Exit Plan

19. OLD IDEAS

7 April 2013

1600 Local Time/1300 Zulu

Kilo-Class Submarine, Yunes, SS903

South of Qeshm Island

Like all submarine fire control systems, Yunes’s Russian-designed equipment allowed the operator to create an artificial target on the displays. This feature enabled the sub’s attack team to train as if it were fighting a real opponent. Everything about the target could be defined, from its acoustic characteristics to its own sensors and weapons.

Commander Mehr had started drilling his team while the torpedoes were still being loaded. It wasn’t that they were ignorant of antisubmarine warfare tactics, but they were rusty. After all, Iran was the only Persian Gulf country with submarines. Most of their training was against surface targets, while the ASW training requirement was a twice-a-year canned drill against another Project 877EKM-class boat.

No more canned targets now. Mehr had started them out slow. Simply creating a very quiet synthetic submarine target had been enough of a shock. Radiated sound levels were a fraction of what they’d seen from surface ships, with initial detection ranges well inside weapons range for both sides.

That had spurred Mehr to add rapid salvo-firing training against targets that suddenly appeared. He might only get one chance, and seconds would matter. Choices had to be considered and made now, before the fight started. For example, the TEST-71ME-NK torpedoes had two speed settings. They could run at 40 knots for 15,000 meters, or the range could be extended to 20,000 meters by slowing to 26 knots. Given that this would be a close-in fight, he’d ordered 40 knots preset into the weapons.

His first officer, Lieutenant Commander Khadem, ran the drills while Mehr watched and thought about how he would fight this enemy. Once the team was used to a target that could change depth, he would start experimenting. Should he use active sonar before he fired? What was the best number of torpedoes in a salvo?

The latter one was not a simple question. The newer version of the TEST-71 torpedo was a more flexible weapon than its predecessors. It had an acoustic seeker that would either listen for the target or use its own active pulses to locate the enemy sub and home in. It could also be wire-guided, with a thin wire that connected the torpedo directly to Yunes. A wire cassette would reel out the guidance wire to compensate for the movement of the torpedo and the submarine, allowing Yunes to see what the torpedo’s seeker saw and to control its movements.

Yunes had six tubes, but only two of them had connections for the guidance wires. The other four tubes would only allow the acoustic homing mode. The final complication was that he could only fire two TEST-71ME-NK torpedoes in active acoustic mode at a time. If he fired more than a pair of weapons, they would likely begin homing in on each other once they went active, like a cat chasing its own image in a mirror.

Mehr had one of his officers researching the Ohio-class and its torpedoes, the Mark 48. He would present a detailed brief in a little over an hour. Other parts of the crew were running emergency drills. Everyone understood they were going to war.

He stood up and stretched. His desk was cluttered with manuals, printouts, and scribbled notes. It was time to take a tour. The crew needed to see him.

Nikhad, the senior radioman, found Mehr as he left his stateroom. “Captain, urgent message!”

Mehr snatched the printout out of his hands and then cursed himself for showing too much excitement. He took his time reading the short message, then read it again to make sure he understood it clearly.

A skirmish? Missile strikes? Nobody ever told him anything. The message was signed by Admiral Zand. The routing was through the main headquarters at Bandar Abbas via Tehran. A sighting report from Pasdaran units and civilians, no wonder it was so old. Mehr said, “Acknowledge the message, and say, ‘We are en route. ‘ “

The radioman hurried off, while Mehr headed for control. Khadem was still drilling the attack team, and the captain did his best to appear calm.

“How are they doing?” Mehr asked casually.

“Better,” the first officer answered, “especially after I told them they could improve, or die.”

“Good, because we have a possible sighting of the enemy, about eighty kilometers from here.”

Like Mehr, Khadem fought to control his excitement, and didn’t entirely succeed.

“Drill them for another hour, and feed everyone,” Mehr ordered. “I’ll get us headed toward the reported location, and then we will work up a revised search plan. The sighting is nineteen and a half hours ago, and it isn’t very precise, but it gives us one critical advantage over the Americans.”

