Exit Plan

8. A FINE MESS

3 April 2013

1300 Local Time/1800 Zulu

White House Situation Room

“I thought this was supposed to be a low risk, routine operation, Mr. Secretary,” exclaimed Myles angrily as he stormed into the situation room; a cloud of civilian and military advisors filed in behind him.

“Mr. President, our risk assessment was based on Iranian military capability, not on the possibility of a freak accident,” replied Secretary of Defense Springfield. “Who could have possibly foreseen this extraordinary piece of bad luck?”

Joanna quickly took a seat behind Kirkpatrick, checked her notes, and scanned the synopsis she had prepared, along with Guthrie’s proposed plan of action. Satisfied that she was as ready as she could be given the circumstances, she turned her attention to the president.

President Myles took a deep breath and let out an audible sigh. “I know, James. There was no way we could have anticipated this unbelievable complication. But as unfortunate as it is, it is now part of a much larger crisis after the IAEA report this morning and the Iranian general’s press conference.”

Earlier that morning, the International Atomic Energy Agency had released its long-awaited report on the latest inspection of Iranian nuclear facilities. The report was late, and it was a bombshell.

It stated that samples taken from discarded centrifuges at the Pilot Fuel Enrichment Plant showed uranium hexafluoride residue with Uranium-235 enrichment levels of 85 %, well beyond that needed for any civilian purpose. In its final paragraph, the Board of Governors had concluded that this was not a case of cross contamination from another source. The uranium was of Iranian origin, and there was only one purpose for U-235 concentrations of such magnitude — the development of nuclear weapons.

Less than an hour after the IAEA’s report was released, IRGC Brigadier General Adel Moradi, head of security for the Iranian nuclear program, held a press conference broadcast by Iran’s FARS News, Al Jazeera, and other news affiliates throughout the Persian Gulf, Europe, and Asia. Moradi first read from a prepared statement, denouncing the IAEA’s findings as sheer propaganda; claiming the report constituted nothing less than slander against the Islamic Republic by its most hated enemies — the Zionists and the Great Satan.

He went on to say that this deception was purposely designed to create a more toxic environment, one that would make it impossible for Iran to have a fair hearing at the court of world opinion, and would embolden those on the UN Security Council to demand additional punishments — punishments that were as unjustified as they were evil. He then added that the IAEA report was undoubtedly a fabrication, that the samples, if indeed they were taken from Iran, were planted on the used centrifuges. It was widely known that their peaceful nuclear program had suffered numerous technical setbacks over the years — from malicious causes as well as inexperience.

Moradi had paused momentarily; he was shown grabbing the podium more forcefully, as if he was drawing strength from it, and then launched into the climax of his prepared statement. “Since the IAEA has shown that it is nothing more than a puppet institution for the enemies of the Islamic Republic to attack it, Iran is withdrawing immediately from all safeguard agreements of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, including the additional protocols. The IAEA has forty-eight hours to withdraw all its inspectors from the country All cameras and other monitoring devices will be removed from Iranian nuclear facilities immediately. Iran will weather this storm as it has the ones before, alone, resolute, and with faith that God will not abandon us.”

With a final cry of, “Allahu Akbar — God Is Great!” the general had departed the podium. He did not respond to any of the questions shouted at him.

The two events had left everyone in Washington, D.C., in a state of shock. Unexpected, and almost unbelievable, the policy apparatus of the Myles administration was still struggling to regain its bearings.

“Agreed, Mr. President,” injected Kirkpatrick. “I believe we should make the most of this respite to formulate a plan to deal with this crisis.”

There were confused looks from all those seated at the table, including the president, whose response was snippy. “Respite? What respite? What are you talking about, Ray?”

“It is a statistically proven fact, sir, that bad things happen in threes. Well,” he continued with a wide grin, “we’ve had our three. Certainly we are due a break now.”

Even Myles had to crack a smile at Kirkpatrick’s witticism, and the tension in the room dropped noticeably. His subtle message to the group had been received; stop complaining about what has happened, and start dealing with it.

