Exit Plan

7. HUNKERING DOWN

3 April 2013

2000 Local Time/1700 Zulu

On the Iranian Coast near Bandar Kangan

Ramey ordered Lapointe to keep watch along the highway to the west. The petty officer split off from the group to take up a flanking position. The lieutenant sent Fazel to the east.

Jerry hurried with the others down to the car. It might have started out as a pale blue, but the sun had faded the upper surfaces to mottled white. There were dents in the grille and rear fenders. But it was transport, and his immediate thought was to get as far away from this place as possible.

The two Iranians, Yousef and his wife, were speaking softly in Farsi and looking at the car, then the SEALs, and back to the car. Finally, Shirin said, “You cannot all fit inside.”

Ramey didn’t hesitate. “Three guys go in the backseat, and two ride outside. We keep our weapons, but anything bulky goes in the trunk.” After a pause, he added, “With your concurrence, XO.”

Again the edge, but Jerry just said “Fine.” This was not the time or place. “Is that all right with you?” Jerry asked the Iranian couple.

“What else can we do?” Shirin replied. “If we split up, the Basij or VEVAK can still find us. And I do not wish them to find us.”

The team leader explained, “There’s an access road five and a half klicks west of here. It leads north to a high-voltage transmission tower. We should be able to go to ground there.”

Yousef asked a question in Farsi, and Shirin translated. “How far off the highway is the tower?”

“A little over two kilometers,” Ramey answered.

Yousef opened the trunk, then headed for the driver’s seat, calling to Shirin. Ramey spoke into his headset, recalling the flankers. “XO, you’re in the middle.” That made sense. Not only was Jerry one of the shortest, but he wasn’t a shooter. “Fazel and Lapointe are inside, Phillips and I will ride outside. There could be traffic down the highway at any time. Move.”

Moving quickly, Jerry put his canteen and knapsack in the trunk, but kept his pistol. He climbed into the backseat of the small sedan. The space was claustrophobic enough, but the car had rear-wheel drive. The hump in the floor for the drive shaft pushed his knees up almost to his chin.

Clunks and thuds behind him meant the other team members were stowing their gear. Fazel piled in first on the left, behind Yousef, and Jerry didn’t realize how far he’d moved to the right until Lapointe tried to get in from the other side. Jerry had to scrunch even closer to the medic, both pulling their elbows and shoulders in until it hurt. Ramey helped Lapointe position himself, then pushed the door shut. It jammed them together even more, but showed it was possible to fit three full-grown adults into the back of a Peykan.

They’d rolled down the windows on both rear doors before closing them. That was good, because there was no way Fazel or Lapointe could work them now. The two SEALs’ weapons lay across their laps, barrels pointed out, but Jerry wondered how well they’d be able to shoot from such a cramped position.

Ramey and Phillips hopped up, putting their feet in through the open window and holding onto the edge of the door along the roof. Jerry found the space in front of him filled with boots and legs. Serving as “leg space coordinator,” he pulled Ramey’s feet in slightly and Philly’s away so they didn’t collide.

Once they’d settled, the two men slung their rifles over their shoulders. “We’re ready,” Ramey announced. The loading had taken less than a minute.

Yousef put the car in gear and started forward at a creep. Inside, Jerry felt the car lurch and tilt. He wondered if the shock absorbers had any play left in them at all. They were certainly overloaded, but hopefully not dangerously so.

The car rocked and wobbled across the uneven ground onto the shoulder, then up onto the smoother pavement. Yousef accelerated quickly and smoothly.

“The dirt road will be on the left,” Ramey called to Fazel, who translated for Yousef. The Iranian nodded, his eyes ahead, accelerating. Shirin fiddled with her GPS device, but quickly announced, “The road is not on the map.” Jerry thought that was a good thing.

How long would it take to drive five-plus kilometers? They all watched the road and the black landscape, except for Jerry, who could see little but the car’s upholstery and combat boots. The enforced inactivity gave him time to think — and to remember: Higgs’s disfigured body on the deck, his own sense of failure as the ASDS went down, and the long, cold swim to an unfriendly beach.

All he had to do was pilot the SEALs to a point off the beach, wait, and then take them back to Michigan. There had been no way to predict the battery fire, or any way to save Higgs. But it was his boat and Higgs had been his responsibility.

Jerry was still trying to shake off the thought when Ramey called, “There!” and pointed ahead and to the left.

