Exit Plan

14. ROUND TWO

6 April 2013

1445 Local Time/1145 Zulu

Seyyed Naseri’s House, Bandar Charak

VEVAK agent Hafez Omid surveyed the chaos with contempt. It was a typical Pasdaran operation, a frontal assault with no planning, no reconnaissance, and no thinking. Omid fumed as he took stock of all the opportunities those idiots in the bright green uniforms had cost them. And to make matters worse, the bumbling Pasdaran captain was touting this skirmish as a great victory! Victory? What did they have to show for this “great victory”? Four dead traitors whose knowledge was lost forever? Whatever secrets they had had were smoldering in the fireplace. Papers, laptop computers, cell phones, electronic storage media, all of it charred to uselessness by the flares the traitors had thrown onto the pile. Damn those incompetent Pasdar fools, cursed Omid to himself.

The air was still thick with smoke from the byproducts of gunfire, explosives, and burned-out flares. The acrid atmosphere assaulted his eyes, nose, and throat, worsening his already foul mood. He’d collect the burnt remains of the electronics. There was a slight chance that some of the data might have survived, but everything else was gone. Angrily, Omid stormed out of the house. He needed to find his partner, and he needed a cigarette.

Passing through what was left of the front door, Omid saw Teymour Sattari across the street taking the Pasdaran unit commander’s statement. No doubt elaborating on his military brilliance, Omid thought. He motioned for Sattari to get rid of the officer and join him. Pulling the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, he withdrew one and lit up as Sattari approached.

“That bad?” Sattari asked. He could read the sour expression on his partner’s face.

“Worse. It’s probably a total loss. I’ll have the remains of the computers and cell phones sent to Tehran. We might get something if we are very lucky. But the discs and paper are nothing but ashes,” replied Omid, as he took another drag. “The traitorous bastards used magnesium roadside flares, six of them, to torch their information. They were quite effective.”

Sattari winced and shook his head; flares like that could easily get over one thousand degrees Centigrade. They would be lucky indeed if they recovered any useful information. Gesturing toward the battered house, he asked, “Do you think they were mujahadeen?”

“Of course they were MEK,” snapped Omid as he threw the last of the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. “But there is absolutely no way we can benefit from that knowledge, because of that arrogant imbecile!” He pointed vigorously in the direction of the Pasdaran commander. “We lost our best chance to trace the network Naseri belonged to when that Pasdaran jackass stormed the house!”

“They were only following their orders,” counseled Sattari quietly. “The Pasdaran are a blunt instrument. Don’t expect a hammer to do the job of a screwdriver. If there is negligence, look to the carpenter, not the tool.”

“Rahim?” Omid literally spat the name out. “Trust me, my patience with our esteemed colleague is all but spent. He has become too close to that Pasdaran general and has lost sight of his true duties.”

“He certainly has been stingy with his information,” Sattari admitted. “He could have alerted us much earlier about the missing traitors. And why was he in such a hurry to arrest her uncle? With just a little more time, we could have conducted a proper operation here. The outcome would have likely been very different.”

“And my report will say as much,” Omid said determinedly. “Rahim routinely oversteps his authority, and this time I will have him held accountable.” The finality of his statement seemed to appease the senior VEVAK agent and he relaxed. Pointing again in the direction of the Pasdaran captain he asked, “So what did our hero of the battle of Bandar Charak have to say?”

Sattari smiled. He was relieved that Omid had calmed down. While his anger in this case was completely justified, Omid’s short-fuzed temper had gotten him in trouble before with his superiors. The last time was over an altercation with Rahim concerning an investigation of a possible MEK informant at Isfahan. Omid had presented a superior investigation plan, but Rahim knew all the right buttons to push, and Omid eventually lost his patience. His furious denouncement of Rahim’s suggestions cost him the position of lead investigator. And even though his recommendations were ultimately accepted, Omid was “exiled” to Bandar Abbas, while Rahim became the VEVAK liaison to the Iranian nuclear program. Needless to say, there was no love lost between the two men.

“He actually had little to say.” Sattari opened his notebook and walked down the time line. “They received their orders at 1255. Mobilized two squads of Pasdaran soldiers by 1318, and began their assault at 1333.

“Resistance was much greater than expected. The occupants had automatic weapons and grenades, and they repulsed the first assault. He regrouped his men and with the use of RPGs, succeeded in storming the house. The objective was secured by 1355. Seyyed Naseri, his wife, and two unidentified males were killed in the attack. Pasdaran casualties were three dead and five wounded; two seriously.”

“Hmph, I expected their losses to be greater,” Omid remarked cynically.

“Hafez, you need to learn to be more gracious. The Pasdaran may be blunt instruments, but they still serve the Islamic Republic and their sacrifice deserves our respect,” chided Sattari.

