Exit Plan

10. COLD, WET, AND SANDY

4 April 2013

1900 Local Time/1600 Zulu

Southeast of Bandar Kangan, North of Highway 96

Ramey, Lapointe, and Phillips dug like rabid badgers. With the scrubbing of the second CRRC mission, the SEALs had to dig a hole big enough to bury all their scuba gear; and there was a lot of it. Jerry initially tried to help while Fazel stood guard, but he soon found himself more of a hindrance, getting in the way of the three human backhoes.

“I still can’t believe that idiot had his cell phone on,” grumbled Ramey, as his spade bit into the sand. “They gotta have a good idea of where we are by now.”

“Not necessarily, Matt,” added Lapointe. “All they’ll get is the tower his phone was linked into. That could be five to eight miles away. That’s a lot of territory to cover, and a fair chunk of it is rugged terrain. They’ll search the easy stuff first.”

“Pointy’s right, Boss,” Phillips chimed in. “Kangan probably only has one cell phone tower, but once they match that with the Basij report on the car, they’ll be all over this place like a swarm of bees.”

“Which means we need to get the hell out of Dodge, and soon,” concluded Ramey, throwing his shovel on the cave floor. “This will have to do. Grab the gear, tanks first, Philly.”

Phillips and Lapointe leapt out of the four-foot-square, three-foot-deep hole and started handing Ramey the air tanks, followed by the fins, masks, rubber hoods, and gloves.

“Hand me the garbage, too, while you’re at it,” said Ramey. Phillips tossed him the two bags with the remains of the MRE pouches. “Is that everything?”

“Yes, sir, I made two sweeps of the cave.”

“Good,” Ramey replied, as he jumped out of the hole and picked up his shovel.

“Start filling, guys. XO, you can lend a hand here, too, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly,” responded Jerry, as he joined the other three men throwing dirt into the hole. Ramey was still tense, but his overall demeanor seemed to have improved, at least Jerry thought so. He couldn’t tell if the platoon leader was actually dealing quietly with his grief, or merely keeping it in check, storing it up for release later.

After fifteen minutes of shoveling and stomping, the hole was filled and the remaining sand kicked around the cave. A quick glance by an untrained eye would not see anything amiss. But if a professional did a thorough inspection, the soft spot in the ground would be quickly discovered. And while the SEALs were hoping the distance from the cave to the car would be enough to prevent the discovery of their equipment, burying it was a little extra insurance.

“Okay everyone, huddle around for a planning session,” Ramey announced, as he put on his battle gear. Motioning Phillips toward the cave entrance he added, “Philly, take the watch. I need Doc’s linguistic skills for this. And keep a sharp eye out on that road.” Phillips nodded his head as he grabbed his weapon and went outside.

“I can translate for my husband,” protested Shirin.

“I’m sure you can, ma’am. But we can’t afford any misunderstandings. Doc here will only assist when necessary to make sure Mr. Akbari has a clear picture of what we are trying to do,” responded Ramey coldly. Yousef was not happy with the lieutenant’s tone, and he clearly heard and understood the word “mister” — as opposed to rank — that Ramey used before his name.

Ramey unfolded his map and placed it on the ground. Shining his flashlight on to the map, he pointed to their location. “We are here, in these foothills approximately ten klicks from Bandar Kangan. Our destination is way the hell down here, just shy of two hundred and thirty-five kilometers to the southeast.” His finger swept down the coastline until he tapped the map at Bandar Charak.

“Given our untenable position, we have to start this trek on foot. My intention is to use this dirt road as our evasion and escape route. It parallels Highway 96 and is roughly graded and fairly flat, which will make it easier for us to maintain a reasonable pace. The closest we get to the highway is three hundred meters, and the farthest is one-and-a-half klicks, so we’ll have a good field of view to watch out for anyone coming from the highway. There is good ground to the northeast, with plenty of hills and shallow ravines, so we have excellent cover in case anyone does go off road. My goal is to make Akhtar by 0400, forty-five minutes before twilight begins. There are some hills to the west where we can hide out until later in the evening. Hopefully, we can find a small van there that we can requisition.” Ramey paused as Shirin relayed the plan to Yousef. A frown quickly formed on his face.

“Matt, I’m not all that great with land navigation. What kind of distance are we talking about here?” asked Jerry, noticing Akbari’s reaction.

“Almost fifteen kilometers, XO.”