Yousef held his speed as long as possible, then braked smoothly and turned onto the gravel access road. Thankfully, the car quickly slowed to a fast walk, making the ride bumpy but not bone-shattering. Jerry heard Ramey say, “Lights,” with Fazel repeating it in Farsi, but Yousef was already turning off the headlights as he spoke. What little light they’d had was replaced with a single narrow beam from Ramey’s flashlight. Although the SEALs had night-vision gear, Yousef did not, and Ramey kept the beam centered on the road in front of them. Yousef slowed the car even more.

Still pinned in the backseat, seeing only blackness out the windows, Jerry could only wait as the car crept forward on the access road. He could tell when the gravel stopped after a short while, giving way to a rougher dirt track, either poorly maintained or never more than crudely graded.

“There’s the tower. Let’s stop here.” Ramey hopped down from the car as it rolled to a stop, his rifle already sweeping half the horizon. Phillips repeated the lieutenant’s actions on his side. They were both using their night-vision scopes.

They opened the rear doors, and Jerry and the two SEALs almost tumbled out of the backseat, gratefully stretching. The SEALs quickly found their gear in the trunk and reequipped themselves. Jerry, still unfamiliar with the equipment, fumbled in the darkness for a moment before getting it right.

Phillips reported, “There’s a cut in the hill off the right. It looks like a good spot to hide the car.”

With his scope, Ramey completed a quick sweep of the terrain. He couldn’t make out a lot of detail, but what he could see told him the ground was rough, hilly, and rocky. There were numerous dunes and shadowy gullies interspersed with more solid-looking rock outcrops and tufts of vegetation. Good ground, he thought to himself. Turning, he looked where Phillips was pointing. “Good, and there’s level ground leading up to it. Keep a watch to the south, Philly.”

Phillips trotted off in the direction they’d come from, while Ramey and Fazel walked over to speak with the two Iranians. Jerry hurried over to join them, but Ramey didn’t wait for him. “Doc, tell him we can hide the car here and look for cover. This is a good location. We won’t have to break cover until the CRRC’s halfway to the beach.”

While Fazel translated for Yousef, the lieutenant turned to Jerry. “I’m going to take Doc and Pointy and scout for a good hiding place for us, away from the car. Phillips will keep watch to the south, and I’d like you to stay here with the two civilians. Just back the car as far as you can into that notch in the hillside. Then sit tight.”

“Of course,” Jerry acknowledged. “Should we cover up the car?”

“No,” Ramey answered sharply. “You’d just make a bigger mess. My guys will take care of it when we get back from scouting.” Jerry bristled at the rebuke. Of course the SEALs could do a better job, but the lieutenant’s hostility was unnecessary.

Three of the SEALs disappeared into the darkness, and with Phillips on watch to the south, Jerry was alone with the two Iranians. The woman, Shirin, looked at him expectantly, and after a moment, he turned on his own flashlight.

With Shirin translating Jerry’s directions, Yousef backed the battered sedan slowly into the crevice. While relatively level, the ground was uneven enough to require care, or the Peykan might have gotten stuck, or worse.

At its opening, the cut was almost twenty feet wide, made by water in the steep slopes of a barren hillside. Jerry tugged and rolled a few large rocks out of the way to clear a path for the car, but the gap was deep enough so that the car was completely inside, with almost a full car length separating it from the front.

Once he’d made sure they could still open the doors and that there was a clear path out, Jerry stood near the opening, staring into the dark and hoping that he wouldn’t see anything. Behind him, Yousef folded a blanket to make a place for his wife, and helped her sit. She drank some water from a bottle he carried, then leaned back against the wall of the crevice.

Still watching, Jerry picked his way over to where the two sat. He asked Shirin, “Are you hungry? I have some MREs.” Seeing her expression, he explained, “Some field rations — food.” Taking off his backpack, he found a plastic package and offered it to her.

She looked over to her husband and spoke. He answered by nodding, and she said, tentatively, “I am a little hungry.”

Jerry had to open the outer package with his knife. Working by feel, he found something that felt like an energy bar and tore open the wrapper. She accepted it, and tasting it, nodded her appreciation. Jerry handed the rest of the package to Yousef, who sorted through the contents, asking Shirin and Jerry about the labels and ingredients.