Omid sighed deeply, acknowledging his partner’s rebuke. “You’re right, Teymour. My apologies. Was there anything else?”

“Uh, yes, one last item. It seems our captain was not impressed with the barricade established by the Charak police force. One officer in particular allowed two civilians to get too close. Fortunately, the fighting had already ended.”

Omid looked at Sattari intently, intrigued. “Did he give you any details?”

“Just that it was a man and a woman. They left before he had a chance to speak to them. The captain then claimed he became occupied in disciplining the officer and didn’t see where they went,” answered Sattari.

“Find that police officer, Teymour.” Omid’s voice was hard. “I want to question him personally.” The junior agent initially considered asking why, but the stern look on Omid’s face suggested that would be a bad idea. He left quickly to find the policeman.

It took only fifteen minutes for Sattari to lead a very nervous police officer into the sitting room of the Naseri house. Omid was seated behind a desk busily labeling plastic bags with the charred remains of the computers and cell phones. He looked up as his partner cleared his throat.

“Sir. Police Officer Golzar reporting for questioning as ordered.”

Omid stood and pointed to the chair in front of the desk. “Excellent, Agent Sattari. Officer Golzar, please be seated.”

The man sat down stiffly. His face was pale, and he swallowed hard. There was fear in his eyes.

“Be at ease, Officer Golzar. You are not under any suspicion. I only wish to ask you some questions concerning the two civilians that managed to get past your barricade.”

Golzar relaxed noticeably, but his voice still wavered. “I will do my best to answer your questions, sir.”

“Excellent.” Omid smiled as he opened his notebook. “Would you please describe the two civilians?”

“They weren’t both civilians, sir,” Golzar answered warily. “The man was a Basij soldier, a corporal. The woman was properly attired in a full, dark-colored burqua. He claimed she was his sister-in-law.”

“I see,” responded Omid. “Can you describe this corporal in more detail?

“He was about my height. Approximately 1.8 meters tall, stocky build. His uniform was typical for Basij, ill-fitting and a little dirty. He was also armed. The weapon appeared to be a standard-issue sidearm.”

“Did anything appear unusual about this man?” probed Omid.

“No, sir. He appeared to be a typical Basij militiaman. Although” — Golzar paused momentarily, a brief grin flashed across his face—”he was unusually respectful and obeyed my command to leave immediately without question.”

“And the woman?”

“She was much shorter, perhaps 1.6 meters tall. She seemed slight of build, but it is difficult to say with certainty as she was wearing a full burqua. She was visibly distressed by what she saw. She was sobbing uncontrollably.”

Omid wrote down the salient points, and then continued, “Exactly where did they cross the barricade?”

“I can’t say for sure, sir.” Golzar was getting nervous again. “I found them twenty-five meters inside the perimeter. They appeared to have come up from the south, from the direction of Bandar Aftab Road.”

“What time did this occur?”

Golzar checked his watch. “Just over an hour and ten minutes ago, about 1405.”

“Did they say why they were there?”

“Yes, sir. The corporal said they were on the way to the old Al Ali Castle when they became curious about the noise and smoke. I criticized him for bringing the woman there and told them that it was none of their business and that they had to leave.”

Omid leaned forward; his gaze was intense. “Did you observe their departure directly?”

“Yes, sir, at… at least initially.” Golzar audibly gulped as he spoke. “They headed north on Bandar Charak Road, and then the Pasdaran captain diverted my attention. When I looked back, they were gone. They could have headed west on Nahil Street, but that would be a guess on my part, sir.”

The VEVAK agent slowly closed his notebook and rose. Golzar sprung to his feet, standing at attention. Omid smiled and offered his hand. “Thank you for your cooperation, Police Officer Golzar. You have been most helpful.”

Golzar hesitated at first, but he took Omid’s hand and shook it. Sattari then led him outside and cautioned him to not speak about the interview. When Sattari returned, he found Omid sitting in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face.

“Do you believe the two were Naseri and Akbari?”

“Yes, Teymour, I do,” Omid’s tone was calm and confident. “The old castle is on the other side of town, over a kilometer away, and yet they approached from the south or the east? The descriptions Golzar gave are about right. Naseri wore a burqua to prevent being recognized and Akbari changed his Pasdaran uniform for Basij. This deception would fool the police and probably any Pasdaran officer, but her reaction to the fighting gives them away. They are here, Teymour! In Bandar Charak!”

Sattari grinned, pleased that things seemed to be turning their way, “We should report this immediately.”

“Absolutely not!” shouted Omid. “Provide an initial report of the outcome of the raid, but do not mention my suspicion that Akbari and Naseri are here. Then I want you to find the local Basij commander. We need eight of his men to support us in the search.”