“That’s a bit of a hike, don’t you think?”

“In eight hours? That should be very doable. I specifically chose a route to accommodate Dr. Naseri’s condition.”

Yousef leaned over and asked Shirin a question. “My husband wants to know what we should do about the car? A Basij patrol has seen it.”

Ramey nodded. “I was just about to get to that. On our way down to the road, we will stop and remove the license plates and then damage the car so that it looks like it has been vandalized. We can’t use it without drawing a lot of attention, and one of the patrols will eventually find it. By removing the identifying plates and damaging it, it will take the Basij and police longer to figure out that the car is yours. They’ll work it out sooner or later, but the longer it takes them, the better it is for us. Are there any other questions?”

“What about the weather, Matt? What do we do if we are out in the open and a shamal hits?” Jerry rarely trusted the accuracy of weather forecasts, and the worst possible time for a storm to hit would be while they were out navigating an unknown route in the dark.

“If the storm hits before we reach Akhtar, we’ll shift to a column formation and everyone will be tied together with a line. We’ll then seek immediate shelter. Anything else?” No one spoke.

Ramey stood up and tucked his weapon under his right arm. “Okay people, diamond formation just like before. Pointy on point, Doc has the backdoor. We move quickly, we move quietly. Let’s go.”

“Hooyah!” responded the SEALs. Shirin and Yousef looked on with confusion, while Jerry felt even more alone.

As they filed out of the cave, Phillips bumped up against Jerry. “Good question, XO. You’re starting to think like a SEAL.”

“God forbid,” Jerry replied with a slight smile. “I prefer my own brand of insanity.”

Phillips shrugged his shoulders as Ramey slashed a “knife hand” across his throat, motioning for them to knock it off. Idle chatter would not be tolerated.

Once out of the cave, Jerry and the Iranians were placed in the center of a loose diamond. Lapointe and Fazel were already scanning the horizon with their night-vision sights. After they reported “All clear,” Ramey whispered over the radio circuit, “Forward.”

If climbing up the hill in the dark was bad, going back down was worse. The loose rock and sand made finding good footing treacherous. Shirin slipped several times during the early phase of the descent. She just couldn’t keep her balance.

“XO,” Ramey’s voice came softly over the radio. “Get in front of Dr. Naseri.”

Jerry did so, while Ramey motioned for Yousef to grasp his wife’s waist. Ramey then grabbed Shirin’s right arm and placed her hand on Jerry’s shoulder. The stability Shirin gained from the two men made the remaining trek down the hill smoother, but it slowed things down. Half an hour later, they had reached the car.

Lapointe and Phillips took watch positions on the crest. They were still a few kilometers from the highway; there were no signs of any Basij patrols. The lights of Bandar Kangan could be seen glowing on the horizon. The sky was overcast, with only a slight breeze coming from the sea.

“No signs of any patrols,” reported Lapointe. “We’re good, Boss.”

“Roger that, Pointy. You and Philly keep a sharp eye. Things are going to get a little noisy in a minute.”

Ramey asked Yousef for the keys. He unlocked the door and quickly put the vehicle in neutral. “XO, Doc, push the car forward a little.”

Jerry and Fazel started pushing, but the car was sitting in some soft sand and it resisted their efforts. Yousef came over and the three were able to get the car moving. After about four feet, Ramey said, “Whoa. Good enough. Doc, get the rear license plate.”

The two SEALs quickly removed the identifying plates and Ramey stored them in his backpack. He then opened the glove compartment and carelessly threw the contents on to the front seat and the floor. He found nothing of particular value, but saved what looked like official documents for Fazel to inspect.

Ramey tossed the keys to Fazel and said, “Doc, force the trunk open. Make it look sloppy.”

The corpsman took the keys and opened the trunk. He found the tire iron, closed the trunk, and then proceeded to pry and bend open the lock. The creaking and screech of torn metal seemed particularly loud. Placing the tire iron back in the trunk, Fazel rifled through and shifted the contents all around. He threw some on the ground as well.

“Sprinkle some sand in the trunk, Doc. Not too much though.”

As Fazel worked on the trunk, Ramey slashed the seats and tore them open. He then found the identification plate on the door and began rubbing it with a handful of sand. A brief inspection by flashlight showed that the vehicle identification number was badly scratched, with parts of the number unreadable, but not totally eliminated. Checking the doors, he made sure they were all unlocked.

“Done here, Boss,” called Fazel.

