02 Thunder of Heaven: A Joshua Jordan Novel (26 page)

At the Bushehr nuclear-launch facility in Iran the prelaunch was completed. The tops of the three missile silos, all in a row, opened like the eyes of a triple-eyed dragon. The warning siren was wailing, and the warning lights on each silo were flashing.

The three Qiam missiles had been tested. Their accuracy was absolute. Thanks to Russian engineering assistance, the formerly outdated short-range missiles were now longrange, and at speeds of more than Mach 3, they would outfly the Israeli jet fighters that would try to intercept them. More importantly, each had a new radar system that would send deflecting countermeasures to ward off defensive Israeli ground-to-air missiles.

The three weapons officers, each at the launch panel, listened to the countdown.

Then, with a deadly choreography of hands, they simultaneously reached forward and pushed the green buttons on the panels in front of them. Smoke and fire blew out of the silos as the three nuclear missiles hurtled into the air and on to their trajectories — streaking toward Tel Aviv, Haifa, and Galilee.

Inside IDF headquarters, where they had verified the launch of the Iranian missiles, Israel’s military chief bowed his head with his staff. This was the moment of truth.

They prayed the prayers of Nelah. Even though the calendar told
them this was not yet the Day of Atonement, the impending threat of annihilation told them that it was.

The order was given at IDF headquarters to launch three separate defensive Return-to-Sender equipped missiles. They would come from sites as far south as the Judean Desert to a base in the far north at Katzrin along the Golan.

IDF radar had picked up the first Iranian nuke heading on a course that looked as if it was in the direction of Tiberias in Galilee. At Katzrin, the first defensive missile blew out of its silo. It was armed with a refashioned Israeli version of the Return-to-Sender laser system.

The trio of Iranian nuclear warheads flashed over Jordan and neared Israeli airspace.

The IDF had already scrambled several F-15s into the air when the intel alerted them of a potential attack. But that didn’t seem to matter. They tried to hit the Qiam missiles with defensive warheads of their own over Jordan airspace, but the effort was fruitless. The missiles flashed by with blinding speed. Israeli ground-to-air defenses were launched along the Jordan River sending up a raft of patriot missiles. But the newly engineered Qiam guidance system had automatic countermeasures built in, along with a frighteningly accurate missile-avoidance system.

The nukes were untouched. Still on course, they were heading for Tel Aviv, Haifa, and Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee.

Tiberias was the closest. It would get hit first.

Amidst the sound of ear-piercing sirens, thousands of screaming tourists piled into buses, attempting to flee the city along the famous sea. But for them there would be no time for escape if the nuclear warhead hit its mark. The rows of hotels and houses would be incinerated all the way around the coast up to Tabha. The blast would level everything in the area, including the ancient city of Capernaum where Jesus had taught in the synagogue and had settled during His initial ministry. It would all be gone. Along with the Sea of Galilee itself. The nuclear fireball would instantly evaporate the water.

The Iranian nuclear warhead was streaking toward the outer border of the Sea of Galilee. At IDF command they stared at their radar screen. A gut-wrenching thought was right there in front of them. Their RTS-armed missile might not be able to intercept the incoming nuke in time. They had done the logistics with Joshua Jordan. There was a minimum angle of encounter required between the laser beam shot from their RTS missile and the nose cone of the incoming nuclear warhead. Their RTS had been fired down from the north, thirty miles away from the projected intersection point with the Iranian nuke. But at the calculated speed of the Iranian missile, the required intercept might not happen. The staff at IDF headquarters could see that now. The Iranian nuke might blow right past their RTS missile.

And hit Tiberias.

Meanwhile, an RTS missile from a site in central Israel was in the air, closing in on the Iranian Qiam rocket heading toward Tel Aviv.

To protect Haifa an RTS missile had been launched from the Jezreel Valley to intercept that nuclear warhead.

The IDF staff watched the screen. The blinking cursor of the Iranian nuke heading toward Galilee. The other blinking dot, their RTS missile heading toward the nuclear missile at an oblique angle.

