The Sandman

By David Lucero

The countdown to nuclear disaster begins when the C.I.A.'s top saboteur code name: Sandman strikes a devastating blow to Iran.He has infiltrated the Bushehr Nuclear Research Facility and created a fire that threatens a reactor core meltdown.

All the Iranians have to do to save their nuclear reactor is to bring the coolant online. But the situation turns from bad to worse when they learn the saboteur has barricaded himself in the alternate secondary control room that accesses the coolant.

Now a brilliant Iranian military officer takes charge to battle the Sandman in what becomes a match of wits as each tries to outmaneuver the other in the dark corridors of the underground complex.

While deadly gunfights between the Sandman and Iranian soldiers ensue the work crews desperately attempt to put out the fire in the electrical control room to regain access to the coolant. But with each passing second the temperature in the reactor core quickly rises ... Bringing them closer to nuclear disaster!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 27, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452064734

David Lucero

David Lucero lives in San Diego, California with his wife Martha and son Carlo. He served in the US Army as a paratrooper, studies history, and keeps up with current events that shape our world. For the past 17 years he worked for Expo Design Center, a Division of The Home Depot. On January 26, 2009 it was announced The Home Depot was closing its Expo Division and David turned this change into an opportunity to pursue his lifelong ambition of becoming a published author. THE SANDMAN is his first published novel and offers readers a page-turning suspense that leaves the reader wondering not if this will happen ... But when!

Book preview

The Sandman

David Lucero

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2009 David Lucero. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 2/24/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4389-3794-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4389-3795-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-6473-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009901612

Cover design by: Javier Cañez

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

I dedicate my book to my wife, Martha, and my son, Carlo. Their patience and sacrifice of time together during the making of this book goes beyond words I could describe.

Contents

1

the damage is done

2

Guardian Angel

3

The Alternative

4

The Danger Still Exists

5

Why Me?

6

Planes Away

7

The Last Resort

8

Action this Day

9

Nothing Ever Comes Easy

10

Time To Move On

11

Destination: Bushehr

12

The Landing

13

The Infiltration

14

Sabotage

15

The Explosion

16

Aerial Attack

17

News from Bushehr

18

The Fuel Core

19

The Aftermath

20

The Fight

21

The Last Run

22

Fallout

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

1

THe damage is done

West Coast of Iran on the Persian Gulf

Bushehr Nuclear Research Facility

Main Control Room 12:30 am

The technicians were sitting at their posts in front of the numerous control panels that operated the main computer when they heard it. Deep in the underground facility, three powerful explosions rocked the foundation throughout the complex. The resulting tremor lasted thirty seconds, but it seemed a lifetime to those experiencing it. The technicians, male and female, grabbed hold of anything they could to keep their balance, but were tossed violently against their desks and to the floor. Pictures and clipboards hanging on the wall fell off the hooks, papers were strewn about, chairs toppled over. A moment later, the alarms sounded and the high-pitched, piercing noise was so terrific that no one could understand what anyone was saying.

Shut if off! Dr. Kashir Balim shouted, as he ran from his cubicle and into the main control room.

A nearby technician—wearing the familiar white overcoat that all personnel wore in the facility—pushed a few buttons on his computer and the alarm fell silent. No one uttered a word as they tried to understand what happened. They were all in a daze, their eyes wide from the surprise of the event.

Iran was known to have its share of earthquakes, but when something of this magnitude occurred at a nuclear facility everyone could only assume the worst … and pray to Allah for the best!

Dr. Balim walked toward the main computer for answers, but the lights flickering overhead caught his attention, stopping him in his tracks. The printer suddenly switched on and sheets of paper spewed out at an incredible rate. A technician ran to the printer and grabbed the list of papers.

What do they read? Dr. Balim asked. There was a hint of desperation in his tone.

I can’t quite make it out, Doctor, the technician replied, straining his eyes to read due to the unstable lights above.

Dr. Balim turned to a technician sitting at his computer, and the man understood what he wanted. He quickly typed something into his computer console and the emergency lights came on a moment later.