“What’s that?”

“We know they’re there.”

7 April 2013

1600 Local Time/1300 Zulu

The Oasis, East of Mollu

Shirin had been looking at her watch since noon, and insisted on helping keep watch for Jerry and Ramey. Harry had found a shady spot and made her comfortable, expecting her to fall asleep. Instead, she’d laid patiently, looking to the northeast as the warm afternoon hours passed. Nothing had moved, neither friend nor foe.

In typical SEAL fashion, they had agreed before leaving on what to do if the two did not return. The first part of that plan was abandoning the layup and moving to a second spot they’d chosen earlier. Shirin was reluctant to leave, but it was all according to plan. “After 1600, they won’t expect us to be here,” Harry explained.

With Lapointe incapacitated, Harry was the next senior petty officer. He’d done what he could during the afternoon, checking their gear and improving their camouflage when he wasn’t on lookout duty. Jerry and Ramey had left their packs behind, as well as other pieces of equipment. As it neared the cutoff time, Harry started to plan what the three would take and what they would have to bury.

Phillips had finally spotted them, just before the cutoff time. The pair was hurrying as much as they could while doing their best to stay concealed. With Ramey in the lead, they were as careful about being seen returning as departing.

When the two finally reached the relative safety of the layup, even Ramey was breathing hard. Jerry was gasping. “We pushed it,” Ramey explained. “We were scouting their defenses.”

With the last word, everyone’s expression changed. Nobody said anything for half a moment, then Fazel said, “There weren’t supposed to be any ‘defenses. ‘“

“There are now,” the lieutenant answered unhappily. “We watched a company of infantry — mechanized infantry, actually — set up strongpoints all over the airfield. There were machine gun emplacements and armored personnel carriers with fields of fire covering every open area, troops inside buildings making firing positions, and snipers on the roofs.

“The XO and I spotted them setting up as soon as we got to the field. We spent the rest of the time studying their defenses, looking for holes, something we could exploit.” He took a gulp from a water bottle.

“And then the second company drove up, a little after noon,” Jerry added. “Although they were only in trucks, not APCs. They expanded the perimeter, and then the officers started walking the ground around the airfield.”

Ramey explained, “At that point, we just wanted to get away, but with so many eyes, we had to move carefully, and slowly. That’s what almost pushed us past the cutoff time.”

“There was nothing on the imagery,” Phillips insisted. “This must have all happened this morning.”

Ramey nodded emphatically. “Brand-new. We saw them making emplacements and filling out range cards. In a way, it was ideal. We watched them set up. We know exactly where everything is. If I had the whole platoon, we could take that place apart.” He smiled at the thought.

“It isn’t happening,” Jerry said finally. “We can’t steal a plane.” He hated to say the words. He felt more than frustration. After so many failed plans, being pursued and shot at…

“Well, that’s why we reconnoiter a target before we go in,” Phillips announced philosophically.

“We took out an entire squad,” Fazel said. “They’re pissed, and they’re scared. They won’t take any more chances. They’ll flood this area with troops. “

Shirin sat silently, the latest bad news simply impossible to absorb. She’d lost so much, so quickly — her uncle, her mother, and now her husband. She was still trying to understand that Yousef was gone. His child would grow up without a father, if the baby got the chance to grow up at all. A wave of fatigue washed across her, and she felt cold, the same kind of cold she’d felt holding Yousef’s hand.

“I think I should tell you all the encryption key,” she said quietly. “It’s a mathematical formula, a transform on each group of three numbers—”

“Wait a minute!” protested Jerry. “I agree we need to distribute the key, but I don’t like the reasoning behind it. You just can’t assume it’s hopeless and give up. We are going to get you out of here,” he affirmed. The others all agreed emphatically.

Fazel said, “You have to believe we’ll make it, that we can beat them. They haven’t found us yet, which means we are still in the game.”

“What else can we do?” she asked him, almost in tears.

“Something. We just need to think it through, that’s all,” the SEAL answered. “I’ve seen guys overcome terrible obstacles and still succeed because they were certain that they could. That’s not arrogance; it’s just the will to keep on slugging until you win. You’ve suffered, but we’re still with you, and we won’t let you down.”

