Thursday, October 27
1826 hours
A safe house
Bandar-e 'Abbas, Iran
They heard the news just after dinner. A young man on a scruffy-looking motorcycle pulled in through the inn's main doors and was met with food and a long drink of cold water. He talked quietly with the owner of the inn and Murrah. Douglas watched the conversation from his second-floor window looking into the courtyard, and he could tell it was bad news.
Douglas took the steps three at a time and ran down into the courtyard. The talk continued. It was in Farsi or something else he didn't understand. After two exchanges, Murrah turned to Douglas.
"We have problem. There is an army unit at Jask turning everyone around who tries to go toward Chah Bahar. Even those who live there must stop and give details about their lives, and their identification papers. The roadblock is tight."
"How far is Jask?"
"Halfway, about two hundred miles," Murrah said.
"I move we get there as fast as we can. Leave in a half hour. Then we'll be there in the dark."
Murrah shook her head. "How will that help us?"
"We'll share riding the pony. We travel down that way, and as soon as we spot the roadblock ahead, the three of us will get off while you and your driver continue on. You're a star in this country. Tell them that you're going to Chah Bahar to entertain the soldiers stationed there. It's a sudden impulse you had to cheer up the troops on such rigorous duty."
Murrah began to smile as he outlined the plan, then she smiled broadly, and kissed his cheek.
"Yes, it will work. I've gotten into war areas more than once in the past. Yes, they will let me through."
"While you chat with the guards, the three of us will circle around the roadblock well into the darkness of the countryside. When we see you get through, we'll head for the road well down and out of sight of the block. We'll get back in the car and hope that's the last roadblock we meet."
Murrah nodded. "Yes, yes, it could work. I'll have a good story worked up, but we have two hundred miles for me to figure it out. Yes. I'll get talking to some people and get things ready. They have the car for us. Good enough to make the run on one tank full of petrol, but not flashy enough to get us in trouble.
"You round up your two friends, and get them down here in fifteen minutes. I'll need that long to get some basic supplies and some of my performance gear packed in the suitcase. I'm never without at least two outfits. Hurry now."
Murrah questioned the cycle rider again. He told her that the roadblock was just past the far side of Jask, so it didn't interfere with local traffic. When he was stopped, there were three soldiers and an officer in a closed car. Two full-sized trucks stretched across the two-lane road from ditch to ditch. One older car had tried to run the blockade going around the side. It had been shot full of holes, and rolled into the ditch, where the driver and two passengers died.
The soldiers left it there as an object lesson.
The soldiers all had submachine guns. He didn't know what type, but they scared hell out of him. He turned around the first time he was ordered to do so, without a word of protest.
"Love to have those sub-guns," Franklin said. "How can we make it look like an accident if we take out that block?"
"No way. Besides the officer in the closed car must have a radio and the word would be out on us before we could go to cover come daylight."
"Afraid so," Franklin said. "Maybe the next roadblock will be smaller, and we can do some good. Hate to be here in enemy territory with only this little peashooter."
"That's a Roger. We'll see what develops. You can't make an oyster stew without killing a few oysters."
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Let's get in this car, and try to look like natives."
The road south was worse than they had imagined. By the time they got to Jask, it was after midnight. Their Iranian driver found the right road south but mostly west along the shoreline of the Gulf of Oman. Five miles out of the main port of town, they spotted the roadblock ahead.
Just as the cyclist had said, it was a good one. The death car had been pulled away, but the two large trucks with trailers still blocked the road. A jeep sat in front of it with a mounted.30-caliber machine gun. A staff car showed to one side. Two armed soldiers stood at the barricade.
The three Americans bailed out of the sedan while it kept moving. They vanished into the inland side, and moved cautiously through the sparse vegetation. It wasn't a desert land, but almost.
Douglas watched the sedan roll on down the road, and soon stop at the checkpoint. They jogged then, moving as fast as they could over the uneven ground.
George lagged behind. They waited for him twice. Douglas cut the speed down so the big CIA man could stay with them. They were a hundred yards into the landscape when they came even with the barricade. There were no wires or warning devices they could see or feel.
They saw the two soldiers talking with Murrah, then an officer came from the staff car. There was some laughter. Then as they hurried on past, the Americans heard one of the big trucks' engines start, and the truck pulled out of the way for the star dancer's car to slip through.
"Could have taken the three of them easy," Franklin said.
"Easy, but how would it have looked like an accident? Remember, we can't leave a bunch of bodies around, at least not until we get some backup — like the rest of Third Platoon."
They went faster then, and slanted toward the road. They were two hundred yards down the blacktopped highway when they got back to the road. The car had moved away from the barricade slowly. Now they ran to match its ten-mile-an-hour speed, and get on board.
"Made it," Murrah said when the three were safely in the backseat. "There's one more roadblock ahead, but the Captain said I should have no trouble. All I had to do was mention that I was coming at the specific invitation of General Reza Ruhollah. He's one of the big movers in the new Iranian Army."
"How far to the next block?" Douglas asked.