“Hafez, I know you don’t like Rahim, but procedure demands we report this,” argued Sattari.

“Actually, I despise the man,” Omid shot back forcefully. “But my feelings for that jackal only play a small part in my decision. Time. Time is what is against us. If we report in, we’ll have to wait for Rahim to get the message and respond. And since we don’t have the authority to mobilize the entire Basij brigade ourselves, we’ll have to sit here with our fingers up our ass waiting for him, doing nothing. Every minute we delay gives those two traitors more opportunity to escape. No, Teymour, we’ll grab some Basij and go find them ourselves.”

“Akbari is a Pasdaran captain, and he is armed,” warned Sattari. “He won’t go down without a fight.”

Omid’s laugh was laden with contempt. “Bah! If you and I, with a little help from the Basij, can’t apprehend one Pasdaran captain and a pregnant woman, then we have no right to be in our line of business.”

Although apprehensive, Sattari reluctantly nodded his agreement. Omid gave him a reassuring slap on the back as the junior agent departed to find the local Basij brigade commander. Omid is one of the best field agents in VEVAK, he thought. He knows what he is doing.

6 April 2013

0900 Local Time/1400 Zulu

U.S. Air Force C-37 Gulfstream V

They’d barely taken off when an Air Force tech sergeant said, “Ma’am, Senator, I’ve got an urgent video call from the White House Situation Room. They’re in contact with some people in Iran.”

Joanna almost leapt from her seat, with Lowell close behind her. The communications tech guided them to one side of a conference table in the midsection of the cabin. “The video conference camera will see you both,” he said, pressing a key. Then, speaking into his headset, he said, “Dr. Kirkpatrick, they’re both here.”

The communications tech pointed to one of the video screens. It showed Kirkpatrick in the situation room. A screen next to it showed her and Lowell, and she fought the urge to fix her hair. Men never notice anyway.

With Joanna on the move, Kirkpatrick had taken her place in the situation room. It was appropriate, considering that the problem was now much larger than a simple intelligence op. A war could start in the next few days, and the U.S. had to stop it, or be ready if they couldn’t.

“This is a secure line,” the technician announced.

“The president is still en route, but were going to start anyway,” Kirkpatrick announced. “Commander Mitchell’s position is not completely secure. Commander, are you still there?”

“We’re still here, sir.” Jerry’s disembodied voice wasn’t as strong as Kirkpatrick’s, and was overlaid with a little static.

“Jerry, it’s Joanna. What’s your status?” she asked. She tried, and failed, to hide her worry.

“Were safe for the moment, but our source’s contact was killed by the IRGC. We’re going to have to work up a new strategy to get out with Michigan.”

“We’re working with them as well,” Kirkpatrick added. “Joanna, I’ve explained your role to Commander Mitchell, and why I thought you should hear his information.”

President Myles appeared in the screen, and sat down next to Kirkpatrick. “Commander Mitchell, the president just joined us. Please tell him and Dr. Patterson what you told me a few moments ago.”

Jerry’s voice sounded intense, almost desperate. “The Iranians are deliberately provoking Israel into bombing Natanz. Our Iranian friend confirms that they aren’t even close to assembling a weapon. An Israeli attack gives them an excuse for their failure, and makes Israel the bad guy.”

Patterson didn’t respond immediately. In her mind, she walked through what they knew; it was entirely consistent with Jerry’s report. It made sense. “It explains Iran’s behavior, including several things that have happened in the last few days. I’m assuming you’ve been too busy to follow the news.”

Kirkpatrick shook his head “no” and added, “And there’s no hard proof, Commander? No files?”

“No files, sir. They have nothing that directly substantiates it. We’ve been transmitting for some time, now, sir,” he reminded Kirkpatrick. “There is some risk of detection.”

“Jerry,” Patterson interrupted. “Lowell is with me; we’re going to try and convince the Israelis to wait. To give us time to get all the data together that shows this is a deception.”

“So I’ve been told. Just don’t beat them bloody with the facts, Skipper,” joked Jerry. “We kind of need their cooperation.”

Patterson and Hardy both snickered at Jerry’s affectionate poke at his former commanding officer’s personality. “We’ll do our best, Jerry. But I won’t make any promises I can’t keep,” Hardy replied.

“Fair enough, sir.”

After a brief moment of silence, Kirkpatrick asked, “Joanna, any other questions? Mr. President?”

She shook her head, and then realized Jerry couldn’t see that. “Godspeed, Jerry.”

President Myles said, “Getting all of you and the information you have out of Iran is vital. Stay alive.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Out here.”