Harry took her hand. “Come over and lie down. I’ll get you something to eat.” When she objected, he said, “Doctor’s orders. You need the calories.”

Keep on slugging. Fazel was right. Jerry tried to focus on what had to happen next. There was a prearranged comm window at 1630. Originally it had been intended to review their escape plan with Michigan, but now he’d have to report that another plan had fallen through. Which one was this? Plan F? Plan G? The PRC-117 radio was already set up, and at exactly 1630, he reluctantly pressed the transmit key. At this point, Jerry was so familiar with the equipment it was almost like using a phone.

Lieutenant Frederickson acknowledged the call, and as soon as Jerry heard his voice, he knew something was wrong. “What’s happened?” he asked.

“They found Vern,” Frederickson said. “They’ve got Higgs.” Even over the radio, Jerry could hear his grief and anger.

“Who’s got him?” Jerry demanded. “The Iranians? How?”

Frederickson sighed. “He washed up on a beach. They had a press conference this morning, with drawings and fingerprints. The Iranians are turning all the information over to the Red Cross. If we say he’s ours — tell them who he is, the Iranians say they’ll give him to us — after we explain how he got there.” The anger rose in his voice with the last sentence.

Frederickson’s voice leapt out of the handset. “Damn it, Matt! Can you hear me? This is your fault. This is a major screwup! You left him, and this is what happens.”

Jerry had been holding the handset so that Ramey and Fazel could listen in as well. Frederickson’s words shattered the lieutenant. Jerry saw his expression dissolve into anguish.

“That was my decision, Lieutenant,” Jerry spoke sharply, almost automatically. “I ordered him to leave Higgs in the ASDS. We had no choice.”

“I’m not talking to you, sir! This is SEAL business. We don’t leave our own behind, and this will be a lesson to future BUDS classes of why that rule has always been followed. Up until now.”

“That’s enough, Mister.” Jerry heard Captain Guthrie’s voice, first in the background, then more clearly as he took the handset from Frederickson. “Jerry, we watched a download of the press conference. The Iranians don’t say where the body washed ashore, but it was sometime yesterday morning. They’re playing the ‘concerned citizen’ act to the hilt.”

“I’m sorry, sir. This complicates everything.”

“Not for us. This is for the people in Washington to sort out. There’s nothing you or I can do, or could have done differently.” Guthrie said the last part with a hard edge. Jerry guessed the captain was looking at Frederickson while he said it.

“Sir, more bad news. The airfield plan is a total bust.” Jerry quickly summarized the situation at the airstrip.

“And we can assume that the roadblocks have been beefed up as well,” Guthrie concluded. “Moving is going to become more and more dangerous.

“I wouldn’t want to have another fight like that again, with two fewer guns,” Jerry said. Fazel, still listening, nodded emphatically.

“Do you have a new plan yet?” Guthrie asked.

“Sort of, sir, the backup was to look toward the harbor at Bandar Lengeh. We’ll call as soon as we have something worked out.”

“Understood,” Guthrie answered. “Good luck, XO.”

Jerry turned off the power and started to break down the radio for travel. Although they’d have to call Michigan again, and hopefully soon, SEAL practice, as Lapointe had taught him, was to keep it packed up, in case they had to move suddenly.

Ramey was nearby, just a step or two away from where he’d stood with Jerry while listening to the radio. Jerry studied his face. Lines of strain and fatigue lay under a layer of grime. Jerry was sure they all looked that way, but Frederickson’s words had hit dead center. Ramey’s features also showed pain, and Jerry could see tears streaking the dirt.

Ramey was working hard to keep it together. “You know, I tried to warn Vern away from Judy. I thought they were too much alike. I worried all they would ever do was butt heads. After they were married, she forgave me, then she started teasing me about how I didn’t warn her.”

Jerry started to say something, and remembered Lapointe’s lecture about sympathy. It wouldn’t help Ramey to hear how sorry Jerry was about Higgs. But just turning his face toward Ramey was enough to focus the lieutenant’s attention on Jerry.