“Okay, Doc. Take a quick look at these documents and make sure there are no names or addresses. Then have everyone back off. Stand by for some noise,” he announced. With that Ramey took his rifle, and using the butt, completely smashed all the windows. Shirin jumped at the sound of crushed glass. Jerry winced with each strike, convinced that the noise would be noticeable down on the highway. He glanced over at Yousef who looked on approvingly. He took that as a good sign.

After Ramey had thrown some sand inside the car, he stepped back and declared with satisfaction, “There. The car looks sufficiently vandalized.”

“Were still good, sir. Nothing is moving out there,” spoke Lapointe without prompting. Phillips also reported that all was clear.

“Awesome,” Ramey replied. “Diamond formation. Positions as before. We’ll follow this path down to the road. It’s one and a half klicks to the south-southeast. Maintain a careful sweep of your sectors, just in case someone did hear all that noise. Everyone be quiet. No talking unless the tactical situation requires it. Form up.”

Lapointe and Phillips scampered down the small hill and took their positions. Once Ramey was satisfied everyone was in his or her proper place, he ordered, “Forward.”

Slowly, the group began their long trek down the Iranian coast.

Ramey was true to his word. The dirt road he chose was more or less level, firm, and free of big rocks and other obstructing debris. The soft crunching of boots on the sand was the only sound made by the party, interrupted by the occasional truck that passed by on the highway less than a kilometer to the south. Jerry initially thought they were doing pretty well pacewise, but after a couple of hours, Shirin started slowing noticeably. Yousef tapped Jerry on the shoulder and gestured that she had to rest. Jerry relayed the request to Ramey who sighed audibly. “Hold,” he commanded over the radio. Phillips directed Yousef and Shirin to rest behind a small ridge; Fazel came up to check on Shirin. He gave Yousef a bottle of water and instructed her to drink as much as she could.

Ten minutes later, they were on the march again. But this time, Shirin barely walked for an hour before she had to stop and rest. Frustrated, Ramey called Jerry and Fazel over to discuss the situation.

“We’ve got to pick up the pace if we are going to reach Akhtar before first light,” complained Ramey impatiently. “We can’t keep stopping like this.”

Before Jerry could respond, Fazel spoke up. There was an edge to his voice. “Boss, the lady is on the small side to begin with, she doesn’t have a whole lot of muscle mass, and she’s almost five months pregnant! She’s not barfing her guts out, but fatigue is still a major issue at this stage of her pregnancy. She’s moving about as fast as she can.”

“Honestly, Matt, I think we need to reevaluate our goal for tonight,” suggested Jerry.

“Ya think?” Ramey snapped. “Thank you, Captain Obvious!”

Jerry didn’t even bother to reply to Ramey’s angry outburst; he just looked at him sternly. Fazel’s expression showed he disapproved of the lieutenant’s behavior as well. Ramey rubbed his neck and huffed, trying to get his emotions back in check.

“All right, Doc. Do what you can. I’ll look for a place for us to bed down that’s closer.”

“Hooyah,” replied the corpsman as he went over to check on Shirin.

Ramey pulled out his map, placed it on the ground, and shined a small red light on it. He found Bandar Charak and started working backward.

Jerry said, “Matt, I’d like to talk with Dr. Naseri for a moment.” Ramey’s expression made it clear he wasn’t pleased with the idea.

“Look, they don’t trust us, and for good reason from their perspective. She’s given us a peek into the treasure trove of information she’s carrying, but she’s holding something back, something big. We need to understand why they are so damn eager to prove their worth to us.”

“I already asked her, XO. She said ‘no.’ She either doesn’t think we would believe them, or they’re still scared we’ll take the data and run. She was emphatic that we had to see the value of the data they had, before we would accept whatever they are holding so damn close to the chest,” responded Ramey impatiently.

“All the more reason for us to find a way to break the ice. Five minutes, and I’ll keep it down.”

Ramey sighed deeply, and after a short pause, nodded his reluctant approval for Jerry to go have his talk.

Jerry walked over and sat beside Shirin. Even in the dim light he could see she was exhausted. “We re looking for a closer place to stay. There is no way you can make it to Akhtar.”

She looked confused, and then glanced in Ramey’s direction.

“It’s okay. I got his approval for us to talk. Just keep it down; whisper.”

Naseri smiled. “Thank you. I’m sorry that I am slowing you all down.”

