The Keepers of the Persian Gate

by Sydney Maurice

  The local actor did an excellent job of explaining the situation and what the senior members of the ‘revolution’ were looking for. A price was agreed and money was to be exchanged via an account in Switzerland, following a further meeting.

  “This initial meeting was extremely tense. We were heavily outnumbered in terms of security, so an arrest would have been completely out of the question. If China was aware that we were carrying out the operation, we might have requested emergency assistance; however, they did not know. Instead we focussed on arranging the second meeting. We pressed the Mechanic for a time and location but he was having none of it. The location of the meeting would be advised in one week by e-mail message from a specific address provided to us,” explained Paddy.

  That e-mail never came. The reason for this was that the Mechanic was in Libya meeting an old customer, namely Colonel Gaddafi. Embryonic pockets of revolt were occurring in remote parts of Libya and intelligence suggested that Gaddafi was seeking to acquire materials to suppress the rebels.

  “We believe that he may have been seeking the Mechanic’s services to cause some sort of radioactive rainstorm or something similar to attack the villages from the air,” explained Paddy. The Mechanic had been known to create similar ‘natural disasters’ for other governments. Such action would allow Gaddafi plausible deniability for the mass murder of civilian settlements. This would be particularly useful if Gaddafi himself ever had to face the International Criminal Court.

  It was clear that the Mechanic had been warned of the dangers in Libya.

  “We suspect that Gaddafi actually instructed the Mechanic to go to Venezuela to continue his work on the project,” said Erin.

  Jake intervened. “I’m sorry, if the US is not a signatory to the International Court of…”

  “The International Criminal Court,” corrected Marco.

  “Yeah, well, whatever. Why is the US helping y’all out in catching this guy? Why don’t we take him?” Jake asked.

  The Admiral stepped forward. “Because although the US government would love nothing more than to put him before an American court, it was agreed last night that this arrest should fall on the shoulders of the international community. The US is therefore willing to assist, albeit in a classified capacity.”

  Paddy finished by stating, “From intelligence, the Mechanic is known to use a number of body doubles. One of the primary reasons I am here is to ensure that the man on Isla Margarita is in fact the same man I met in Macao.”

  “How do you know the man you met wasn’t a double?” asked Elvis.

  “I don’t,” replied Paddy abruptly.

  The Admiral then took the lectern for a final time. “Gentlemen, you have roughly three hours before you depart. I suggest you all try to get some sleep in your assigned quarters. Please report back to the flight deck at 2230 hours, when we will equip you with your gear and armaments. Dismissed.”

  The meeting ended abruptly, Paddy walked out with Marco and asked him how he felt about the operation.

  “It’s one of the craziest things I’ve ever heard. A flying boat, limousines? Something’s bound to go wrong, do you not think?” asked Marco.

  “Well, the US can’t afford to be seen to be invading its neighbours, so the onus is on them to keep it confidential,” replied Paddy.

  Paddy and Marco were escorted back to their quarters alongside the others. It was clear that the Admiral didn’t want any member of Frequent Flyer socialising with the other crew on board the Nimitz.

  The door to his quarters shut behind Paddy. Leaning his back to the door, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Although he was still exhausted from all the travel, he did not think sleep was something he would be physically capable of. The pre-operation nerves were simply too much. Instead, he sat and began a note to his girlfriend Sarah in Norwich, England.

  “Dear Sarah, I know I promised you that I was going to be sitting behind a desk from now on, but one last thing has pulled me back into active duty…”

  ***

  Time passed quickly. Before Paddy knew it, an hour had slipped by and a Warrant Officer was at the door, ready to escort Paddy to the flight deck. It was quite a walk; the Nimitz, or ‘Old Salt’ as it was nicknamed, was a huge vessel. It was over a thousand feet long at the waterline and weighed over a hundred thousand tonnes. To put that into perspective, that was nearly twice the weight of the Titanic. Walking up onto the deck, the SEALs stood in a neat line, fully uniformed and ready to go. Their faces were difficult to make out due to the dark jungle camouflage that they had applied. Over the years, Paddy had had to do the same on a number of occasions on active duty. He had observed that some soldiers were better at applying the camouflage than others. However, Special Forces always seemed to have a particular skill for putting it on in a way that blended perfectly with their mission’s location.