A few minutes later, Jerry thought he heard something, but before he could react the three SEALs were back. Instead of a scouting report, Ramey asked, “What are they eating? Is that one of your MREs?” His tone was harsh, like a parent catching a child in some offense.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Jerry emphasized the second word slightly, “I thought it might be good for them to eat something.”

“No ranks, sir,” Jerry heard Ramey’s emphasis on the last word. “We can’t leave any trace of our presence. A piece of an MRE package would be a dead giveaway we were here. Please police the area carefully. The only thing I’m willing to leave behind is our footprints, and I wish I could avoid that.”

“Right,” Jerry replied, being careful to keep his voice neutral. “Did you find a place?”

“It’s about a kilometer from here, but it’s ideal. It’s a small cave, but it’s big enough for all of us. It’s got overhead cover and has a good view of the approaches.”

The SEALs went to work hiding the car. Each carried a section of camouflage netting. They combined these into a single piece large enough to cover the car, then added brush and rocks to break up its outline.

Yousef and Shirin stood to one side. She was leaning on him, and although their expressions were hard to see, his arms encircled her protectively. Jerry could also sense defensiveness in his posture, his watchfulness of not only the activity with the car, but the other SEALs as well. He didn’t trust them, not yet anyway.

Ramey took his time to step back and check their work from several directions, but they were still done in a few minutes. “Let’s get away from here,” he ordered over the headset. “Diamond formation.”

Jerry and the two Iranians were quickly corralled in the center of the formation, following Ramey. The other SEALs screened to the back, and both sides. They set off at a brisk pace, but had to slow when first Jerry, then Shirin, stumbled on the uneven surface. Grudgingly, Ramey promised to follow a smoother path.

There was enough starlight to see the ground, but not enough to reveal every obstacle. Yousef was especially solicitous toward his wife after her near fall, but she waved him off.

It was impossible to gauge distance in the dark. Jerry thought of counting footsteps, but his stride across the landscape was too irregular. He decided it would be best to just concentrate on watching Ramey ahead of him and picking his footing based on how he moved.

How far was a kilometer? Better than half a mile. In the dark? On an unfamiliar landscape? After a bone-chilling hour-long swim? He definitely hadn’t planned on this when he’d gotten up this morning. He was breathing hard, and felt like he’d already run miles.

He wasn’t the only one showing signs of fatigue. Shirin was moving more slowly, now leaning heavily on Yousef. The SEALs seemed unaffected by the evening’s intense physical activity.

Jerry marveled a little when he thought about the husband. A captain in the Pasdaran. They were supposed to be Iran’s shock troops, politically reliable and completely devout. What had turned him against his own service?

He tried to focus on the plan. They’d hole up tonight and tomorrow, then Michigan would launch a CRRC. They’d break cover once it was en route, meet on the beach, and an hour later they’d be back aboard. They were in a bad spot, but they hadn’t been detected, and they had a plan.

Ramey motioned for Lapointe to go ahead; he ran to the cave and did a quick inspection. Jerry heard his report in his headset. “It’s still clear, Boss.”

A low line of hills loomed ahead, and they retraced the SEALs’ earlier path. Turning right toward a high bank, then following it back, they came to a place where Lapointe stood next to a large shadow on the side of the bank.

“Pointy, take the first watch, everyone else inside.” After giving the order, Ramey led the way. Once he was inside, he turned on his flashlight.

Shirin was surprised by the intensity of the beam. It seemed like a big red floodlight to her night-adjusted eyes, and she turned to see if it revealed their position. But the beam was directed into the cave, and little of the light was reflected back out.

When her eyes adjusted, she saw a space a little smaller than their bedroom. It was larger than she expected, but she hadn’t spent a lot of time in caves. Water had eaten away the earth under a layer of rock, so the cave had a relatively flat, but rough ceiling. The floor was hard-packed sand with a band of pebbles running down the center, almost a gravel path.

Farther inside, Yousef was arranging a blanket for her to sit on. Suddenly she felt very tired, almost dizzy. With a small moan, she gratefully sank onto the spot, leaning back against the wall.

The Americans all turned at the sound, and Fazel asked in Farsi, “Are you all right?” When she didn’t reply, he turned to Yousef. “Is your wife ill?”

Yousef, still helping Shirin sit comfortably, answered, “Not sick. She’s pregnant.”

The medic quickly knelt down beside her. One hand was on her wrist, taking her pulse. The other found her forehead. “How many weeks?”

