by R G Ainslee
Two and a half hours into the flight, Wilson tapped my arm and pointed left. "Over there, T-2 should be over this ridge, on the next mountain range." Our altitude was just below the ridgeline, Wilson didn't want to attract Iranian attention from the ground and stay low enough to avoid detection by Soviet radars. He had plotted our course to avoid large towns along the way.
Snow-covered mountains loomed on the northern horizon. I strained but couldn’t make out any manmade features. I examined the chart and said, "I'll take your word for it."
"The Soviet border is only a few klicks past the mountains."
I already knew that but remained quiet. Reality began to sink in. We would be at the site shortly, like this evening.
Amadeo leaned forward and said, "Looks like a city up ahead in the valley."
"That's it. We'll try ATC." Wilson keyed the mike. "Mashhad tower, IBEX Seven requests instructions." Silence — Wilson repeated the call — more silence.
I said, "Looks like they're closed." Great, maybe we can turn around. "What now?"
Undaunted, Wilson replied, "No problem. We call the IBEX ground controller in Mashhad on their channel. They should have someone on duty."
"Won't a transmission alert the Russians, they'll be listening?" asked Jack.
"We'll make it sound routine." Wilson dialed in the correct frequency. "IBEX Seven, Mashhad GS." More silence. He repeated the call thirty seconds later."
A voice with an American Midwest accent answered with a tentative tone, "Mashhad GS. IBEX Seven go ahead."
"IBEX Seven. Request clearance for approach. Contact tower."
The voice announced with a jittery pitch, "Negative, facility is closed."
"We need to re-fuel."
I checked the gauge. We had plenty fuel.
Twenty seconds later, the voice inquired, "IBEX Seven, what is your destination?"
"We need fuel."
"Negative — Negative." The voice now filled with panic, appealed, "Don't try to land, facility is closed until sundown."
Before Wilson could respond, an excited Iranian voice came on line, shouting in Farsi instead of English, the international air traffic control language. Wilson called Amadeo to come forward. "What's he saying?"
"He's spouting off about the American Satan and warns us not to land. — Now he's talking about death to all Infidels."
"Sounds like we're not welcome. Brannan take the controls while I do fuel calculations."
I caressed the yoke and gave it my full attention, not wanting to make an abrupt course change, or worse. Couldn't believe the colonel was allowing me to touch the controls. Sergeant George wouldn't believe it either.
Amadeo announced, "The IBEX guy's back on and warns us not to land under any circumstances."
Wilson folded up the chart and stuffed it between the seats. "We're headed to the airstrip south of T-2. When we get close enough, we'll call them to come pick you up."
"What about the fuel situation?" I asked.
"Theoretically, with a lighter load we have enough to make it back to Tehran. However, they may have fuel stashed at the airstrip. McKenna told me they normally keep a drum on hand for emergencies but wasn't sure it was still there. We'll just have to see."
* * *
T-2 came into view. Buildings and antennas stood out from the barren snow-covered ridge. The Soviet Union lay over the mountain only a few miles away. The bright winter sun was blinding, making it difficult to distinguish features on the landscape.
"IBEX Seven — T-Two Base."
Wilson's call was answered right away. "T-Two Base — IBEX Seven. What's your position?"
"IBEX Seven on approach to land, do you have fuel available?"
"Affirmative. Have you come to evacuate?"
"Negative, carrying additional resources. Request transport and fuel."
"We have five personnel to evacuate. Can you accommodate?"
Wilson thought it over and examined the back of the Caribou. "Do you have fuel available?"
"We have one drum … will that be enough?"
"Affirmative."
"Meet you in less than an hour. T-Two Base out."
I said, "Looks like you'll have company on the way home."
"Don't like it, but he sounded desperate and I need his fuel to provide a safety margin. Take the controls while I make another fuel calculation."
Wilson had me line up for a landing on a primitive dirt runway, the only facilities a ragged windsock and a storage building with an open door. He tilted his head towards me. "You want to land her?"