“Sound wisdom as always, Ray,” conceded Myles. “Since Secretary of State Lloyd is otherwise engaged with the Israeli ambassador, I believe we can begin.”

“Yes, sir,” said Kirkpatrick. “We’ll start with a recap of the accident, followed by our current status and options.” Looking around the room, he found the president’s chief of staff over in the corner taking notes. “Milt, when is our video teleconference with Captain Guthrie?”

“It’s scheduled for 1315, sir. In ten minutes.”

“Then we’d better get started.” Kirkpatrick signaled Joanna. She rose and began her briefing.

“Mr. President, at approximately ten thirty-five A.M., our time, the Advanced Seal Delivery System minisub suffered a catastrophic battery failure that resulted in the death of one crew member and the loss of the vessel. While there isn’t any hard data for us to look at, the pilot reported a high temperature alarm in the after battery followed by a rapid and uncontrollable rise in temperature. We suspect that one or more of the lithium-ion battery cells experienced thermal runaway, became unstable, and exploded.”

General Dewhurst, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, indicated he had a question. “Dr. Patterson, what do you mean by thermal runaway?”

“General, during thermal runaway an overheating battery undergoes an increase in its chemical reaction rate due to the excessive heat. This generates even more heat and the cycle feeds on itself until the battery cell ruptures or explodes. This can, and has led to fires. If you remember the laptop battery recall of six or seven years ago, there was a problem with some lithium-ion batteries manufactured in China that caused several laptops to burst into flames. Impurities in the composition of the battery plates likely caused those batteries to short-circuit and produce enormous quantities of heat.”

“And this is what happened to the ASDS?” Springfield asked.

“It’s our best theory, sir,” replied Joanna.

“If lithium-ion batteries are prone to catching on fire, why would the Navy outfit a minisub with them?” asked a dumbfounded Dewhurst.

Before Joanna could answer the question, Kirkpatrick thumped the desk loudly with his fingers. “Gentlemen, we are not here to determine how and why the ASDS sank. We need to focus on the problem at hand: How do we get our people out of Iran? If you have additional technical questions, Dr. Patterson will be happy to address them after we are done here. Please continue, Joanna.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, flipping to the next page in her notes. “The four-man SEAL extraction team abandoned ship approximately one nautical mile from the Iranian coast. The pilot abandoned ship right after he set two scuttling charges. The explosion of these charges was detected by USS Michigan at ten forty-four A.M. our time. At eleven forty-eight A.M., the SEALs successfully made contact with Opal and his spouse, and by eleven fifty-five A.M. they established satellite radio communications with Michigan and reported in.

“The contingency plan called for a Zodiac combat rubber raiding craft to be deployed from Michigan to recover the extraction team and the Iranians. Captain Guthrie, as the operational commander, scrubbed the mission at the last moment. He based his decision on the close proximity of IRGC patrol boats and that Michigan was too far away from the coast for the raiding craft to have a reasonable chance of slipping in undetected. Since the patrol boats are better armed and considerably faster than a Zodiac, he felt it was unwise to risk additional lives given that the probability of success was, in his words, ‘less than slim to none.’ He ordered the SEAL element ashore and the pilot to assume their preplanned layup position located in some hills approximately nine kilometers to the northeast from the rendezvous point. And that concludes my summary, Mr. President.”

“Dr. Patterson, you mentioned that Captain Guthrie felt he was too far away to deploy the rubber raiding craft,” noted Myles carefully, his tone stern. “Can I presume that he has requested permission to take Michigan into Iranian territorial waters?”

“Yes, sir. He specifically asked me to pass on that request.”

“I see,” responded Myles, as he threw his pen down on the table. His face grimaced with frustration.

“Sir, it’s a logical and responsible request,” argued the chief of naval operations. “I’d expect nothing less from one of my skippers.”

“I’m sure you would, Admiral,” Myles exclaimed with irritation. “I can even appreciate Captain Guthrie’s viewpoint. But it doesn’t change the fact that it is a myopic viewpoint. He’s looking at the problem from a purely tactical perspective, the strategic aspect of this situation makes it far more complex.”

Admiral Hughes was clearly unhappy with the president’s response, but he remained silent.

