The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,124

remember you, Reza. You are the king of the error message. I’ll bet you don’t even know how to run the simulation for the neutron generator. This is all for show.”

“You are a dog,” said Reza. He walked to the console where the main operator sat. The chair had barely been used. The leather in the seat was still shiny; the computer console was bright and unmarked. The neutron generator looked as if it had just been unwrapped. They were keeping it dry and ready, in reserve for when it was needed. The real work was done on the big computer that simulated the interaction of the neutron trigger with the fissile material in the core. The ability to run these simulations was the long pole in the tent.

Reza took his seat and turned on the big processor, which hummed to life. The screen went from black to white and an interface gradually appeared.

“I’m hot,” said Karim. “Mind if I take off my coat?”

Reza didn’t even hear him. He was absorbed in the hum of his new super-toy. Karim laid the black jacket down on the case of the processor. A log-in display had appeared on the screen.

“Don’t look while I type,” said Reza, with a wink.

Karim turned his back while his friend typed in his username and password. The jacket and its silent electronic device were only a few feet away from his nimble hands. The screen dissolved again, and they were in the most secret electronic space in the Islamic Republic of Iran.

“Watch me now,” said Reza. “We did some simulations of the generator last week. We’re working to get higher yield. Goodbye, Tel Aviv! Watch this, Karim. We are going to make you fancy boys in Tehran look very stupid when we get the tests right and you can’t.”

Karim smiled appreciatively as Reza went through the simulation.

“Better than I expected. But it’s obvious you don’t have the real stuff. You’re still subcritical. This will fizzle, brother, I promise you. You don’t have the full package.”

“You are so arrogant, Karim. The blood of the Imam Hussein would not make you shed a tear. So I will show you what the real men of science can do.”

He punched some more keys, and the system hummed away as it moved through a new and more complex simulation. For every trick Reza knew, Karim asked about another one that he didn’t. Eventually Reza even gave way at the terminal so Karim could show him some features of the equipment Reza hadn’t understood. Karim looked at his watch. More than fifty minutes had passed since they began working the machines and bantering. The few other workers in the lab had drifted away, happy enough to let the whiz kids play their games.

Karim proposed one more test, to see if Reza really had the right stuff. It was a protocol for “boosting” the deuterium-tritium mixture to get more neutrons and a vastly larger explosion. In truth, it was one of the things that had failed repeatedly in Tehran. Reza attempted the maneuver, but now he really was out of his league, and Karim couldn’t get the machine to perform the requested sequence either.

“It’s the machine’s fault. Just like in Tehran. Something doesn’t work.”

“No, Karim. The machine is never wrong, at least the homegrown Mashad machine of Brother Reza, the genius of the world. I know it’s your fault. You know it’s your fault. Why don’t you admit it?”

Karim took a last glance at his watch and reached for his jacket.

“I love you, brother,” he said. “And someday you will come help us with the real machines, the big machines, up in Jamaran. But right now, I am tired. I have all the miles between Mashad and Tehran in my bones. What do you say we go out and get a meal?”

Reza lowered his voice. “And later maybe some home brew. I have a new source. This stuff tastes like Russian vodka. I am not kidding you, Karim. The best. I live up in the hills, all alone. Nobody around. No one will see us. The basij wouldn’t dare come looking even if we were holding an orgy.”

“Quiet,” said Karim. His friend’s boasting made him nervous.

They traversed the long gallery of the new wing and then passed back through the locked door. Karim signed out on the guard’s pad. Old Ali gave him a grateful kiss goodbye on both cheeks for just remembering his name. At the main gate, Karim picked up his Nokia.