The Iranian Blockade

by Stephen Makk

  “Sir, their track and separation take them one either side of us, around five hundred yards away. Depth two hundred and fifty feet.”

  “All stop, maintain periscope depth.” He didn’t want a contact in here, it would be mission over. Nathan waited for the two small boats, they’d be cruising toward them at one hundred and fifty feet below. Silence was the watchword.

  “Sir the port boat’s coming to south. Active ping Sir, active ping one kilometre ahead pinging to the south.” We’re well to his east thought Nathan, as long as they didn’t ping closer in.

  “Sir starboard boat is ascending. Now at periscope depth. The two Iranian boats continued their slow progress towards them.

  “Sir, We have two Mk48 CBASS loaded, tubes one and two. Harpoon in tube three,” said the Weapons officer.

  ‘Thanks Weaps.”

  “Sir, sounds consistent with an ascent from the port boat, she’s coming up.” There was a long pause. “She’s now at periscope depth. Wait one, wait one. Starboard boat is trimming for depth, she’s diving.” Nathan knew what they were doing it was a reconnaissance patrol, one up, one down. They’d alternate as they made they’re way down the channel.

  “Sir, active pulse from the deeper boat. He’s facing north, he won’t have picked us up.”

  “Benson, what’s the range to the upper boat?”

  “Five hundred yards Sir.” It’d be close, Nathan knew.

  “Sir port boat is trimming for diving.” The control room waited. He could put some revs on and move to the west. He decided to stay, opting for silence. “He’s now at two hundred and fifty feet. Active ping toward the west.” Nathan drew breath the ping had been away from them. The two Iranian boats would soon be level with them. The danger was passing. He knew the two Ghadir boats were no match for USS Stonewall Jackson. But in here, in the confines of the channel. It was a much more even scenario.

  “Come to three four zero degrees, speed five knots.”

  “Three four at five, Aye Sir,” said the planesman.

  ANUPA AND INNES PREPARED for the dive.

  “Ok, Anupa let’s go through it one last time,” said the boat’s diver, CPO Innes.

  “Go on.”

  “We inflate this buoyancy bag to half, it’ll lift the sled out of the lock. I’ll adjust the buoyancy after we leave. Clip yourself onto the sled here.” He indicated a stainless lug.

  “We’ll stay at fifteen feet until we make contact with the shore. Then detach the clip and we play it by ear, depending on where we came ashore. Stow your diving gear and suit in this bag and I’ll take it back. OK?”

  “Yep, I’m OK with the rebreather.” They sat and waited. Anupa knew she was in for a different world now. Iran. It’d be a far different place now; she’d become accustomed to the boat and her routine. It had become a home from home in a way. Now it was, who knew what?

  “Diving party ready,” shouted the COB from the control room. She put on the re-breather helped by Innes, she helped him in return. They climbed up into the sail and sealed the hatch. Water flooded into the chamber, a red light came on. The chamber was now full, Innes opened the upper hatch and let the sled out into the black water above. Anupa followed. She clipped on. Innes checked his compass and switched on the sled. The pair of them were pulled along through the dark void. Anupa checked her dive computer for the depth and stabilized her buoyancy. Her world was black water and the backlight from the computer. Innes handled his buoyancy and the direction. After five or six minutes they came to a muddy slope, Innes slowed and the pair of them finned up the slope. When it became shallow enough she stood. She looked out at the shore; there were bushes around four yards away along the shoreline. Anupa unclipped and walked up the slope, there was no one around. She removed the rebreather, mask and fins, then took off her dry suit. Anupa wore a jacket and trousers underneath. She passed her gear to Innes who placed it in the bag. Standing in a foot depth of water, her trousers and shoes were wet but would dry as she walked.

  “Ok Anupa, good luck out there, I hope we’ll meet again.”

  “Thanks CPO Innes.” He sank and soon disappeared under a few eddies and ripples. Anupa turned.

  Here she was; Iran.

  What the hell would she find here? She walked up the slope in trepidation, this was a different realm. This was the Middle East.

  Chapter 6

  The Straits of Hormuz.

