"Are we ready to drop in on Iran?" DeWitt asked. He looked at Kat.
"I don't know about you, but I feel ready. I know the routines. True, I'm not sure how I'll function when the bad guys start shooting real bullets at me, but, I think I can pass muster. Am I ready to blend in and be an integral, functioning part of the platoon? You'll have to ask Murdock that."
They looked at him. He scowled for a moment, then did the old Jack Benny motion with his arms folded and a curious look on his face. "I'm thinking, I'm thinking." They broke up.
When the laughter simmered down, he nodded. "Yes, I'd like to have two more weeks for platoon-size drills, but if we get the word to fly out tomorrow, I won't be the least bit hesitant to ship Kat and her submachine gun right along with us."
"Oh, thank god, no more sixty-mile hikes," Kat said. They laughed again.
The phone rang. Milly picked it up. "This is the DeWitt residence." She listened for a minute, then smiled. "Yes. Yes, just a second."
She held the phone to Murdock. "Someone wants to talk to YOU."
"Our orders from Don Stroh?" DeWitt asked.
Murdock lifted his brows, and then took the phone. "Murdock here." He listened for a moment, then smiled. "Yes, I think I can arrange that. The Del in ten minutes." He handed the phone to Milly.
"Duty calls," he said, straight-faced. "Did I tell you about my friend in Washington, D.C.?"
"Yes. Ardith, I think her name was," DeWitt said.
"Like I say, duty calls. I'll see you sailors in the morning." He grabbed his hat and headed for the door.
It took Murdock only seven minutes to get to the Del Coronado Hotel and park in the far lot. He wore his off-duty favorites — blue jeans and a Western shirt. As soon as he came into the big Hotel Del lobby, he saw her. For just a moment he paused, watching her, remembering those fine times in Washington, D.C.
She stood in a pose that had to come from years of ballet training straight and tall, feet placed just so; long, golden hair swept down across her shoulders. She turned and saw him. The best smile he'd ever seen brightened her already pretty face. High cheekbones accented her face under the mischievous light blue eyes that could always keep him guessing.
She turned and hurried toward him, reminding him of a prima ballerina moving across to stage left for her solo number. Instead of a tutu she wore a frilly white blouse and a brown skirt showing off just enough of her svelte figure to be interesting.
"Did I surprise you?" she asked, as he caught her shoulders for a quick kiss on her ready lips. He pulled away, and smiled.
"You surprised me, and I can't think of a better one."
"I'm glad. I hear you might be going on a long trip. Wanted to get here before you left."
His face clouded for a moment as what she said registered fully. "Damnit, why doesn't somebody just put a story on the front page of the Washington Post?" He relented at once. "Sorry, not more than half a dozen people know about this. Who was your source?"
"Do I have to tell?"
"Absolutely. I might need to kick some tail. It wasn't my dad, was it?"
"No, nor my father."
"So, who?"
"Let me tell you later. The elevator is right over here."
"Elevator?"
"Why don't we stay here? If we go to your place, I'll have to prove what a lousy cook I am. Here I can fake it."
Murdock laughed and caught her arm. "Lead on, MacDuff." She shook her head. "That should be, 'Lay on, MacDuff.'"
Murdock guffawed. "Hey, I thought that part came later." She punched his shoulder, and they walked into the elevator.
In her room, Murdock kicked the door closed, and she moved into his arms for a long kiss. It was a full-body-pressure kind, with them pressed together from hips to lips. Their mouths opened, and they explored dark passages. At last they broke apart.
"Oh, yes, Blake. Now, that was worth waiting for."
"I might find some more of those." He held her at arm's length. "Really, I need to know who told you."
"Nobody told me anything, actually. I just happened to be talking with Don Stroh the other day — okay, yesterday — and I told him I was going to Los Angeles on business and wondered if this would be a good time to come down and see you."
"Stroh — I might have guessed."