After Jerry signed off, Patterson spoke hurriedly. “Mr. President, before we break the connection, I have a question.”

“Yes, Joanna.”

“How much can we tell the Israelis?”

“Use your good judgment, Doctor,” Myles answered. “But also use your discretion. Like Ray said, we don’t have direct proof, and Opal’s information only makes sense if you believe they don’t have a weapon to test. Their intelligence plays by different rules.”

Hardy nodded. “They’ve got a lower threshold of proof. If they make a mistake, they could cease to exist as a nation. With an outcome like that, they are far more willing to shoot first and ask the hard questions later.” Myles added. “And they’ve got an attitude as well. Their intelligence people are good, and most of them think we’re not as good.”

“At least this validates your decision, Mr. President,” Kirkpatrick observed.

“Only if you accept that they’re not close to assembling a weapon,” Myles insisted. “There are people in my own administration who won’t buy this theory. And the only way we can prove it is to get our people out of Iran. Make it happen, Ray.”

6 April 2013

1715 Local Time/1415 Zulu

Bandar Kangan Police Barracks

Rahim paced impatiently in his makeshift office. He was starving for information. It had been over five hours since he ordered the coastwide alert and arrests of Seyyed and Mehry Naseri. The Shiraz office had responded quickly. Naseri’s mother was in custody and pleaded ignorance. Her questioning was underway.

Despite numerous calls to Tehran, all he knew about Seyyed Naseri’s arrest was that the Pasdaran had been ordered to raid his home. What were the results? Was the uncle in custody?

His last call to headquarters, an hour and a half earlier, had been a waste of time. All the desk officer could say was that two agents from the Bandar Abbas office, Omid and Sattari, had left for Bandar Charak shortly after the alert had been received. They had to drive to Bandar Charak and the earliest they could have been on the scene was sometime around 1500. No reports as yet had been received, but the desk officer assured him that he would be contacted as soon as any information was available. Rahim had slammed down the phone into its cradle, cursing the overly centralized command structure of the Iranian security services.

In a way, it was worse than no news. Rahim was not pleased to hear that Omid had been sent to Bandar Charak. The man was far too emotional and his legendary temper had affected his judgment in the past. He was also known to hold grudges against those who crossed him, something Rahim had done on numerous occasions.

Would Omid put his feud with him ahead of his duties to the Islamic Republic? It was a possibility, but Rahim didn’t think so. For all his faults, Omid was also passionate about protecting the homeland of the Islamic Revolution. He would fulfill his obligations, Rahim thought, and work with him, even if Omid really didn’t want to.

Dahghan had the misfortune of walking into Rahim’s office soon after the phone call, to deliver the final autopsy report. Without warning, the major exploded on his assistant, venting his frustration, and ordered him to personally contact the local Basij militia commander and demand a progress report. He would not tolerate being ignored any longer. The surprised young agent was highly motivated to carry out his new orders, and hurriedly left the office, the autopsy report still in his hands.

Sometime later, a knock at the door snapped Rahim out of his brooding. “Sir, I have the report from Mullah Dashani that you wanted,” Dahghan said warily.

“About time,” growled Rahim. “What does our venerable Basij commander have to say?”

Dahghan ignored the sarcasm and read the report as received over the phone. “Mullah Dashani says the additional security checkpoints have been established on both sides of Bandar Kangan, as well as on the eastern side of Deyyer. All vehicles traveling on Highway 96 have been stopped and searched since 1400 this afternoon. There has been a constant Basij presence at both harbors since Thursday, and every vessel is searched before being allowed to depart. There has been no sign of Akbari or Naseri at the checkpoints, or in Kangan or Deyyer. There has also been no trace of their vehicle. Extensive searches of the beaches along a forty-kilometer front have not produced any additional bodies or debris.”

Rahim rested his head in his right hand as he listened to Dahghan, analyzing the information he was hearing. The trail had gone cold. The two traitors were no longer in Kangan, of this he was certain, but where did they go? Were they on board the American submarine when it sank? Oh, if only Allah would be so gracious.

Dahghan concluded the report with a request from Dashani, asking how long Rahim would like the security checkpoints to be in place.

Annoyed by the mullah’s request, Rahim ignored it and shot back, “Is that all?”

“Ah, no… sir,” replied Dahghan, his voice sounded nervous. “Mullah Dashani admitted that he discussed coordinating checkpoints with Mullah Bahar, the commander of the Tahari Basij Brigade yesterday afternoon.”

Rahim stifled a groan, and rubbed his face as Dahghan relayed the Tahari Brigade’s report. He’d asked Dashani to keep this whole thing quiet, but that discussion had been overtaken by events. Still, it irritated him greatly that people didn’t seem to take him seriously when he asked for something. He was considering what “corrective guidance” he would administer, when Dahghan said something that suddenly caught his attention. “… and Mullah Bahar is concerned that one of his patrols has failed to return. The men did not show up for their muster this afternoon, and inquiries showed they had not returned from their patrol earlier this morning. A search is underway to try and find them.”