  Although it was March in the Caribbean Sea, it was cold on deck and there was a strong breeze of about thirty-five knots. The Nimitz was keeping a deliberate distance from the coast of Venezuela. The reason for this was primarily so that the United States would not be vulnerable to any potential Venezuelan accusations that the Nimitz had acted as a staging post for the operation. It would also be of strategic relevance in case she had to make a fast dash for Puerto Rico. Moreover, it would be within the clear range of the protection offered by the US Atlantic Command (LANTCOM).

  Lieutenant Graham stood at the front of the line. The remainder of the team created a semi-circle around him opposite the SEALs. The Lieutenant then moved to address the international team.

  “Gentlemen, time to suit up. With the exception of Nasser, your attire during this mission will be that of bodyguards. We expect suits would be a little formal in these circumstances. Instead, you’re getting expensive watches, open shirts, jeans and a holstered pistol,” said Lieutenant Graham.

  “Holstered pistol? That’s probably not going to be very useful if we find ourselves in the middle of an all-out assault between the hotel and the beach,” said Paddy.

  “I’m afraid the CIA thinks that the full weapon approach for the security team may be a bit obvious. Don’t worry, the SEAL team has your back,” said Lieutenant Graham.

  The Lieutenant escorted the team to the side of the flight deck and onto a platform. “There she is, gentlemen, our transport for this evening’s event.”

  It was dark, but Paddy could make out the shape of the plane floating in the waves. The Beriev looked ominous and menacing. It was certainly nothing like any of the team had come across before. Despite the fact that most of the undercarriage of the plane was submerged, the visible section was absolutely enormous.

  “Jeesh, that looks like something straight out of Thunderbirds,” said Paddy.

  “Well, boys, I guess that makes this Tracey Island,” said Jake.

  Each of the five members of the international team was then taken into a side room off the flight deck in the main tower to suit up. They also each received a private, confidential briefing about what to do and say if captured. When all members of the international team had been briefed, the entire team moved to a hydraulic platform.

  “Hold on, boys,” said Jake. The platform on the side of the deck began to slowly lower towards sea level where several RIBs - Rigid Inflatable Boats - waited to take the team across to the Beriev.

  The Beriev had come directly from Russia the previous night, following the go-ahead from the Kremlin. The Russian pilots had been on duty for twenty-four hours prior to the call being made. After stopping for fuel in Franz Joseph Land, the Beriev flew direct to Texas, arriving into Ellington under cover of darkness in the early hours of the morning. She was immediately placed in an aircraft hangar away from the public eye while the pilots were allowed some well-earned shut-eye.

  As they approached the Beriev in the RIBs, the Libyan markings which had been painted on the side earlier in the day became clearer. The guys at Ellington seemed to have done a pretty good job on the exterior of the pla
ne. It certainly had the old rusty look of something that originated from the Soviet era.

  “You can definitely tell that this is over thirty years old,” said Marco. As the first of the RIBs came alongside the Beriev, it was obvious that the rust had only been painted over earlier in the day. In fact, the men could still smell the fresh paint. The RIBs moved to an aft hatch which was lying open, only a few feet above the water line.

  The SEALs began to disembark first and then helped the rest of the international team to board the Beriev. It was to be expected that the interior of this particular version of the Beriev would not be quite as luxurious as that of the Gaddafi refit. Stepping onboard, it had the air of an old rusty fishing boat rather than a cutting edge aircraft. She wasn’t exactly set up for twenty-six soldiers either. That was not to mention the four cars also aboard which added to the spacing issues. The team began to familiarise themselves with their new surroundings as they slowly made their way down either side of the cars. There was not much room.

  “Pree-VYEHT,” a voice called out from the cockpit of the Beriev. It appeared to be the pilot. He walked into the cargo room and went to speak in Russian. He looked quite dishevelled.