"He only said that now, this week, would be an excellent time. Any later, and I might miss you. So he told me nothing secret, not even when or where you'll be going. If and when you go."
She kissed him seriously. "So, Mr. Secret Man, that was all I found out. I made reservations yesterday, and here I am, weary, flight-worn, but able to stand up… for a little while yet."
"Good, I'll take care of that problem, too. I'm glad that's all he told you. This one is really top of the shop. I bet not even dear old Dad finds out about it until we're done and back home."
"When?"
"We don't know. We need some more intel, then make out our flight sched. It won't be more than a few days, I've got a hunch."
She kissed him again, and they moved to the bed and sat down. The kiss came apart, and he reached for the buttons on her blouse.
"Did I tell you about-" He stopped. "Son of a bitch! I almost did what I accused Don of doing." He shook his head, and kissed both her cheeks and her nose, then a butterfly kiss on her mouth, barely touching her lips. Her eyes closed, and she sighed, and pulled him down with her on the bed.
"Ardith, you vixen. You should have been a spy during the Cold War. You could have charmed the pants off any diplomat on the other side. You could have seduced the secrets right out of Brezhnev himself."
She unbuttoned the fasteners on his shirt. "Thank you if that was a compliment. The only one I want to charm, and seduce, is you." She pulled his shirt out of his pants and reached for his belt. "How am I doing so far?"
An hour later they lay naked side by side on the king-sized bed. Her fingers toyed with the dark hair on his chest.
"Here you thought that three times was too many, and too fast. You sure fooled yourself."
"And happy to do so."
She turned on her side and propped up her head with her elbow. He enjoyed the way it made her full breasts move, bounce, and then sway.
"Oh, yes. A woman's breasts, her most perfect artistic delight."
"Sexist."
"Absolutely. I wouldn't have it any other way." He shut up then; from her expression he knew she was getting serious.
"Have you thought any more about… about some other kind of work for the Navy?"
"Haven't had time. We had to integrate three new men into our sixteen-man platoon. Not an easy or quick task. If they aren't right, or aren't trained right and blended in, the whole platoon could be in trouble on a live-fire mission."
She rolled over, and kissed him deeply, then eased back and lay half on top of him.
"You know how terrible I feel when you're off on a junket somewhere. Junket. Ha. I wish they all could be nice safe missions to countries where we at least have embassies."
"Maybe I'll pick up a million-dollar wound, and not be able to get back in the outfit. Do you know that we lose fourteen men washed out of the SEALs for medical reasons for every man who gets killed? So the odds are…"
She smothered his mouth with her own, and didn't move until they both had to breathe. "Now we talk about things more pleasant. I'd guess you'll be working tomorrow."
"Yes."
"Could you give me a guided tour of your office, your training area?"
"Oh, boy. We usually don't do that… I mean it's not secret or anything. I'd have to get a pass for you from the NAVSPECWAR headquarters. I have planned an all-day exercise for the platoon…"
"All right, I understand. Damnit, that's the trouble, I really do understand."
He kissed her.
"I'll be at your command after five tomorrow afternoon. We can have a picnic on the beach, take a hot air balloon ride, go play at Sea World, make crazy faces at the animals at the San Diego Zoo. Or we can
cuddle up in my place while I fix dinner, and then we could have a long, relaxing evening before we have a long, sexy night."
She grinned, and tickled him under the chin. He pulled away from her.
"You remembered that."
"Lieutenant, I remember everything I know or read or discovered about you. Especially that little strange noise you make just before you explode when we're making love. It's delightful, and then I know what's coming, and-" She stopped, and they watched each other.
"Hey, I'd like to vote we go to my place tomorrow. When do you head back to Nutsville?"
"Day after tomorrow on the eight-fifteen A.M. American."
"Oh, damn."
"True.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"It's oh-one-hundred-fifteen, as you Navy types say."
"How about a late-night sandwich, and some champagne? I understand the kitchen is open all night here."
