[A work of moderate fiction]
2001
"How long would it take twenty dedicated scientists, familiar with fissile technology, to build their own nuclear weapon, given unlimited budget and facilities?" This was the question posed in Tehran by Ayatollah Ali Hoseini-Khamenei to President Ali Mohammad Khatami-Adrakani the day after the World Trade Center had been destroyed in New York. Hoseini had seen his own destruction in the pale, poisonous clouds that billowed from ground zero, and he was scared. There would be no stopping the US from seeking, and achieving, revenge, unless... a nuclear weapon! "But how long would it take?" "Five years." the President had responded, briefed that morning by his Chief of Scientific Research. The Ayatollah had slumped back into his chair, deep in thought. Five years - it was too long! He'd be in the Hague years before then, his Islamic revolution dust under Bush's sandalled feet. "How," he asked, "can we defend ourselves from the Great Satan for five years?" Khatami-Adrakani smiled. He had spent the past twenty-four hours in a strategy session with his political advisers, Generals, and head of Secret Police; when speaking to the Ayatollah, it was always best to come prepared. He quickly outlined his plan for the Ayatollah. It was a daring plan, intelligent, cruel and beautiful in it's own way. Listening, the Ayatollah, in turn, fell silent, smiled, laughed out loud, then, as the furrows drew across his forehead, grew concerned. "Who," he asked, "could possibly pull off a plan like this?" "We know a man," replied the President, "who cares for nothing but money and power. He shall be our weapon. And he won't even know it."
2002
Dr. Ahmed Chalabi sat behind Laura, staring at the back of George Walker Bush's head. Ahmed marvelled at his luck. Here he was, sitting with the family of the most powerful man in the world, a far cry from fleeing Jordan ten years ago after the Petra Bank had nearly collapsed. Now, as head of the Iraqi National Congress, he as close, so close, to becoming Prime Minister of Iraq. A year, maybe two, and he would be installed by a US backed regime, with Saddam corpse hoisted on the metaphorical petard for all to see. Chalabi watched as Bush addressed his nation, "...states like these, and their terrorist allies, constitute an axis of evil, arming to threaten the peace of the world." Chalabi had never met a man who hated Saddam more than he died until he met George W. Bush. Even his Iranian friends, who's families had been gassed and soldiers tortured, didn't hate Saddam Hussein as much as Bush did. Their mutual loathing for Saddam had made them instant friends, introduced together by Dick Cheney. Chalabi didn't understand Cheney now any more than he did when he'd met the man in 2001, to sell him on the INC. Chalabi had a lot to thank to Bush family. The INC had been set up by George H.W. Bush in 1991, and since then had received $27 million with which to discredit and overthrow the Iraqi dictator.
Chalabi could now see the endgame in sight, and he knew what a dangerous game it was. Wolfowitz and Perle had told him that Bush was determined to remove Saddam, no matter what the cost, and needed proof that WMDs were being produced within Iraq. Chalabi had started rounding up this proof, with the understanding from his Pentagon handlers that he wouldn't mention where such proof came form if the Pentagon didn't ask. Wasn't that the American military way? Don't ask, don't tell? So the INC had begun it's information "gathering". Surprisingly, the best information was coming from his old contacts within Iran. Chalabi wasn't surprised that those within the Iranian Secret Service would be so eager to help him make the case against Iraq. Frankly, he was a little surprised they hadn’t approach him earlier, in London. But it didn't matter now. So long as he kept funnelling the Pentagon with a case for war to the Pentagon everything would be ok, and in a year or two he would the Prime Minister over the second largest oil fields in the world. Petra Bank was small-fry compared to this.
2003
Karl Robe sat back, whisky in hand, watching Bush on the small television screen. "My fellow citizens," the President intoned, "at this hour, American and coalition forces are in the early stages of military operations to disarm Iraq, to free its people and to defend the world from grave danger..." So it was done. Powell, the tool, had done his job. Not that it mattered any more. The war was real, unlike the bullshit he'd been peddling for the past two years. Who would of thought selling a war would be so hard? African uranium, pilotless drones, nerve agents, chemical bombs, ties to Al Qaeda... who knew if it was true? Karl didn't care, he just used what Rumsfield's Office of Special Plans and Lewis Libby pulled together, God knows from where, and fed it to the press. That dumb bitch in the New York Times, Judith Miller, had been an especially useful idiot, given her friendship with that Chalabi fucker. Karl could tell a smart man from a distance, and Chalabi was too smart for his own good. He didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, although Wolfowitz and Perle seemed taken by the man. Not that it mattered now. In a couple of weeks Hussein would be in hand-cuffs, or maybe dead. Maybe he could arrange for the body to stacked on top of the corpses of his dead psychotic sons. Now wouldn't that make a good photo-op?
2004
The Ayatollah sat eating lunch with the President. It was a fine day in Iran, regardless of the blathering of that toothless tiger, the UN. "How are we proceeding?" asked the Ayatollah? "Perfectly," replied the President, "Our scientists will soon start converting uranium into gas. Then we are a mere year or so away from nuclear capability." "Will we survive that long?" asked Hoseini-Khamenei. "Certainly," came the reply, "Look at the situation. Iraq is a mess, a disaster. The US forces will be bogged down there for years to come. They do not have the military might to fight an insurrection in Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as launch a new front against blessed Iran." "What of their Allies?" "Well, Russia is tied up fighting terrorism of their own, and care little about what we do. Putin is too busy consolidating his own power to worry about ours. Meanwhile, China is struggling with the ugly question of North Korea, who seem to have thought much the same way we did, and are trying to acquire nuclear capability, though not nearly as quickly as we are. Britian is stymied - their public does not have the stomach for another war, and could well pull out of this one. Our only threat is Israel, who are so busy dealing with the Palastinian problem, they will not dead attack us in these circumstances." "Excellent, President. You have done well, amazingly well! But... what of our friend Chalabi?" "We have had him discredited... we let the CIA know of our relationship with him by discussing it over unsecured lines. They have already raided his house in Iraq, and he has fled back to London. He is finished, as good as dead." "A so our plan is almost over... it was a beautiful plan!" "Yes, it was".