“Why did I listen to you?” Ramey shouted. “Why didn’t I get him out of there?”

“Because I ordered you to leave him,” Jerry said. He spoke softly, with as little emotion as possible. Yelling back at someone who was already angry was rarely a good idea.

“And if I’d had half a brain, I would have ignored you. All my training, all my instincts, said to get Vern out of there, and instead I screwed up. Look what’s happened now: The mission’s been exposed, and the only way we get Vern back is by telling how he got there, which we won’t do.”

“Trying to get Higgs out of the ASDS would have taken both of us, and the battery packs were already exploding as I pushed you out the hatch. It was the right decision then and it’s even more so now,” Jerry insisted forcefully. “Imagine the effect on the mission if one or both of us had been hurt, or lost.”

“Oh, yeah, the mission,” Ramey answered caustically. “And it’s gone so well. We’ve lost half the precious cargo, my LPO is crippled, and we’re trapped in enemy territory.”

There it was. Loss of a friend, loss of a comrade, loss of a mission, all eating away at Ramey’s insides. SEALs were all about control — controlling the situation and controlling their own feelings. But Ramey was a pressure cooker. Maybe he was trying too hard, or maybe he just had too much on his plate. That much emotion had to come out somewhere. Ramey’s had come out aimed at Jerry.

“All I hear is bullshit,” Jerry answered angrily, his patience threadbare. “You can grieve all you want once we’re back on the boat. Right now we need to focus on getting out of here.”

“Let it go, Boss.” Lapointe’s voice was just as hard, more critical than Jerry’s. “The XO’s right. It sucks big-time, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s right.” He turned to Jerry and asked, “Sir, could you please take over lookout from Philly?”

Wordlessly, Jerry nodded and changed places with Phillips. Lapointe, sitting with his back against a tree, started to stand, and with Fazel and Philly helping him, got up. All four SEALs headed away from Jerry, deeper into the trees. This was SEAL business.

Jerry kept his attention focused outside the grove. The SEALs spoke quietly, but they hadn’t gone far enough away to mask the sound of their voices. The tone of the conversation was stern, with the occasional hard word, but sometimes challenging.

Seeing Ramey’s grief brought back Jerry’s own experience. He’d been navigator on a boat that had collided with another submarine. The fault lay with the other skipper, and Jerry’s own crew had been completely cleared. Not only was it not their fault, there was nothing they could have done to avoid the collision.

But men had died on both vessels. Jerry had been present, with some small influence over the situation — but not nearly enough to prevent a tragedy. Was it pride that kept asking “What if?” even when the situation was beyond your control? Should you be punished for failing when there was nothing that could be done? For some people, being at fault was better than being helpless.

A few minutes later the SEALs came back with Ramey in the lead. Swallowing hard, his jaw was tense. He walked straight over to Jerry. “You were right. It was your call to make. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy about it, but this isn’t about what makes me happy. I let you all down, and I apologize. It won’t happen again.” He made it a point to look at everyone as he said it. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

7 April 2013

1800 Local Time/1600 Zulu

Mossad Headquarters, Herzliya, Israel

Dr. Yaniv Revach, the head of Mossad, met them in the hall. “I was in a meeting when word of your arrival reached me.” He waved off the escort. “I have them from here.”

A uniformed aide came to attention as they followed Revach into his office. He closed the door with a look to his assistant that made it clear they were not to be disturbed. Motioning toward a comfortable-looking couch, he sat down wearily. “This room is one of the most private places on Earth. We will not be recorded, and nothing you say will leave here, I promise.”

Patterson didn’t keep him waiting. “It’s bad news, Doctor. We received word that our people in Iran had to abort their escape plan. They’re still relatively safe, but they’ll need a new way to get out of Iran.”

Revach didn’t say anything, but got out of his chair and walked over to a large map of Iran that almost covered one wall of his office. “After our talk earlier today I asked our signals intelligence people to report any unusual communications traffic in the area of southern Iran. You can understand that this meant reassigning resources that were involved in other tasks.”