There, Dr. Balim said. Now tell me what the computer readout states.

It reads, ‘All systems down. The main cooling system has been…’ The technician’s voice trailed off as he read the notations. A few silent seconds passed before he slowly raised his eyes to meet Dr. Balim.

Well? Dr. Balim asked impatiently. He could not hide the nervous feeling running through him or the beads of perspiration rolling down his forehead.

The technician swallowed the growing lump in his throat before finding the strength to speak. The Emergency Core Coolant System has shut down!

The sudden gasp from those in the control room was deafening.

Impossible! Dr. Balim said, reaching for the papers. He quickly read the information for himself and prayed for an answer to their growing dilemma. When he saw that the technician had read the paper correctly, his heart sank.

In the name of Allah! He spoke as though he were praying in a Mosque.

He was moving toward the computer console when another man observing a video monitor called out to him. Dr. Balim, we have a fire in the ECCS control room!

What? Dr. Balim asked, running to have a look for himself. He would later wish he had not done so.

The black-and-white screen on the monitor displayed a huge fire raging through the lower level of the Emergency Core-Coolant Systems room. This was the area that controlled the heavy water needed to keep the temperature of the nuclear reactor at a safe 500 degrees Fahrenheit. Next to the reactor (in terms of being the heart of the facility), the ECCS room was the most important part of the complex. Without it, disaster was assured.

The screen displayed men in fireproof suits battling the flames with chemical extinguishers and water hoses. Soldiers assigned to the heavily guarded facility were helping, but it was plain to see the fire was out of control and consuming everything in its path.

The flames were reaching up the walls and across the ceiling, and they approached the upper level of the room, where more technicians operated the computer consoles. They witnessed some of the men on the screen catch fire and then run crazily in circles, trying to put out the flames burning them. Some were lucky enough to be knocked down by the firemen, who then doused them with water and extinguishers. Others were out of reach of the fire teams and could not be saved. When the flames overtook them, they fell to the floor, their bodies smoldering.

The monitor provided no audio, but Dr. Balim could see by their expressions the suffering they endured. It was the most horrific sight he ever witnessed, and his inability to stop the chaos sickened him as much as the sight of people going through such torture did.

Dr. Balim turned away from the monitor and pushed himself through the crowd of technicians who were looking over his shoulder. He had seen enough and knew something had to be done. Exactly what, he had no idea. As he stood in the center of the control room, he could feel all eyes locked on him. He was, after all, the senior nuclear physicist in the facility and they always came to him for answers to the problems that beset them.

Dr. Balim could feel his heart rate grow as the seconds passed. He looked at the monitor on the wall that indicated the temperature of the reactor and his eyes widened from sheer terror.

Doctor, one of the technicians nearby started, if we don’t get fresh coolant to the fuel core immediately, there will be a meltdown … and you know what that means!

What do we do? another technician asked.

Then Dr. Balim snapped out of his trance. Everyone evacuate—immediately!

But then a voice shot back, Stay where you are!

Everyone turned as Colonel Kharum Benghazi burst through the doors with a number of soldiers in tow. What is going on here? he asked, addressing Dr. Balim.

Dr. Balim ran to the colonel and grabbed him by the lapel of his uniform. It’s the coolant! It shut down! A fire has ignited in the ECCS room and our fire teams can’t extinguish it! We have to leave now before—

Colonel Benghazi raised his right hand high and brought it down quickly, slapping Dr. Balim hard across the face. Control yourself, Doctor! He turned to face the rest of the group. There will be no evacuation.

But we will die if we remain here, one of the technicians said.

And we will die if we leave, the colonel replied. Only thousands more will join us in death if we abandon our posts. He paused for effect. Have you thought about the civilians in the city who would suffer from the effects of radiation poisoning?

An awkward moment of silence ensued before Dr. Balim got control of his senses. The colonel looked to him, knowing he would need his assistance to save the reactor. When the doctor nodded, acknowledging the colonel’s point, Benghazi knew this was a step in the right direction.

Dr. Balim turned to one of the technicians. What’s the temperature of the fuel core?