“Nineteen,” she answered almost automatically. She could see Yousef starting to protest. Normally such things were not discussed with strangers, but the American had medical training, and at least he spoke Farsi. Calming her husband with a hand on his arm, she said, “I’m just tired.” And under a great deal of stress, she added to herself, but that was understood.

“I’m glad the walk wasn’t any longer,” the medic remarked. “You probably need something to eat, and please drink as much of that water as you can.” He indicated the bottle Yousef was holding. “We’ll make sure you have plenty of water.”

Unslinging his pack, he pulled out a small square, which unfolded to a drab green thermal blanket. “Here. It will cool off tonight.” Shirin noticed Yousef scowling, and so did the American. He offered the blanket to her husband, who took it with a polite “Thank you.”

Yousef covered her and tucked the edges in around her. Although it felt light and flimsy, she felt warmer almost immediately, and drowsy. She closed her eyes as the warmth embraced her.

Yousef watched Shirin for a few minutes, peacefully asleep, then noticed the American medic doing the same thing on the other side. “I can take care of my wife,” he said sharply.

“Of course,” the American replied coldly. “But her welfare affects all of us, and we don’t want to do anything that would endanger her and the baby.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Yousef asked angrily. “We’re hiding in a cave waiting for a boat to pick us up because you couldn’t keep your submarine from catching fire.”

“Our comrade died in that fire — coming here because you asked us to.”

Yousef shook his head. “It’s not my fault he died, and I’m not the person you’re here to rescue. You can’t get anything right.” He smiled at the American’s confusion, then pointed to his peacefully sleeping wife. “She’s the one who has given you so much information. Shirin is an engineer at the Natanz Uranium Enrichment Facility.” There was passion in his voice, and the words fell from him.

“She’s risked her life for years collecting information on my country’s nuclear weapons program and sending it to your government. It’s not because we love America. I don’t believe America is our enemy, but you haven’t been our friend either. She was disgusted at how Iran has lied about making a bomb, and the waste of money and talent that have been spent on the program.”

“What about you? You are Pasdaran. Surely—”

“My reasons are personal, and just as strong as hers. I won’t betray my country, but we should not have nuclear weapons. They are un-Islamic.”

“We won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t even have to stay with us, if you think your chances are better on your own.”

“No. We want to leave Iran any way we can.” Yousef was firm. He tilted his head toward Shirin. “She doesn’t want to go back to Natanz, no matter what. And neither of us want to go to Evin Prison.”

The American nodded. “My parents told me stories about that place, both before and after the Revolution. And about the Pasdaran. The Basij beat my uncle until he was a cripple. The Revolutionary Guards seized my father’s business and drove my parents from their home.”

Yousef wanted to say it was all lies, American propaganda, but he knew the stories were true- about Evin, and the Pasdaran’s zealous cruelty. He’d been a good soldier, but the Pasdaran was corrupt. They had their fingers in civilian businesses all over Iran, and he’d heard how the generals lived, more like rich executives than soldiers of the Revolution. He was unwilling to agree with the American, but could not argue. In the end, Yousef said nothing.

“I have to tell the others,” Harry explained, and stood.

While Fazel had been taking care of Shirin, the others, with a few words from Ramey, had worked to improve their position. Jerry and Phillips camouflaged the cave mouth, while Ramey and Lapointe prepared firing positions, piling rocks and digging shallow ditches in the floor.

“XO, Boss, you need to hear this,” Fazel called, then briefed Ramey and Jerry in a soft voice. Jerry was surprised to learn Shirin’s identity, and dismayed at her condition. It was a complication they could have done without. The lieutenant’s reaction was more extreme, almost hostile.

“And the fun just keeps coming.” Ramey had been digging out a fighting position near the cave mouth. “Maybe I should just make this a little deeper and crawl in. Save us a lot of trouble.”

Jerry said, “Matt, you can’t blame yourself—”

“Shut up!” The SEAL’s vehemence shocked Jerry. Ramey had put one hand on his weapon, and Jerry wasn’t sure if it was just habit or deliberate intent. “It’s your fault Higgs is dead, and then you made us leave him behind. I should have left you and taken him instead. We don’t even know if he was really dead.”

“He was dead, Lieutenant.”

“So you say.”

“I feel as bad about it as you do. I was responsible for him.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t work and train with him for a year and a half. How many deployments had he been on? How well could he shoot? Do you even know if he was married?”

