Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
Profile
AQ Khan, the more colorful, the more Strangelovian. Seen in the west as
a scientific rogue, a spy even, he is outspoken, critical of western values
and a man on a mission, and that mission is simply infusing Pakistan
with superpower pride.
For more than a decade, Khan, the father of Pakistan's nuclear bomb,
masterminded a vast, clandestine and hugely profitable enterprise whose
mission boiled down to this: selling to a rogues' gallery of nations the
technology and equipment to make nuclear weapons. Among Khan's
customers were Iran and North Korea--two countries identified by Bush
as members of the "axis of evil," whose nuclear ambitions present the
U.S. with two of its biggest foreign policy quandaries. At a moment when
the international community is focused on a potential showdown with
Iran, a TIME investigation had revealed that Khan's network played a
bigger role in helping Tehran and Pyongyang than had been previously
disclosed. U.S. intelligence officials believe Khan sold North Korea much
of the material needed to build a bomb, including high-speed centrifuges
used to enrich uranium and the equipment required to manufacture
more of them. Officials in Washington and at the International Atomic
Energy Agency (IAEA) in Vienna say they suspect that Iran may have
bought the same set of goods--centrifuges and possibly weapons designs-
-from Khan in the mid-1990s. Although the IAEA says so far it has not
found definitive proof that Iran has a weapons program, its investigators
told TIME that Tehran has privately confirmed at least 13 meetings from
1994 to 1999 with representatives of Khan's network.
So who is Abdul Qadeer Khan, and what kind of threat does his illicit
enterprise still pose? When you piece together the details of Khan's
career, his business dealings and the covert operation that brought him
down, what emerges is a portrait of a brainy engineer who devoted his
life to the pursuit and proliferation of the ultimate weapon of mass
destruction. Born to humble beginnings, he became a globe-trotting
magnate who relished the luxury that fame and savvy brought him. But
colleagues say he was also driven by a devout faith and a burning belief
that Muslim possession of nuclear weapons would help return Islam to
greatness. Just how far Khan was able to spread that vision is a question,
says a former U.S. intelligence official, "that still keeps a lot of us up
nights."
Khan was born in 1936, in Bhopal, India, 11 years before the founding of
Pakistan. His youth was shaped by the communal violence that plagued
India after the end of colonization. He has told his biographer of
witnessing the massacre of Muslims by Hindus that followed the
partition of the old British colony in 1947. By the time he immigrated to
Pakistan in 1952, Khan had developed an interest in science and a
loathing for India.
In 1953, Khan enrolled in Karachi's D.J. Science College. But he soon
uprooted again, moving to Europe and earning degrees in electrical
engineering and metallurgy. After finishing his studies, he threw himself
into the burgeoning field of nuclear science in the Netherlands. With oil
prices soaring, interest in harnessing nuclear power for civilian energy
was high. In 1975, Khan took a job at the Dutch branch of a European
nuclear-research consortium, Urenco, which specialized in uranium
enrichment. Khan soon recognized that the centrifuges Urenco had
developed to enrich uranium for civilian use were powerful enough to
produce the fissile material needed for a nuclear weapon.
Pakistan's bomb program took years to mature, but in 1998, on the back
of Khan's labours, the country detonated five underground nuclear
bombs. At a time of high tensions with India over the disputed region of
Kashmir, the event turned Khan into a national hero. His glowering,
wavy-haired portrait was hand-painted on the backs of trucks and buses
all over the country. He was twice awarded Pakistan's highest civilian
honor, the Hilal-e-Imtiaz medal. Celebrated in textbooks, he was
probably Pakistan's most famous man.
But Khan had a secret life. In hindsight, there were some obvious tip-
offs. Although still a civil servant in a poor country, he owned dozens of
properties in Pakistan and Dubai and invested in a Timbuktu hotel,
which he named after his wife. He donated $30 million to various
Pakistani charities and had enough money left over to buy his staff
members cars and pay for the university education of their children. He
had an ego to match his newfound fortune: after paying to restore the
tomb of Sultan Shahabuddin Ghauri, an Afghan who conquered Delhi,
Khan put up a portrait of himself next to the sultan's.