“What are our options then?” asked Dewhurst.

“Very few, I’m afraid,” Joanna answered. “Extraction by combat rubber raiding craft is still an option, although the risk of detection increases the farther Michigan is away. Stealing a fishing vessel from one of the local harbors is another option, but most fishing dhows are quite slow, about ten knots maximum speed, and the Iranians have beefed up their antismuggling patrols in the last two years making detection likely. We’ve also considered obtaining a fast boat from a neighboring country and having a SEAL team attempt to sneak in. If they are discovered, they’ll at least have the speed to get away. We’ve ruled out an extraction by air, as there’s an early warning radar at Tahari, less than twenty miles to the southeast. The Chinese radar upgrade at that location makes detection almost a certainty. With the tactical air base at Bushehr being only one hundred miles away, the probability of interception by fighters is high.”

“Which option has the best chance of success?” Myles demanded.

Patterson hesitated, and looked down at Kirkpatrick who nodded.

“Sir, I can’t give you a numerical probability of success for each of the options. We haven’t had time to run simulations or even game it out. However, from a qualitative perspective, the consensus of the intelligence and special warfare people is that stealth is the primary factor. If stealth fails, then speed becomes the driver. The combat rubber raiding craft option has high stealth, but low speed. The fishing boat option has low stealth and low speed. The fast boat has moderate stealth and high speed. Since the raiding craft option maximizes stealth, it’s the one that is recommended.”

“And the closer Michigan can get to the coast, the better our chances become,” emphasized Hughes.

“I’m not hard of hearing, Admiral Hughes,” countered Myles. “I am fully aware of what you would like me to do. But I remain convinced that sending Michigan into Iranian territorial waters is pure, unadulterated foolishness. To be honest, I wasn’t all that comfortable with sending in a minisub. But collectively you all made a good argument for the operation because it was believed the payoff was potentially substantial and the risk was low. Well, for whatever reason, the low-risk operation failed. And now I’m sensing considerable pressure to go against my better judgment and send Michigan in. All the Iranians have to do is see it and it’s a casus belli. With the current unstable situation, this would be disastrous.”

Hughes’s face was taut, his speech measured. “Mr. President, I am merely doing my duty as one of your military advisors to ensure you have all the information you need to—”

“This is nonsense!” interrupted Myles angrily. “Can’t you people see that we’re at a tipping point? Can any of you give me a good reason why I should risk escalating this crisis further by allowing Michigan to enter Iranian territorial waters?”

General Duvall, the NIC chairman, raised his hand. “I can give you one reason, sir. Although, at the moment it may appear trivial.”

“Go on, Gordon,” Myles responded testily as he waved off his chief of staff. Alvarez had been pointing maddeningly at his watch; they were late for the VTC with Michigan.

“General Moradi’s press conference was unusually timely and well orchestrated. Less than an hour after the report’s release, he delivered a well-polished statement with excellent media coverage. He was also unusually forthcoming about their technical difficulties. Normally, the Iranians make up successes rather than admit failures. I could have bought this if it had been the usual extemporaneous ranting on just Iranian TV. But what we saw smacks of deliberate planning, as if he knew exactly what the IAEA’s report would say. While I can’t rule out the possibility of a leak, the IAEA has been excessively paranoid about their reports as of late and has successfully kept them confidential until they are released. This latest report was several days late, with no explanation as to why from the Board of Governors. The precise timing of all these events is a little too coincidental for my liking.” Duvall paused as he gave time for this key point to sink in.

“Since March we’ve been getting wildly conflicting information on Iran’s intentions and progress. We’ve seen two themes from multiple credible sources that are at polar extremes. Logic demands that both cannot be right. Moradi’s press release has only sharpened the contrast; one of these themes is false. I agree that we are at a tipping point, Mr. President, but without better insight into what is true and what is false, any action we take will be at a considerable gamble. I am convinced that the information that Opal possesses is absolutely critical to our understanding the true nature of this game.”

Total silence descended on the conference room. Myles stared coldly at the NIC chairman, and slowly, a faint smile appeared on the president’s face. “Well put, General. Well put. So we go with the rubber raiding craft option then?”