The man shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. 550 degrees Fahrenheit, he said. No— 570 … 580! It’s happening, Doctor.

What the hell is he talking about? Colonel Benghazi asked, again looking to Dr. Balim for an answer.

Dr. Balim moved closer to the monitor as he explained. The coolant keeps the fuel core at a stable 550 degrees Fahrenheit. At this temperature, the heavy water is quickly turned to steam, which of course is funneled through the steam chambers that operates the turbine system to help generate electrical power. As a result of the loss of coolant, a fresh supply is needed to replenish what is spent in order to keep the fuel core from overheating.

What happens if we can’t get coolant to the reactor in time?

The color on Dr. Balim’s face drained. A meltdown of the fuel core will occur, he said grimly.

Of course, Colonel Benghazi knew enough about reactors to know about the dangers of a meltdown, and it was stupid of him to ask. But he had to be sure. How much time do we have?

Dr. Balim shook his head. It’s difficult to say.

Humor me! the colonel demanded.

The technicians remained silent as they looked on and awaited the doctor’s response.

Could be as much as half an hour, Dr. Balim started, could be a matter of minutes.

He shrugged, swallowing before continuing. It’s difficult to say.

Colonel Benghazi stepped forward to the center of the room, staring at the digital temperature readout. The numbers continued to rise as the seconds passed. For the first time in his career, he felt completely helpless. He was a veteran of war, experienced in commanding troops on the battlefield, making life-and-death decisions that turned defeat into victory. But this … he was out of his depth and knew it.

Months ago, when a commander was needed to take charge of security for the Bushehr Nuclear Research Facility, Benghazi accepted the position offered to him because he saw this as a necessary step before being promoted to general.

It seemed like a simple enough request, keeping the facility secure from the outside world. He was charged with handling tasks familiar to him: troop dispositions, security details, inspections of the anti-aircraft batteries, deployment of defense aircraft on the nearby airfield—all of which he received years of training and experience during his long military career.

But this …

It was all Colonel Benghazi could do to control the many thoughts racing through his mind. A core meltdown would destroy the entire facility, unleashing dangerous levels of radiation over the surrounding area. The city of Bushehr—not to mention other parts of the country—would be contaminated for decades. He recalled a briefing he had on the dangers associated with a nuclear accident.

The heat generated from a meltdown would turn the core into a molten blob of solid waste resembling volcanic lava—only hotter and much more dangerous! The temperature would be so great that everything—steel, concrete, and soil—would melt into the blob of molten waste and punch its way through the bottom of the reinforced grid plate. This blob of waste would be so great it would actually threaten the earth by boring its way to the earth’s core!

Colonel Benghazi rubbed a hand across his forehead, wiping away the perspiration that stung his eyes. And to top this off, a delegation from Tehran is due to arrive in the morning for an on-site inspection of the facility, he thought silently.

He turned to face Dr. Balim and the group of technicians waiting for direction. Okay, he said, putting on his best face of self-confidence, we have to come up with an action plan now. First, why can’t we get coolant to the fuel core?

Dr. Balim turned to one of his aides. The aide gulped hard and cleared his throat before speaking. The f … f … fire has destroyed the s … s … safety system in the ECCS room that controls the pumps, he said, his voice trembling. All systems in this facility are controlled electronically. Before we can get the pumps working, we have to repair the electrical units in the ECCS room.

We don’t have all the damage reports in yet, Dr. Balim said, stepping forward. The monitors indicate it could be extensive. The more severe the damage, the more difficult our job will be to get the coolant online.

What about the manual pumps? the colonel asked.

They can supply a limited amount of coolant, another technician said. Not enough to keep the temperature stable indefinitely.

What kind of time would we gain?

The technician turned to Dr. Balim, who nodded for him to answer. Perhaps half an hour, he said unenthusiastically.

Colonel Benghazi turned to one of his many subordinates who were always in tow. See to it immediately, Lieutenant.

Yes, sir, replied the officer, snapping to attention before hurrying away to carry out his orders.