  “SHE’S ASHORE SIR, I’VE brought her diving equipment back. It was a successful infil,” said Innes.

  “Good, well done, now we wait for her,” Captain Blake walked back to the control room. He walked to his control station and typed in a message.

  “Lieutenant Commander Lemineux, stream the communications buoy and transmit this message. Then retract the buoy.”

  PRIORITY RED

  R 271345Z JUL 86 ZY10

  STONEWALL JACKSON

  CIA-OPS// ID C796TF722//

  TO CIA OPS LANGLEY//N18//

  NAVAL INTEL OPS/04

  MSGID/STONEWALL JACKSON 479/ ACTUAL//

  MSG BEGINS://

  THE JAGUAR IS FREE.

  MSG END//

  Commander Lemineux typed in a few codes then waited. He turned to the Captain.

  “Sir, message transmitted and acknowledged, the buoy is retracted.”

  “Come about, head east southeast, speed eight knots. Kaminski set a course for Muscat. Oman. We’ll take up a position, thirty miles or so southeast of there, ten miles off the coast. It’s up to Anupa now, we’ll stay close by and provide help if we can.” God help her, he thought.

  BANDAR ABBAS.

  SHE’D FOUND A RESTING place at the rear of a Relator’s. She waited until the sun had arisen and the day’s activities had begun. Cars and trucks drove by, a few people passed by on foot. Anupa donned her headdress and walked out on to the road. She headed east on highway 94 towards the rising sun and the city center. As expected she soon managed to flag down a passing truck, the driver dropped her in the city itself. She walked for a while along Pasdaran Boulevard then turned right into a side street. It was similar to many districts in a middle eastern country. Shops sold bread, cakes and sweets. Vehicle parts, domestic electrical goods. Women wore headdresses, cars and delivery trucks rolled by. As the road turned to the left. She saw it. Eastern Horse Café. Anupa walked in ordered bread and fruit, coffee and sweet cake. She sat on the left, as she sipped her second cup of coffee he arrived.

  “Hello, my dear, how are you?”

  It was Josh, the Israeli intelligence agent she knew from Riyadh.

  “Fine. How are you in the land of the foe?”

  “It’s not a bad place, it’s surprising what you can get here if you know where to look.”

  She saw him looking at the young girl at the counter.

  “How are the women?”

  “Better than you’d think. Why, would you like me to get one for you?”

  Anupa shook her head. “No, I’ll pass on that one.” He placed a rough sacking bag on the table.

  “All that you need is in there. Your name is Paniz, you’ve lived in England but have now returned. Several are you know.” He handed her several sheets of paper, here are the important facts. Memorise them and then destroy them.” He handed her a cell phone.

  “There are several contacts in there but Dareh is the only real one, it’s me. You’ll be flown to Tehran to meet your client. Take a look at him.” She looked at the sheets. There was a middle-aged man with glasses and a short beard, he wore a suit without a tie in the local style.

  Haabeel Salri. A lawyer it seemed.

  “He handles finance for the regime. Very large amounts, very quietly and is paid a generous commission for his efforts. We’ll see that you’ll meet him. Look at your identity.” She looked and frowned at Josh in surprise.

  “RAW? What does RAW want with him?”

  “Read the rest. Not here. Read them in your hotel in Tehran and then burn them. You’ll be flown to Tehran today, then you’ll have one
day to prepare, get the lye of the land and get your clothes. High class hookers don’t dress the way you are. When you get to your room there will be more equipment,” he smiled, “under the mattress. I’ll be in the city too, but we won’t meet unless we must. Call me if that becomes necessary or you need any help.” Josh stood.

  “Good luck Paniz,” he gave her a cold smile, “welcome to the Mossad.”

  TEHRAN. IRAN.

  HE APPROACHED THE RED studded doors. The doorman opened them, he could see the visitor was their type. Wealthy arrogant, it seemed to go with their style. The man with expensive glasses and a short beard slipped him five hundred Rials. The man took the elevator to the roof garden. It was covered with light coloured drapes and laid out with blankets and cushions, woven with geometric designs. The whole roof looked like a Bedouin tent, the man was led to a low couch. He was served coffee and offered a Shisha pipe, but he declined. A younger man dressed in a similar style joined him.

