Exit Plan

by Larry Bond

  “Aye, aye, sir. Out here.”

  After Jerry signed off, Patterson spoke hurriedly. “Mr. President, before we break the connection, I have a question.”

  “Yes, Joanna.”

  “How much can we tell the Israelis?”

  “Use your good judgment, Doctor,” Myles answered. “But also use your discretion. Like Ray said, we don’t have direct proof, and Opal’s information only makes sense if you believe they don’t have a weapon to test. Their intelligence plays by different rules.”

  Hardy nodded. “They’ve got a lower threshold of proof. If they make a mistake, they could cease to exist as a nation. With an outcome like that, they are far more willing to shoot first and ask the hard questions later.” Myles added. “And they’ve got an attitude as well. Their intelligence people are good, and most of them think we’re not as good.”

  “At least this validates your decision, Mr. President,” Kirkpatrick observed.

  “Only if you accept that they’re not close to assembling a weapon,” Myles insisted. “There are people in my own administration who won’t buy this theory. And the only way we can prove it is to get our people out of Iran. Make it happen, Ray.”

  ~ * ~

  6 April 2013

  1715 Local Time/1415 Zulu

  Bandar Kangan Police Barracks

  Rahim paced impatiently in his makeshift office. He was starving for information. It had been over five hours since he ordered the coastwide alert and arrests of Seyyed and Mehry Naseri. The Shiraz office had responded quickly. Naseri’s mother was in custody and pleaded ignorance. Her questioning was underway.

  Despite numerous calls to Tehran, all he knew about Seyyed Naseri’s arrest was that the Pasdaran had been ordered to raid his home. What were the results? Was the uncle in custody?

  His last call to headquarters, an hour and a half earlier, had been a waste of time. All the desk officer could say was that two agents from the Bandar Abbas office, Omid and Sattari, had left for Bandar Charak shortly after the alert had been received. They had to drive to Bandar Charak and the earliest they could have been on the scene was sometime around 1500. No reports as yet had been received, but the desk officer assured him that he would be contacted as soon as any information was available. Rahim had slammed down the phone into its cradle, cursing the overly centralized command structure of the Iranian security services.

  In a way, it was worse than no news. Rahim was not pleased to hear that Omid had been sent to Bandar Charak. The man was far too emotional and his legendary temper had affected his judgment in the past. He was also known to hold grudges against those who crossed him, something Rahim had done on numerous occasions.

  Would Omid put his feud with him ahead of his duties to the Islamic Republic? It was a possibility, but Rahim didn’t think so. For all his faults, Omid was also passionate about protecting the homeland of the Islamic Revolution. He would fulfill his obligations, Rahim thought, and work with him, even if Omid really didn’t want to.

  Dahghan had the misfortune of walking into Rahim’s office soon after the phone call, to deliver the final autopsy report. Without warning, the major exploded on his assistant, venting his frustration, and ordered him to personally contact the local Basij militia commander and demand a progress report. He would not tolerate being ignored any longer. The surprised young agent was highly motivated to carry out his new orders, and hurriedly left the office, the autopsy report still in his hands.

  Sometime later, a knock at the door snapped Rahim out of his brooding. “Sir, I have the report from Mullah Dashani that you wanted,” Dahghan said warily.

  “About time,” growled Rahim. “What does our venerable Basij commander have to say?”

  Dahghan ignored the sarcasm and read the report as received over the phone. “Mullah Dashani says the additional security checkpoints have been established on both sides of Bandar Kangan, as well as on the eastern side of Deyyer. All vehicles traveling on Highway 96 have been stopped and searched since 1400 this afternoon. There has been a constant Basij presence at both harbors since Thursday, and every vessel is searched before being allowed to depart. There has been no sign of Akbari or Naseri at the checkpoints, or in Kangan or Deyyer. There has also been no trace of their vehicle. Extensive searches of the beaches along a forty-kilometer front have not produced any additional bodies or debris.”

  Rahim rested his head in his right hand as he listened to Dahghan, analyzing the information he was hearing. The trail had gone cold. The two traitors were no longer in Kangan, of this he was certain, but where did they go? Were they on board the American submarine when it sank? Oh, if only Allah would be so gracious.

  Dahghan concluded the report with a request from Dashani, asking how long Rahim would like the security checkpoints to be in place.

  Annoyed by the mullah’s request, Rahim ignored it and shot back, “Is that all?”

  “Ah, no . . . sir,” replied Dahghan, his voice sounded nervous. “Mullah Dashani admitted that he discussed coordinating checkpoints with Mullah Bahar, the commander of the Tahari Basij Brigade yesterday afternoon.”

  Rahim stifled a groan, and rubbed his face as Dahghan relayed the Tahari Brigade’s report. He’d asked Dashani to keep this whole thing quiet, but that discussion had been overtaken by events. Still, it irritated him greatly that people didn’t seem to take him seriously when he asked for something. He was considering what “corrective guidance” he would administer, when Dahghan said something that suddenly caught his attention. “. . . and Mullah Bahar is concerned that one of his patrols has failed to return. The men did not show up for their muster this afternoon, and inquiries showed they had not returned from their patrol earlier this morning. A search is underway to try and find them.”