The outburst had drawn everyone’s attention, although to Phillips’s credit, he continued to keep watch from just outside the cave mouth. Shirin was awake now, too, watching Ramey’s angry rant with a confused expression. Yousef sat next to her, looking concerned. He knew Jerry was the senior officer. He also knew the Americans had lost a man.

Lapointe was the senior petty officer. Slowly easing himself over to Jerry, he said quietly, “Sir, let’s go outside. Doc, can you help the Boss with his position?”

Gratefully, Jerry followed the petty officer outside. They found a spot a short distance from the cave, Lapointe sat down with his rifle across his knees.

Jerry stood, leaning against the hillside. Thoughts flew though his mind. Ramey was clearly upset, grieving, under great stress. But that was no excuse for his outburst; naval discipline had just been shattered. Admittedly this wasn’t the usual senior-junior relationship. And weren’t they all under stress?

Lapointe kept his eyes on the landscape. “Sir, I’m sorry about the lieutenant. We all feel like he does, but he’s the guy in charge, so Higgs’s loss hit him harder.”

Jerry wasn’t buying it. “I’ve lost people, too. It always sucks, but you don’t fall apart. And you’re SEALs. This may be a little harsh, but aren’t you prepared to lose a man when you go on a mission?”

“Not like that, sir. From a freak accident? And when I said lose, I didn’t mean die. SEALs never leave anyone behind, alive or dead. In Afghanistan, we’ve lost more people recovering a brother SEAL’s remains than we have from our direct action missions, and nobody thinks it’s a waste.”

He saw Jerry start to speak, but interrupted. “I’m not kidding, sir. We’ve never left anyone behind before. At all. Ever. This would be the first time.”

Jerry shrugged helplessly. “I’ve thought about almost nothing else since we came ashore. I sent him back to open the breaker. I’m not as familiar with the ASDS as Higgs and Carlson. Was there something else I could have done? Was there some sign that Higgs and I both missed? You can damn well believe an investigating board will be asking those same questions when we get back.

“But Higgs wasn’t severely wounded, he was gone. Doc checked him before we left; he was dead. I’ve been trying to imagine how we could have gotten him out and ashore if he’d only been injured.”

“We would have found a way,” Lapointe answered flatly.

Mitchell nodded as Lapointe continued. “We would have tried our damnedest. Higgs might have died anyway, but the point is we would have tried.

“Maybe it’s the lack of trying that the boss is mad about,” the petty officer reasoned. “You didn’t even try.”

“We couldn’t help him. He was dead, and trying to recover his remains would have risked more lives, and the mission. The batteries had already started exploding. I made the call to preserve as many lives as possible.” Jerry was thinking like an XO now, his thoughts clearing.

“My brain agrees with you, sir, but other parts still need convincing. We just haven’t had a chance to think about it much. There’s something else, too.”

“What? There’s more?” Jerry tried not to sound too dismayed.

“The lieutenant is mission-oriented. Shoot, we all are. But he really takes a job on board, and we’re on ‘Plan C’ at this point. It doesn’t matter what the reason is. A mission failure is a personal failure for him. And he’s never failed.”

“He’s worried about us making it back.” It was a question, but Jerry made it a flat statement.

“He won’t say so, but hell, yes, XO. We planned the bejesus out of this job, but if the pickup tomorrow doesn’t go down, we start winging it. There is no ‘Plan D.

Lapointe paused, and Jerry sensed that he was waiting for something from him. “So what do you want me to do?”

“We need Matt’s, I mean, Mr. Ramey’s head in the game until it’s over. He’s been shaken, and badly, and right now he isn’t firing on all cylinders. He’s starting to make mistakes.”

Jerry’s perplexed expression amused Lapointe. “You haven’t been trained as a SEAL, so you don’t know what to look for. The mistakes are little ones, but they’re mistakes all the same. That has got to change. And the only way I can see that happening is you’ve got to stop being nice. You can’t be oozing with sympathy, no matter how much he may be hurting inside.”

“Are you serious?” Jerry exclaimed.

“Deadly serious, XO. Sympathy is between shit and syphilis in the dictionary, and it’s about as useful. A SEAL doesn’t respond to sympathy. When one of us is down the rest of us don’t tell him everything will be all right, or that he did his best; we kick ‘em in the balls and yell at him to get his ass in gear. Right now Mr. Ramey feels like a loser, and that kind of mentality is fatal. It’s beaten into us from the very first day at BUDS that it pays to be a winner.”