Both Americans nodded. “I’m sure your Iran section has been very busy,” Hardy said.

“It didn’t take them long,” Revach told them. He ran his hand along the Persian Gulf coast of Iran. “Pasdaran and Basij units from Bushehr to Bandar Abbas have been mobilized, and alerts for a” — he paused to look at a paper on his desk—”Yousef Akbari and Shirin Naseri have been circulated to every police barracks in the southern provinces. There are reports of firefights, with heavy casualties among the Iranian forces.”

He sat down again. “In a way, it’s helped. We saw so much signal traffic we were worried it might relate to our own activities, or to some asymmetric plan the Iranians were preparing, but it’s just an all-out manhunt for your fugitives. This is them, isn’t it, Akbari and Naseri?”

“Yes, that’s them,” Hardy admitted. He looked over at Joanna, and then explained, “They had hoped to steal an aircraft at an airfield near Bandar Lengeh, but at the last moment the airfield’s defenses were heavily reinforced.”

Revach nodded knowingly. “Our analysis indicates that they will find it the same anywhere they go. It is unlikely that we will be looking at the files on your flash drive any time soon.”

“Our people are very resourceful,” Patterson insisted. “I’m sure that they will have another plan very soon. Look at how long they’ve evaded capture so far.”

Revach shook his head. “I must disagree. If they had trouble getting out of Iran before, it will be considerably harder now.” He smiled. “Yes, they have stayed free, but also left destruction in their wake.”

The director stood again, and paced, as if impatient. “This is disappointing news. This affair will probably end badly, for them, or the United States, and possibly for both. Your government should make the necessary preparations.”

“As long as they’re free, there’s a chance,” Patterson insisted. “We’ll keep you informed, every step of the way…”

“No, Dr. Patterson. We agreed to delay any hypothetical operation, and there will be no operation today. However, preparations for tomorrow must begin soon. Hypothetically, of course.”

Hardy stated, “Dr. Revach, if Israel attacks, you will be doing exactly what the Iranians want.”

“So you said earlier, based on information you haven’t even seen. Mossad has more rigorous standards.”

“We can’t let you do this,” Hardy insisted. “Another war will not solve your problems.”

“What will you do, take away my car keys?” Revach’s voice hardened. “We are not drunk, and we are a sovereign nation. Many Muslim countries think we are your cat’s paw. Don’t believe the lie yourself.”

“I cannot predict what the political cost to Israel will be in the U.S., how the U.S. public and Congress will react.”

“More threats, Senator? We kept our end of the agreement. You failed to do your part.”

Patterson and Hardy both absorbed the harsh words. Hardy’s answer was just as harsh. “I believe we will get our people and the information out of Iran, and I believe it will prove that Iran does not have any nuclear devices. If we release the information after your raid, it will show Israel acted rashly, that Israel refused to listen. And with Natanz destroyed — nobody doubts that you can level the place — there will be no way to prove who was right.”

“So if we act in our own self-defense, you would undermine us? Stab us in the back? Israel has stood alone before. Maybe in the end, we are always alone. Tell your president that Israel will act as it sees fit, and will remember others’ actions as well.”

Revach added, “Since your purpose in coming here has been accomplished, there is no further need for you to remain in Israel. Leave without delay.” He opened the door, and his aide was standing outside, accompanied by two security guards.

Silently, the two Americans left, with the aide leading the way and the two guards in back. They stayed with Patterson and Hardy all the way to the lobby. Their car was waiting, and Joanna found herself glad to see her security detail, just to look at a friendly face.

As they drove away, a sense of failure washed over her. She grasped Lowell’s hand. His face was a grim as she’d ever seen. “I’ve never been declared persona non grata,” he said. “Doesn’t feel very good.”

“I don’t like it either,” she answered. “I’ve never had a whole country mad at me before.” It was supposed to be a joke, but she could not make herself laugh. “What do we do now?”

“We tell the president we failed,” Hardy answered bluntly. “That the Israelis are emotionally committed to attacking a blood enemy. That we have pissed them off, and that we’ll probably have to make them even madder before they will stop. It’s time for tough love.”

