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Qermezin to help set up the equipment at the test site. Are we really that close?” Shirin asked incredulously. Hope flared for a moment, but reality pushed back. If their lack of progress with the centrifuges and the Arak reactor was to be believed, completion was still a long way off.
     
    “Could we have acquired a weapon from somewhere else? Or fissionable material perhaps?” she wondered aloud.
     
    “Maybe . . . that would be consistent with why he needs the assembly facility,” Yousef replied. “But what country would give us a kit for an atomic bomb? And if it’s a complete bomb, why do we need to test it?”
     
    “And that still doesn’t explain why they will assemble it here instead of Isfahan,” she persisted.
     
    “Better security, maybe? That bloodhound Rahim’s been all over this place. Perhaps he doesn’t trust someone at Isfahan.”
     
    Shirin laughed sarcastically. “I don’t think so. You know what happens if you lose Rahim’s trust.”
     
    He smiled grimly in agreement, but demanded, “Do you have an answer, then?”
     
    “No, but I have friends and contacts throughout the program. I will find out,” she declared.
     
    “Regardless of the explanation, we are now in real danger.” Yousef’s tone was intense. “We can’t hide that test site. The Israelis will see it. We all know it’s a provocation, and we’re not ready to use it. What is the general thinking? I know there’s a bomb shelter in the basement of the pilot plant, but we need to find a safe place for you near our quarters.”
     
    “I’m more worried about you, Yousef. If there’s a raid, won’t the command post be a target?”
     
    “Not likely. They won’t waste bombs on a military target. The centrifuge halls, the labs, and”—he patted her shoulder—”engineers are their targets. Besides, if there actually is a raid, I’ll probably be out untangling the ammunition supply for one of the batteries.”
     
    “In the open?” She stopped walking again and struck a pose of mock anger. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better!” She punched his shoulder, maybe a little harder than she needed to.
     
    “Ouch,” he said softly. Deliberately changing the subject, Yousef asked, “So will you chat with your uncle tonight?”
     
    “Yes,” she replied. “Should I mention the new guns?”
     
    “No,” he replied sternly. “Definitely not! I am a loyal Iranian military officer, and I will not compromise our defenses.”
     
    “But you will send information about our nuclear program out of the country.”
     
    “You’re the one doing the talking,” he pointed out. “You believe it is a waste of resources, and a path leading to disaster. I do it because our leaders, however pious they may be, should not possess nuclear weapons. They are too eager to use them.” A moment passed, and he added, “They are unfit.”
     
    “Your brother made you believe that,” she commented softly. Yousef’s younger brother, Ali, had still been in graduate school when the protests broke out after the June 2009 elections. Both brothers, like many Iranians, had believed the election was stolen by Ahmadinejad, but Ali had taken to the streets, part of the “Green Revolution.”
     
    He’d been arrested, taken to Evin Prison, and had disappeared. Inquiries about Ali’s welfare had brought questions about the family’s loyalties, and threats about their fate if they pressed the matter too strongly. Later, after word of the deaths at Evin Prison leaked out, Ali’s name appeared on a list of those who “died resisting arrest” released by the Ministry of Justice. The family was never officially notified, and his body was never returned.
     
    “Yes, at first, that was my reason, but it isn’t just about Ali anymore, or the others that died.” They came to a corner and Yousef paused for a moment, looking as if he was choosing which direction to walk. There were a few people on the street now. They were all at