“What? Repeat that last part,” demanded Rahim. The assistant read again the part about the missing patrol. Rahim was more than curious. Could it be merely a coincidence that a Basij patrol disappears during the same time frame when the two traitors may have fled the area? He didn’t believe in coincidences.

“When was this patrol taking place?” he asked, his voice was tense.

“Between midnight and 0600 today, sir,” replied Dahghan.

“Where?”

“They were patrolling a twenty-five-kilometer section of Highway 96 north of Bandar Tahari.”

“How many men?”

“Four, sir. One corporal and three privates.”

“Why wasn’t this reported earlier?” Rahim asked with disdain.

Dahghan gulped quietly. He was afraid to answer that question. “This brigade’s policy is that if the patrol does not discover anything significant, the members can go straight home and sleep, then report when they muster in the afternoon.”

Rahim rubbed his face again, desperately fighting the urge to laugh. Such laxness was simply incomprehensible, almost comical. “Militia,” he finally whispered to himself. After a brief pause, Rahim straightened and spoke firmly. “Dahghan, get a vehicle. We leave for Bandar Tahari immediately.”

“Yes, Major. At once,” responded the young agent, who literally ran out of the office.

Rahim grabbed his holster, jacket, and cap and quickly put them on. He had just started walking toward the door when the phone on the desk began ringing. Grabbing the handset, he answered tersely, “Major Rahim.”

“Major, Agent Mahdipur at headquarters. I have the initial report from the Bandar Abbas agents.”

“Excellent. Is Naseri in custody?” asked Rahim impatiently.

“Agent Sattari reports that the Pasdaran raid was a ‘bungled disaster.”‘

“Go on,” he prodded. Rahim’s expectations sank with every word Mahdipur spoke.

“Two squads of Pasdaran soldiers responded to the arrest order. The occupants violently resisted arrest with automatic weapons and hand grenades. The first assault was repulsed. The second assault was successful and the house was taken at 1355.” Rahim closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaped from his lips. He already knew what Mahdipur was going to say next.

“Seyyed Naseri, his wife, and two unknown male accomplices were killed during the battle. Sattari further reports that Naseri had destroyed two laptop computers, several mobile phones, as well as his papers and electronic media with magnesium flares. They were recovering the remains of the computers and phones on the off chance that some information could still be salvaged, but Senior Agent Omid does not hold out much hope for that. They are continuing their investigation and expect to file a more complete report later this evening. Sattari also mentioned that they had a lead that Omid wanted to run to ground before submitting their final report.”

Rahim’s curiosity was immediately piqued. “A lead? Did he say anything more specific about this ‘lead’?”

“No, Major.”

“What time was the initial report filed?”

“About 1530.”

“Very well. If there are additional reports, call me on my mobile phone. I’m leaving for Bandar Tahari momentarily and will be away from this phone for an unknown period of time.” Mahdipur acknowledged Rahim’s order and hung up.

As Rahim placed the handset in its cradle, his eyes caught sight of a local map pinned up on the wall. He walked over and examined it, focusing his gaze on Bandar Kangan. Something just didn’t seem right. He picked up a ruler and measured the distance from the beach where the traitor’s car was last seen to Bandar Tahari; twenty-four kilometers point to point, thirty-two by road. Two days.

Akbari’s cell phone was at Kangan on the morning of the fourth. Two days later, a Basij patrol disappears. Suddenly, it struck him. They’re on foot. In two days, even in her condition, Shirin Naseri should be able to walk twenty-four kilometers. And the recent shamal would have obscured any trace of their passage.

With growing excitement, Rahim followed this line of thought, building on his theory step-by-step: They’re traveling at night to avoid detection, probably paralleling Highway 96 to ease navigation.

But could Akbari take on four Basij? True, he was Pasdaran, better trained and more disciplined, but all the reports had him armed with only a pistol. His combat specialty was in air defense; he was not a professional infantryman. Surely he couldn’t defeat four more heavily armed men by himself, could he?

A cold feeling descended on him as he came to the inevitable, but disturbing conclusion — Akbari and his pregnant wife were not alone. Americans had to be with them. American commandos, soldiers of some sort were in Iran. He bolted for the door, reaching for his cell phone. He had to tell General Moradi immediately.

6 April 2013

1730 Local Time/1430 Zulu

The Outskirts of Bandar Charak

They were packing again, getting ready to abandon the layup position as soon as it was dark. The only things they were waiting on were the transmission from Michigan and for the sun to go down.