7 April 2013

1900 Local Time/1600 Zulu

The Oasis, East of Mollu

Ramey wouldn’t stop talking about the airfield, and despite his earlier assessment, kept looking for cracks in the defenses. “I’ve memorized the layout, and no defense is perfect. We find the hole and we’re in and then gone. We use one Cormorant to create a diversion some distance away. That draws off some of them, then we use the second one to blast a hole in the airfield’s defenses and get a plane out of here.”

“Boss, the Cormorant can only carry eight rockets,” Phillips said from his lookout position. “It’s too big a fight even if some of the defenders are pulled… Everybody down and freeze!”

They’d actually practiced what to do, and Jerry half-rolled into a hole right next to him, pulling a carefully selected branch over himself. The others did the same, except for Phillips, who was observing from a concealed position to begin with. “I’ve got a helicopter, low, to the northwest. It’s going to pass by about a klick away.”

“Type?” asked Ramey.

“It’s a gunship. A Huey, of all things,” Phillips answered.

“Iranians have a ton of them,” Fazel added.

“Night vision or IR sights?”

“Not according to the specs, Boss, but anything’s possible.” Jerry could almost hear Harry shrugging his shoulders. Jerry agreed. Even if the helicopter didn’t have night sights, the gunner could just use a handheld night-scope. He would.

The aircraft did not change course or speed. It flew off to the east, staying low. Within a few minutes the sound faded, and then the machine’s navigation lights disappeared.

“I bet it was heading for the air base,” Fazel suggested.

“I have never been this popular before, and I don’t think I like it at all,” Phillips observed.

“That’s it, we’re going for a boat,” Jerry said.

“XO, are you sure about that?” Fazel asked. Concern filled his question.

“Absolutely not!” Ramey countered. “We go for the airfield.”

“What does heading inland do for us?” Phillips asked. “They know we’re trying to go south. If we go north, the net won’t be as tight.”

“But we’re farther from Michigan. No help from the CENTCOM UAVs or the Cormorant.”

“And there will still be roadblocks, tougher ones,” added Fazel.

“And it would take too long,” Jerry finished. “While I regard our personal survival as an important goal, there are larger matters at stake. I don’t know Israel’s time line, but we’ve got to get Shirin’s information out of Iran as soon as possible. What if the war starts tomorrow while we’re sitting here, or fighting another Pasdaran patrol?”

“The quickest way out of Iran is a boat,” Fazel answered. “We go to the nearest harbor and swipe the fastest boat. There’s a harbor two klicks from here. To quote T. E. Lawrence, ‘It’s just a matter of going. ‘“

Ramey smiled. “Did T. E. Lawrence mention how to deal with the Pasdaran patrol boats?” In spite of his smile, the lieutenant’s tone was serious. “That’s been a nonstarter since the first night.”

“That’s when we were trying to avoid a fight,” Jerry countered. “We are going to have a fight no matter where we go. Can patrol boats be worse than a company of mechanized infantry?”

Jerry could see the SEALs calculating, and pressed his point. “The math is changing. The threat is increasing by the hour. If we stay here, we’ll have to fight again, this time at reduced strength and against incredibly bad odds. Let’s pick our next battle, before the Iranians give us one we can’t possibly win. I don’t want us to lose anyone else,” he said, looking at Shirin.

Ramey started to object, but Jerry cut him off. “We go, and we go tonight.” That got a rise out of all the SEALS, but Jerry was firm. “I’ve worked with you now for several days, and I see the value of planning, of reducing the risks as much as possible. We’ll do what we can, but in the end, we will have to trust to luck.”

“We’re used to making our own luck,” Fazel said, “but in addition to him being the senior officer, I agree. If we don’t try to get out now, we may not be able to. From here on, the odds are only going to get worse.”