"Halfway, about a hundred miles. That's about three hours the way we're moving. At least we won't have to worry about any other traffic on the road."
It was a little after 0300 when they spotted the next roadblock.
"This one we're taking out," Douglas said. "We need some weapons. We'll make it look like an accident somehow. Pull up the same way, go a little slower as you get close. If there's an officer, get him out to talk. We'll come in from the darkness at each side. Try not to get too close to any of them, and don't get between them."
Franklin watched the dancer. "He's saying there's going to be some shooting. The closer we can get with these little parabellums the better."
They left the car the same way, hit the ditches on each side of the road, and ran, keeping pace with the car. It slowed more as it came up to the headlights that now shown from the two vehicles. There were no big trucks at this spot.
The car stopped fifteen feet from the Army vehicle, and the driver got out quickly. He jabbered something, and the soldiers came forward.
When Murrah left the car, it was a grand entrance. The soldiers let their submachine guns swing down and gawked. An officer came out at once. He showed no weapon, and was all smiles.
Franklin and Douglas had agreed to shoot over the heads of the Iranians. They didn't want bullet holes showing up in the bodies later.
The SEALs shot almost at the same time. Franklin barked out in Farsi, telling the men to lay down their weapons at once or they would be riddled with bullets. The soldiers did as they were told. The officer made a lunge for his car, where he must have left his weapon. Murrah's driver tackled him, and by then Franklin and Douglas were on the scene. They had noticed a cliff of sorts that dropped off here almost into the Gulf of Oman. It would be a hundred-foot fall.
Douglas took one of the soldiers, put him in the jeep, and backed it out. He drove toward the cliffs and parked. He kept the man under his own submachine gun.
Douglas found
the right spot, then pushed the Iranian into the jeep's driver's seat and slashed him with the butt of the submachine gun. It took two blows to put him out. Then Douglas started the jeep, put it in gear, and steered it straight for the drop-off. It went over with a scraping of the undercarriage. He heard the crash far below, and glass breaking, then silence.
He went back to help Franklin. He had tied the officer's hands, and had both men in the officer's car. Franklin drove the rig to the cliff and got out.
They put the soldier in the driver's seat and the officer in the back, then slugged them with their weapons. They took the ties off the hands of the officer, then angled the small sedan off the same cliff. It crashed far below in the rocks and incoming tide. It should take the Iranian police, and the military, at least a week to figure out what happened at this poorly manned roadblock.
Back at Murrah's sedan, they said nothing, just motioned the rig forward. George started to say something, then thought better of it. They had the two submachine guns and found six 30-round magazines for each one. They were simple to use. George also found a 14-round pistol in the officer's gear.
Murrah broke the silence. "I'm glad that's over. At least now we'll have a clear run into Chah Bahar. I know a few people there. We should be able to find a safe house before morning. Then I and my driver will see what we can find out about the highways to the north. Somebody must know something. How can such a huge project be kept so secret?"
"There's a chance that most of the people living here are paid by the Secret Police and the army not to say a word about it," George said. "I've heard such talk."
Murrah nodded. "I've heard that talk as well, but there is no chance to keep this many people quiet about something like this. We had a small group of protesters here for a while, but three of them were killed when they were said to be trying to escape from jail. They were simply murdered. I've got a lot of scores to settle."
The car crept into Chah Bahar with lights off. They sat in shadows watching the main street. They saw no police cars, no roving military patrols. They turned off the main street into some sparsely settled areas, and soon came to a house better than the rest. Murrah sent her driver in to knock on the door.
Five minutes later, they all were inside the house, and the car had been hidden behind it. A man and woman came into the room, and there was much hugging and crying by the two and Murrah. Then she wiped her tears, and introduced them to the three Americans.
"These people are my dear friends who used to live in Tehran. They have kept out of trouble here with the authorities, but have been our listening post, and sent us mail reports.
"Now it seems that security has been stepped up. They know the main road into the hills, but have no idea where the trucks vanish to after that."
Douglas rubbed his face and nodded. "is there any way that Guns and me can get back in there? Fifty miles and then a turn. Do they agree with the distance?"
Franklin asked the question in Farsi, and the man, who was tall with thinning gray hair, smiled. He replied in the same tongue.
"I'm pleased you speak our language so well. You can't drive in there. The road is constantly patrolled and no one is allowed in that area. The only solution may be to disguise you as prospectors. There are still crazy men who risk being shot hunting for copper and chromium back here in our hills to the north. There's a huge chromium mine up by Bandar-e, and nuts think they can find another one in the mountains down here."
Franklin briefed Douglas on what the host had said.
"You mean a prospector with a donkey, a pick, and a sack full of food?"
The Iranian chuckled. "More likely a beat-up old jeep or a falling-apart sedan, and a backseat full of food and water. That would give you cover, and let you move longer distances. Most of the wildcat prospectors use this kind of a rig these days."
"They get shot at?" Franklin said.
"Routinely. When they get too close to a closed area or one patrolled. The guards, and the helicopters, do it mostly for sport, and target practice. They don't really chase them unless they really move in too close."
