"Right. I want to do some shooting today, too."
Murdock stood, and Kat was up with him.
"You have any gear?" he asked.
"Just one bag in the booth."
"Bring it," Murdock said, and headed for the door. Kat looked confused for a moment, then hurried to the booth, picked up her black travel bag, and ran out the front door. When she got to the Buick, Stroh held open the rear door for her.
On the drive out to the range, Stroh said he'd arranged for Kat to have quarters at the Amphibious Base Officers Quarters.
"On the books, Kat, you'll have the temporary rank of Lieutenant," Stroh said. "That's not a field rank, but in the SEALs rank doesn't count anyway. As the President told you, your main job is to stay alive going in so you can do the job on the nukes."
"So it doesn't matter a hell of a lot if I make it out of the country alive or not?" Kat asked.
"Getting those nukes destroyed and the rest of their nuclear capacity blasted into rubble is our only job," Murdock said. "If we do that, it isn't important if any of us come out." He hesitated and watched her shiver. "Of course to each one of us it's damn important to get out of there in one chunk."
Kat lifted her brows and smiled. "I like that last part the best."
They pulled up at the Navy bus on the range, and Kat and Murdock got out. Kat carried her bag.
Murdock talked to Stroh through the open front window. "Remember, I need a month to get this crew put together, and to safeguard Kat. Won't do any good to get to the target in there if we lose her going in. Make your boss and the President understand that. A month. No less."
The platoon was still out on one of the training exercises. Murdock motioned to Kat. "Over this way, sailor. Leave your bag in the bus, and we'll take a look at the Kill House."
He went with her to the bus, picked up a Colt .45 pistol and three extra magazines and the new HK G11 they had been testing. Kat looked at the weapons. He pushed the safety on on the .45, and pulled out the magazine, racking back the slide and catching the forty-five round that spun out. He handed the weapon to her.
"Get the feel of it. This could be one of the weapons that you'll carry."
She took the gun and frowned. "Heavy, isn't it?"
"Heavier with a loaded magazine in it."
They stopped twenty yards from the Kill House. It was especially built of bullet-absorbing material so the rounds wouldn't go all the way through and outside where they could hurt anyone. It had a roof and four rooms all rigged with the "terrorist" dummies.
Murdock took the weapon from her and pushed in the magazine. Then he gave the forty-five back to her.
"Grab the slide on top and pull it backward."
She tried. It didn't move. He put her hand forward and showed her how to grip it.
"This weapon is no good unless you can rack the slide back. That pushes one round from the spring-loaded magazine into the firing chamber. Then it's ready to fire."
She tried again, and this time pulled the slide back, and let it snap forward.
"Locked and loaded," Murdock said. "That means you're ready to fire." He reached over and pushed off the safety. "This is the safety. You can't pull the trigger when this is on. Now it's off. Always keep the muzzle of a loaded weapon pointed down-range."
She lifted the forty-five and pointed it at the building. She held it in her right hand. It wavered a little, but she was strong.
"Fire it," he said.
She looked at him and lifted her brows. "Remember you've got a virgin here. My very first time."
"So we go slow and gentle."
She grinned, and pulled the trigger. The weapon went off, and the recoil swung her hand well above her head.
"Wow. I did it, I shot a firearm. What a kick. I didn't expect that much."
"With an automatic you have a new round every time you pull the trigger. Try another shot, and try to hold the muzzle down a little this time."
They worked for fifteen minutes on the forty-five. Toward the end she used two hands to hold the heavy weapon. He showed her the overlapping grip.
As they finished the last magazine in the forty-five, Lieutenant (j.g.) Ed DeWitt brought the platoon up to the side of the Kill House. DeWitt's cammies were sweat-soaked on the chest and under each arm. He carried a Colt M-4A1 with the 40mm grenade launcher over his right shoulder, and stared at Murdock and Kat. "DeWitt, get over here and stop gawking." DeWitt walked up and kept staring at Kat.
"Kat Garnet, I'd like you to meet Lieutenant (j.g.) Ed DeWitt, second in command of the Third Platoon. Ed, this is Katherine Garnet, Lieutenant Garnet to YOU."