Colonel Benghazi turned to everyone in the room. If I’m to understand our current situation, because of the fire, this main control room is now useless. The Emergency Core-Coolant Systems room is at risk of being completely lost unless we can get the fire under control, right?

Everyone nodded simultaneously.

Colonel Benghazi asked, Alternatives?

Silence.

What about the rooms designated as secondary control rooms? he continued. Can they access the coolant?

Dr. Balim’s eyes looked as though they were going to pop from their sockets.

In the name of Allah, that’s it! He turned to Colonel Benghazi to explain. The secondary control room has the capability to run the systems in this room independently. The operators in that room can switch on the systems that run heavy-water coolant to the reactor so that a core meltdown can be prevented. All components that operate that room are not affected by the fire in the ECCS room because it has its own electrical safety unit in place. It was designed for exactly this—

I know what the secondary control room was designed for, Doctor, the colonel said, cutting off Balim in mid-sentence. I think it’s time you notified the personnel in that room to take control of the reactor now. Wouldn’t you agree?

Dr. Balim was embarrassed by the sarcasm in Colonel Benghazi’s tone. The colonel was a military man, while he was a man of science. The alternative should have come to Dr. Balim first, and he knew it, but he was too overcome by events taking place to have realized it.

Colonel Benghazi watched as the doctor went about giving instructions to his technical team so that the transfer of operations to the secondary control room could go into effect.

He could not help shaking his head at the thought of this thin, weak man being held in such high regard with his superiors in Tehran. Clearly, Dr. Balim was unaccustomed to maintaining self-control in an emergency. The colonel made a mental note of the doctor’s behavior for future reference. He had always thought of the handsome doctor as a vain, egotistical fool, and when this fiasco was over, the colonel planned to make full use of this opportunity to rid himself of the good doctor once and for all.

As the technicians went about their work on the control panel, Colonel Benghazi moved behind the man sitting before a monitor. Bring up the video to the secondary control room, he ordered. I want to see what’s going on in there. And get me the department supervisor in charge of that team on the phone. I want to know why they did not activate the coolant system from there once the system shut down here.

Although he was no intellectual, Colonel Benghazi had thought it odd that the technicians in the secondary control room had not immediately taken control of the reactor once the main control room had shut down.

At first, the screen appeared fuzzy and blurred. The technician turned a few knobs and then the screen finally cleared. The camera situated there gave them a bird’s-eye view of the secondary control room, but the technician was confused by what he observed on the screen.

Dr. Balim, said the technician, I think you’d better have a look at this.

Dr. Balim walked over to the monitor and stood next to the colonel. He strained his eyes as he stared blankly at the black and white screen. He could not quite understand what was going on in the room and saw that Colonel Kharum Benghazi was equally confused.

Inside the secondary control room was a man with his back to the camera. He appeared to be tying up three technicians assigned there before shoving them to the floor in the corner of the room. Then he waved his finger at them as he shouted orders. They had no audio available, but it was plain to all that he was instructing them not to move or they would face serious consequences.

Then the man turned around and they were able to get a frontal view of him. He had a pistol tucked in the front of his pants and wore the uniform of an officer, minus the standard issue dress coat.

Who the hell is that? Colonel Benghazi asked to no one in particular.

My God … It’s him, said a voice from behind.

Colonel Benghazi looked over his shoulder and saw Captain Ali Mourak standing behind him, staring at the same camera. Who would that be? he asked.

Him, answered the captain.

Can you be more specific? Colonel Benghazi was becoming impatient now.

It’s the saboteur, you fool!

Emergency Core-Coolant Systems Room (ECCS)

12:32 am

Lieutenant Fahd Assad had knocked down the soldier whose clothes had caught fire and sprayed the poor fellow with a water hose. He extinguished the flames, but the young soldier went into shock and needed to be carried out by two other men.

This is getting worse by the minute, Assad thought to himself.

Each time a man was injured, it took at least two to evacuate him, placing a greater burden on those left to fight the fire. At first, it appeared as though they would get the flames under control, but the extinguishers proved inadequate as the fire spread from one electrical panel to another. In a matter of minutes, the lower level of the control room was a blazing inferno!