“Can’t be helped. You’re not exactly in the best shape for a long distance hike.”

“We didn’t plan on having a baby just now. But Allah’s will has gently pushed us down this path. Do you have any children, Mr. Jerry?”

“No, no, I don’t have any children. We aren’t quite ready for that yet.”

“You are married though?”

“Yes, Dr. Naseri. My wife is a university professor, a teacher.”

Shirin nodded as she took another drink. “Dr. Fazel is insistent that I drink much water.”

Jerry chuckled softly. “Petty Officer Fazel is not a medical doctor.” Naseri looked confused again. “He’s a hospital corpsman, more like a nurse. Although, I think he’d be mad if he heard me calling him a nurse. The title ‘Doc’ is a nickname. A friendly title given to a person, usually associated with one’s occupation.”

“Ahh, I understand,” said Naseri. “My mother told me that my father was called an ‘Ali-Cat’ because he was a pilot.”

Jerry’s expression changed instantly, becoming more intense. “Your father was a Tomcat pilot?”

Shirin seemed embarrassed, and looked away from Jerry. Yousef saw her reaction and spoke in Farsi. She put her hand on his arm and put him at ease.

“Yes, Mr. Jerry. My father was a fighter pilot in the Imperial Iranian Air Force.”

Jerry’s broad smile had a soothing affect. “I’ve read a lot about the bravery of Iranian fighter pilots, and F-14 pilots in particular. I was once a fighter pilot myself, but I had an accident that forced me down another path. Did your father fight in the war?”

Shirin’s eyes began to water, and she choked as she spoke. “They imprisoned him after the Revolution. He was too Westernized for their liking. The Pasdaran beat him. But after the Iraqis attacked us, they let him go. And despite all that they had done to him, he flew to defend Iran from Saddam Hussein.” Tears were now falling from her eyes as she wept softly. Ramey looked over at Jerry, wondering what the hell was going on. Jerry waved him off.

“He died on the eighth of October, 1986, defending Khark Island from an Iraqi raid. An Iraqi Mirage shot down his plane, his body was never found. I… I was less than a year old when he died. He had so very little time with me as a baby. This is all that I have to remember him.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of folded green material and handed it to Jerry.

It was a piece of a flight suit, with an F-14 Felix the Cat patch, showing a gray cat decked out in Persian garb, complete with slippers and a scimitar. The words “Ali-Cat” on the lower border were in bold, italicized letters. Jerry held it as if it were made of pure gold.

“I’m sorry,” he said sympathetically, as he handed the precious memento back. “I didn’t mean to bring back sad memories.”

“No… no, you do not understand. That is why I have been a spy for you. The leaders of the Revolution are leading us back to war. A war that will cause the deaths of many tens of thousands.” Her hands started to gently rub her abdomen. “I want my son or daughter to know their father. I want him to have time to cherish his child. The war that is coming threatens us all.”

Jerry saw his chance to ask her to be more specific, but before he could speak, Ramey’s voice popped on the radio. “Okay, people, time to get moving again. Form up.”

Annoyed, Jerry got up and started walking toward the young SEAL when suddenly, Phillips exclaimed, “Ooh snap! Boss, look to the northwest.”

Ramey and Jerry both looked up and saw the flashes over the horizon. A storm, a big storm, was coming straight at them from off the Persian Gulf.

“That don’t look good,” Jerry said dryly.

“Nope, XO. It don’t look good at all.”

4 April 2013

1200 Local Time/1700 Zulu

White House Situation Room

General Duvall rose swiftly as Joanna and her boss entered the briefing room. “Dr. Kirkpatrick, Dr. Patterson, thank you for making time to meet with us. This is Mr. Gene Cooper, the head of the Weapons Intelligence, Nonproliferation, and Arms Control Center at CIA.”

“It was no inconvenience at all, Gordon. Truly. Please, sit down. I presume this has something to do with the file that Michigan sent us yesterday?”

“Yes, sir. But I’ll let Gene explain,” said Duvall, as he motioned for Cooper to start.

“Dr. Kirkpatrick, we’ve been going over the technical details in the Natanz centrifuge accident brief sent by Michigan, and we’re convinced that it’s accurate; it matches what little we have from COMINT and imagery. The file also provided a lot of background material behind the accident that makes a great deal of sense.”

Kirkpatrick raised his hand, stopping Copper. “When you say ‘we,’ who is the ‘we’ specifically, Mr. Cooper?”