I glanced back at Amadeo. His eyes were big as saucers. Jack gave me an apprehensive glance.
The airstrip seemed terribly short for my first attempt to make a powered landing. I told the colonel, "No thanks, she's all yours."
20 ~ T-2
Friday, 2 February: T-2 Airstrip
With a sense of despair, I watched the Caribou carrying Wilson and six technicians from T-2 lift off and fly down the valley. One more passenger insisted on immediate evacuation at the last minute. Claimed he was ill. My sixth sense told me I should be on the plane, but I wasn't.
Ralph Ritter, the site director, motioned for us to get in the jeep. "We'll get you guys settled in at our base camp first. We got plenty room now. When do you want to go up to the site?"
"Need to go soon as possible, I have—" I cut it off when Ralph shifted his eyes towards the Iranian driver. I got the message. "We'll get settled in first, how about this afternoon?"
"That'll work. Let's go."
The T-2 site, located 40 miles northeast of Mashhad, was the IBEX project's most important outstation. Set in inhospitable terrain, on a ridge at almost 10,000 feet in the remote Allahu-Akbar Mountains.
Base camp lay 20 miles from the airstrip over a pass and down a rough dirt road. Resembling a cheap motel, the facility provided living accommodations and a combination recreation room and bar.
The Iranian base commandant met us in the main building. An Air Force Captain, obviously overage in grade, in his late thirties.
"Who are you? Have no word you come."
"Name's Ross Brannan and we are here on temporary assignment, for just a few days."
"Have no word, you are not authorized."
"Why would we be here if we're not authorized?" I rolled the dice with a stern tone, "Didn't you get the cable from Tehran?"
Ritter intervened, "It's okay, they came in on the IBEX Caribou. They didn't just show up at the gate. They're most likely preoccupied in Tehran and just neglected to send word."
"Do not like—"
"Come on Reza, let me handle this. They'll be gone in a few days. Don't worry — it will cause more problems if you keep them from the site. Okay."
"Very well, do not like." The pudgy captain sulked out of the recreation room.
"Is he gonna be all right?" I asked. "Seems like a lot of trouble to get here and not be able to do our job."
"No problem, he's technically in charge and likes to remind us on occasion. I'll slip him another bottle of Johnny Walker and it'll be just fine. Come on let me find you guy's a room."
Outside, I asked, "Is it all right to talk freely in our rooms, do the walls have ears?"
"Not that I can tell, but exercise caution if you think you need to. You can't be too sure these days."
Jack asked, "What's the security situation here? You heard about T-1?"
"Right. The Revolutionary Guard is active in the village down the road, but don't think they'll be any problem. The people around here are primarily nomadic herdsmen. If you stay here long enough you'll see them, mostly Turkmen with broad faces."
"Are they armed?"
"Yeah, usually the men carry rifles. This time of year, they're busy hunting wolves. They don't cause any problems. Just don't mess with them."
"What about the Soviets? Any activity this side of the border?"
""We've experienced an increase in over flights. About twice a week these days. Before, maybe twice
a year. Draw your own conclusions."
Jack continued, "Are your people armed?"
"Almost everyone carries revolvers, more for protection from wolves and the occasional bandit than anything else. You guy's armed?"
"Yeah, is that a problem with the Iranians?"
Ritter hesitated, glanced around, and then lowered his voice, "I'd keep whatever you have under wraps. Don't know what the reaction would be … except it might be bad. Just be careful."
"When can we go up to the site?" I asked.
I'll take you up this afternoon, but need to warn you, we'll have to stay the night. In winter, we do multi-day shifts at the site rather than make the trip up and down every day. The roads are dangerous and there's always the possibility of getting snowed in."
"Snowed in at the site?"
"No, on the road. We lost two Iranians last year during an unexpected blizzard. The weather can change quickly. Stuff blows right in from Siberia."
