Exit Plan jm-3, page 23
part #3 of Jerry Mitchell Series
Yousef weighed their chances. They and the Americans were exposed, and if the others had indeed put two men on the hill, then Shirin, he, and the Americans were in a lethal crossfire. He didn’t think much of their chances.
It was five against four, but the Americans’ senior officer was inexperienced. The others had cover, and were on guard. They were still, what? Forty, fifty meters away? When the SEALs opened fire, the others would reply. There would be a gun battle. He and Shirin were not directly in the line of fire, but he knew how far and how wide stray rounds could go.
They would need his weapon after one or two of the Americans went down. He resolved to draw it the instant Shirin was flat on the ground. He would hold his fire until the others advanced. They would not see him until he fired, as they came into range of his pistol.
Jerry listened to his headset. Were there more coming? He was sure now that they didn’t have night-vision gear, or they’d already be shooting. Jerry wondered how close they’d have to get before they’d see him.
“Philly, keep watching your side. Harry, are you good?” asked Ramey.
“Yes for both.”
“XO, on my mark, drop flat and freeze.”
“Understood.” Jerry softly passed Ramey’s order to Shirin, who relayed it to her husband.
“XO, drop. Open fire!” Ramey commanded.
Yousef heard the American’s call. As he helped Shirin to lay flat, a flurry of single shots erupted from the Americans’ weapons. Each SEAL popped off two rounds at their respective targets, then stopped just as suddenly as they began. He saw the two men on the right fall. One fired a burst, the muzzle flash almost blindingly bright, but the shots were wild, into the air. As Yousef protected Shirin with his body, he waited for the soldiers on the crest to return fire. Instead, he heard the Americans calling to one another.
The SEALs then charged forward. In moments, they were at the fallen Iranian soldiers’s positions in the ravine and on the dune crest. In the next moment, two of the SEALs were around the rise, gone from view. The other two at the top of the rise fell prone, facing south.
Yousef waited, but there were no shots. Was that it? He’d never been in combat, and was relieved the shooting was over, but shocked at the ease with which the Americans had prevailed. No gun battle, not much return fire from the others at all, just a single random burst from one man, dying as he fell. Yousef still thought they were undisciplined, and he didn’t know if the Americans could get them out of the country, but by Allah they were good shots.
Telling Shirin to stay down, he rose to his knees and then stood, ignoring Jerry’s calls behind him. Walking quickly to the two soldiers he’d seen fall, he bent down and checked. Both were dead.
They wore Basij uniforms. One of the bodies was distressingly young, a boy still in his teens. Yousef had been ready to kill his countrymen for Shirin and the baby’s sake, but he was glad he hadn’t had to use his pistol. It was still in his hand when one of the SEALs came back around the rise.
Shirin, watching Yousef as he stood over the bodies, saw the American first, and screamed, “Don’t shoot!” as Yousef lifted his head and the SEAL leveled his weapon.
Jerry added his own voice. “It’s Yousef!” and the SEAL snapped the barrel up and clear. After pausing a moment, Lapointe reported, “All clear. It looks like it was just these four.”
Jerry stood, then helped Shirin to her feet as her husband came back, holstering his weapon. Lapointe followed him, then went over to Jerry and spoke urgently. “Sir, we needed you to keep them down and in one place. I thought one of the bad guys was getting back up.” His tone was earnest. Nodding toward Shirin, he said, “If she’d waited half a second to speak, she would have been a widow.”
Beside them, Shirin had heard Lapointe and stifled a small cry. She grabbed Yousef’s arm and pulled him close, also speaking earnestly.
“I understand, Pointy. Next time I’ll tackle him if I have to.”
“Tackling is good. Using the headset to warn us he’s moving is good, too.”
Jerry stood quietly, absorbing Lapointe’s remarks. This was the real deal, with live ammunition. His first firefight, and he hadn’t done anything, except almost let Yousef get shot.