Gaddafi soon upped the ante. In 1997, Khan's Libyan contacts told him
they wanted P-1 and P-2 centrifuges and the equipment to build
hundreds more. The deal was worth $100 million. To fill the order, Khan
turned to old contacts in Western Europe and South Africa, in some
instances using the same people he had done business with in the 1980s.
Among the shadowy middlemen involved over the years were South
African Johan Meyer and German-- South African Gerhard Wisser, who
allegedly helped set up a processing facility that could be shipped whole
to Libya. Khan's crew tapped furnacemakers in Italy, lathemakers in
Spain, and Swiss middlemen who helped design parts for construction in
Southeast Asia. The network began sending Libya crateloads of
equipment, routing the ships through Europe and the Persian Gulf city
of Dubai before they reached their destination in Tripoli. It was an
audacious enterprise, given that Western spies were on the hunt for
illicit trading in weapons of mass destruction. But as far as Khan knew,
his pursuers were still in the dark.
For meetings with his underlings and potential customers, Khan favored
other exotic locales: Istanbul and Casablanca. Pakistani sources say
Khan used Dubai gold dealers to launder smuggling profits. At the height
of his power, Khan was worth as much as $400 million.
When several Italian coast-guard cutters set out from the industrial port
city of Taranto on that country's southeastern coast on Oct. 4, 2003, they
had specific orders: to detain and board a German-flagged cargo ship
called the BBC China, then heading for Libya. The seizure had, in fact,
been arranged jointly by the CIA and MI6, the overseas arm of British
intelligence. When the agents boarded the BBC China, what they found
was anything but routine: five large containers, each carefully packed
with precision machine tools, tubes and other bombmaking equipment.
The containers amounted to part of a uranium-enrichment facility
manufactured in Malaysia by Tahir's Scomi operation.
The CIA had been tracking Khan since the late 1990s. "We were inside
his residence, inside his facilities, inside his rooms," former CIA Director
George Tenet told an audience last year. A Libyan source told TIME that
the Libyan government believes that the mole may have been Tahir,
Khan's trusted aide. "[The U.S.] made a compromise with him," the
source says. "He will be safe. They won't touch him, but he had to
cooperate." The source has told TIME that when the CIA finally
confronted Tripoli in late 2003 about its nuclear ambitions, the officers
played a tape of a 1997 Casablanca meeting that was attended by only
Khan, Tahir and two representatives of the Libyan government. The
source believes that Tahir was wearing a concealed microphone during
that meeting.
Tahir was arrested in Kuala Lumpur in May 2004 and held under a
Malaysian law allowing for the indefinite detention of individuals posing
a security threat. He has provided a wealth of information to local
investigators about the specifics of Khan's dealings, particularly with
Iran and Libya. The IAEA said last week that the Malaysian government
agreed for the first time to make Tahir available to IAEA investigators--
the next best thing to being able to talk to Khan himself.
Two days after the boarding of the BBC China off the waters of Taranto,
then U.S. Deputy Secretary of State Richard Armitage arrived in
Islamabad and confronted Musharraf, demanding that the Pakistanis
shut down Khan's network. "If I ever perspired," Musharraf said later, "it
was then." But Pakistani sources close to Khan say Musharraf backed
away from arresting the scientist out of fear that Khan would finger
senior members of the Pakistani military and security services as having
been complicit in nuclear trafficking. "Everyone got a cut," says a Khan
acquaintance, referring to high-ranking military officers connected with
the nuclear program. Khan's last public appearance came on Feb. 4,
2004, when he appeared on national television and confessed to running
the smuggling ring. The next day, to the outrage of many in Washington,
Musharraf pardoned him.
The quest to get more information out of Khan has been slow. At the
White House meeting in December, Musharraf told Bush that it was
impossible to know whether Khan has divulged all he knows, since he
tends to talk only when confronted with evidence. If the U.S. has specific
questions for Khan, Musharraf said, his men would follow it up. "I will
investigate," Musharraf assured Bush. The Administration gave Pakistan
a new dossier of queries for Khan, and a knowledgeable official says
Pakistan has since questioned Khan and reported back to Washington.
The man with the answers passes his days in Islamabad, his once
peripatetic lifestyle now confined to the interior of his villa. A close
friend says Khan's health is poor, and he is given to bouts of depression.
Although the man may fade into obscurity, the world is only beginning to
reckon with his legacy. It's still a seller's market in the nuclear bazaar.
And now there's room at the top.