Amadeo asked, "What do you do in your spare time? Doesn't seem to be much to do around here."
"We work long shifts. What little spare time we have is spent drinking and playing poker. Not much else to do unless you like to ski. We have ski gear up on the mountain if you want to give it a try."
"No way, I'm from Miami."
"Do you have winter gear? You'll need it if you want to go up to the site."
I answered, "We picked up heavy boots, wool pants, and parkas back in Tehran, should be all right."
"Okay, see you in a half hour."
After he left, we discussed the situation.
Jack said, "Got a bad feeling about this place."
"Yeah, I feel it too."
Amadeo peered out the window at the snow-covered ridge. "All I feel is cold."
Jack suggested, "Hate to split up our resources, but I think it wouldn't be a bad idea for one of us to stay down here and keep an eye on things. What do you think?"
Amadeo answered first and without hesitation, "Sounds like a plan. — I volunteer."
"You got it." I tuned to Jack. "What about communications?"
"No problem." He reached into the duffle bag, produced the radios, and handed one to Amadeo. "We'll do a radio check when we get to the top. One quick transmission in Arabic: three Allah Akbar's."
"Why Arabic?"
"It'll confuse anybody eavesdropping. Think it's some guy spouting off, should be an adequate cover. One more idea, if we need to broadcast a message in the clear, use French."
* * *
Ritter retraced our route back to the pass where the road forked. He placed the jeep in four-wheel drive and cut a right onto the track beside an icy stream. A bright white vista spread down the valley. Above the tree line, the slopes beside the road were barren, except for snow.
The road wound up the steep ridge following a series of hairpin curves. Several times Ralph failed to gain traction, backed up, and renegotiated the steep turns. I began to understand why they preferred to settle in on the top instead of making the hazardous trip on a daily basis.
Finally, after a steep grade and one last hairpin turn, T-2 came into view, dominating the mountaintop. Ralph shifted gears one last time and we glided across the icy road to the front gate.
* * *
Ralph stood in front of a large map tacked to the wall in the operations building. "As you can see, we have a decent electronic view of the Soviet missile test ranges. Intelligence from this facility allows us to monitor Soviet strategic missile force development. Telemetry signals are available when the rocket achieves 60 miles altitude. We track missiles from lift off to a point beyond the apogee. From there, aircraft track the remainder of the flight. Ground and air radio traffic intercepts are also possible."
Jack asked, "Where do the missiles land?"
"The ones fired from Tyuratam land in the Pacific off the Kamchatka peninsula."
The facility was crammed with consoles fitted with racks of cathode-ray displays and receiving equipment designed to intercept telemetry transmissions from Soviet missile launches. A separate crypto room with a decoding machine and telex printer sat at one end of the building. Standard issue grey desks and chairs dominated the decor.
"What do you have in place for site security?" asked Jack, continuing with his favorite subject.
"The Iranian Air Force is supposed to provide air defense, but it seems to be almost nonexistent these days. On the ground, we're surrounded by barbed-wired and Iranian guards patrol the perimeter. At this time of year, someone would have to negotiate the road or parachute in. We're safest in winter time."
"What provisions do you have in case you’re attacked?"
"Demolitions are in place to destroy classified equipment. But we're not equipped to offer any real resistance." He paused for a moment and asked, "When do you want to get started?"
"Right now. — Jack, take care of our gear, and do your thing. Check back with me later."
Ralph called, "Jimmy — over here."
A tall lanky man in his late twenties sitting at console rose and sauntered over. I later found out he was an ex-basketball player.
Ralph said, "This is Ross Brannan, he's here on special assignment concerning the odd telemetry signals you've been getting."
He stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "Jimmy Kelley, I'm the chief ELINT operator. Welcome to the North Pole."
Saturday, 3 February: Site T-2
The next evening, after spending a fruitless 14 hours glued to a console, Jack and I slipped outside to discuss the situation. Moonlight illuminated the valley below, the night clear. The weather forecast more ominous, a storm expected in a few days.