Shirin didn’t stop talking until she’d gotten a promise from Yousef to stay right next to her from then on, especially if there was any shooting. In the darkness, she’d seen and heard little except the flashes of gunfire, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see any more than she had.
Ramey came back a few minutes later. Ignoring the near-disastrous meeting between Lapointe and Yousef, he announced, “We’ve got transport. Let’s get out of here.”
With the others, Jerry walked around the southern edge of the dune. Fazel was searching the two bodies there and collecting their uniforms and weapons. Shirin stopped just long enough to ask him a question in Farsi. He nodded and answered, first in Farsi and then in English. “Yes, they will face Mecca.”
He handed the results of his search to Ramey, which included a set of car keys. There were two rifles, and the lieutenant offered one to Yousef, who paused for a moment before taking the weapon and slinging it over his shoulder. There were also magazine pouches, flashlights, and cell phones, which they quickly disabled.
The transport was a white panel van. “There’s room for everyone, but it’ll be crowded,” Ramey announced. We’ve got to police the area and get out of here ASAP.”
He put everyone except Shirin to work. While Phillips kept watch, the others, including Yousef, dug a grave big enough to hold the four bodies and deep enough to satisfy Fazel and Yousef. They had to pause several times as vehicles passed, but with so many digging, the work was done quickly.
The four corpses were gathered from where they fell and placed with care in the grave so that they faced southwest, toward Mecca. While three of the SEALs policed the area for spent brass and any other remnants of the fight, Fazel joined Yousef and Shirin, standing by the graveside and reciting the Janazah Salah, the prayer for the dead.
Half an hour after Phillips’s first warning, the van pulled back onto Highway 96, heading southeast.
13. CONVERGENCE
6 April 2013
0730 Local Time/0430 Zulu
The Persian Gulf Coast, West of Deyyer
A jeep met Rahim’s car at the first checkpoint and led it down to the beach. They had to stop when the ground became too soft and proceeded on foot down to the water’s edge.
The police lieutenant volunteered, “Fishermen spotted it this morning when they came down shortly after dawn. High tide was two hours before sunrise.” The body lay under a blanket, guarded by a pair of policemen. The police lieutenant escorting Rahim and Dahghan gestured to them, and one gingerly removed the covering.
A man’s body lay half-buried in a mudflat, facedown. He was wearing brown-patterned camouflage fatigues. It wasn’t an Iranian uniform, or from any of the Gulf countries as far as Rahim could tell. And in spite of the beard, he was sure this man was European or American.
Rahim stepped closer and examined his face. Matted black hair partially hid his features, but ugly wounds and discolored areas on his face and neck showed that he hadn’t died of natural causes. The major had seen enough injuries in his time to recognize burns. An accident? He’d also seen enough drowning victims to know he hadn’t been in the water long — two or three days, most likely.
Rahim said, “You say he washed ashore this morning. And nothing’s been touched? Nothing taken?” There could only be one right answer.
“Absolutely nothing.” The police lieutenant glanced at the two officers. Either they had clean consciences, or they were good actors.
“Get a dozen men, more if you need to. Search the shoreline for ten kilometers in either direction. Collect every piece of trash or debris you find. And then help Dahghan sort through it.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have my forensics people help him.”
“Good. And do it again tonight and tomorrow morning as well.” The lieutenant nodded as he made notes.
A military ambulance had driven up, and two men carried over a stretcher. “Dahghan, go with them and oversee the autopsy. I want a preliminary report by noon and a final one by tonight. Nobody is to speak of this.” Rahim raised his voice enough so that everyone could hear him, and he met each man’s eyes as they nodded their understanding. “Lieutenant, in your report simply record this as an unknown corpse, too badly decomposed to identify.”
“Yes, Major.”
6 April 2013
0000 Local Time/0500 Zulu
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
Lowell Hardy was hardly surprised by Joanna’s call. She’d been keeping crazy hours, and of course hadn’t been able to tell him anything except that she was an action officer, and it was national security work. She’d managed a few hurried calls, and he’d been patient with her absence, and secretly proud.