Lieutenant Assad thanked Allah that he had not been in that section of the control room when the explosions took place, for he most certainly would have been killed.

The explosions … Assad thought. What could have caused them?

The lieutenant knew better than to allow himself to be distracted, so he focused on the task at hand. This nuclear reactor is not going to be lost on my shift, he told himself.

Fahd Assad was a proud man who could always be relied upon to get the job done, but even a man as strong as he had limits. The fact of the matter was that the fire raging out of control was the most terrifying situation he had ever found himself in. His men were so overcome with fear that many were running over each other trying to flee the control room before they were trapped inside.

Assad’s knee-jerk reaction was to shoot them then and there, but he thought better of it.

They’ll be no use to us anyway, he explained to a nearby sergeant.

Naturally, he understood why. They were mere boys! They were fresh out of school before being inducted into the army and sent to Bushehr upon completion of basic training for guard duty at the facility.

Lucky me, he thought. To be given the cream of the crop! What could I have done to deserve this privilege?

Assad reached for a chemical extinguisher and turned to the men standing behind him.

Stay close to me! he shouted. We’re going to skirt the room and keep a distance of ten feet from each other. Then we’ll douse the flames simultaneously. The force of our actions should put out the fire.

He did not wait to see if they had questions. He simply went into action, moving forward as the flames continued to spread. When he stepped into the room, he nearly tripped over the smoldering remains of a man. The ghastly scene caused Assad to stop dead in his tracks, but only for a moment. He could not afford to allow his men to see him hesitate.

The lower level of the electrical room contained row upon row of metal compartments resembling file cabinets that stretched from floor to ceiling. There were nine rows in all, each running 100 feet long. The compartments housed mostly cables and a few sections of computer software. The explosions that rocked the facility originated in the center row, taking out both ends and the middle of the section.

This made it difficult to reach the center of the fire because the wall of flames on each end prevented the fire teams from reaching it. To make matters worse, the cables in the compartments began short-circuiting and started to catch fire too. Loud popping sounds from the cabinets could be heard as the cables and software went up in flames.

It was not long before Fahd Assad began to wonder if he was meant to save the reactor after all. Even a man of his strength and determination had limits.

My God, he thought. How are we ever going to stop this?

It was at that moment a crew of firefighters, wearing silver heat-resistant gear, entered the room and ran down to the lower level to join them. The leader caught the eye of Lieutenant Fahd Assad and it was as though they could read each other’s mind. The young firefighter knew what the lieutenant was attempting and ordered his men to take a place beside the soldiers with their extinguishers and water hoses at the ready. A small number of firefighters remained on the upper level so they could handle the long water hoses needed for this task. Their job would be to give slack on the hoses as they pushed forward.

Okay! Assad shouted above the roar of the flames. Pour it on!

Everyone opened up the valves to their extinguishers and water hoses in unison. The technicians on the upper level could see the action through the large glass partition that separated them from the lower level of the room, and looked on with dire hope this would work.

Main Control Room

12:33 am

Colonel Kharum Benghazi and those nearby had their attention locked on the man on the video screen. They saw him staring at the computer panel in that control room.

What’s he doing now? Benghazi asked to no one in particular.

Dr. Balim shook his head. It appears he’s ascertaining how the equipment works. If he’s a saboteur, he will most likely be an expert in explosives, not computers. My guess is that he is going over what he needs to do to ensure we can’t get the coolant online. We can bet he’ll stop at nothing to ensure he succeeds.

And what exactly is his mission? a nearby technician asked.

Dr. Balim paused before answering. He wants to destroy this facility. His words sank deep, and the ensuing silence was unsettling.

Who said he’s a saboteur? asked a young army officer.

See for yourself, Colonel Benghazi said, his eyes never leaving the screen.

At that moment, the man on the screen raised his head and saw the video camera. Only then did he realize he was being watched.

Get a close-up on his face, Colonel Benghazi said to the man at the monitor.

The technician turned a knob to the right and the camera centered on the man’s face close enough for everyone to see his wide-eyed expression over the realization he was exposed.