“Sir,” interrupted Duvall. “The analytical work was done by an intelligence community working group that I had formed back in March. They work for me. I picked Gene to lead the effort.”

“Ahh, I see. Thank you, Gordon. It’s not that I don’t trust the CIA. I’m just leery of single agency positions. I trust the results of this analytical effort reflect an intelligence community consensus?”

“Unanimously, Dr. Kirkpatrick,” Cooper stated firmly.

“Go on.”

“The bottom line, sir, is we believe, with high confidence, that the uranium enrichment program has suffered yet another technical setback. In February, a prototype fifth-generation centrifuge cascade blew itself apart when some of the centrifuge rotors started delaminating while spinning at high speed. The root cause was assessed by the Iranians to be a manufacturing flaw, probably during the curing process of the carbon fiber rotors.”

“February, you say?” Patterson observed. “Mr. Cooper, can you correlate this Iranian briefing with the recent IAEA report?”

Cooper smiled broadly. “Yes, Dr. Patterson. Here is an imagery shot of the Pilot Fuel Enrichment Plant at Natanz taken on the third of February. Note this empty area behind this building to the west. Now, the same location three weeks later; see the pile of debris? This imagery is from 10 March; as you can see, the debris is still there. But by 13 March, two days after the inspection, the area is clean as a whistle. We have good information that these are the same centrifuges the IAEA took their samples from.”

Patterson looked closely at the series of pictures, before handing them to Kirkpatrick. “You said a prototype cascade. How many machines?”

“Sixty-four, ma’am.”

“Were they being fed uranium hexafluoride?”

“Yes, Dr. Patterson. The initial feed was at three percent enrichment,” answered Cooper.

“How long had they been operating?”

“A little over six days.”

“Six days? That’s all?” pressed Patterson, surprised.

“Yes, ma’am. The centrifuges were working on their seventh day when the accident occurred.”

She turned to Kirkpatrick. “Sir, there is no way they could have achieved an eighty-five percent enrichment with so few machines over such a short period of time.”

Kirkpatrick’s brow scrunched as he evaluated the data. “Gordon, is there a chance we’re being deceived by the information provided by Opal?”

“Dr. Kirkpatrick, it is my belief that we are being deceived, but not by Opal. The data has been vetted through multiple groups, each looking at the information from a different angle. It’s been ‘Red Teamed’ and dissected by technical experts. Opal’s data appears to be accurate and authentic. The uranium enrichment path is almost certainly not going to provide the Iranians with the necessary material for a test device any time soon.”

“What about the plutonium path then?” countered Kirkpatrick.

“It’s nowhere near ready, either, if our information is accurate,” answered Patterson. “All indications are that the reactor has had difficulties of its own and only went critical a few months ago. That’s not nearly enough time to produce a sufficient quantity of weapons-grade Plutonium-239.”

“Gordon, are you seriously suggesting that the test preparations are the deception? For what possible purpose?”

“Sir, I believe the test preparations are real. Every piece of data says the Iranians are following the correct steps to conduct a test. The problem is, we can’t find anything to test!”

“General Duvall, this makes absolutely no sense at all. Why would the Iranians do something so blatant, unless they had a device to test?” The national security advisor’s tenor showed his growing impatience with Duvall’s cryptic theory.

“We don’t know the answer to that yet, sir. We are looking at all the possible options, to include the remote possibility that they procured a weapon from another nation. But what I can tell you, is that the Iranians’ actions are having an effect.”

“In what way?”

Duvall pulled a short report from his briefcase and handed it to Kirkpatrick. “As of this morning, the Israeli Air Force has grounded the 69th and 107th squadrons at Hatzerim Airbase, as well as the 119th, 201st, and 253rd squadrons at Ramon Airbase. In addition, the Saknayee Boeing 707 tankers of the 120th squadron have backed out of an exercise with the Sixth Fleet, because of ’maintenance issues.’”

Kirkpatrick looked solemn as he read the report’s key judgments. Patterson didn’t understand the significance of the NIC chairman’s statement.

“Forgive me, General. But what does this mean?” Patterson asked.

“Dr. Patterson, these squadrons are composed of F-15I and F-16I tactical aircraft. They are the only aircraft in the Israeli inventory that can, with in-flight refueling, reach Iranian targets.”

“Oh my,” she said.