  “Haabeel, I hope you are well,” he lowered his head and gestured in a downward motion with his hand, “by the will of Allah.”

  “I am, and you?”

  “Yes, we have much to talk of.”

  The two of them spoke for a time and drank coffee as it was served. A girl approached them, dressed Indian style in a red sari trimmed with gold. Her dark eyes were heavily made up and she wore a gold chain to ruby set in her nose.

  Haabeel looked at her, she was gorgeous there was no doubt about that.

  “You need time with me Sirs? I give good time to handsome men.” The younger man flicked his hand. “Go. Go Randi.” She gave him a look of disdain, he’d called her a whore. The girl left them alone. Their conversation went on for long minutes.

  “Rhaa, we come to matters of importance and of course remuneration. We need to retire to my room.” Rhaa got the check and paid. The two men left in the elevator.

  They entered Haabeel’s room.

  “Whiskey?” This was frowned on but was common among Tehran’s monied class.

  “Yes.” He poured out a tumbler for his guest.

  “Haabeel. My clients are not happy with the deal you’ve struck.”

  “It’s my job. I serve the masters in this city. You know that.”

  Rhaa scowled and waved his hand. If it’s money you want, my organisation’s associates can swim in it if they wish.” Rhaa leaned forward.

  “You have influence with your masters and the Eastern savages you work with. Name your price. Name it Haabeel.” He shook his head. Rhaa took some papers and photographs from a shoulder bag.

  “Your wife and son. We know where they are, we can make things uncomfortable for them. Very uncomfortable.”

  “They are well protected. No Rhaa. I will not do as you ask.” Rhaa smiled.

  “Then these could be made public. I know you wouldn’t like that.” He handed the Iranian several more photographs.

  Haabeel stared at them and drew breath, his eyes bulged in rage. The pictures were of a pretty young woman naked with two men. She performed oral sex on them both. She smiled as the two of them penetrated her from all angles.

  Rhaa spoke quietly.

  “It would seem that your daughter has needs. She pleasures them and others, I have video too. They could be released, or you could obtain all the copies to destroy. Do as we ask, and you will possess them and a great deal of money.”

  THE ROOM DOOR LOCK clicked twice, the two men looked to the door.

  “What?” said Haabeel. The whore from the roof garden in the red sari walked into the room.

  “I told you to go Randi, we don’t need the likes of you here, go.”

  “That’s a great pity and I was so looking to get to know you,” she spoke in a clipped and perfect English accent. From inside her sari, she pulled out a Barretta. She aimed at Rhaa’s head. Thud, thud. His forehead was holed in two places, the back of his head exploded in blood and grey matter.

  She replaced the pistol and sat on the bed.

  “Now Haabeel, we have things to discuss.”

  “You killed him. Why? Why?”

  “I killed him because he works for ISI, the Pakistani intelligence agency.”

  “Who do you work for?” She flicked her hand in dismissal.

  “Let me tell you what they are up to. You’ll know some of it yourself. They don’t want you to obtain Nuclear weapons. Oh, let me tell you. The ISI doesn’t care one way or the other. Their paymasters the Saudis do care. They care very much. An Iranian bomb is their nightmare, so their clients the Pakistani’s are needed to apply pressure for them. The Saudi’s paid for the Pakistani nukes, so they can’t be ignored. The Pakistani establishment will do anything for them.

  So, the Saudi’s call on the ISI to put pressure on you. Threats towards your wife and son. Money, lots of it, and failing that blackmail and shame.

  “I haven’t taken their money.”

  “No, but there is the shame. That must be hard to take. Seeing Naasiha like that. Sucking cock, taking cock and enjoying it. Then there is the video, you should hear her. Or maybe you shouldn’t?” His face turned a bright angry flush.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to let you know something, that’s all.” He looked at her in disbelief.

  “The Saudi’s know that the pressure the ISI can bring to bear may not be enough. Remember that an Iranian foe armed with nuclear weapons is their nightmare. You owe the North Koreans more money if you are to get the weapons released. They will now plan to deprive you of those funds.”

