Fallout: The True Story of the CIA's Secret War on Nuclear Trafficking - Softcover

Collins, Catherine

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1439183074 ISBN 13: 9781439183076

Publisher: Free Press, 2014

Synopsis

More than a high-stakes espionage thriller, "Fallout "painstakingly examines the huge costs of the CIA's errors and the lost opportunities to halt the spread of nuclear weapons technology long before it was made available to some of the most dangerous and reckless adversaries of the United States and its allies.

For more than a quarter of a century, while the Central Intelligence Agency turned a dismissive eye, a globe-straddling network run by Pakistani scientist A. Q. Khan sold the equipment and expertise to make nuclear weapons to a rogues' gallery of nations. Among its known customers were Iran, Libya, and North Korea. When the United States finally took action to stop the network in late 2003, President George W. Bush declared the end of the global enterprise to be a major intelligence victory that had made the world safer.

But, as investigative journalists Catherine Collins and Douglas Frantz document masterfully, the claim that Khan's operation had been dismantled was a classic case of too little, too late. Khan's ring had, by then, sold Iran the technology to bring Tehran to the brink of building a nuclear weapon. It had also set loose on the world the most dangerous nuclear secrets imaginable--sophisticated weapons designs, blueprints for uranium enrichment plants, plans for warheads--all for sale to the highest bidder.

Relying on explosive new information gathered in exclusive interviews with key participants and previously undisclosed, highly confidential documents, the authors expose the truth behind the elaborate efforts by the CIA to conceal the full extent of the damage done by Khan's network and to cover up how the profound failure to stop the atomic bazaar much earlier jeopardizes our national security today.

About this title

About the Author:

Catherine Collins has been a foreign correspondent and reporter for the Chicago Tribune and written for the Los Angeles Times and The New York Times. She has authored several books with her husband, Douglas Frantz, including The Man from Pakistan and Death on the Black Sea.

Douglas Frantz was the former managing editor of the Los Angeles Times, where he was a business reporter, an investigative reporter and a foreign correspondent based in Istanbul. He has also been a reporter for The New York Times and the Chicago Tribune. He was part of a team which was awarded the Pulitzer Prize, in addition to which he is a two-time Pulitzer Prize-finalist, and as won several honors for his investigative reporting. He is now an investigator for the US Congress.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

CHAPTER ONE
JENINS, SWITZERLAND

Six people—five men and a woman—approached a whitewashed house in the postcard-pretty village of Jenins in eastern Switzerland. Glancing cautiously up and down the narrow, darkened street, two members of the team walked to the door while the others hung back. They knew that no one was home. The owner was a few miles away, just across the border in Liechtenstein. One of the men pulled out a leather pouch and extracted a slender piece of metal. He slipped the metal into the lock and gently wiggled it deeper into the mechanism. As he twisted the pick, the slight torque turned against the lock’s internal pins and, one by one, they fell into place and the lock opened. Less than a minute later, the pick man and four other team members slipped silently into the apartment and drew the curtains. The sixth stayed outside, motionless in the shadows, watching the street.

Inside, the intruders moved with an economy of motion, each carrying out a preassigned task. Their instructions were precise: Search for and copy every document and computer file in the house. One of the intruders sat down at a desk in a spare bedroom being used as an office and powered up the computer. Removing two screws from the back of the computer, he exposed its hard drive. He plugged a small device about the size of a deck of cards into the computer. The device enabled the technician to download the entire contents of the computer quickly. Two other team members were busy opening drawers and rifling through the bookshelves. They photographed every document that appeared to bear any relation to the occupant’s business. While the others were doing their jobs, the team leader moved into the other bedroom, where he pulled open dresser drawers, searching beneath the socks and underwear for anything suspicious. It did not take long. He was short, barely five foot eight, so all he could do was run a hand along the top shelf of the closet. That was where he found the first laptop. Pulling it down, he took the laptop to the person sitting at the computer in the other room. “Have a crack at this,” he said.

The team leader, who was known by his nickname Mad Dog, took out his cell phone and hit speed dial. It was just after midnight on June 21, 2003. Back in Langley, Virginia, where it was early evening, the call was answered on the first ring. Mad Dog used clipped, careful language to tell the person on the other end that the operation was going according to plan. The team expected to be back on the street within a couple of hours.

The call contributed to a building sense of anticipation four thousand miles away. On the third floor of the Central Intelligence Agency’s main building on the campus at Langley, a handful of senior officers from the agency’s Counter-Proliferation Division had been waiting for word from Switzerland. One of them picked up the telephone to relay the status of the first phase up the chain of command. The call went to Stephen Kappes, the ambitious ex-marine who was the deputy director of clandestine operations. Kappes had a strong personal interest in the goings-on in the small village in eastern Switzerland that night. He was no doubt pleased with the news.