Before anyone could answer, Kirkpatrick chimed in. “I agree that the combat rubber raiding craft is the option we should go with, but I would also like to propose a compromise, sir.”

President Myles leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you have in mind, Ray?”

“Sir, I recommend that you let Captain Guthrie walk right up to the line before he deploys the raiding craft. He can then back off while the SEALs make their run, returning again only to affect the recovery. By temporarily relaxing your restrictions a little, you can cut the distance the SEALs are exposed by twenty percent while minimizing the risk.”

Joanna strained to maintain a calm expression; wanting to hide the excitement she felt as she watched her boss work. She had seen Ray Kirkpatrick “pull rabbits out of a hat” before during the transition period when the president-elect had backed himself into a corner, and every time, Kirkpatrick’s solution had paid off big-time. This simple compromise would only reinforce the widely held belief among the White House staff that he was Solomon incarnate.

“Done!” shouted Myles with approval. “Milt, get Captain Guthrie on the line.”

3 April 2013

2125 Local Time/1825 Zulu

USS Michigan, Battle Management Center

Kyle Guthrie looked first at his watch, and then the clock on the bulkhead as he paced around the BMC. Shaking his head and grumbling, he continued doing laps around the planning table. Harper, Simmons, and Frederickson sat in absolute silence, doing their best impression of church mice; the skipper was pissed. The VTC was supposed to have begun ten minutes ago, and the screen was still blank. Agitated and impatient, Guthrie fumed as the seconds ticked by.

“What the hell is taking them so long,” he growled. Guthrie always knew the beefed-up communications capability of a SSGN was a double-edged sword. It provided great benefits for planning and executing Tomahawk strikes or SEAL ops, and its impact on crew morale was without question, but it had its drawbacks as well — anybody in his chain of command could get a hold of him at a moment’s notice. And to communicate, he had to stick a mast in the air, a mast that made Michigan more vulnerable to detection. High-level VTCs were a particular pain. They always went longer than he liked. On more than one occasion after an excruciatingly long-winded exchange, he was heard to mumble, “Silent service, my ass!”

“If that contact gets much closer, I’ll have to dunk the masts and move,” the captain snarled, as he pointed to an auxiliary display with fire control data showing an Iranian patrol boat nearby.

“Sir, it is the President,” remarked Frederickson warily.

Guthrie’s scowl made even the combat veteran a little uncomfortable. “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Frederickson. I’m also positive that we aren’t the only problem on his plate right now given the news feed we downloaded. But to expect a covert platform that’s a stone’s throw away from a hostile shore to remain exposed for the sake of convenience is beyond stupid! I don’t care who it is! Either they stick to their damn schedule or they call us when it’s time to come up. Having my boat sitting here with two masts dangling in the air is just begging to be detected!”

Harper looked at Frederickson and made a cutting motion with his hand to “knock it off.” The engineer knew his captain was not in the mood to debate the merits of his perception about the shortsightedness of his superiors. The young SEAL nodded his understanding.

“Do you think the president will approve your request, Skipper?” asked Harper, as he pulled out a chair for Guthrie. He’d often seen Jerry Mitchell use a mission-related question to pull the captain back on track whenever he found him caught on a specific detail.

“I doubt it, Eng,” Guthrie replied, as he plopped down in the seat. “The man has only been in office for four months, and he’s still trying to get his feet under him. I don’t think he feels comfortable enough to make that kind of decision yet. You also have to remember he came from academia, and people of that ilk are loath to make quick decisions without first thoroughly researching the issue. Particularly if it’s a risky decision.”

“My guys and I can still make the run, sir,” asserted Frederickson confidently. “Especially now that we know what the indications are for a patrol boat that is leaving port.”

“Thank God that the Iranians like to talk. Otherwise we would have searched and searched for a deployment pattern that wasn’t there,” said Simmons.

“The CTs did a great job figuring that mess out, Isaac. We need to make sure that they get a commendation for their outstanding work. Please write up a draft when this op is finished,” Guthrie ordered.