"Yeah, let's give it a try. I want a crab salad sandwich on toasted dill rye, with a pair of kosher dills."
"Crazy lady, you're on." The sandwiches were delicious. The champagne bubbling. The rest of the night a delight.
20
Monday, October 31
0330 hours
Hill country north of Chah Bahar, Iran
Guns Franklin and Joe Douglas pushed up another ridge in the middle of an unending series of hills that all worked upward toward the saddle mountain.
"How many more of the fucking hills are we going to have to climb to get there?" Franklin brayed.
The chogie straps dug deeply into their shoulders now as the strain of the sixty pounds of food, water, and ammunition bore down. Douglas went to his knees in the rocky soil a hundred yards from the top of the ridge, then sat down and lay back against the heavy pack.
"Oh, damn but that feels good," he shouted. "So fucking good I could shoot my wad right here."
"Strange what turns some guys on," Franklin said, doing the same drop, sit, and roll motion to get the weight of the pack off his shoulders.
"What day is this?" Franklin asked.
"How the hell should I know? What am I your fucking walking calendar?"
"You should be. I don't even remember when we dropped into this garden of plenty. I still say we'll get to the saddle before daylight."
"Hell no. You'll owe me that case of German beer when we get back to civilization."
"We're on the last ridge. When we get to the top of this, the next slant up will be the saddle mountain."
"That's what you told me the last two ridges, hotshot."
"You'll see, Guns. Let's move it."
They rolled over, lifting the packs off the ground and getting to their knees, then pushed upright with a pair of groans.
"I still say three hundred pounds is too much to expect even a SEAL to carry on his back," Franklin said.
They hiked upward.
The last few yards they had to use their hands on the steep slope to get to the top. Franklin made it to the ridgeline first. He stopped, and stared.
"I'll be fucked on Friday. There the big bastard is."
Douglas got there a moment later and he grinned. Even in the darkness, they could tell that there were no more ridges between them and Saddle Mountain. They could see only one peak, but this had to be it. The other half of the mountain was behind the one they could see.
They had a fifty-yard slope down the ridge, before the longer slant upward to the saddle mountain began.
"An hour to the top," Douglas said. "It's now oh-four-twenty. The sun shouldn't be up until about oh-six-hundred. Plenty of time for you to owe me that case of good American beer."
"If we make it, it'll be worth it."
Franklin shrugged, and began the slower move down the slope.
They struggled up the last rise to the side of the saddle mountain. They weren't going all the way to the top. They quartered around the mountain peak, and within another half hour saw the saddle opening spread out before them. Through the saddle to the north they saw the glow of what could only be electric lights. In this starkly dark countryside, they stood out like beacons.
"Jackpot!" Douglas screeched. "Look at those shit-kicking lights. We've found the nuke plant sure as little green apples get riper in the summertime."
Franklin couldn't suppress a grin. "Hey, yeah. Looks like it could be. We need to get to the far side of the saddle — what, a half mile. Then we'll have a better look. Why in hell didn't we bring a twenty-power scope with us?"
They hiked again.
The comparative flat bowl of the saddle was either part of a huge volcanic eruption, or just neutral ground between two volcanic peaks. Douglas didn't worry about it too much. The nearness of their objective pushed him forward. The straps cutting into their shoulders didn't hurt so much either. As he moved, Douglas wondered if the saddle would be a good drop spot for the rest of the platoon. Depended how far it was on to the big factory. It could still be ten miles away.
Dawn crept up on them, and before they realized it, the sun peaked over the far hills. They were in the open here, and with daylight they thought of their own security.
"What happens if one of them spotter planes flies over?" Franklin asked.
"We go prone and stay as still as an ant. Movement is what the spotters watch for. If we stay quiet, they'd have to be right over us at a thousand feet to pick us out."