"What do you think," I asked.
"Things are bad, they expect trouble any time. The guys in the day room ain’t optimistic to say the least."
"And you?"
"Tried to speak to the Iranian guards, but they refused to talk after I began asking questions. Something’s up. I'm optimistic by nature, but in this job, a person can’t be an optimist for very long. I'm afraid I sometimes come off as a cynic. I don't like it … but that's just the way the world is."
"Do you think you understand what's going on in Iran?"
"No, I've been to Iran and around the Middle East over the years. I used to think I understood the way things worked." He paused. "But in reality, I don't have a deep understanding the culture and never will. They think differently from us. It can be fatal to assume we understand, or that they think like us."
Married to Lisette, I was well versed in the complexities of cross-cultural communication and understanding. "Guess you're right. Say, you talked to Amadeo lately?"
"Spoke to him about an hour ago. He told me in French the cook's helpers failed to show up. The off-duty techs are worried."
21 ~ The Storm
Sunday, 4 February: Site T-2
The morning BBC broadcast reported large demonstrations supporting the government and rumors of an impending coup. Correspondents declared Tehran a near war zone: streets barricaded, traffic at a standstill with young men riding around on motorcycles with guns, street battles in the provinces, and clashes reported in Mashhad.
"Looks like it's about to hit the fan," I commented to Jack over a breakfast of Nan-e Gandhi, an Iranian sweet flat bread, cheese, and coffee.
"It's worse. I've been listening to Iranian army comms on one of the receivers. Total confusion, that's the only way to describe it. The armed forces are crumbling under pressure. A large delegation of young air force officers visited Khomeini, pledging their support. Army units converged on Khomeini's residence offering to surrender. Units fell apart leaving armed soldiers wandering the streets. And to top it off, SAVAK safe houses in Tehran are now under attack by armed crowds."
"Looks like we left just in time. Any word from Amadeo?"
"Yeah, spoke to him first thing this morning. It's still calm, so far. What about you, expect any luck today?"
"Who knows? The operative word is luck. I intend to spend the m
orning nesting on the frequency and bearing, waiting for a signal. Spent lot 'a hours doing just that, and it's the one thing I don't like about this job, the waiting. And I don't even have a good book to read."
"Think I'll check out those ski's Ralph told us about. Might ski outside the perimeter and poke around. Any problem with that?"
"No, sounds like a good idea. You know how to ski?"
"Grew up on the ski-slopes back in Montana. Learned to cross-country ski several years ago during a winter operations course with the Norwegian Jegerkompaniet north of the Arctic Circle. What about you?"
"Skied in high school. Lisette has been encouraging me to try again. We skied once back in December. She's pretty good at it. You'll have to ski with us." If we ever get home.
* * *
Right after lunch, a peanut butter sandwich eaten at the console, Jimmy Kelly came over and gave me his take on the elusive signal. He saved the best for last.
"The fragments we've received may be signals bounced off some other object. We encountered a similar phenomenon at White Sands several years ago. The signals may be reflecting off the target and back to us."
"That's an interesting idea. We covered the phenomenon's theoretical aspects during a course at Cal Tech several years ago and I've experienced similar signals several times. It's hard to pin down unless you can develop consistency. Too often, weather and freak radio propagation conditions are the controlling factor."
"True, but I don't think the weather is…"
My heartbeat increased as an idea began to germinate, and I interrupted, "What's the weather been like when you received the signals? Was there a front or storm on those days or anything else that might affect radio propagation?"
His eyes betrayed his doubts, but he answered with a slight nod. "Let me check the logs and compare them to the meteorological notations."
At last, a moment of hope, weather had to be the key element in the puzzle. With luck, we could make an intercept and be on our way home.
I leaned back and wondered what Lisette was doing, or where she was. All I knew, she left on Air France and arrived in Paris. She might be in Albuquerque or even Timbuktu, couldn't rule out either place.