“Yes, sir. I already have a rough draft in the works, and Travis here has graciously provided a few good words from the SEALs,” Simmons responded.

The cryptologic technicians had stumbled across the radio traffic of an IRGC patrol boat as it departed the nearby base at Asaluyeh. After analyzing the sequence of events, they managed to isolate the signal that indicated when the patrol boat had changed course to the northwest and started its patrol run. A little elementary chart work showed they had about forty minutes before the BQCMO sonar would pick up the patrol boat, and another five before the patrol boat would pass within radar range of the proposed route the Zodiac would take to the beach and back. Testing this theory against the last two patrol boats, they found that they had between forty-two and forty-nine minutes after the key signal had been transmitted. Unfortunately, there was no set pattern to the departures.

The length of a patrol appeared to consist of an hour-and-a-half trip up the coast, followed by a quick turnaround, and a backtracking along a reciprocal course back to port. A well-disciplined schedule would have had a patrol boat departing every two hours, but in reality it varied by as much as half an hour, which made part of the mission planning a bit more complex. And the problem wasn’t the run in.

A lightly loaded F470 Zodiac combat rubber raiding craft with a fifty-five-horsepower outboard motor can do about twenty-five knots, which meant the fifteen-nautical-mile trip to the beach could be done in about thirty-five minutes. No, the issue that had the planners chewing on their pencils was the return trip. Fully loaded with ten people, the Zodiac could only make twenty knots, which meant a forty-five-minute trip back to the sub. If a patrol boat were noted leaving port just as the Zodiac reached the shore, timing would be very tight on the way back. But even with this near worst-case scenario, the SEALs felt the odds were still substantially in their favor.

At first, Guthrie was uneasy during the brief back, but Frederickson made a compelling argument that this was their best shot. They still had the element of surprise working for them, and the irregularity of the Iranian patrol schedule meant they would probably have more time, rather than less. He then addressed the low-probability, but high-impact scenarios that would require the SEALs to either fight their way out or abandon the Zodiac, which included the possibility that an Iranian patrol boat skipper might get lazy on them and not bother reporting in as he started his route, thus denying Michigan of their indicator. When the captain pressed Frederickson on just what was the worst-case scenario, the young SEAL responded immediately that an unexplained increase in the number of deployed patrol boats would be “highly detrimental to mission success.”

Guthrie had then looked directly at Frederickson and asked, “And what is your recommended course of action for this situation, Lieutenant?”

“I’d recommend scrubbing the mission, sir,” Frederickson replied without hesitation. Without another word, Guthrie had approved the plan.

Guthrie looked over at the auxiliary display, and the Iranian boat was moving away from them. “That’s better,” he mumbled to himself. He then checked the clock on the bulkhead; it now read 2130. Just as he was about to let loose with a sigh of frustration, the screen flickered to life.

“Michigan, this is the White House Situation Room. Are you still with us?”

Guthrie reached over and tapped the mute button, turning on the microphone. “This is Michigan. Yes, we are still here. For a while there I thought I’d have to pull the plug and reposition, but the offending contact has moved on.”

“My sincere apologies for the delay. The president has been in some rather intense discussion with the CNO and the national security advisor on your proposed plan. Please standby while I get the rest of the VTC participants up on the channel.”

“Roger, standing by.” Guthrie tapped the mute button again and turned toward his junior officers. “Okay, gentlemen, you are about to enter the stratosphere. The president, several cabinet-level officials, and more stars than a planetarium will be on this teleconference in a moment. Just stay calm, and keep your lips buttoned. If I need anything from you, I’ll ask. Got it?”

The three men nodded as they watched more and more windows opening up on the screen. The main screen showed the president talking to the SECDEF and the CJCS. The smaller windows around the periphery held the conference rooms of two combatant commanders and their subordinate commanders. Just about everyone had a flag officer at the center of the window.

“Oh. My. God,” whispered Harper, his eyes wide with awe.

“Sssh,” Guthrie snapped.

The unseen speaker in Washington announced, “Mr. President, all commands are present and we are ready to begin.”

