by Larry Bond
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.
Rahim spoke English, and could easily read the lettering:
Deck Log
Advanced SEAL
Delivery System Hull 1
“They found that two kilometers southeast of the body’s location. I called our headquarters in Tehran. The Advanced SEAL Delivery System is a U.S. Navy minisub that can be used for commando missions. It has a crew of two and can hold at least six passengers. It’s carried by a larger sub. There is only one vehicle known to be in service. It is currently carried by USS Michigan, a Special Operations and cruise missile submarine, which was reported to be exercising with the Pakistani Navy last week.”
The major worked it through. “So an American submarine entered the gulf and sent a minisub in to contact two traitors on a beach southeast of Kangan. They wouldn’t send a sub unless they intended to exchange something or someone. Some time during that trip, the sub experienced an electrical fire”—he pointed to photos of the corpse—”killing at least one crewman and”—holding up the cover of the logbook—”likely causing it to sink.”
Rahim smiled. “Allah is good to us. But now he gives us another test. Where is the wreck of the submarine? Did survivors make it ashore? What was their business with the traitors?”
The major sat silently for a few minutes, got up and paced, studied the map, then started firing orders to Dahghan. “Expand the search. Alert every police station, Basij unit, and VEVAK office along the coast and from here north to Shiraz. Increase the number of checkpoints.
“I’m changing the traitors’ status as well. They are no longer to be captured. Pasdaran Captain Yousef Akbari and the nuclear engineer Shirin Naseri are dangerous traitors and should be shot on sight. If they are taken alive, they are to be held incommunicado until they can be turned over to VEVAK.”
The major continued, “The captain’s only living family member is his mother, but she is in a vegetative state. Naseri’s father is dead, but arrest her mother and uncle. Question them both thoroughly.”
“Yes, sir. The mother lives in Shiraz, but her uncle lives in Bandar Charak. We don’t have an office in such a small town. They’d have to come from Bandar Abbas.”
“We can’t wait,” Rahim insisted. “Go ahead and tell the Bandar Abbas office to send a team, but tell the local Pasdaran to make the arrest immediately. He should be held incommunicado until our people arrive and take custody. We know where these people live,” he added. “I want them both in our hands an hour from now. Move.”
After Dahghan left, Rahim placed a secure call to Moradi. He’d briefed the general earlier about the discovery of the body, but the new evidence confirmed his suspicions, and raised new concerns. The general answered immediately.
“They have been in contact with the Americans,” Rahim reported. He described the cover to the logbook. “If nothing else but to arrange a meeting. There is no way to know what information the traitors have passed to the Americans. At a minimum, they could provide a great deal of information on the actual status of the program.”
“Which could delay an attack,” Moradi concluded.
“The greater risk is if they had knowledge of our immediate plans.” Even on a secure line, Rahim was circumspect.
“Have you found any evidence that they do know?” Moradi’s tone was carefully neutral. They both understood the implications if the couple had revealed their plan.
“I am concerned that the date of their disappearance coincides with the commencement of our operation. I never assume coincidences.”
“Once they are captured, we will know how much they told the Americans.
“I disagree, General. That is irrelevant. We are on a short time scale, and there is nothing we can do to reverse what has been done. Our best course is to limit any further spread of the information. If they have the secret, it will die with them. I’d also like to withhold information about the discovery of the body.”
“You’re asking a lot. There are several ways we could publicize this that would badly damage American prestige.”
“I understand, sir, but it also warns the other side. I don’t like telling them what we know.”
“Concealment is not always the best course.”
“General, this is about more than merely embarrassing the United States. Because the Americans were meeting with Akbari and Naseri, there may be a link to our operation. Questions will be asked by both sides. If we can find them before news is released, then that link will be broken.”
“All right. I am convinced, and while we wait, I will use the time to plan how to use our dead friend to the best effect.”
“Another question arises. Was he alone?” Rahim asked.
“You think there was more than one American aboard the submarine?” Moradi asked.
“Two is likely, more is possible. But are they entombed within the wreck, or will they float ashore tomorrow? Or are they already on our shores, and alive?”
“In which case our traitors would not be traveling alone. Live Americans would look even better on television than a dead one,” Moradi observed wistfully.
“If there are Americans here, then their sub is still offshore, waiting for them,” Rahim said. “They will be trying to reach it,” he reasoned. “We must find it and sink it.”
“Only Pasdaran units can operate in gulf waters,” Moradi reminded him. “The navy operates east of Hormuz.”
“I understand that, sir. But only the navy can find and kill an American submarine, which, you can remind them, they let slip through the Strait of Hormuz unmolested.”
“If you’re suggesting we ask the navy for assistance, that will not sit well with my colleagues,” Moradi said, “I’m sure you remember how hard the Pasdaran had to fight to get sole control of the Persian Gulf.”
“Yes, sir, I do. But can you think of another way to find and kill an American submarine? No disrespect, sir, but the Pasdaran Navy is not equipped to hunt down a submarine. And finding that submarine not only helps us find their friends on land, but will interfere with their attempts to escape.”
“All right,” Moradi conceded. “You’ve made your point. I’ll speak to the commanders of both navies immediately.”
The Outskirts of Bandar Charak
1215 Local Time/0915 Zulu
Highway 96 left the coast halfway to Bandar Charak, bending north, then east again, skirting around a mass of rough rocky hills between the highway and the coast. Following Shirin’s instructions, north of Charak they turned right onto another paved road that would take them straight into town. The road lay between the hills to the west and an eroded flat plain to the east. Neither showed many signs of man.
They stopped a couple of kilometers north of town. A grove of trees on a low hill gave cover, and after they’d unloaded everything from the van, Ramey and Phillips drove it back north half a kilometer. A dirt road ran at right angles into the hills from the paved highway, and they hid the van there, sanitizing it like they had the Peykan.
While the two SEALs hid the car, the others under Lapointe’s guidance worked on setting up what would be a layup position at least until that evening, and quite possibly for a day or two. It was nearly 1230 by the time Ramey and Phillips returned. After inspecting their newest home, Ramey pronounced it acceptable. “Time for phase two.”
~ * ~
Shirin looked at Harry in the stolen Basij uniform. They had a pair of pants and a uniform shirt that more or less fit him, but they hadn’t taken any boots from the corpses. “I wouldn’t change these anyway,” he told her. “Nobody will notice the difference, especially after we’ve been walking for a while.”