The entire group had heard Jerry’s radio conversation with Washington, and the president. Shirin had whispered a translation to Yousef as Jerry made his report. Both had been disbelieving, then impressed when they heard President Myles identified. “Is this commonplace in your military?” Shirin asked.

“No, it’s a sign of just how much trouble we’re in,” Jerry replied with a slight grin, “and also how important you two are to our country. They need you to help stop a war.”

Later, as they discussed what to do next, the debate circled and shifted around the idea of getting a boat. The Iranian Persian Gulf coast was lined with small harbors. Most supported small fishing villages. But they could also accommodate smaller speedboats as well.

“But what about the guards?” Shirin asked. “Every harbor is surely being watched.”

“We could take them out,” responded Ramey. “But if we can’t kill them quietly or sneak past them, they’ll sound the alarm, and there goes any head start we might have had.”

“We’ll need a boat fast enough to outrun the IRGC patrol craft. That may be hard to come by,” Lapointe remarked.

“And how do we get aboard Michigan with patrol boats on our tail?” Jerry asked.

“What if it didn’t have a full gas tank?” Phillips wondered aloud. “That would be very embarrassing.”

The other SEALs and Jerry stopped talking and stared at Phillips, a look of mild irritation on their faces.

“What!?” pleaded Phillips defensively.

Ramey just shook his head. “Here’s how I see it. Bandar Charak is not an option; there’s too much attention focused on this town right now, and that was a long phone call we made. Even though the SATCOM is hard to detect, we have to assume that the military units in the town are still at a heightened state of readiness. And then there’s the IRGC naval station on Kish Island, eighteen nautical miles to the northwest. We’d be cut off before we even reached the twelve-mile limit. Backtracking to the northwest is a nonstarter, so we continue to head southeast, but to where?”

They attacked the problem throughout the rest of the afternoon, looking at the various ports, building scenarios, trying to find weaknesses in the Iranian defenses, or at least ways of reducing the risk. And they had to move; they couldn’t just wait out their pursuers. The longer they took getting out of the country, the more resources the Iranian authorities would add to the hunt. And then there was the big picture issue of getting the information out so that Washington could rein in the Israelis.

But every time, their exploration wound up in the same rut. Which harbor was the best bet? Would there be a boat big enough and fast enough for them to even attempt an escape? Would they have to split up to have a decent chance? What about security checkpoints along the way? Where and how many were there? And then there was the inevitable pursuit.

To a man, each SEAL was convinced they’d have to fight their way out. Their chances of success depending entirely on the type of patrol boat, or boats, they ran into. In other words, a total crapshoot.

There were just too many unknowns. The secret to success of any SEAL mission lay in exhaustively researching the target, planning for as many contingencies as possible, and leaving little to chance. This operation would be entirely ad hoc, opportunity driven, trusting to luck. And the odds just weren’t in their favor. To the SEALs, and Jerry, the small boat escape idea looked like suicide. But what other option did they have?

“Maybe we should just head southeast and figure this out on the fly,” Jerry suggested wearily. “We can task Michigan to get us real time UAV imagery on each of the ports, and maybe some shots along the highway. We can also see if the Rivet Joint aircraft can help us nail down the locations of some of those checkpoints. We evaluate each opportunity as it occurs and go with the one that looks promising.”

Ramey frowned, clearly unimpressed with Jerry’s haphazard approach to mission planning, but he remained silent as he had little to offer in return.

The discussion was beginning to die out, the participants frustrated with the seemingly insurmountable problem before them, when suddenly Yousef had a funny look on his face. Turning to Shirin, he spoke rapidly, with a note of excitement in his voice. Shirin seemed confused, but Yousef was adamant and gestured for her to translate.

“What kind of plane can XO Jerry fly?” Shirin relayed.

Surprised, Jerry answered, “Well, I flew the Super Hornet, a jet fighter.”

When Shirin translated, Yousef quickly asked another question. “Is that the only kind of airplane you can fly?”

“I flew trainers before that, and I have a current private pilot’s license. Why do you want to know?”

Shirin explained for her husband. “Iran has small airfields all along the coast. If we stole a plane, we could be across the gulf within a few minutes’ flying. There would be no time for pursuit.”

“Well, that’s a novel idea,” Ramey observed, encouraged.

“I can’t fly a helicopter, but I could fly most fixed-wing aircraft well enough to take off and head south. I can read the owner’s manual once were in the air,” Jerry added, smiling.

Lapointe was already looking at the maps stored in his laptop. “The nearest airport is at Bandar Lengeh, about sixty klicks to the southeast as the crow flies, seventy-five by road.”