The break-in was an ultrasensitive, “compartmentalized” operation. Only a handful of agency personnel with a “need to know” were aware that a specially formed CIA team was inside the home of a private citizen in an allied nation. Certainly, the Swiss authorities knew nothing of the operation. Even the CIA station chief in Bern was in the dark so that he would have deniability if events went sour. The B&E squad had been assembled outside Switzerland. There were two pick-and-lock specialists from the agency’s secret facility in Springfield, Virginia. In a warehouse-like building there, the CIA trains a cadre of technical officers to bug offices, break into houses, and penetrate computer systems. A third team member was a nuclear weapons expert who actually worked for the national weapons laboratory in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. He had come along to provide an instant analysis of documents that would later be scrutinized far more carefully back at Langley. The team’s chief, Mad Dog, was a veteran case officer who had spent his career carrying out delicate and sometimes dangerous assignments overseas. These days, he was posted to the counterproliferation unit at Langley. The four-man crew from the States had been augmented by two agents from the CIA’s huge station in Vienna, Austria. One of them was the woman in charge of the counterproliferation section there; the other was a case officer who had been left outside the house to watch.

The team members had arrived in the country via separate flights a few days earlier. They held a final planning session to make sure everyone understood the mission and their individual responsibilities. Then there had been an initial break-in at the target’s office to copy information from files and computers there. Entering the office was relatively easy because it was in a fairly isolated industrial area, surrounded by a small parking lot, other businesses, and open fields. There had been little chance of someone stumbling across the operation. Entering an apartment in a tiny village was a riskier enterprise. A neighbor or passerby might catch a glimpse of what was going on and call the police.

Despite what you read in thrillers or see at the movies, break-ins are rare in the world of espionage. This is particularly true for the CIA when it involves an allied country like Switzerland. A few months earlier, two CIA counterterrorism officers had come from Washington to interview an Iraqi defector in Zurich. While they were conducting what they thought was a secret meeting with their asset, someone had slashed the tires of their rented car. They were certain the vandalism was a not-so-subtle warning from their Swiss counterparts: Swiss law prohibited foreign intelligence agents from operating on Swiss soil without prior approval. Frankly, no country likes having the CIA or any foreign intelligence service operating on its soil. Intelligence operations are tolerated only when they are compatible with the interests of the country and remain secret. Simply interviewing an Iraqi defector was a minor infraction, meriting nothing more than a warning. As part of their professed neutrality, the Swiss had a reputation in intelligence circles for being particularly rigorous in enforcing the legal restrictions imposed on foreign intelligence operatives.

The break-in that June night was a much riskier operation. It had the potential for embarrassment that would extend far beyond slashed tires and Swiss borders if the Swiss authorities found out about it or, far worse, if it ever became public. But Kappes and Mad Dog had decided that the potential rewards far outweighed the risks.

THE EVENTS THAT LED THE agents to take that risk can be traced back almost thirty years to the activities of a Pakistani scientist named Abdul Qadeer Khan. Khan had done more to destabilize the world’s delicate nuclear balance than anyone in history, emerging as the common thread in today’s most dangerous nuclear threats. For nearly three decades, Khan had been the mastermind of a vast clandestine enterprise designed to obtain the technology and equipment to make atomic bombs—first for Pakistan and then later for the highest bidder. After helping Pakistan achieve its goal, a task that earned him the nickname “the father of the Islamic bomb,” Khan had provided critical assistance to Iran’s nuclear efforts. In addition, he had helped North Korea develop an alternative source of nuclear material in the face of international sanctions, which had crippled its plutonium-based bomb program. And finally, he had sold more than a hundred million dollars’ worth of nuclear technology to Libya, including plans for an atomic warhead. The fact that Khan was still operating in the summer of 2003 was rooted in the failure of the Central Intelligence Agency to take decisive action to stop him at several junctures over three decades and the failure of American policymakers to insist that the threat of nuclear annihilation take priority over all other tactical and strategic objectives.

Khan had first appeared on the CIA’s radar in the fall of 1975, when he was a young metallurgist working in Amsterdam for Urenco, a consortium of European countries developing the technology to enrich uranium to fuel civilian nuclear plants. With a freshly minted doctorate from a Dutch university, Khan had started working on the project in 1972. He became such a fixture at the research center in Amsterdam and at a nearby enrichment plant that he had the run of both facilities, even though his low security clearance should have prevented him from seeing the most sensitive designs.