He’d been hoping she’d say she was coming home, and could he please cook her something? They could have a quiet meal together and not talk about work.
Instead, she wanted him to meet her at the White House. A car was already on the way to pick him up. When asked why, she said she’d tell him when he arrived.
The limo took him from their Georgetown apartment straight to the visitor’s entrance; his name was on the VIP access list and he was expeditiously processed through security. A staffer collected him and he was quickly escorted first to the West Wing and then down to the situation room.
Joanna was waiting for him by the door, and after he’d passed through another security check, they quickly hugged. She pecked him on the cheek and whispered, “We’ll be able to talk shop, now.”
He’d never been in the White House Situation Room, and was frankly a little envious of his wife. Of course, she’d never gotten to command a nuclear submarine, so that was probably fair.
It was less impressive than he’d thought, and actually a little cramped. There was the obligatory long conference table, wood paneling, and computer screens and maps lining the walls. Several civilian staffers and service members worked at desks in one corner. It wasn’t really about the room. It was about who came here and the decisions they made.
He’d taken all this in as he was almost hustled to one end of the long table. He recognized Alison Gray, the deputy chief of staff at the White House. A man sitting next to her rose as they approached. “Senator Hardy, I’m Steven Weiss, a collection management officer with the National Clandestine Service at CIA. I’m here to brief you into the Gemstone sensitive HUMINT compartment.” He offered Hardy a classified nondisclosure form.
“Senator, you’re being read into the Opal subcompartment of Gem-stone. By signing this form, you agree not to discuss or divulge any information within this subcompartment with anyone else unless that individual is also read in, and their status has been verified by the National Clandestine Service. There is no termination date on this agreement and it will remain in force for the rest of your life. Please check your social security number, then sign and date here.” Hardy quickly scanned the form and signed it, while trying to process the news.
He handed the completed form back to Weiss, but looked at Joanna and then Gray. In a dark gray suit, with her hair pulled back, she looked every inch a White House official. “I’m here to oversee this brief and address any questions that Joanna can’t answer.” She checked her watch, and then said, “We’re a little behind, Doctor. Please tell him what you’ve been working on.”
His wife began what was clearly a well-rehearsed brief, complete with graphics on her laptop. As she called up maps and photographs, she described Michigan and her mission, the Iranian assets, now known to be a married couple, the information they had provided, and the information they claimed to have. Then she described what had gone wrong.
Hardy took it all in silently, although he winced when Joanna mentioned the battery fire on the ASDS. When she finished, Weiss asked him if he had any questions regarding security or access procedures. Hardy shook his head “no,” his mind was halfway around the world, comparing what he knew with what he’d just been told. It didn’t compute.
“So the public bluff and bluster by Iran is just for show? Am I missing something?” Hardy asked.
Gray answered, “A lot of people don’t think it’s a bluff.” She outlined the Israelis’ actions of the past few days. “And there are some people over here who agree with them.”
“But our intelligence community says exactly the opposite.”
“The second file we received, about the reactor in Arak, confirms our information from independent sources,” Gray answered. She glanced at her watch again. “Senator, your wife has been managing the recovery of our people, but that is now one part of a much larger problem.”
“Which is why I need your help,” a new voice added.
Hardy turned to see President Myles, followed by Chief of Staff Alvarez and National Security Advisor Kirkpatrick. Old reflexes kicked in and the retired naval officer snapped to attention. Everyone else also rose and Myles reached out to shake Hardy’s hand. The junior senator from Connecticut sensed a photo opportunity, but there were no cameras present.
Myles seemed to read his mind. “Lowell, I’ve got a tough job for you. If you can make this happen, you will save a lot of lives and make me very grateful — much more grateful than a mere autographed photo.”
“I’m at your service, sir.” Hardy braced himself.
Myles sat down at the head of the table, with the others on either side. Weiss had disappeared, and Hardy tried to remember what form he’d just signed. “First, tell me about Captain Kyle Guthrie.”