Ramey had broken out the laptop and was looking at the UAV imagery. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but that harbor you’re in love with? It’s got zilch.” Ramey sounded almost happy as he showed them the overhead image. A curved breakwater jutted out from the shoreline near the village of Bandar Shenas forming a sheltered oval. Inside the enclosure, Jerry could see a total of four fishing boats. He was no expert on small craft, but none of them looked very fast.

“Check the next one down the coast. The larger one that was already part of the last backup plan,” Jerry ordered. “The one at Bandar Lengeh.”

Ramey typed in the commands. The image flickered, then spun, but in thirty seconds they were looking at the much larger harbor of Bandar Lengeh. It had a double breakwater, and the inner one was crammed with boats, including sleek-looking Pasdaran craft.

“That’s exactly what we need,” Jerry said.

“Too bad it’s about twelve kilometers away,” remarked Ramey, looking at the distance readout on the screen. “We can’t use the highway. Most of the terrain is pretty rough, and it’s probably patrolled. We wouldn’t be able to walk that far with Shirin and Pointy and still have time to snatch a boat; without being seen, that is.”

Jerry didn’t answer for a moment, but then said, “That’s why you and Philly and Harry are going by yourselves.”

“What?” Ramey’s question was echoed by the others. Even Shirin looked puzzled.

“How fast can you cover twelve kilometers? Could you do it in two or three hours?” asked Jerry.

“Hell, yes,” Fazel responded indignantly.

“Then you get to the harbor along the beach. Come in from the water, steal a boat, and bring it back down to this nice little harbor where Shirin and I will be waiting with Pointy.”

Jerry could see all of them, even Ramey, were thinking it over hard. How could they make it work? They started passing questions back and forth.

“How far do we have to swim?” Phillips asked.

“There’s beach almost up to the harbor breakwater. And there’s plenty of good cover in the cargo storage area,” answered Fazel, looking at the screen.

“Isn’t it all built up? This is a decent-sized town,” asked Phillips.

Fazel took over the laptop and zoomed in on the shoreline. “But it isn’t built up to the water’s edge. The beach is fifty to a hundred meters wide in most places. It’ll be dark, with no moon, and it’ll be the small hours of the morning. If we’re spotted, we go in the water. He shifted to a different section of the coast. “But here’s a problem. Look at Gasheh. This little village goes almost down to the water’s edge.”

“Then we go in the water there, if we have to, and get out when we’re past it. We can enter the harbor area here, at the western edge. There isn’t a fence along the southern perimeter near the water,” Ramey answered, pointing at the screen.

Phillips smiled. “Now it’s starting to feel like a real SEAL mission. Run on the beach, get wet, run on the beach some more, get wet again. Ah, the memories.”

“If you’re a good boy, Philly, we’ll let you roll in the sand.” Fazel grinned, happy to see his team’s attitude returning.

“How long will this take?” Jerry asked. Harry zoomed out the view, so that the entire route was visible, from their oasis to the harbor. He traced one route with his finger, then a slightly different one, and then looked at Ramey. “Boss?”

“Two hours to get there. We’re in the water, sneaking in, then back out with a boat. That will take at least an hour, maybe a little more. Motor back at ten to fifteen knots. That will take half an hour. Call it four, maybe four and half hours.”

Jerry nodded. “An hour and a half is a reasonable estimate for me to get Pointy to the other harbor. But he’s going to need something to support that leg.”

“I’ll see to that, XO,” volunteered Fazel.

That brought up another set of questions. Where the three would wait, what to do if they were seen. What to do if the others were delayed, or failed to return.

“I still do not get good vibes about splitting up,” protested Ramey.

Fazel shrugged and nodded reluctant agreement. “There is a risk, XO.”

“It’s riskier to stay.” Jerry insisted. “We need a boat, now!”

“Yes, sir,” Ramey answered. “We’ll make that happen.”

“Last question,” Jerry said. “What about the pursuit?”

“I have a few things I can throw together. If we can keep the Iranians distracted long enough, maybe we can sneak away,” Ramey answered.

“Okay then. Let’s call Michigan and inform them of the latest plan. By now I’m sure Captain Guthrie has a useful suggestion or three to pass on. We can use all the help we can get,” concluded Jerry.