“Good afternoon, everyone. I first want to thank you all for dropping everything and making this VTC. I didn’t give you a lot of time, but the situation in Iran demanded we get together and discuss the proposed plan of action for the ASDS incident,” opened Myles. “I also owe you an apology, Captain Guthrie, for keeping you waiting so long. Admiral Hughes here commented that submariners have an inherent loathing of remaining exposed for so long, and that you had probably removed all your fingernails by now.” The admiral’s grin clearly showed he was joking.

Guthrie tapped the mike button. “Well, I hate to disappoint the CNO, sir, but my fingernails are mostly intact. But I must also admit that I’m still trying to get used to the enhanced communications capability of my boat. I’m not accustomed to speaking directly to my commander in chief while submerged on station.”

“You’re being gracious, Captain, and I appreciate that. Now before we get started, would you please introduce the three young men with you?”

“Certainly, sir. To my immediate right is Lieutenant Commander Mike Harper, my engineer and acting executive officer.” Guthrie watched as every senior naval officer suddenly looked confused. “To his right is Lieutenant Isaac Simmons, my navigation and operations officer. And to my left is Lieutenant Travis Frederickson, the SEAL detachment officer in charge.”

“Thank you, Captain. Now to the business at… What?” Myles looked annoyed as Hughes leaned over and whispered a question. Guthrie only heard a few words, but he was pretty sure the CNO wanted to ask him the one question he didn’t want to answer. When President Myles gave his consent, Hughes leaned toward the mike and said, “Captain, did I hear you correctly that your engineer is the acting executive officer?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Captain, where is your XO?”

Guthrie took a depth breath before replying. “He is currently not on board Michigan, Admiral. He was piloting the ASDS during the mission.”

“What!?! Explain yourself, Captain,” demanded Hughes. It was a good thing the mikes were muted in the conference rooms at SUBPAC, Sub Group Nine, and the Naval Special Warfare Command as each commanding rear admiral had the exact same reaction.

“My ASDS pilot was injured during a physical fitness exercise with the SEALs less than an hour before we got the message to head to the Persian Gulf. My orders had a very challenging, nonnegotiable schedule I had to meet, and I did not believe it was feasible for me to request a replacement while adhering to the stealth and speed requirements explicit in my orders.

“Lieutenant Commander Mitchell was well versed in ASDS operations, had some experience in piloting the minisub, and is also a qualified Navy diver. I felt he met the spirit behind the ASDS pilot qualifications, if not the exact letter. My only other alternative was to let the SEAL copilot take the ASDS in by himself — an option I deemed unsafe.”

“This is most unusual, Captain,” commented Rear Admiral Fabian, Commander, Submarine Forces U.S. Pacific Fleet. “Don’t you think you overstepped your authority to make that decision?”

Joanna leaned over to Kirkpatrick, who was growing tense as the discussion dragged on. “Sir, I personally know Lieutenant Commander Mitchell. He’s a very capable and skilled officer. He served on my husband’s boat during the special operations mission directed by President Huber to investigate spent nuclear fuel dumping sites in Russia. I participated in that mission and…”

Kirkpatrick motioned for Patterson to stop. “Thank you, Joanna. You’ve already told me this.” Chastened, Patterson sat back in her seat, while Kirkpatrick reined in the VTC.

“Admirals, please, there will be a time for you to get answers to your questions,” injected Kirkpatrick patiently. “But it is not now. As I’ve already explained to your superiors, I am not the least interested in how or why the ASDS was lost, or in why Michigan’s executive officer went on the mission. Our primary concern is how we get our people out of Iran, along with the defectors who have information that is critical to the president’s response to this crisis.

“Besides, I have it on excellent authority that Lieutenant Commander Mitchell is a highly resourceful naval officer who has served this nation very well in the past. I think we should consider allowing him a modicum of trust that he will do likewise during this situation.”

Guthrie watched and listened as the national security advisor immediately silenced the cadre of unhappy admirals. I owe that man a beer, he thought.

“Now then, Captain,” Kirkpatrick went on. “Please tell us your plan to extract said individuals.”