Ed saluted sharply and stepped forward. "Pardon me for staring, Lieutenant, but it isn't often that we have a pretty lady on our little training site out here in the desert."
"I'll be around from now on, Lieutenant. Call me Kat. I'd expect that Murdock has some interesting news for you and the rest of the platoon." That half little smile edged her face again, and Murdock wasn't sure if she were really smiling or laughing at him.
"Oh, yeah, there's that. Kat, maybe you'd like to tell the troops?"
"Not a chance, Murdock. I'll be interested to see how you handle the news."
"Me, too," Murdock said and they both laughed. DeWitt didn't understand what was going on.
"Murdock, past chow time," DeWitt said.
Murdock chuckled. "Oh, yeah, great idea. Put this off, and let me think on it a minute."
DeWitt called, and the platoon broke out of its position on a run and converged on the bus.
"While we're here, let me show you the new HK G11. It's an automatic rifle. Works this way. Two positions on the fire selector. Fully automatic and three-round bursts."
Murdock moved the selector to three-round and charged a round into the chamber, then leveled the boxlike weapon at the Kill House and blasted out three rounds.
"Fully auto it works this way." He pushed the selector lever to auto, and chattered out a dozen rounds into the Kill House.
She tried it. He fit the butt to her shoulder and she fired. The three rounds stuttered out, and the barrel hardly moved. When he shifted the selector to automatic she looked at him.
"I just pull the trigger and hold it back?"
"Right. It fires up to fifty rounds as long as you hold back the trigger."
She looked at him, then set her mouth. Her finger closed around the trigger, and she aimed at the Kill House. The first three rounds hit it, then the rounds climbed into the sky. Murdock caught the weapon and brought it back down. She eased off the trigger.
"Forgot to tell you that you have to really hold this one steady or it climbs on you."
"Now you tell me."
"Enough for today. You'll need daily training on weapons. Now how about a delicious meal at the mess hall?"
Her dark brown eyes evaluated him. "Murdock, how can I figure out when you're teasing me and when to believe you?"
"Tough question, Kat. So far few people have figured that out."
The mess hall was the bus. The delicious meal was the famous MRE, Meal Ready to Eat. This particular one was Menu No. 6. The MREs are stable, long-lasting field rations and not the favorite of most of the GI's who use them now and then. For the SEALs they were a lot easier than hauling a kitchen out to the firing/training range at Niland.
"Thought we were getting McDonald's takeout this time," Harry "Horse" Ronson called. The SEALs shouted him down.
Murdock gave Kat one of the dark brown MREs and sat in the dust on the shady side of the bus with one of his own. "Have a seat, anywhere," he said.
Murdock cut open the heavy brown plastic envelope on Kat's MRE, which was a foot long and seven inches wide. "Enjoy."
Kat poured out the contents. The largest olive drab plastic envelope was the main course "Chicken A la King, 2117."
"Heat it up or eat it cold," Murdock said.
She investigated the rest one plastic package of cocoa beverage powder, a plastic spoon, a paper package of bever
age base powder, a plastic package of peanut butter, crackers, and an accessory brown envelope. Inside it was a small bottle of one-eighth of an ounce of Tabasco sauce, paper matches, a moist towelette, instant coffee, salt, toilet paper, sugar, nondairy creamer, and chewing gum.
"All this for lunch?" Kat asked.
"If we ever had time to heat it up and eat it," Murdock said. "No fire, no coffee. Cocoa maybe. Peanut butter on crackers for sure. The chicken la king isn't bad with a little of the Tabasco sauce on it."
The men kept looking at Kat. Ed had told them only her name and rank. That made them even more curious. Murdock finished his quick meal and stood.
"You may have been wondering about our guest. Her name is Katherine, call me Kat, Garnet. She's a G-12 in government service, and for this assignment holds the temporary rank of full Lieutenant. You will at all times treat her with proper respect.