Another twenty minutes, and they came to the edge of the saddle bowl and stared across to where they had seen the lights. They saw only a haze, with a bluish tinge that could have been from ground fog, or smoke.
"Why would there be smoke up here in the hills?" Franklin asked.
"We didn't see any power lines coming in anywhere. They'd need lots of power up here. Maybe they have a huge oil- or coal-burning electrical generating plant."
"Sounds reasonable."
They stood there a minute staring at the place where the Iranian nuclear plant could be. Gradually the mists or smoke began to lift.
"Yeah, clearing up," Douglas said. "Shouldn't take long. If it's what we think we can have the old SATCOM up and working in five minutes."
They waited. The mixture ahead of them turned out to be half smoke, half some kind of ground fog. The smoke showed prominently when the fog was burned away by the bright sun. Smoke was to the right of the rest of what they could now see.
"Damn it to hell on Sunday, look at that," Franklin said. "Big bunch of buildings with camouflage all over them. No wonder the satellites couldn't find them. Got to be the fucking nuke Plant."
"Yep, I think we've found the nuker. Let's get to some kind of protection or cover, and we'll get the SATCOM setup."
They found a spot near the edge of the half-mile-long saddle. It had almost no vegetation — some low grasses and a shrub here and there. The place they picked was near a boulder that screened them from the nuke plant and gave off some deep shade from the already burning sun. Douglas set up the SATCOM and aligned it with the satellite high overhead. He took the cellular phone-sized instrument out of his pack and pulled open an eight-inch antenna. It was the MUGRI or the mugger, as the SEALs called it — the Miniature Underwater GPS Receiver. This was a modified version for land use, with a pull-out antenna instead of a floating one that went to the surface. Douglas turned it on and the antenna began searching for the four closest Global Positioning Satellites. The MUGR with quadra-angulation, picked up the satellites' positions, and pinpointed the location of the MUGR to within ten feet.
After a few seconds the small device beeped and the screen showed a readout of longitude and latitude.
With that data in hand, Douglas composed his message on the SATCOM screen.
"Found it. About five klicks due north of this position." He then put in the longitude and latitude the mugger gave. "This position good for LZ. Outside of their major security area. No positive ID but nothing else up here but snakes, desert mountains, and scorpions. Will stay in on-mode for your response."
He read over the
message, made a small change, then hit the send button that automatically encrypted the words, and blasted them out of the set toward the communications satellite in a burst that lasted only a fraction of a second. He left the set turned on and sat down on the sand, moving into a patch of shade near the rock.
"So now we watch and wait?" Franklin asked.
"Have a nap if you want to. We wait for a reply."
A helicopter lifted up from the side of the saddle and raced to within a hundred yards of their position before it paused, then climbed to more than a thousand feet off the saddle, and hovered.
"Don't move," Douglas said. "If we move he'll spot us for damn sure."
"Least we have on these damn brown-and-beige Iranian clothes, and we're in the shadows," Franklin said.
They watched the Iranian chopper. Douglas didn't know what make it was, but he did see a machine gun angled out the side door. He'd heard about door gunners from the Vietnam vets and knew they could be deadly.
The chopper made a slow circle over the saddle. When it was at the farthest end, about a half mile away, the two SEALs draped themselves with spare beige shirts, so they covered their faces, weapons, and the twelve-inch-diameter SATCOM antenna.
They heard the helicopter swing back toward them. It was now higher, Douglas could tell by the sound.
"They must check this area routinely as part of their security," he said. "Might not be such a good LZ after all."
"Best in the whole damn place I've seen. Shit, we get the platoon in here on a night drop, and we can fade into the gullies on both sides before daylight. Even if they patrol this area every day, they wouldn't find a trace."
"Yeah, hope so."
They heard the chopper make one more circle search. Douglas checked out from the cover, and saw the bird much higher now. A minute later it flew off to the north working lower, and out of sight.
When he took the shirt off his face, Douglas saw the SATCOM light pulsing.
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