  “What? Repeat that last part,” demanded Rahim. The assistant read again the part about the missing patrol. Rahim was more than curious. Could it be merely a coincidence that a Basij patrol disappears during the same time frame when the two traitors may have fled the area? He didn’t believe in coincidences.

  “When was this patrol taking place?” he asked, his voice was tense.

  “Between midnight and 0600 today, sir,” replied Dahghan.

  “Where?”

  “They were patrolling a twenty-five-kilometer section of Highway 96 north of Bandar Tahari.”

  “How many men?”

  “Four, sir. One corporal and three privates.”

  “Why wasn’t this reported earlier?” Rahim asked with disdain.

  Dahghan gulped quietly. He was afraid to answer that question. “This brigade’s policy is that if the patrol does not discover anything significant, the members can go straight home and sleep, then report when they muster in the afternoon.”

  Rahim rubbed his face again, desperately fighting the urge to laugh. Such laxness was simply incomprehensible, almost comical. “Militia,” he finally whispered to himself. After a brief pause, Rahim straightened and spoke firmly. “Dahghan, get a vehicle. We leave for Bandar Tahari immediately.”

  “Yes, Major. At once,” responded the young agent, who literally ran out of the office.

  Rahim grabbed his holster, jacket, and cap and quickly put them on. He had just started walking toward the door when the phone on the desk began ringing. Grabbing the handset, he answered tersely, “Major Rahim.”

  “Major, Agent Mahdipur at headquarters. I have the initial report from the Bandar Abbas agents.”

  “Excellent. Is Naseri in custody?” asked Rahim impatiently.

  “Agent Sattari reports that the Pasdaran raid was a ‘bungled disaster.”‘

  “Go on,” he prodded. Rahim’s expectations sank with every word Mahdipur spoke.

  “Two squads of Pasdaran soldiers responded to the arrest order. The occupants violently resisted arrest with automatic weapons and hand grenades. The first assault was repulsed. The second assault was successful and the house was taken at 1355.” Rahim closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaped from his lips. He alre
ady knew what Mahdipur was going to say next.

  “Seyyed Naseri, his wife, and two unknown male accomplices were killed during the battle. Sattari further reports that Naseri had destroyed two laptop computers, several mobile phones, as well as his papers and electronic media with magnesium flares. They were recovering the remains of the computers and phones on the off chance that some information could still be salvaged, but Senior Agent Omid does not hold out much hope for that. They are continuing their investigation and expect to file a more complete report later this evening. Sattari also mentioned that they had a lead that Omid wanted to run to ground before submitting their final report.”

  Rahim’s curiosity was immediately piqued. “A lead? Did he say anything more specific about this ‘lead’?”

  “No, Major.”

  “What time was the initial report filed?”

  “About 1530.”

  “Very well. If there are additional reports, call me on my mobile phone. I’m leaving for Bandar Tahari momentarily and will be away from this phone for an unknown period of time.” Mahdipur acknowledged Rahim’s order and hung up.

  As Rahim placed the handset in its cradle, his eyes caught sight of a local map pinned up on the wall. He walked over and examined it, focusing his gaze on Bandar Kangan. Something just didn’t seem right. He picked up a ruler and measured the distance from the beach where the traitor’s car was last seen to Bandar Tahari; twenty-four kilometers point to point, thirty-two by road. Two days.

  Akbari’s cell phone was at Kangan on the morning of the fourth. Two days later, a Basij patrol disappears. Suddenly, it struck him. They’re on foot. In two days, even in her condition, Shirin Naseri should be able to walk twenty-four kilometers. And the recent shamal would have obscured any trace of their passage.

  With growing excitement, Rahim followed this line of thought, building on his theory step-by-step: They’re traveling at night to avoid detection, probably paralleling Highway 96 to ease navigation.

  But could Akbari take on four Basij? True, he was Pasdaran, better trained and more disciplined, but all the reports had him armed with only a pistol. His combat specialty was in air defense; he was not a professional infantryman. Surely he couldn’t defeat four more heavily armed men by himself, could he?

  A cold feeling descended on him as he came to the inevitable, but disturbing conclusion—Akbari and his pregnant wife were not alone. Americans had to be with them. American commandos, soldiers of some sort were in Iran. He bolted for the door, reaching for his cell phone. He had to tell General Moradi immediately.

  ~ * ~

  6 April 2013

  1730 Local Time/1430 Zulu

  The Outskirts of Bandar Charak

  They were packing again, getting ready to abandon the layup position as soon as it was dark. The only things they were waiting on were the transmission from Michigan and for the sun to go down.

  The entire group had heard Jerry’s radio conversation with Washington, and the president. Shirin had whispered a translation to Yousef as Jerry made his report. Both had been disbelieving, then impressed when they heard President Myles identified. “Is this commonplace in your military?” Shirin asked.

