Meyer-Hofmann AG

41

A knock on the door brought Von Klitzing back from his machinations. He straightened his silk tie and inspected the grey business suit he had chosen especially for the occasion. Admiring himself in the sitting room mirror, he took a deep breath. With everything ordered in his mind, he knew it was going to be a close thing. He had to convince Cerf to authorise an attack on Iran, and this had to happen before any negative information reached them from Munich. It was not unusual for plans to hang in the balance, but Von Klitzing really needed this one to succeed.

Benjamin Cerf was wearing a cream cotton suit and open-neck shirt. The men embraced like old friends, but Von Klitzing found the full body contact uncomfortable. He made a note to find Cerf after the attack, and if he was still alive, to give him a proper death. The pair smiled at one another for different reasons.

“So, my friend, what is so urgent that you dash across the world to meet with me?”

Von Klitzing put on a stern face and remained standing as Cerf took a seat on the luxuriant sofa.

“Benjamin, there is a situation in Iran you should know about.”

He had certainly caught Cerf’s interest. He pulled himself up on the chaise lounge and leant forward.

“You have my attention.”

“As you know, I still travel regularly with the German government on different trade missions. Last week, we were in Iran visiting their nuclear plants. I always carry a hidden camera. I need you to take a look at some pictures.”

“I hope you have no cameras now, my friend?” Cerf asked with a high laugh.

“Of course not!” Von Klitzing’s mock indignation was accompanied by a knowing smile. He laid the photos out one by one on the glass coffee table, like a poker player revealing a winning hand.

Cerf rubbed his chin and reached into his pocket for some eyeglasses.

“And you took these where?”

“Bushehr. It’s on the coast—”

“Yes, I know where it is!” Cerf cut him off. “How many centrifuges did you count?”

“There were a lot. As you can see, they were sealed off from the party. I only got these pictures by doubling back and taking them through the windows.”

The photos were taken through the dirty glass of an indoor window, which separated two laboratories.

“Well, to be honest, Johann, we have known about their enrichment program for many years. These photographs just confirm it.”

“No, Benjamin, at the back of the room, behind the door.”

Cerf looked closer. At the back of the laboratory was another glass door, behind which there were what looked like silver urns stacked down the middle of the room. Von Klitzing gave him time to draw his own conclusions.

“They are containers for storing plutonium.”

Von Klitzing handed him another photo. Cerf took it and held it in front of himself, using his reading glasses as a magnifying glass. The picture showed the tops of a group of the cylindrical containers, with the numbers and letters 239PU 22% 240PU. That was reactor grade plutonium. But at the back right of the picture, you could make out different percentage markings, which went as low as ten percent.

“Fuel-grade plutonium.”

“Yes.”

Cerf wiped his forehead and looked up at Von Klitzing, who, knowing he had his man, handed him the last photograph. It was a close up of the very last container at the back right-hand corner of the pile, it read 239 PU 7% 240 PU.

“Weapons-grade plutonium.”

“I’m sorry. I feel my Government’s reticence is partly responsible. We should have shut them down long ago!”

Cerf shook his head.

“It can’t be true. We have heard nothing of this! How can you confirm these?”

“I took them myself, Cerf. They are part of the BND records. Their reference number is at the top of each photograph. The German government knows, but they can’t tell you. At least not officially. That is why I am here.”

“Your Government sent you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. Thank you, my friend. We owe you a great debt! I must go now. I take it I may take these with me?”

“Of course, Cerf. May God be with you.”

“And you.”

Cerf was on his feet, the photographs back in the safety of the plastic folder he now clutched in a suddenly sweaty hand, and was out of the door. Von Klitzing waited until he was sure that Cerf had left the building before ringing down to reception.

“I need a car to the airport.”

Checking the room for his belongings, he thought about rubbing it down to remove his fingerprints.

In a couple of days, this place will be ashes, he thought with a smirk.