In October 1975, the Dutch security service had become suspicious about some of Khan’s actions and his contacts outside the Netherlands. Some of the senior officials were certain he had stolen top-secret designs for the centrifuges that Urenco was developing to enrich uranium. The designs were considered secret not only because they had commercial value, but also because the same centrifuges could be used to turn uranium gas into fissile material for a nuclear weapon. The security service went so far as to draw up detailed plans for arresting Khan, but then they were stopped by senior officials in the Dutch government. The officials worried that exposure of a spy within the Dutch arm of Urenco would alarm the other partners in the consortium, Germany and Britain, and damage the budding high-technology business that the Netherlands was trying to develop. Faced with this resistance, the Dutch security service turned for help to the CIA station chief for the Netherlands, assuming that he too would argue for Khan’s arrest. They described the situation to him and asked that he persuade Washington to weigh in with the Dutch government.

The move backfired. Instead of insisting on stopping Khan in the name of counterproliferation, the bosses at CIA headquarters recommended that the Dutch move him to a less sensitive position and monitor his activities. At the time, Pakistani prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto had embarked on a nuclear weapons project to match that of rival India and the Americans wanted to see how the Pakistanis were getting along. It was better, they told their Dutch counterparts, to watch Khan to see what kind of procurement network the Pakistanis were building. Then, they argued, everything could be rolled up at once. The CIA’s attitude was also shaped by the conviction at the agency and among U.S. nuclear weapons experts that Pakistan was too backward technologically to build a nuclear weapon, and that a metallurgist like Khan had no chance of altering his country’s fortunes.

So Khan operated without interruption until December 1975, when he told his coworkers that he and his family were returning to Pakistan for their annual holiday. He promised to return with small gifts for everyone, as he had done in previous years. But when Khan left that time, he took the gifts with him. Over the past year, he had managed to copy the most advanced centrifuge designs from the most secret portions of the Urenco facilities. He also had assembled a list of Urenco suppliers in Europe who could sell Pakistan the technology required to enrich uranium for its nuclear arsenal. It was a major espionage coup that put Pakistan on the road to nuclear parity with India, and a major blunder by the CIA, though it would be years until anyone realized what had happened. In the meantime, the CIA watched and waited while Khan went to work.

Khan was fond of saying that when he returned to Pakistan in late 1975, the country was so backward that it could not build a good bicycle. How then did he hope to master the enrichment of uranium for a nuclear weapon, one of the most complex technological tasks in the world? He would do it by creating an international black market, tapping the same European suppliers who had sold their equipment to Urenco.

One of the names on the Urenco list was that of Friedrich Tinner. In the years Khan was at Urenco, Tinner had been in charge of exports for a German firm called Vakuum Apparat Technik, known as VAT. Khan started buying vacuum valves from VAT through Tinner not long after he began building his government-financed enrichment complex at Kahuta, on the outskirts of the Pakistani capital of Islamabad. Tinner was one of dozens of businessman willing to provide nuclear-related technology to Khan, who had been given a blank check by Bhutto, and was spending money freely to get his plant up and running as soon as possible. Unlike some of the others, however, Tinner worked for a company that had scruples. When U.S. intelligence identified nuclear-related shipments of technology from VAT to Pakistan, Tinner was forced to leave the company and return to his native Switzerland.

There he started his own company, CETEC, in a village called Sax, which was in the high-tech corridor known as Vacuum Valley in eastern Switzerland, only a few miles from the border with Liechtenstein. In the laissez-faire world of Swiss export regulations, Tinner was free to resume his dealings with Khan.

Tinner was a talented mechanical engineer. While at VAT, he had patented several types of valves that were used in the elaborate systems of pipes and pumps that suck the air from machinery to create the vacuum required for optimum performance. These valves had applications in all kinds of sophisticated technologies, but it was their use in uranium enrichment that had made Tinner attractive to Khan. Centrifuges are slender metal cylinders that spin at nearly twice the speed of sound to produce the enriched uranium required to fuel nuclear plants that generate electricity. With slight adjustments, the same machines can produce a higher level of enriched uranium that can be used in nuclear weapons.

Khan’s acquisitions eventually expanded to suppliers in Asia, Canada, and the United States. The growing procurement web did not escape the notice of the CIA and other American agencies. Tinner was among many suppliers who were identified as part of the black market that became known as “the Pakistani pipeline.” The U.S. government sent legal notifications, called demarches, to the Swiss and other countries, asking them to impose restrictions on people like the Tinners. The responses from Europe were uniformly negative; the Germans and the Swiss, in particular, believed the Americans were simply trying to restrain their development of high-tech businesses. Other countries said their export laws did not cover the types of equipment going to Pakistan.

Khan did not stop with producing fissile material for Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal. Beginning in 1987, he reversed the flow of equipment and expertise to create the beginnings of a private global proliferation ring the likes of which the world had never seen. The first customer was Iran. For help, he had turned to some of his original suppliers. The deal with Iran required Khan and his accomplices to provide the centrifuge designs and other equipment required to build a secret enrichment plant. As part of the arrangement, Khan or someone within his network also provi...

About this edition

• Publisher: Free Press
• Publication date: 2014
• ISBN 10: 1439183074
• ISBN 13: 9781439183076
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 304