“Yeah, Vernon mentioned that,” admitted Jerry.

“Well, he wasn’t lying. I need — no, correction — we need Mr. Ramey to recalibrate his attitude and start wanting to win again. If the only way that happens is for you to be a flaming asshole, then, oh well. You’re a big boy, you’ll get over it.”

Jerry stepped away from Lapointe as he considered the SEAL’s assessment of the platoon leader’s damaged psyche. It seemed to make sense, when viewed through the contorted lens of a SEAL mind-set. But Jerry knew he wasn’t a “screamer,” he just wasn’t wired that way, and on those rare occasions when he did try, the results were pretty pathetic.

“I hear you, Petty Officer Lapointe,” Jerry said as he turned to face him. “But I have to warn you, I make a lousy flaming asshole. However, I can be a demanding SOB if the situation warrants it.”

Lapointe grinned. “If all you do, sir, is nag his ass, and don’t cut him any slack, I think I can live with that.”

When the two returned to the cave, they found Lieutenant Ramey waiting outside. Ostensibly, he was on lookout, but he motioned to Lapointe and the petty officer went inside,

“XO, sir. I was way out of line.” Ramey’s voice held little emotion, but Jerry could tell by the tightness in his jaw that he was fighting to keep it in check. “There was no excuse for what I said. Please accept my apology.” He was almost at attention, maybe unnecessary for the circumstance but necessary for control.

“It’s accepted, Lieutenant.” Jerry could have said more, but his recent crash course on SEAL psychology told him to keep it short. “Are you able to lead the team?”

“Absolutely,” Ramey answered, but the lieutenant’s voice was strained.

Jerry wasn’t convinced, but really had no alternative but to accept Ramey’s answer. He searched for something else to say or ask, but again decided that less was more. “Let’s get inside, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

Phillips came out to take lookout duty. Inside, the cave seemed bright, and warm, and then Jerry saw that the SEALs had set up a small stove. They were heating water and MREs, and Fazel was cooking. Phillips had finished first, but the others were still eating.

Doc gave a small smile. “It’s only lukewarm, but it’s tasty. It’s my own creation — SEAL stew.”

“Do I want to know what’s in it?” Jerry asked, as he tried to peer into the MRE pouch.

“I can tell you, but it will be different next time. Depends on what’s handy. There’s no recipe, just a set of guiding principles.” Nodding toward the two Iranians, Fazel added, “It is halal. No pork.”

Yousef and Shirin were both eating steadily, if not enthusiastically. “Why is it called seal stew?” she asked. “I don’t think this is what seal tastes like.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, pointing to the others in the team. “We are called ‘SEALs.’ It stands for ‘Sea, Air, Land,’ the different places we can move and fight.”

“But you are commandos, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s like saying your husband is a soldier. There’s more than one kind. We’re U.S. Navy. The best kind.” He grinned.

Fazel handed Jerry a small bowl of the stuff. It smelled okay, but he was glad the light was dim. He’d heard stories of surviving on snakes and tree moss, but the SEALs hadn’t had time to forage, and besides, he could see other open MREs next to the corpsman.

Lapointe nodded at the medic’s explanation. “We specialize,” he said, smiling.

“Is one of your specialties taking people off beaches?” she asked.

“Well, actually, yes,” Lapointe answered. “We practice for this, among many other things. We’ve trained in snow, jungle, urban environments…”

“I have a flash drive,” Shirin said abruptly. “It has over twenty-two gigabytes of files relating to our nuclear weapons program.”

Jerry and the SEALs, surprised, all looked at Shirin, then at Ramey. The lieutenant was looking at Jerry.

“What kind of files?” Jerry asked.

“Schedules, purchase orders, test results, progress reports, e-mails, photographs, biographies — enough information to give a complete description of the entire program, and its potential. Because of security restrictions, I’ve only been able to send out a few files at a time. But this time I copied as much as I could find. Eventually the security checks will notice all the activity on the log at my computer, but I didn’t plan to go back.”

“Why are you telling us this?”

“In case things… go badly. You should know about it. But the data is encrypted. Yousef and I know how to open the files.”

Lapointe said, “Sir, I recommend making copies of that data, encrypted or not.” He pulled a laptop from his backpack. “The boss has one as well. We’ll make two sets.”

Jerry held out his hand. “May we copy the files?”

