrizadeh was indeed very, very dead.
“Kill confirmed,” Nir said. “Blow it.”
Lahav pressed a computer key, and the monitors went blank.
Liora’s voice sounded a moment later. “Destruction incomplete. I repeat, destruction incomplete.”