  “No, it’s a sign of just how much trouble we’re in,” Jerry replied with a slight grin, “and also how important you two are to our country. They need you to help stop a war.”

  Later, as they discussed what to do next, the debate circled and shifted around the idea of getting a boat. The Iranian Persian Gulf coast was lined with small harbors. Most supported small fishing villages. But they could also accommodate smaller speedboats as well.

  “But what about the guards?” Shirin asked. “Every harbor is surely being watched.”

  “We could take them out,” responded Ramey. “But if we can’t kill them quietly or sneak past them, they’ll sound the alarm, and there goes any head start we might have had.”

  “We’ll need a boat fast enough to outrun the IRGC patrol craft. That may be hard to come by,” Lapointe remarked.

  “And how do we get aboard Michigan with patrol boats on our tail?” Jerry asked.

  “What if it didn’t have a full gas tank?” Phillips wondered aloud. “That would be very embarrassing.”

  The other SEALs and Jerry stopped talking and stared at Phillips, a look of mild irritation on their faces.

  “What!?” pleaded Phillips defensively.

  Ramey just shook his head. “Here’s how I see it. Bandar Charak is not an option; there’s too much attention focused on this town right now, and that was a long phone call we made. Even though the SATCOM is hard to detect, we have to assume that the military units in the town are still at a heightened state of readiness. And then there’s the IRGC naval station on Kish Island, eighteen nautical miles to the northwest. We’d be cut off before we even reached the twelve-mile limit. Backtracking to the northwest is a nonstarter, so we continue to head southeast, but to where?”

  They attacked the problem throughout the rest of the afternoon, looking at the various ports, building scenarios, trying to find weaknesses in the Iranian defenses, or at least ways of reducing the risk. And they had to move; they couldn’t just wait out their pursuers. The longer they took getting out of the country, the more resources the Iranian authorities would add to the hunt. And then there was the big picture issue of getting the information out so that Washington could rein in the Israelis.

  But every time, their exploration wound up in the same rut. Which harbor was the best bet? Would there be a boat big enough and fast enough for them to even attempt an escape? Would they have to split up to have a decent chance? What about security checkpoints along the way? Where and how many were there? And then there was the inevitable pursuit.

  To a man, each SEAL was convinced they’d have to fight their way out. Their chances of success depending entirely on the type of patrol boat, or boats, they ran into. In other words, a total crapshoot.

  There were just too many unknowns. The secret to success of any SEAL mission lay in exhaustively researching the target, planning for as many contingencies as possible, and leaving little to chance. This operation would be entirely ad hoc, opportunity driven, trusting to luck. And the odds just weren’t in their favor. To the SEALs, and Jerry, the small boat escape idea looked like suicide. But what other option did they have?

  “Maybe we should just head southeast and figure this out on the fly,” Jerry suggested wearily. “We can task Michigan to get us real time UAV imagery on each of the ports, and maybe some shots along the highway. We can also see if the Rivet Joint aircraft can help us nail down the locations of some of those checkpoints. We evaluate each opportunity as it occurs and go with the one that looks promising.”

  Ramey frowned, clearly unimpressed with Jerry’s haphazard approach to mission planning, but he remained silent as he had little to offer in return.

  The discussion was beginning to die out, the participants frustrated with the seemingly insurmountable problem before them, when suddenly Yousef had a funny look on his face. Turning to Shirin, he spoke rapidly, with a note of excitement in his voice. Shirin seemed confused, but Yousef was adamant and gestured for her to translate.

  “What kind of plane can XO Jerry fly?” Shirin relayed.

  Surprised, Jerry answered, “Well, I flew the Super Hornet, a jet fighter.”

  When Shirin translated, Yousef quickly asked another question. “Is that the only kind of airplane you can fly?”

  “I flew trainers before that, and I have a current private pilot’s license. Why do you want to know?”

  Shirin explained for her husband. “Iran has small airfields all along the coast. If we stole a plane, we could be across the gulf within a few minutes’ flying. There would be no time for pursuit.”

  “Well, that’s a novel idea,” Ramey observed, encouraged.

  “I can’t fly a helicopter, but I could fly most fixed-wing aircraft well enough to take off and head south. I can read the owner’s manual once were in
the air,” Jerry added, smiling.

  Lapointe was already looking at the maps stored in his laptop. “The nearest airport is at Bandar Lengeh, about sixty klicks to the southeast as the crow flies, seventy-five by road.”

  Ramey moved to look over his shoulder. “I like it. The runway is just over a klick from the beach, and Highway 96 runs right past it so we can take a quick look as we drive by. There’s a good road net, and no major obstacles if we have to go cross-country. And there is a harbor just five kilometers away, just in case. Sweet!”

  “Highway 96 runs right along the coast line from Bandar Divan all the way into downtown Bandar Lengeh,” noted Lapointe. “We should be able to get a good long stare at the road if CENTCOM gets one of their UAVs up.”

  Their critical need for information prompted an early call to Michigan. While the team members on the sub vetted the newest plan and the intelligence requirements, the group ate a quick dinner and prepared to move.