  Alex stood to attention, but was duly dismissed. As the pilot spoke, Alex began to translate. “My name is Captain Bylinkin. Welcome aboard the only active military Beriev Be-12mkh. Please treat her with respect and she will return the favour. As you can see, there are grab handles down each inner side of the fuselage. You are to attach yourself to these with these harnesses.”

  Captain Bylinkin began to hand out harnesses and pointed to the handles, the sort of thing one would see on buses or on the London Underground.

  “Dangle on your feet, and it will take some of the weight as though you were sitting down,” said Captain Bylinkin.

  The Captain finished his demonstration and made his way back to the cockpit. As he did, a nervous co-pilot peered his head around the corner. Meanwhile, the SEAL team began unloading various supplies.

  “Gentlemen, when we land the aircraft and begin to taxi I expect you all to dispense with the usual etiquette of keeping your belt fastened until the plane comes to a standstill. I want you in the cars immediately following landing and ready to go. We estimate three minutes between landing and standstill once we get to the airport,” said Lieutenant Graham.

  The SEALs and the international team would be split across the four vehicles. There would be ten SEALs split between the two Land Rovers, with sixteen between the two Mercedes.

  “Jake will drive the front 4x4 with me up front. Taylor will drive the rear. Naval Special Warfare Development Group will ride in the limousines with the international team. This is to ensure that you guys are adequately protected should the limousines become separated from the Land Rovers for any reason. Is everyone happy how this is going to work once we hit the ground? There won’t be time for questions after the ramp door opens,” explained Lieutenant Graham.

  Everyone nodded.

  “Right, let’s get the rest of the stuff unloaded and we’ll be on our way,” ordered Lieutenant Graham.

  Paddy had heard about how the SEALs would routinely bring a lot of gear with them on missions. In this case they literally had over a ton of gear with them. It mostly seemed to consist of weapons, ammunition and flares.

  “There’s enough here to conduct a small war,” observed Marco.

  Once all the equipment was loaded onboard, the co-pilot came out and walked down the fuselage.

  “Pree-VYEHT,” he said, nodding to the various members of the team who had harnessed themselves to the handles. He closed the large door at the aft port side of the aircraft. It shut with a loud metallic thump. It was the sort of sound that would lead one to think that few screws had just fallen out the side of the plane.

  “That’s reassuring,” joked Elvis.

  Although the sea state was fairly slight, there was a small chop in the water which gave an unpleasant feeling for the passengers of the Beriev.

  “I hope no one gets sea sick,” said the Lieutenant.

  Suddenly, the engines began to roar. There were no windows in the cargo room, so the next sight the team would see would be the tarmac at the airport on Margarita. As the Beriev began to move through the water, the chop became more and more noticeable. It didn’t help that the men were dangling on harnesses. The lights in the cargo bay began to flicker as the Beriev’s engines powered up. The wind was blowing north-east so the Beriev needed to manoeuvre around the bow of the Nimitz in order to get a proper head wind. Russian shouts came from the cockpit. Once again, Alex duly translated: “Prepare for take-off!”

  For a military aircraft, the engines of the Beriev were unbelievably loud. The entire plane shuddered as the engines powered to their maximum for take-off. It certainly wasn’t comfortable. As she ploughed along, she began to bounce over each wave. Then the time between each bounce became longer and longer, until there were no bounces and the team knew she was in the air.

  “Thank God for that!” shouted Jake.

  “I wouldn’t get too excited. These Berievs aren’t the most reliable bunch of planes in the world. Almost one quarter of the standard versions ended up crashing due to engine failure!” shouted Alex.

  “Good thing this is the military version then, huh?” said Lieutenant Graham.

  “That would probably be of greater concern to me!” replied Alex.

  After several minutes of shakiness and turbulence onboard, a welcome calm descended over the plane as the vibrations all but stopped.

  “Alex, shout up to the captain for ETA!” ordered Lieutenant Graham.

  Alex duly obliged. A voice shouted back from the cockpit. “Eleven minutes,” translated Alex.