Shirin nodded, and her head disappeared under the blanket. After a few moments of rustling, her head reappeared, and then her hand, holding the device. She handed it to Lapointe, who plugged it into a USB port on his machine and began typing.

As Lapointe worked, Ramey asked him, “Can we uplink this stuff back to the sub, or somewhere else?”

“This is a lot of ones and zeroes, Boss. With the FPS-117’s bandwidth, it would take tens of hours. Our batteries wouldn’t come even close to lasting that long.”

“There is a summary file,” Shirin volunteered. “It lists the types of information on the drive, and I could decrypt one small file. It will help prove who we are and what we have.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jerry said. “We’re not leaving you behind.”

“Your government may have its doubts. I am not a professional spy, but they must rule out the possibility that we are lying. This does not offend me. It is prudent for them to make sure we are not double agents.”

“I don’t think I’d be that calm about it,” Ramey commented.

“Done,” Lapointe announced. “Everything has been copied onto my laptop.”

“Then let me see the list of files, please.” Shirin got up, still wrapped in the blanket, and walked over to where Lapointe was working. He turned the computer so she could see the screen as she knelt on the cave floor.

She studied the list for a moment, asked him to scroll down, then pointed out one. “Open this, please.” When Lapointe double-clicked on it, a dialog box appeared, asking for a password. Shielding the keyboard, she carefully typed in a long sequence, and the file opened.

“It’s a standard PDF file,” Lapointe reported. Shirin repeated the process with a second file. “This is a presentation about centrifuge problems at Natanz. I was there when this happened,” she explained.

Fazel leaned over and read the Farsi script aloud. “Natanz Centrifuge Cascade Failure Reconstruction. It’s dated February of this year.”

“Hoooly shit.” Lapointe’s exclamation matched Jerry’s feelings. This was the real thing.

“The file sizes are good,” Lapointe reported. “It will take about fifteen minutes to upload both, plus a few minutes to tell them what we’re sending.”

“Okay,” said Ramey, “we will transmit this tomorrow night, just before we go to the pickup point. That minimizes the time for them to react if they detect the signal.”

“I thought you said the signal was undetectable,” Shirin asked.

“We’re sending electrons into the ether. The chance may be very small, but I don’t take chances if I don’t have to.”

She didn’t look pleased. “That is tomorrow night. There is some… urgency in this data reaching your government.”

Jerry asked, “Is some of this material time sensitive?”

“No, but Yousef and I have other information, very important information. And we need your government to believe in who we are and what we know.”

Jerry considered for a moment, but realized he was hesitating. He knew which path he had to take. “Send it now,” he ordered Ramey. “We shouldn’t sit on this for a day.”

“XO, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Ramey was visibly unhappy with Jerry pulling rank and making a decision that he wasn’t trained to make.

“I understand your objection, Matt. But if I read this right, the information has strategic implications that go beyond our own situation.” Turning to Lapointe, he asked, “Petty Officer Lapointe, what are the risks of sending such a long transmission?”

Lapointe looked first at his platoon leader, and then back at Jerry. “Technically, the risk is low. The Iranians likely don’t know we’re here and the radio is very secure — particularly for short transmissions. If the information is as important as you think, XO, the risk is acceptable.”

“Very well,” replied Jerry, as he stared straight into Ramey’s eyes. “I do believe it is that important, and we need to send it up the chain… now.”

Ramey was hard to read. His jaw was clenched tight again, but he didn’t argue further. “Aye, aye, XO,” he answered. “Pointy, do it when you’re ready, and don’t spend any time downloading the scores from the Red Sox’s game.”

“Aye, aye, Boss, and after that I’ll copy the whole thing onto your laptop as well.”

After Lapointe transmitted the files and finished transferring them to Ramey’s laptop, the SEALs checked and cleaned their gear. Ramey set up a watch schedule for the night with two SEALs on watch at any one time. Ramey and Fazel took the first watch while everyone else tried to get some sleep. Each of the SEALs had a thermal blanket like Fazel’s, they handed Yousef one and he snuggled up to Shirin; throwing part of his blanket over her as well. Lapointe and Phillips shared a blanket and bedded down near the cave entrance, just in case. By circumstance or design, Jerry found himself alone on the far side of the cave.

Feeling slightly left out, Jerry spent several minutes smoothing his place on the cave floor, removed some pebbles, and tried to remember the last time he’d camped out. He was still wondering if he’d ever get to sleep when fatigue claimed him.