For an instant, everyone paused, including the man on the screen. The next thing they saw was the saboteur pull out the pistol he had tucked in the front of his pants and level it on the video camera. There was a flash from the muzzle of the pistol before the screen went blank.

Then there was silence.

Colonel Benghazi slowly straightened. Did anyone recognize him? he asked.

No one answered. The colonel felt all eyes turn to him and the pressure to do something was overbearing. Colonel Benghazi was a man of action, who was never known to be impetuous. He could not afford mistakes with the threat of a reactor core meltdown looming over the facility. Like all experienced commanders, Colonel Benghazi sought advice from his staff whenever possible. This ensured the responsibility of the outcome would fall on everyone’s shoulders and not his own.

As he searched the faces of those in the room for guidance, he stopped when he came across Dr. Anatoly Pushkin. Pushkin was assigned to the Bushehr Nuclear Research Facility and had been working on the project for the past two years. He was there at the behest of the Russian government. Pushkin assisted the Iranian nuclear team in completing the reactor on schedule.

At first, Colonel Benghazi was reluctant to inquire assistance from the Russian, for fear of making the Iranian physicists feel inferior, but he knew they would most likely be relieved to not have the burden of responsibility fall on their shoulders, in case their course of action proved useless.

In truth, the colonel despised intellectuals of all races. Like millions of Iranians, Kharum Benghazi was fortunate to have completed high school, but college at home or abroad was never an option. Indeed, he was lucky enough to have been brevetted to the rank of colonel, considering his lack of education. But what he lacked in formal education was made up from experience.

Long after the Iran-Iraq War of 1980 through 1988 was over, Iran still fought Iraqi insurgents all along the border, and Kharum Benghazi gained firsthand combat experience as a paratroop commando and later as a tank commander by repelling attacks on local villages.

When Colonel Benghazi had been assigned to oversee security at the first operational nuclear facility in Iran, he considered the appointment the highlight of his career. Surely he would be at the top of the list for promotion to brigadier! Only now, his future appeared on the brink of disaster. With this in mind, he knew he had to put his personal differences aside.

Dr. Pushkin, he said in a tone signaling respect for the Russian he was not renowned for demonstrating, do you have any suggestions what steps we should take at this point?

Dr. Pushkin was a confident man in appearance. At fifty-two years old, he possessed the energy of a thirty-five-year-old, and practically looked the age, too. He knew Benghazi despised his presence at the facility, but never allowed that to deter him from his responsibility as a physicist. However, in light of their relationship, or lack of one, Dr. Pushkin was taken aback by Colonel Benghazi’s question.

An awkward moment passed before the Russian spoke. He turned to a technician seated before a control panel. What’s the temperature of the fuel core? he asked, trying to hide the feeling of desperation in his tone.

750 degrees and rising, the man replied.

Dr. Pushkin nodded. Right before we lost control of our safety systems, the control rods were placed inside the reactor core to bring the chain reaction to a halt, he said, directing his answer to the colonel. However, this design is used to absorb neutrons in order to keep the process of a chain reaction from continuing. It’s not a method that can reduce the temperature in the fuel core, but it will keep the reactor from generating fresh energy.

The colonel shook his head, unable to understand what the Russian was saying.

Without energy, won’t the reactor cool down? he asked, hoping to hear the answer that he needed to hear.

Dr. Pushkin shook his head. Energy is generated inside the reactor by neutrons bombarding one another, he explained, patiently. "The atoms are called U-235. They collide with one another and cause each atom to split. The split atoms continue to collide with one another, in a continuing process we call a chain reaction. This reaction generates an enormous amount of energy that creates heat within the reactor chamber. We control the heat generated from this energy by surrounding the fuel core with heavy water, but the heat is so great that the water is quickly turned to steam, which is why it must be replenished.

"To control the energy levels, we absorb the neutrons with control rods made of boron and cadmium so that the chain reaction stops, but the heat already generated inside the reactor will continue to rise without fresh coolant. If the man on the screen was a saboteur, he would have chosen to take over the secondary control room