Duvall leaned forward, his face showing intense concern. “Sir, we need more of the information that Opal possesses to help us nail down this problem.”

“I’d like to accommodate you, Gordon. But that isn’t possible right now. Opal and company left their hiding place an hour ago and are out of touch for the next several hours, at least,” replied Kirkpatrick. “Furthermore, the young lady who is the true source of the information is reluctant to provide more until she and her husband are out of Iran. It seems they’re afraid we’ll leave them high and dry once we get the information.”

“Then let’s ask her for just one more file,” suggested Patterson. “Have Captain Guthrie ask her to give us a report on the status of the Arak reactor. The file inventory list says she has one, and if it’s in line with what we know, odds are General Duvall’s assertion is correct, and we can warn the Israelis.”

“They’ll want to see the proof themselves,” warned Kirkpatrick. “Are we ready to release this kind of information?”

“Normally, I’d be very reluctant to provide such sensitive data to anyone but the Brits,” admitted Duvall. “But given the circumstances, I think it’s in our best interest to share this with the Israelis. But that may not be my boss’s position.”

“Very well,” Kirkpatrick replied as he stood up. “I’ll make the recommendation to the president, after I discuss this with the director of national intelligence.”

“Dr. Kirkpatrick, General Duvall, I’d also like to request that you consider bringing my husband in on this.”

“Senator Hardy? Why, Joanna?” Kirkpatrick actually looked surprised by her request.

“Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, the senior officer of the group that is stranded, served under my husband on Memphis. Lowell also knows Captain Guthrie reasonably well, and he is well versed in covert submarine operations. He’s also on the Senate Armed Services Committee, which gives you a knowledgeable point of contact on the Hill.”

Kirkpatrick thought it over for a moment, and then looked at Duvall.

“I have no objections to reading Senator Hardy in,” Duvall remarked.

“Alright, Joanna, I’ll raise this with the president as well. But I make no promises.”

5 April 2013

0330 Local Time/0030 Zulu

Three Kilometers North Northwest of Akhtar

Phillips and Lapointe burst through the door, their weapons at the ready. Ramey followed right behind them. Only after a hasty inspection to ensure the building was abandoned were Jerry and the others allowed to stumble in. Fazel shut the door and anchored it against the howling wind with an empty cabinet.

The shamal had hit them a little under an hour earlier with twenty-five-mile-per-hour sustained winds, driving rain, and a ten-degree drop in temperature. While the shamal was on the mild side, everyone was thoroughly soaked, chilled to the bone, and covered with sand.

Phillips was the first one to get his mouth cleared. “Okay,” he gasped, as he spit some sand out of his mouth. “That officially sucked!”

“I haven’t been this miserable since Hell Week,” agreed Lapointe. His reference to the fifth week of the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, or BUDS, is the standard metric by which SEALs compare the relative unpleasantness of a situation. If it’s “like” or “worse” than Hell Week, it’s really, really bad.

“I don’t know, Pointy,” Phillips argued. “I’ve been cold, wet, and sandy before, but never sandblasted! Hey, maybe I should suggest adding a driving wind to Hell Week.”

“You’re a sadistic bastard. You know that, Philly?”

“Can it, you two,” Ramey barked. “Since you’re so full of energy, Phillips, you can take the first watch.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Phillips coolly. Jerry noticed Lapointe’s jaw tighten.

“Doc, report. How’s our favorite spy?”

“She’s really cold, Boss,” replied the corpsman.

“We all are, Harry,” observed Ramey. His voice was cynical, uncaring.

“No, sir, I mean she’s dangerously cold,” Fazel repeated more sternly. “Her body temperature is low, and she’s showing symptoms of mild hypothermia.”

“What can you do about it?” injected Jerry. Ramey’s head snapped around at the sound of his voice.

“We need to get her out of those wet clothes and under some warm blankets. I’ve already asked her husband to strip her down as much as possible.”

“I bet that didn’t go over well,” Jerry noted with a little sarcasm.

Fazel snickered. “No. It didn’t. But I think I got my point across.”

“What else can we do, Doc?” asked Ramey impatiently.

“I’ll start making dinner or breakfast, or whatever, and get her some hot tea, but we need to get her off this concrete slab. Any insulating material that you can scrounge up would be really helpful.”

“I think I can handle that,” Jerry volunteered. “You guys have more important issues to deal with.”