  “The funds are secure.” She smiled.

  “This secure.” She held up a paper with the name of the bank, an account number and the password.

  Haabeel stared at it with an open mouth.

  “Don’t try to move them, it’s useless. The Saudi’s have many friends in the banking sector, they can be bought, for a price.

  So, my vital information is now yours. Let me spell it out for you.

  Pay the North Koreans and get your nukes. Or wait and see the funds disappear. All that work at Parchin and down in Antarctica for nothing,” she smiled, “no nuclear weapons. Get them now or lose them.”

  “Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?” She stood.

  “My employers don’t care whether you do, or don’t have nukes. But they do care about Pakistan. There’s more than a suspicion that Pakistan may use these nukes against my country. I work for RAW. Research and Analysis Wing, the Indian secret service. Goodnight Haabeel, sleep on it. Nukes now or lose them, it’s your choice.”

  ANUPA LEFT AND CLOSED the door. He’d a big dilemma to handle, she’d left him with a Tiger to wrestle with.

  Typical Mossad she thought. They’d got MI6 to give a key member of the Iranian regime the good news. They’d got her to pose as a RAW agent, Haabeel would know that India and Pakistan hated each other. Anupa smiled, grinned then laughed. Good as they were, the Mossad wasn’t perfect. There was more to it than that.

  She took out the pay-as-you-go disposable cell phone and dialled a number.

  “Hello embassy of Norway,” came the reply in the distinctive sing song accent.

  “I’d like to speak with Dr Kristlingson. Tell him it’s Sara Kay.”

  INDIAN OCEAN. OFF THE coast of Oman.

  “SIR, WE HAVE AN INCOMING message.” Lieutenant Commander Lemineux, stretched and rolled over in his bunk.

  “Thanks, PO Stanley, I’ll be there.”

  He got out of his bunk and walked into the control room, he opened his console and checked incoming. He walked back aft to the Captain’s cabin and knocked.

  “Message Sir, from the DOD.”

  “Ok.” Nathan opened his monitor and read the incoming message box.

  PRIORITY RED

  R 271355Z JUL 88 ZY10

  DOD-OPS// ID D22953G22F//

  TO STONEWALL JACKSON

  PACFLT// ID S072RQ81//

  NAVAL INTEL OPS/07

  MSGID/DOD 447/7E62//

  MSG B
EGINS://

  PROCEED TO BANDAR ABBAS. RETRIEVE JAGUAR

  MSG END//

  That’s it he thought, Anupa’s completed her mission. How and where they’d meet her wasn’t mentioned yet, but the first task was get into place. He climbed the sail and came out into bright sunshine. The sea was calm and just a gentle swell slightly rolled the boat. Fifteen or so crew members layout on deck in the sun. He’d allowed them to form rosters for some surface time out here away from the distant coast, it was good for morale. Nathan climbed down the outside of the sail and walked along the deck among them. “Morning Sir.”

  “Morning. Great day and a flat sea. We just had a communication from the DOD. I’m sorry but we’re going to have to get back at it. We must head to an area close to the enemy. Get yourselves down below. Sorry, men, and woman.” The crew climbed up the sail and climbed back below. Nathan was the last, shutting the hatch behind him.

  “Kaminski, get me a course and heading to Bandar Abbas.”

  She checked the chart. “Three five five Sir.”

  “Flood forward. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Dive, dive, dive. Planesman, down angle twenty, make your depth two hundred and fifty feet. Speed twenty knots.”

  “Twenty at two hundred and fifty Aye Sir.” The deck tilted down to the bow. A short while later the Planesman pulled back on the yoke and the boat levelled out.

  “Come to three five five degrees.”

  “Three five five Aye Sir.” USS Stonewall Jackson approached Bandar Abbas around fifteen hundred hours.

  His Executive officer Lieutenant Commander Larry Sayers stood near the conn.

  “XO, take us to a location just east of Qeshm, and hold position. We’ll wait for darkness.” The boat would then be around twelve miles south of the port.