Nuclear Winter First Strike by Bobby Akart (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

After great trouble for humanity, a greater one is prepared

The Great Mover renews the ages:

Rain, blood, milk, famine, steel and plague,

In the heavens fire seen, a long spark running.

~ Nostradamus, Century II, Quatrain 46

Except for fools and madmen, everyone knows that nuclear war would be an unprecedented human catastrophe.

~ Carl Sagan, Planetary Scientist and Author

Death and the strong force of fate are waiting.

There will come a dawn or sunset or high noon

When a man will take my life in battle, too.

~ Homer, The Iliad

Alea iacta est.

The die has been cast.

~ A Roman General to Julius Caesar as he prepared to lead his army across the Rubicon River

Nuclear Winter I

First Strike

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

Until there wasn’t.

And so it begins …

Prologue

Early October

Isfahan, Iran

For more than a decade, he’d been simply referred to as Agent L, short for Lightning. His true identity had exploded along with the Ford Explorer he’d been driving as several pursuit vehicles chased him out of Algeria following the assassination of a Libyan target. Those in pursuit reported seeing the fireball, together with the driver’s side door sailing through the air until it crashed into a storefront forty feet away. The oily black cloud of smoke spewed out of the carcass of the Explorer, the flames hungrily devouring anything flammable.

The pursuers reveled in their victory as they verily confirmed that the famed Mossad agent had been forever dispatched to the Gates of Hell. Israel privately mourned the loss of its prized operative, who’d led a team with no name designation on many operations on behalf of the Jerusalem government. Their own satellite reconnaissance confirmed no one could have survived the blast.

There was no memorial service for Agent L. His code name was retired forever, along with his moniker—Lightning. He was presumed dead by everyone.

Yet here he was leaning against a stucco wall on the streets of Isfahan, a city of two million, located in central Iran. Isfahan, a word meaning half the world, was the cultural center of Iran. Its elaborate mosques, adorned with ancient mosaic tiles and remarkably well-preserved calligraphy, added to the beautiful hardscapes found throughout the city.

Isfahan was also the location of the Islamic Republic’s largest nuclear assembly and production plant. Over Israel’s continued objections, appeasement policies from Western governments resulted in Iran’s nuclear weapons program proliferating. That, coupled with technological assistance from Russia and North Korea, resulted in the rogue nation pulling even with their sworn enemy to the west—Israel.

Israel had made it known for decades that Iran was approaching a red line, a line in the sand that couldn’t be crossed. Now, Iran, with its ninety nuclear warheads, was on par with the Israelis. At the United Nations, the Israeli prime minister made his feelings on the burgeoning Iranian nuclear arsenal loud and clear. Enough was enough.

That was three weeks ago. Agent L, who lived in a Greek villa overlooking the Mediterranean, had received a packet of materials and an offer. A lucrative offer. Payable in an incredible amount of untraceable bitcoin. His employers never revealed their true identity. But for a seasoned intelligence operative like himself, all indicators pointed in a single direction. A nation he’d done work for in the past. One whose offers bore a marked resemblance to this one.

Only, this was the largest compensation package he’d ever been presented. The task was a difficult one, to be sure, but not beyond his capabilities. He would have to go it alone, which was his preference. The result when, not if, he was successful would be a tremendous ancillary benefit to the nation he loved.

A throng of pedestrians shuffled their way along the sidewalks of a small road that led to the nuclear enrichment facility on the outskirts of the city. Nearby, an annual arts fair had commenced that morning, complete with musicians vying for patrons’ attention and vendors who were hawking everything from balloons for the kids to delectable treats for adults.

The afternoon was blustery and warm for early October. A balmy breeze that swept down the dirt-covered streets of the ancient city reminded him of Tel Aviv, where he was born. He shielded his eyes from the sun to watch the tops of the decrepit palms rustling as though they were applauding the performers nearby.

Agent L glanced over his shoulder as a flatbed loaded with crates bound by heavy-duty straps lumbered along the rough road toward him. The driver, who was partially blinded by the sun, seemed to be having a rough time choosing the appropriate gear as he prepared to leave the city limits. He revved the engine, and the truck’s exhaust spewed out a black trail of diesel as it trundled past him.

Just ahead, by prearrangement, a cart led by the most stubborn donkey in Isfahan awaited the truck’s approach. Just a moment before the truck’s arrival, a man led the cart into the roadway. The driver blared his horn in anger and swerved to the left, careening onto the sidewalk. Several pedestrians stepped back from the truck’s path in time to avoid being run down.

“Moron!” the driver exclaimed through his open window. “Move that ass. And yours, too!”

Agent L didn’t hesitate. He rushed across the street during the chaos and easily closed on the rear bumper of the truck within seconds. While all eyes, including the driver’s, were on the braying donkey, Agent L deftly climbed up the back of the truck, hurled himself over the steel gate, and rolled between the crates until he was hidden.

Now he would hold his breath until the driver arrived at his appointed destination—the Isfahan Nuclear Technology Center, or INTC.

Built with Chinese assistance and opened in 1984, the facility at Isfahan was Iran’s largest nuclear research complex, employing nearly three thousand scientists. In the past year, United States and Israeli intelligence had confirmed that the INTC had become the center of Iran’s secret