Ramey moved to look over his shoulder. “I like it. The runway is just over a klick from the beach, and Highway 96 runs right past it so we can take a quick look as we drive by. There’s a good road net, and no major obstacles if we have to go cross-country. And there is a harbor just five kilometers away, just in case. Sweet!”

“Highway 96 runs right along the coast line from Bandar Divan all the way into downtown Bandar Lengeh,” noted Lapointe. “We should be able to get a good long stare at the road if CENTCOM gets one of their UAVs up.”

Their critical need for information prompted an early call to Michigan. While the team members on the sub vetted the newest plan and the intelligence requirements, the group ate a quick dinner and prepared to move.

Michigan’s response came just after sunset. Lapointe downloaded detailed photos for the team to study, as well as analyses of military radio transmissions along their intended path. Once he was done, Lapointe gave the handset to Jerry.

“XO, we can see two Falcon 20s sitting on the tarmac at Bandar Lengeh,” Frederickson reported. “Can you fly one of those?”

“That’s not a polite question to ask a pilot,” Jerry answered with feigned offense. “Twin-engine bizjet. Yes, I can fly it.”

“Then the skipper says get it in the air and head for Saudi Arabia. CENTCOM is working on a fighter escort the instant you’re clear of Iranian airspace.”

“Understood. We’ll be moving shortly. Out here.” Lapointe took the headset and had just started to fold the PRC-117 antenna, when Fazel called out.

“Boss, XO, I think we may have a problem.”

The covered truck pulled to a stop on the side of the road. Omid jumped out and hit the speed-dial number for Sattari on his cell phone. “Teymour, Hafez. How is your investigation going?”

“Not bad, Hafez. I have several reports that indicate our two suspects were proceeding north on Kalat Road.”

“Excellent, Teymour. I have only two reports, but one witness is certain he served them kebabs earlier in the afternoon. It looks like they came into town by way of Bandar Charak Road, cut to the east, and then back south. I think I like this Akbari guy. He took different, indirect paths in and out. Very professional.”

“Where are you now, Hafez?”

“We’re a couple of kilometers north of town on Bandar Charak Road, I’m checking out the last report. It had several people walking north, possibly including our two traitors.”

“It’s getting dark, Hafez. The sun is already down. Do you think it’s wise to go wandering in those hills at this time of day? You can’t see much.”

“You worry too much, Teymour. I’m just going to verify that they didn’t go toward the hills. We drove all the way up to 96 and back, but we didn’t see anybody. So, either they went over the dunes, which is what I suspect, or they took to the hills. There is no evidence of a vehicle. If I can eliminate the possibility of them going into the hills tonight, we’ll be able to better focus our search tomorrow.”

Sattari hesitated, he hated to bring the subject up again, but he had to. “Hafez, since we haven’t found them, I really think we should—”

“Yes, yes, yes, Teymour. You’re as bad as an old woman, always nagging,” interrupted Omid, with resignation in his voice. “Go ahead and report back to Bandar Abbas that we suspect the traitors were in Bandar Charak earlier today, and that they appear to have departed on foot northwards. We are attempting to pick up the trail, but units nearby should be put on high alert. There, are you satisfied?”

“Yes, Hafez. I really do believe it is the proper thing to do,” replied a much-relieved Sattari.

“Fine. I’ll meet you at the rotary just on the outskirts of town on Bandar Charak Road in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Got it. Till then.”

“I’ll see you shortly.” Omid responded to his partner’s farewell and then turned his attention to the four apprehensive young men with him.

“All right, my Basij fighters,” announced Omid. “We’ll form a line, four meters between each man, and we’ll walk along the roadside looking for any evidence that someone headed toward those hills to our left. Since the light is waning fast, we’ll make one quick pass up and back and then we’ll call it a day.”

The five men stretched out with four off the road, and one just at the edge. They each turned on their flashlights and slowly began walking toward the clump of trees near the hillside.

“Shit,” cursed Ramey. “They’re coming this way.”

“I think they’re looking for our tracks,” Fazel guessed. “I’m sorry, Boss, but I didn’t do a great job of hiding them.”

“Couldn’t be helped, Doc. You were practically carrying Dr. Naseri back up the rock ledge. Okay, people, listen up; column formation along this ridgeline. Pointy is in the lead, with the XO, Dr. Naseri, and then Captain Akbari behind. Philly has the rear while Doc and I cover our withdrawal. Move quietly, but move quickly. Go!”

Jerry helped Dr. Naseri to her feet; she was exhausted from the hike into Bandar Charak and back, but fear fueled her legs now. Yousef helped her to keep her footing as they moved slowly away from the advancing Iranian soldiers.