No one was breathing. It would take only seconds to learn their fate. But the clock seemed to stand still.

Two miles up, the incoming RTS was a thousand feet from the Iranian nuke. But it was heading at an extreme angle. The RTS intercept was not designed to work at that kind of approach.

The laser blasted out from the RTS missile and struck the side of the nose cone of the Qiam missile where the guidance system was housed. But the nose cone of the nuke had also been protected by a Russian antilaser shield.

That was something that the Israelis had prepared for. Their Mossad agents had wiretapped the conversations of Iranian nuclear engineers. So they had upped the capacity of Joshua Jordan’s laser. They hoped it could penetrate the Russian-made shield.

The RTS laser beam entered the guidance program of the Qiam
nuke from the side. The data stream from the laser did a light-speed mirror reversal of the trajectory.

The Iranian nuke did a slow U-turn and started back toward its place of origin.

But the Iranian missile had experienced a slow fuel leakage. It would never find its way home. Instead, it would land along the border of Jordan and Syria — without detonating.

The missiles heading for Tel Aviv and Haifa were encountered dead-on by the outgoing RTS defensive missiles. Perfect laser contact was made with the onboard guidance systems in the nuclear warheads. The nukes swung around in an arc and headed back to their launch site.

At IDF headquarters, they saw it all on radar. There was a burst of screaming and cheers and backslapping and weeping. A few of the younger officers hopped onto the tables and bellowed at the top of their lungs.

Iranian command in Bushehr was tracking the missiles. The officers saw what was happening. They sprinted from their posts and madly scrambled to escape the port city before the devastation hit. They were too hysterical to appreciate the irony: they would have no problem with traffic because the Iranian government, not trusting the local population, had already evacuated the city’s two hundred thousand residents two months before the launch, suspicious of sabotage. The city was now a ghost town of empty homes and stores.

All except for the members of the Iranian nuclear project. Now they were careening around corners at seventy miles an hour in their Mercedes Benzes — trying to escape.

But in vain.

The second nuke that had been intended for Haifa would hit Bushehr first.

There was a blinding light. The iridescent cloud expanded over the city, followed by a wave of sonic force and a solar inferno that swept out in a circumference of obliteration that melted down to black glass
and ash the entire Iranian nuclear facility as well as the nuclear enrichment building and the launch silos. The second nuclear detonation came from the second missile only a minute later.

The twin mushroom clouds rose ten miles into the sky. When it cleared, the only thing left of the nuclear facility and the surrounding city was a few gnarled pipes sticking out of the ground, a single cement wall, and the reinforced girders of a dozen former office buildings that now jutted out like mangled, steel skeletons.

When the news reached President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, he was in his palace, surrounded by his advisors. His aides were silent, eying each other. Then the president exploded into an uncontrollable rant. Even at his age he had the energy to do that well. Ahmadinejad, his face contorted with rage, balled up his fists and swung them into the air like a boxer who could not find his opponent.

“How can my nuclear dream be destroyed? Gone … gone!”

While he was cursing the destruction of Bushehr, somewhere two hundred thousand Iranians were quietly celebrating the fact that they had been forced to move out of their homes and shops in Bushehr because of Ahmadinejad’s paranoia. He had, inadvertently, saved them all from destruction.

As the sun began setting over Iran, Ahmadinejad, in his mad fury, cursed the day.

John Gallagher and his makeshift assault crew had dug in at their positions in the woods in the Shenandoah Valley. They had a good view of the metal barn. Now they were swatting bugs and waiting.

Then there was some movement. A man, unarmed, left the barn and walked over to a car. He started it up and walked back to the barn.

A few minutes later the big barn doors swung open. A cart with a crate on top, slightly larger than a refrigerator, was rolled out by four men. They gingerly slid the crate off the cart and into the back of the truck. Then one of the men stayed in the back of the truck. Gallagher
thought that he was hooking something up, maybe a remote detonating device.

Then the man in the truck jumped out and locked the back doors. Two men with clip-loaded automatics exited the barn, and they handed an extra one to him.