“So there you are,” Hamedi said. “We stand here on three different points of a triangle. But what I will tell you next may change that geometry.” He stood next to the jet ski, cold water up to his ankles, dripping hair matted to his head. His voice, however, was steady and brimmed with confidence. “When I went back to Iran I worked very hard. I made several technical and organizational changes to advance the primary goal of the project—the integration of ballistic missiles with nuclear warheads. In time I was given greater authority, and eventually came to oversee the entire undertaking. I suppose I knew all along what I was going to do, in a general way, but the details fell into place quite naturally. In recent months I’ve issued orders for the most critical components, including all highly enriched uranium, to be consolidated at the Qom facility outside Tehran. Thanks to my efforts, Iran’s entry into the nuclear arena is imminent. Five days from today, our first missile-capable warhead is scheduled for an underground test. But it will not happen as planned.”

Sanderson and Slaton were completely absorbed, silent as they waited for the rest.

Hamedi’s voice edged into triumph. “Four days from now, this coming Thursday, I have planned for an early arrival of that blast. In a few milliseconds I will destroy the entire Qom complex and everything within. By my estimate, enough damage to set back Iran’s nuclear plans for seven years, hopefully longer.”

Slaton stood stunned for a time, but then arguments came to mind. “But this doesn’t make sense—Mossad has been trying desperately to kill you. I was sent here for just that reason. Why didn’t you get word to them, explain what you were doing?”

Hamedi looked at Slaton uncomfortably. “I did.”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Slaton’s well-defined world overturned. Yet it all made sense in a startling way.

Hamedi went on, “My contact with Israel has been very limited. But I can tell you that the director of Mossad has known of my intentions since early this summer.”

“Early summer,” Slaton repeated. “So the assassination attempts, including tonight—they were only for show. None were meant to succeed.”

Hamedi nodded. “Quite the opposite. All were guaranteed to fail. You see, a serious complication arose. One man in Iran became suspicious of me—a man you conveniently eliminated tonight. Farzad Behrouz has been digging into my past, searching synagogues for records of my upbringing, interrogating my mother and searching her home. He was on the right track, but never found proof. Not until tonight when he heard me recite a small prayer in Hebrew. Then he knew.”