It took only a couple of minutes for Jerry to realize that the soldiers were gaining on them. They were at best one hundred meters away and closing. “Boss, they’re getting closer,” Phillips said over the radio net. Ramey made a vigorous motion with his hand, pointing for Jerry to keep the two Iranians moving.

Shirin was having difficulty climbing the ragged rock line. Shadows from the last light of the day hid loose rocks and low spots. Coupled with her fatigue, her movements were unsure and halting. Yousef quietly prompted her to move forward by gently pushing her waist. She stepped up on to the next rock, but when she put her weight down on it, a portion of the rock slipped away and rattled its way down the hillside. Ramey whispered urgently over the radio, “Everyone down! Don’t move!” Jerry froze in an awkward position, half perched on a bolder.

“Sir!” shouted a young Basij private. “Over there, I heard some rocks fall!”

Omid quickly motioned for the private to be quiet; he, too, had heard the rocks, but falling rocks weren’t unusual in this part of the country. Still, just to be safe, Omid had them approach more slowly, their weapons at the ready. Two Basij kept trying to scan the ridgeline with their flashlights. They hadn’t gone another six meters when the sergeant called him. “Agent Omid, I believe these are the tracks of two people.”

“I’m coming over,” he said quietly. Unfortunately, the other three Basij followed him over as well. Moving as a group, they walked toward the ridge where Jerry and the others had been.

“They’re on to us, Boss,” Fazel concluded over the radio. “I have a good shot on the lead guy.”

“Not yet, Doc,” Ramey whispered. “I’m not convinced they know we’re here. Let’s be patient and give them a chance to back off.”

“Hooyah, sir.”

Ramey looked to his left, and with hand signals, ordered Phillips to assume a firing position. Running away was no longer an option. Jerry felt useless. He couldn’t raise his SCAR, as he needed both hands just to keep him on the bolder. If he tried to move, he’d undoubtedly make more noise and likely give away their position. All he could do was hold still and watch as Phillips snuck quietly toward the ridgeline. But as he stepped down, his left foot started slipping on some loose sand. He instinctively threw his hand up to brace himself against the rock, and for a fraction of a second, his hand was exposed.

“Sir!” screamed one of the militiamen. “Movement, over there!” The soldier immediately raised his weapon and cut loose with several bursts.

The rounds ricocheted off the rock wall just above them; shards of rock and dust fell down from the impact points. Yousef pushed Shirin to the ground and covered her body with his. Shirin was shaking violently from fear. Jerry grasped the rock he was laying on even tighter. He couldn’t see the soldiers, so theoretically they shouldn’t be able to see him. Theoretically.

“Take them out,” ordered Ramey calmly. The three men took careful aim, and fired together as if they were one man.

Omid was furious. He grabbed the soldier’s weapon and shoved it toward the ground. “What the hell do you think you are shooting at? Shadows?” he asked angrily. The young Basij didn’t have time to answer the VEVAK agent as a 7.26mm round pierced his chest. Two of the other Basij militiamen were also hit before Omid heard the cracks of the rifles. He dove for the ground, rolled toward the clump of trees, and hid behind one of the fallen men, seeking cover, as bullets whizzed above him. The fourth Basij soldier just stood there, stunned by what he had seen. A fraction of a second later, another single crack signaled his demise. Confused and terrified, Omid searched for his cell phone. He needed reinforcements.

“Last man down,” declared Fazel. “I got two, sir.”

“I got one, Boss,” Phillips added.

“I’m pretty sure I only got one, as well,” said Ramey. “One of those guys is playing possum.”

“I can’t tell which one, Boss. No one is moving and their IR signatures all look the same. Do you want me to put a round into each one again?” Fazel asked. Before Ramey could respond, the corpsman saw a slight light appear in his scope. The man behind one of the fallen soldiers had opened a cell phone; Fazel now knew his target. “Oh no, you don’t,” he whispered as he squeezed his trigger for the third time.

Omid moved slowly. With the flashlights on the ground, his assailants probably couldn’t see him clearly. If he moved very slowly, maybe he could fool them into thinking he had been hit. He gradually brought the cell phone up to his chest and carefully slipped open the face, trying desperately to hide the light. He managed to push the speed-dial number for Teymour’s phone, and even heard it ring once. But that was the last thing he heard as a bullet sliced through his skull. The phone dropped onto the sand, a concerned voice emanating from its speaker, “Hafez? Hafez? Hafez, can you hear me? Hafez!”

By the time Sattari arrived eight minutes later, the Americans and their precious Iranian cargo were almost five kilometers down the road. Fazel drove with the lights off, using the night-vision goggles they had obtained from Michigan. He turned right onto Highway 96, and it wasn’t until they had gone another twenty kilometers before he turned on the headlights and slowed to a more normal speed.