He started walking toward the back of the building, when Lapointe called over, “Hey, XO, I think I saw some cardboard boxes in the back left-hand corner.” Jerry thanked him and started rummaging through the junk. The building looked like it had been used for shipping, and was filled with all kinds of miscellaneous packing material. He found the boxes Lapointe had referred to and started breaking them down. Jerry also found a canvas covering and some twine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lapointe and Ramey having a quiet, but animated conversation. Neither looked very happy.

Jerry stacked the flattened boxes, along with something that looked like rough packing paper, into the canvas and tied the corners together with the twine. It wasn’t fancy, but it would keep both Naseri and Akbari off the cold floor. As he tugged it toward the Iranian couple, Fazel came over and helped him carry it. The corpsman was impressed. “Great work, XO. This will do nicely.”

“Well, it isn’t a Sealy Posturepedic mattress. But it should do the job.”

Yousef had picked Shirin up off the floor, partly to make sure she stayed covered, but also because she was still shivering so hard it was questionable that she could even stand. Jerry and Fazel positioned the makeshift bedding in the center of the building, and Yousef gently put her down. Shirin’s face, still darkened by the sand, showed a weak smile. It was all she could offer as a thank-you. Fazel reassured her that she would start feeling warmer soon, then suggested that Yousef should snuggle up close to her and transfer some of his body heat to her.

After their meal, Jerry sat down with Ramey and Lapointe. The two had been poring over a map and taking stock of their situation. Ramey appeared to be calmer, but Jerry detected concern in Lapointe’s voice.

“Boss, we could be stuck here for days if this storm is really bad. And we’re almost out of MREs and water. We’ll have to start foraging soon.”

“I know, Pointy. I know. We really should leave and move on tonight, but I doubt Doc will support it. Dr. Naseri probably can’t handle another night out in the open with that kind of weather.”

“How long does a spring shamal normally last?” asked Jerry. He’d heard about the summer storms that could go on for days, sometimes for an entire week.

Ramey let loose with a deep sigh. “The spring storms aren’t as intense as the summer ones. Typically a spring shamal can be as short as several hours, or as long as a day. Maybe a day and a half.”

“This one is on the weak side, XO. Not that anyone here would likely agree with that after the hour we spent in it.” Lapointe’s wry smile told Jerry that he was back to his old self. “But if I had to guess, twelve hours. Eighteen tops.”

“More worst-case planning then?”

“Exactly,” said Lapointe, as he touched his nose with his index finger and pointed in Jerry’s direction. “And it don’t look too good, if you ask me.”

“What Petty Officer Lapointe is trying to say, XO, is that we are running short of provisions and we’ll need to start looking for food and water as well as trying to evade capture.” Ramey was still a bit snippy, but he had definitely improved.

“This shouldn’t be a problem, gentlemen,” Jerry said nonchalantly. Both SEALs looked confused; convinced that he just didn’t understand the dilemma they were in.

“Once the weather clears, we contact Michigan and have them send in one of the Cormorant UAVs with supplies and any gear you think we might need. Since they’re stealthy, it should have no problem avoiding Iranian early warning radars.” But as Jerry started to describe how this aerial resupply theoretically would go down, he ran into an assumption that he hadn’t thought of initially.

“The only trick is that Michigan will have to stay at periscope depth and guide the UAV to us. If the patrol boat activity is still heavy, this could seriously complicate matters.”

Now it was Lapointe’s turn to look cocky. “Michigan won’t have to, XO. I have the portable remote control terminal in my pack. I can guide the UAV straight to us and then send it back on a different preprogrammed course. All Michigan has to do is launch and then retrieve the UAV. We just have to be careful how long we use the terminal. It uses a low power, frequency-hopping signal, but it is an omnidirectional transmission and is more detectable than the 117 SATCOM radio.”

“Okay. We’ll contact Michigan tonight and give them our shopping list, which needs to include more blankets and a SCAR for the XO, as well as food and water. We can arrange a drop location once we have a better idea of how long it will take for the weather to clear,” concluded Ramey. “Now, I strongly suggest you guys get some rest. I’ll take the first watch with Doc.”

As Jerry laid down his head on a pile of boxes, he realized just how exhausted he really was. In that fuzzy state between consciousness and sleep, Jerry looked at the Iranian couple. Both were sound asleep, with Yousef holding Shirin close to keep her warm and to reassure her that, for now, everything was all right. As Jerry finally drifted off, his last thought was, I miss you, too, Emily.