“Yes, sir,” Guthrie replied. He then went into a simplified mission-planning sequence, highlighting what they had learned about Iranian small boat patrols and how they intended to use that information to maximize the probability of mission success. He pointed out the timing issue, and while tight in some scenarios, the SEALs were confident that this was the best opportunity they would have as the element of stealth had been preserved. Carefully, Guthrie then brought up the issue of distance and its impact should the situation not evolve as anticipated. He wrapped up his presentation with a description on how the SEALs and the others would be recovered by Michigan.

“As the Zodiac approaches our location, the rest of the SEAL detachment will egress through the dry deck shelter and swim up with scuba gear fitted with a second demand valve. Once over Michigan, the Zodiac will be abandoned and the occupants will swim down into the DDS and through the lockout chamber into the boat. Under normal circumstances, I would broach the boat and recover the personnel without having to resort to a shallow dive with untrained individuals. But the circumstances are far from normal, and the risk of detection by a patrol boat close to Iranian territorial waters is extremely high.

“As the Iranians, my XO, and the others are swimming down, Lieutenant Frederickson and one other SEAL will scuttle the Zodiac by puncturing several of the air chambers. Once everyone is in the DDS and the hatch is closed, we make best tactical speed for Bahrain. That concludes our proposed plan, Mr. President.”

“Thank you, Captain. Your proposal is sound and I appreciate the detailed planning that went into it. Your plan is approved. I did note, however, your concern about the distance.”

Guthrie had intentionally pushed the topic; he’d tried to be diplomatic, but he just didn’t know if he had pushed too hard. He wasn’t sure whether he would be given permission or a presidential ass chewing.

“Yes, sir. It is the key factor in our evaluation of mission success.”

“Yes, I know, Captain. Both the CNO and my national security advisor have already beaten me about the head on this,” said Myles, smiling slightly. The smile quickly evaporated as the president leaned forward, his expression becoming sterner.

“I realize that my restrictions are not popular, Captain Guthrie. I have also been forced to realize that they are overly conservative. I will allow you to approach the twelve-mile limit to deploy and then recover the occupants of the combat rubber raiding craft. Between these events you are to back away to fifteen miles. Under no circumstances are you to violate Iranian territorial waters. Will this compromise ease your concern a little, Captain?”

Guthrie quietly let his breath go. He’d gotten part of what he wanted, and it was a meaningful compromise.

“Absolutely, Mr. President. This will make a big difference, particularly with those potential scenarios where timing is a very critical issue. Thank you, sir.” He looked toward Frederickson who was obviously pleased and gave him a thumbs-up under the table.

“Just get your people and the Iranians out of there, Captain. The information your passengers are carrying is quite likely the key we need to understand just what the hell is going on over there.”

“We’ll do our best not to disappoint you, sir,” replied Guthrie, as he signed off. The chances of pulling this off just got a whole lot better.

4 April 2013

8:00 AM Local Time/0500 Zulu

Shiraz, Iran

Mehry Naseri was washing up in the kitchen when the phone rang. Irritated at the interruption, she quickly dried her hands and snatched it on the fourth ring.

“I am trying to reach Captain Akbari. This is Major Sadi, his supervisor.”

“Oh, Major, I’m sorry, he’s not here right now. He and Shirin left for the coast yesterday morning. I expect them back tomorrow tonight, but it will be late.”

“Do you know where I can reach him, then?”

“They are staying at a hotel in Bandar Kangan. I have the number.” She read it off the slip of paper Shirin had given her. “They may be hard to reach. Shirin said they were going to take several excursions in the area.”

“I’ll try to call him there, then. Thank you, Mrs. Naseri.”

Administration Building, Natanz

Sadi hung up the phone carefully. Major Rahim, standing silently during the call, nodded approvingly “Thank you Major, for your assistance.”

Rahim left without another word, and Sadi felt the muscles in shoulders begin to relax. It was his policy to keep on VEVAK’s good side, but having one of them ask a “favor” of him had been traumatic.

Back in Natanz’s VEVAK office, Rahim told his assistant, “I need to speak to the VEVAK office in Shiraz.”