"Which way do you guess the big plant is, to the left or right of the end of that highway?"
"I simply don't know. It could be either way."
Douglas figured their host was in his fifties. Murrah said he was a teacher in the local school system, teacher and principal. He was a highly respected man in Chah Bahar, and had the full respect of the local authorities, and the military units posted to the town.
"How much army is there here?" Douglas asked. Murrah interpreted for him.
"Roughly two hundred men," the host said. "They rotate in units of fifty up to guard duty around the facility. They are gone for a week, then another fifty go up to replace them and the first group returns in trucks."
"Do you have military law here?" Franklin asked.
"Yes and no."
The woman of the house left, and soon returned with rolls and coffee. It was almost daylight outside.
"We have civil law. Judges, courts, but this is strongly slanted toward the religious leaders. If there is any problem, the military have the final say, or so it would seem down here. We are a long way from Tehran."
When the rolls and coffee were gone, Murrah said now was the time for some sleep. She would need to put in an appearance at the town's main meeting hall the following night. The guards at the first roadblock would be sure to radio their men down here that the famous dancer was coming.
"Between now and then I'll help arrange for a prospector's car for the two of you. It'll be all outfitted with food and water and supplies and ready to roll."
Douglas brought out a stack of ten-thousand-rial notes and gave them to Murrah. "I know this sort of thing costs money. Uncle Sam will pay his way. If that's not enough, we have more."
Murrah leafed through the bills and smiled. "Do you know how much money this is? It's a fortune to the average Iranian. I'll put it to good use, without tipping our hand. Now, off to bed, all of you. I need to make some early morning arrangements before I get to sleep."
Douglas went to the flat roof on the house and set up his radio antenna. He adjusted it to the satellite, then sent off a quick message to Stroh "Stroh At Chah Bahar. Contacts here good. Will be moving out in old car into hills as prospectors. Many do this in these hills. Try to penetrate to the road and see which way it turns. Any satellite photos to help us? Read them and send us directions. Be a big help. All else cool. Three Iranians had an accident at a roadblock, but all is taken care of. Douglas."
Douglas folded up the fanlike antenna and stowed it, then hit his bed. It was going to be a long day even after he woke up.
16
Friday, October 28
0814 hours
SEAL training base
Coronado, California
Sixteen SEALs and Kat Garnet swam fifteen feet underwater in the blue Pacific Ocean a half mile off the Silver Strand that linked Coronado to Imperial Beach. They moved forward with a steady stroke using their Drager LAR-V rebreathers. They use pure oxygen that is recycled through the device to eliminate any of the telltale bubbles that follow ordinary SCUBA divers.
This new model Drager was worn on the chest, and the SEAL's personal weapon was strapped on his back. They had on their usual black wet suits, hoods and boots.
Lieutenant Blake Murdock looked around through the clear greenish water. Visibility good, at least twenty feet.
Slightly ahead, and tied to him by a buddy cord, swam Joe "Ricochet" Lampedusa, his new lead scout. The rest of them were also paired with six-foot-long cords so they could stay together.
Tied with Ron Holt was Kat Garnet. Holt was the platoon radio operator who carried the fifteen-pound SATCOM set.
Next in line were Magic Brown and Kenneth Ching.
Murdock watched Kat. She had taken the first two days of training with the Drager in stride. But then she had been an instructor with SCUBA back in Washington, D.C., so the Drager was no stretch.
So far so good.
They had entered the water a half hour before, swam out a half mile, and now were on the way back. This was another exercise to get Kat integrated into the platoon operation as smoothly as possible.
They all had live rounds in their weapons. Kat was getting used to her MP5 and firing it. She had daily firing practice now. During the past two days she had taken six parachute jumps at Brown Field, a civilian airport near the border with Mexico. A jump school over there contracted with the SEALs for refresher jumps and in this case shepherded Kat through her jumps with full gear. Murdock had limited her load to forty pounds, which still made a big difference in the way her rectangular chute opened and drifted.
"A lot different than the round chutes I used before, with no load other than me," she told him.
They had completed her rush training course in the elements that SEALs must know. Now they were in a crash operation to get her used to working within the group. Most was land training, since they would most likely drop into the mountains of Iran, and go by ground to the suspect facility. By now, Kat was more than trained on the Drager to make an exit from Iran by water if they needed to.
As they neared the beach, Murdock held up his hand and stopped the first pair of swimmers. They passed the sign along until the platoon was assembled, then they went to the surface.
It was to be a normal assault landing on a beach. They treaded water with their mouths barely out and the Dragers unhooked.
Murdock waved his right hand, and Lampedusa ducked underwater and swam hard for the beach. He came out of the last wave and lay in the sand without moving. Slowly, a half-inch at a time, he turned his head to scan the beach. When he was sure it was secure, he lifted his right arm and brought it down toward the sand.
Six more SEALs from the first squad powered toward the beach, surfed in on the last wave, and lay motionless on the wet sand, where an occasional wave washed over them.
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