"Kat is going to be training with us for the next three or four weeks. No, this isn't for a movie. As you saw, Don Stroh, our old buddy from the CIA, was here this morning. He brings us some news. Part of it is that we have an upcoming mission. We'll be going into Arab lands somewhere to deactivate, dismember, and generally destroy that nation's nuclear bomb building program.
"How many of you know how to deactivate a nuclear bomb and destroy the plutonium inside it?" He looked around, but no hands went up.
"Yeah, me, too. Kat is a Ph.D. in nuclear physics from M.I.T. Not a bad school but their football team stinks." He waited for the laugh that came.
"What this all means is that Kat will be training with us for what we hope will be the next four weeks, then she will be going with us, infiltrating into this Arab nation, where we will find, and Kat will destroy, the nuclear capability, and take care of the plutonium."
He heard some groans from the troops.
"Yeah, I know how you feel. By the way, Kat won the second Hawaiian triathlon for women. She keeps in shape running marathons for fun. That's over twenty-six miles, girls. Our job will be to try to keep up with her.
"She's with us. That's on special Presidential orders. Not exactly a rank we can buck. She'll train with us, go in with us, do her job while we play guard dogs, and then we'll come out with her and all the rest of you. Now, any comments?"
"Lieutenant, ma'am. Did you check first with Demi Moore?" Magic Brown asked. A smattering of laughter.
"No, but I did see her movie."
"Will you hold us back, ma'am? Meaning no disrespect?" Jaybird Sterling asked it.
"Not if I can help it. I'm tougher than I look. I could have said no to this offer. The President didn't order me in here. I have no problem with swimming. I'm a SCUBA instructor. Jumping, I've made twenty jumps, want to do more. Damnit, SEALS, I'll be trying as fucking hard as I can."
The SEALs gave a shout of approval.
Murdock took over. "That's a wrap, folks. Let's get on the bus and head back. We need to outfit Kat and set up a new training sched. Things will change, but they will be the same, only tougher. You may think the next four weeks are going to be worse than hell week from the Grinder days. Let's get to it." Three hours later, they were back in Coronado at the SEALs training base. Lieutenant (j.g.) DeWitt took Kat to base operations, where he found arrangements had already been made for Lieutenant Garnet. A complete set of SEAL uniforms and gear had been put in her quarters. She stared at the pile of uniforms and equipment.
"So, you're set, Lieutenant. Uniform of the day tomorrow will be cammies like I have on, and boots. Report to the quarterdeck promptly at oh-eight-hundred and you'll be brought to our area."
DeWitt hesitated. "Oh, Kat. Out here in Navy world, your temp rank will carry weight. Inside SEAL country rank doesn't mean squat. Some of the guys might get on you. Take it in good spirit. These men depend on each other for their very lives when we're out there on a mission. Somebody fucks up, somebody dies. We don't want that to happen. That's why we've got four weeks to make you into the best SEAL there ever was."
Kat bit her lip and squinted her brown eyes. "Lieutenant DeWitt, I like to think I'm a fast learner. I'll do my damnedest to learn what I must, to do what I have to, and to make sure that I don't cause any glitches in the traditional SEAL procedures. Thanks for the escort, and I'll see you bright and early at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow."
4
Friday, October 21
0932 hours
Tehran, Iran
George Imhoff didn't believe his eyes or his ears. The four-hundred-pound man had demanded to know who he was. This Brooklyn blubber ball was an American.
Yasmeen moved into the void quickly. "Please let us in, and I'll explain everything. Come on, Tauksaun, it's an emergency."
The huge man waddled back from the door and made a narrow passage for them to enter. It was a single room, with a small kitchen on one side, a bed on the other, and two chairs in between. The bed was a mattress on the floor. George figured no bedsprings or frame could support all that weight.
The man she had called Tauksaun settled down on the bed and stared at George.
"He's a fucking American government man, FBI or the damned CIA or something. I don't want him in my place."
"Tauksaun, he just shot two, and maybe more, Secret Police. They have a dragnet out to find him. I figure he must be on our side."
"So he is CIA. I can spot you guys a mile away. What the fuck you looking for?"