  ***

  The whole journey was only meant to last fifteen minutes. Most of the team didn’t even bother to unhook their harnesses. The exceptions were Lieutenant Graham and Alex, who moved into the cockpit to assist with the transmission of the landing code.

  Special Naval Warfare Development Group, or SEAL Team 6, were stony-eyed. None of them had made any efforts to introduce themselves to any of the rest of the team, let alone the other SEALs. It was as if they weren’t even on board. They had certainly perfected the one thousand yard stare and you couldn’t lock eyes with them if you tried.

  It was only about seven minutes into the flight that Paddy recognized the unmistakable sinking feeling of a descent. “That was fast. We’re already heading down.”

  It wasn’t long before the team heard a loud bang and then a sort of metal on metal clunk.

  “What the hell is that?” shouted Taylor.

  “That’s the landing gear,” said Paddy.

  The plane didn’t really feel safe. Even the engines had started to make a less than reassuring sound.

  “Don’t worry, she’s been flying missions round the clock in Russia without incident,” said Taylor.

  “That’s either cause not to worry, or greater cause to be concerned,” said Alex.

  “Why’s that?” replied Paddy.

  “She’s due an accident, that’s why,” said Marco.

  The Lieutenant and Alex made their way out of the cockpit and back down the fuselage to re-harness themselves.

  “Right, men, this is it. Get ready,” said Lieutenant Graham.

  “SEALs, all in all the time!” shouted Jake.

  Marco made the sign of the cross and looked to be praying.

  “Just remember what that old German general said to his men in World War II just before the Battle of the Bulge,” said Jake.

  “What was that?” asked Elvis.

  “No plan survives first contact with the enemy,” said Jake as he cocked his M14 and spat on the floor.

  The plane was beginning to slow substantially. Due to the lack of windows, however, it was impossible to know precisely how far they were from landing. The men could feel the pilot trying to gain control of a constant altitude now. Suddenly the team were all thrust forward in the harn
esses, most of them bumping into the back of the next person. They landed with a bang and even the cars jolted forward a bit.

  The engines roared even louder, this time in reverse, and the pilot began to apply the airbrakes. After a few moments, the ride became smoother and everyone began to unhook themselves in order to get into the cars. Colonel Nasser, dressed in a linen suit, got into the passenger seat of the second limousine. Despite the darkness, Nasser put on a pair of sunglasses.

  Paddy took the driver’s seat in the second limousine, alongside Marco in the passenger seat. Elvis took the driver’s position in the first limousine alongside Alex. Those SEALs who were not already in their assigned places in the Land Rovers jumped into the passenger seats of the first limousine, and sat around Nasser in the second limousine.

  “Bit dark for sunglasses, don’t you think?” said one of the SEALs to Nasser.

  Nasser smiled. “I’m just getting into character. Omar Sanallah was known for being… what is it you Americans say…Blingy?”

  A couple of the guys laughed.

  As the plane began to taxi, Paddy could make out the faint sound of sirens outside. “That doesn’t sound great.”

  “Let’s hope that’s just the welcoming party,” replied Marco.

  Chapter 2

  Isla Margarita

  THE PLANE CAME TO A STOP, and stepping from the cockpit, the co-pilot gave the thumbs up to all the team as he walked down the fuselage. With a deep breath, the co-pilot then hit a large button at the stern of the aircraft and the rear exit ramp began to slowly lower. When it did, the first Land Rover containing the Lieutenant and Jake got a view of what was outside. There were numerous flashing lights - but no one met them with pointed guns.

  As the ramp reached the ground, the co-pilot gave the Lieutenant a final thumbs up before the motorcade started up its engines. The first Land Rover moved slowly down the ramp towards the corridor of four police cars that were waiting.

  “Turn the lights on,” ordered Lieutenant Graham.

  The rest of the motorcade followed suit.

  “Ok, stop,” ordered the Lieutenant as the first Land Rover came level with the first police car. There were a few nervous seconds as nothing happened. “Honk the horn.”