Hardy smiled. “I served with Kyle on USS Kentucky. I was the main propulsion assistant, he was an assistant weapons officer. We’ve seen each other since then, occasionally. He’s a good officer. Thorough, takes care of his people. Not as independent as some submarine captains, but there are different opinions on the value of independence.”
Myles nodded. “And his executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Mitchell?”
Hardy hesitated for a moment, then answered, “One of the best, sir. I’m sure he’s keeping Michigan running smoothly.” Why was the president interested in Michigan’s XO, Hardy asked himself. Subs were largely one-man shows, and Guthrie was the decision maker.
Myles saw the puzzled expression on Hardy’s face and turned toward Patterson. “You haven’t told him about Mitchell yet?” questioned Myles.
Joanna saw Hardy’s expression change from confusion to concern. “I was going to tell him about that later, sir.” She faced Hardy and took a deep breath. “He’s okay right now, Lowell, but Jerry’s in trouble. He was one of the pilots on the ASDS when it sank. He’s on the beach with the SEAL team and the two Iranians.”
Myles asked, “How will he do in that situation, Senator?”
Hardy hesitated as he absorbed the news. “Well, sir, he’s definitely out of his comfort zone.” He paused again before answering. “I meant it when I said Jerry’s one of the best. He’s intelligent, resourceful, and doesn’t give up.”
“Good.” Myles’s smile seemed genuine. “Now for your mission. Alison briefed you on the Israeli preparations?”
“Yes, sir. It sounds like they’ll be ready to strike in a day or two at the most.”
“You and Joanna are going to change their minds. The Israelis don’t give the files Opal sent the same weight we do, and I need you to convince them to wait. Buy us enough time to get at the rest of the information that the Iranian scientist is carrying.”
“What did they say when you showed them the two files?” Hardy asked.
“They pointed to the IAEA report and imagery of the test site. Our ambassador didn’t make a lot of headway, and Andy Lloyd didn’t push him very hard.” The president paused for a moment, and added, “While Andy and I get along on many things, this isn’t one of them. I must depend on your discretion.”
Hardy wasn’t a political animal, but Joanna was, and had spoken of Lloyd’s long relationship with the president. He asked, “How closely do we work with the State Department?” The nature of their trip was becoming clearer.
“Not at all. You are my personal envoys with sensitive information that is to be discussed with their intelligence people. With luck we can keep this below the Cabinet level on both sides. If Mossad or Military Intelligence can be convinced that the Iranians are not close to assembling a weapon, they can convince their leaders to wait.”
“What do you think about the other evidence: that the Iranians are getting close?”
Myles leaned back in his chair. “I agree with Dr. Kirkpatrick. There’s a mystery, but I’m not ready to throw away everything we’ve done before. Normally I’d wait and let the intelligence agencies sort it out, but we can’t sit on the fence, not with the Israelis ready to fly.”
Alison and Alvarez were both looking at their watches. Alvarez started to lean forward as if to speak, but Myles waved him back.
“If the intelligence supported it, I’d wish the Israelis Godspeed. But I’m convinced it doesn’t, and we” — he pointed to Hardy and Patterson — “meaning you two, have to convince them they’re wrong.”
The president stood. “You two are going to stop a war before it starts. Go home and pack. You leave in eight hours.”
6 April 2013
1200 Local Time/0900 Zulu
Kangan Police Barracks
“It’s confirmed, Major, he didn’t drown.” Deyyer was only twenty kilometers by road from Kangan, so Dahghan had chosen to give his report to Rahim in person. “There was no water in his lungs, and the doctor said he died from electric shock and severe burns. There are traces of exotic chemicals on his skin and clothing, which they are analyzing. He carried no identification. He was wearing an American-made watch.”
Dahghan was smiling now, and Rahim asked, “What else did you find?”
The young agent unwrapped an object. It was a thin piece of red plastic the size of a large book. One side was ragged, where it had been torn from a binding or notebook.