"Where are you from, Tauksaun?" George asked. "Where in Brooklyn?"
"What do you mean, Brooklyn. I'm from Hempstead out on the Island."
"Sure you are. My guess would be Flatbush Avenue, down toward the Marine Park. Maybe Nostrand Avenue."
"Hey, man, you're way off. No fucking Flatbush Avenue. We had more class than that. Hey, you are CIA, right?"
"Why else would I be in this hellhole? What are you doing here?"
"Hiding from the damn IRS. Claim I owe them over a hundred thousand, with all of their penalties and interest. CIA, damn. What the hell you looking for?"
"Important shit. I don't know if Yasmeen thought you could help me, or just hide me for a couple of days."
"Hey, anything I can do to put a hot poker up the ass of the Secret Police, I'll do in a second."
Yasmeen looked at George. "Tauksaun knows a great many people in Tehran. He's lived here for five years. Most of the protest groups seek his advice."
"Is there a protest group against nuclear weapons?" George asked.
Tauksaun laughed and slapped his bare thigh. "Now we're getting down to where the rubber meets the road. Nuclear weapons, of course. What else would the CIA be interested in? I have contacts, but they are not easy to locate. I'm not good at running through the rat warren this town has become. They should starve half the people here, and start over."
"You know about the work the Iranian government is doing to make nuclear weapons?"
"Yes, we hear talk. We go to meetings. We have some sources of information, but sometimes they turn out to be spies for the Secret Police. Then that whole cell is wiped out. As in gravestones."
"We need a little information," George said. "Yasmeen said her father had done some heavy hauling deep into the southern section of Iran. We think it was building materials and supplies, and tools for work on a nuclear bomb."
"You want to pinpoint the location of the facility," Tauksaun said. "Yes, we, too have been working toward that end. We have little. Somewhere in the mountains of lower Iran. We also know that it is carefully camouflaged and can't be detected from the air by plane or satellite."
"That makes it tougher," George said. "It must have a road that leads into it."
"We've heard of a road, but it ends abruptly at the side of a mountain. There's a sheepherder's cabin there. The problem is there are thousands of sheepherders' cabins in those southern mountains and the high plateau. Finding the right one would be a wonder."
A door opened a few inches at the back of the room. Yasmeen watched it, then lifted from her chair and, without a word to the two men, w
ent through the door and closed it.
"Tiny," Tauksaun said. "My woman and Yasmeen are good friends. Haven't seen each other in a month or two. We've been busy."
"Do the Iranian authorities know you're here?" George asked.
"Hell no. If they did they'd deport my ass in a minisecond."
"How do you survive?"
"Tiny works at a store. Slave wages, but it's enough for us. I'm not what you'd call easily employable."
"I've had a deadline kicked in my face," George said. "I have six more days to find the exact location of that nuke facility. I've been working on it two months, and thought we had it knocked. Then my rep here goes to meet this engineer we know works at the plant. Next thing I know I'm up to my asshole in Secret Police shooting at me."
"Your rep?"
"Either in jail or in the morgue."
"They don't have morgues here. If they killed him, he's probably on a trash heap somewhere. If the family finds him, they can bury him. Did he have any U.S. dollars with him?"
"Fifteen hundred."
"He's dead."
"I figured." They sat there for five minutes without a word. Then George broke the silence. "Tauksaun, can you help me?"
"You have a radio in that kit?"
"Yes."
"You have plenty of U.S. dollars?"
"YeS."
"Either one of those could get all of us in the place killed in a heartbeat. First we hide the radio, and all but twenty bucks of the cash. They won't burn us for a twenty. The fucking Secret Police keep all the dollars they find. Always have, always will."
"Hide them?"
"Yes. I'll know where they are. So will Tiny. A way to keep you alive. You have papers?"
George nodded and handed over his tourist visa and other papers, including a U.S. passport and a letter ascertaining that he was a professor of Middle Eastern history at New York University on leave to study some ancient manuscripts.
"Ever had to show them to anyone?"
"Just some hick cop to the north."
"Parachute in?"
"No, came across the border from Russia."
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