Exit Plan (15 page)

Shirin asked, “How do you propose we get to your sub, then?”

Ramey replied, “Our backup plan is to launch a Zodiac—a rubber boat with an outboard motor—from the big submarine. It will come in to the beach and pick us up.” As Ramey explained, Fazel translated for Shirin’s husband.

“But we need to get under cover while I communicate with our submarine.” Ramey pointed toward one dune. It was taller than the rest and ran parallel with the beach. “There. Let’s go.”

~ * ~

With the entire team sheltering along the dune, Jerry watched as Lapointe set up the PRC-117. Although they all had headset radios, Pointy carried the long-range gear. The husband, Yousef, saw the petty officer setting up an antenna and spoke quickly, urgently. Fazel translated. “He is warning you that the Pasdaran have radio listening posts all along the coast. If we transmit, he says we will be detected.”

Ramey answered, “Explain to him this is a highly directional satellite communications antenna that uses frequency hopping. It is very hard to detect the transmissions.”

He then turned to Shirin. “What rank is your husband?” Jerry could see the wheels in the lieutenant’s mind turning. The man’s in uniform. Exactly whom am I dealing with?

Shirin answered proudly, “He is a
Sarvan Pasdar
—a Pasdaran captain.”

The SEALs looked at each other quickly, and Ramey shined a red light on Akbari’s shoulder. The epaulet showed the four open rosettes of a Pasdaran officer.

“He is—” She paused. “He was responsible for part of the air defenses at the uranium facility at Natanz.”

Jerry could feel the tension rise. There was a noticeable change in Ramey’s tone.

“Tell the captain that our sub will launch a rubber boat with an outboard motor, a Zodiac. It’s fast, twenty-plus knots—over forty kilometers an hour, and it’s armed. It will take about forty-five minutes to get here once it’s launched. It can hold us all, but it will be a little slower on the way back, about an hour. We can be off the beach and aboard the sub well before daylight.”

Lapointe had finished setting up the antenna. Ramey took the handset. Comms were good, and Jerry listened as the lieutenant reported their situation.

Finally, he asked, “The beach is secure. We’re ready for the boat as soon as you can send it.”

Jerry already knew what the answer would be. He heard Ramey say, “Understood.” He gave the phone back to Lapointe.

“They’ll get back to us in ten,” Ramey explained.

~ * ~

Lieutenant Frederickson turned to Captain Guthrie as he hung up the handset. “Sir, I’ve alerted the CRRC crew and they’re gearing up. I’ll lead the mission. We can launch in five minutes.”
Michigan
didn’t even have to surface to launch the Zodiac or combat rubber raiding craft. The boat crew would launch from the dry deck shelter aft of
Michigan’s
sail. The package containing the boat was buoyant, and would inflate by itself in moments once they pulled a lanyard.

“Have you looked at the surface plot?” Guthrie asked. “There are patrol craft between us and the beach. We’ve been tracking them with the UAV and by their radar emissions.”

“They’ll never see a Z-bird.”

“They have good nav radars, Lieutenant. They’re designed to spot small stuff in the water, and a wet rubber raiding craft has a decent radar cross section—you’re not invisible. My guys have been laying out detection circles against a Zodiac-sized target. We’re pretty good at figuring out how to stay hidden, too, but the patrol boats are just too close, and they appear to be showing up every hour or two. And every single last one of them is faster than a Zodiac, some are more than twice as fast. If they see you, there is no way you can outrun them.”

“You can’t call off the mission, sir.” Frederickson almost pleaded.

“I don’t want to, but the odds are against us. We are just too damn far away. It’s very likely that the CRRC will get spotted on the way in, much less the way out. And that would draw attention to our people on the beach. If it was only on the outbound leg you might be able to fight your way clear. But if you get caught on the way in, there is no way you’ll even reach the shore, and it will only make things worse.

“I’ll tell them it’s off for tonight while you work up a new plan,” Guthrie ordered. “Then I’ve got another call to make.”

~ * ~

Jerry didn’t believe it, even after Ramey passed the handset to him and he heard it straight from Guthrie. “Sir, we can do this,” he protested.

“You can’t make it without being spotted. Find cover and sit tight until sundown tomorrow. I’m going to try and get closer and then we’ll send the Zodiac in for you tomorrow night.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Ramey took the phone, listened for a minute, and handed it back to Lapointe. “Our contingency hiding spot is several kilometers to the east of here.” He turned to Shirin. “We’ll hole up out of sight, away from the road.”

“What about our car?” she asked.

“Where is it?” Ramey demanded. Jerry hadn’t thought to ask how they’d gotten to the rendezvous.

She pointed east. “Back that way, about fifteen minutes’ walk.”

Shirin spoke quickly to Yousef, who nodded, frowning. “If it is found, it will lead them to my mother, and then to us,” she explained. “If we had simply disappeared, it would not matter so much.”

Ramey agreed. “We’ll hide your car as well, then.”

She replied, “Good. This way.”

Ramey held up his hand. “Wait one.” He spoke into his headset microphone. “We’re moving east to find their car. Philly, tell me when you’re ready.”

Jerry heard their answers on his headset, and saw the other SEALs moving. There was only the slightest sound. Ramey explained to the civilians. “My men are taking screening positions. We can move in a moment— with your permission, XO,” he said, nodding toward him. Jerry thought he heard a hard edge on the remark.

A moment later, Ramey said softly, “Please, stay close,” and motioned with his right hand. He raised his rifle and scanned ahead with his night-vision sight, then set off at a walk, his weapon at the ready.

Jerry followed, trying to be as quiet as possible, feeling clumsy. The two Iranians were behind him, walking close together. The young Pasdaran captain was holding his wife’s hand. Each step on the gravelly surface sounded like a thunderclap. He wished for night-vision gear. Each of the SEALs had a set, but as the ASDS pilot. . .

Phillips’s hushed voice came over the headset. “Two soldiers just got out of a jeep. Flashlights. They’ve got AKs, but they’re slung. They’re looking at a car parked along the road. Light-colored sedan.”

“Hold.” Ramey held up a hand and dropped to one knee. Jerry and the two civilians followed, more slowly.

“Philly says two soldiers are looking at a light sedan.”

Shirin had whispered a translation to Yousef. “Yes, that is mother’s car.”

“Well, it looks like a Basij patrol has found it.”

Even in the dim light, Jerry could see the confusion and fear in her expression. “What do we do?”

“We wait, and get ready in case we have to fight.” Jerry heard Ramey give orders to Fazel and Lapointe, guiding them to positions flanking Phillips.

“Please don’t shoot them,” she begged.

“As long as they don’t spot us, or call for reinforcements, we won’t have to.” Ramey’s tone was matter-of-fact. Jerry knew the SEALs could kill the two soldiers in seconds, but that would not help their cause.

“They’re both back in the jeep now and moving, heading west on the highway.” Philly’s voice was as flat giving the “all clear” as it was with the first warning.

After Shirin translated, Yousef spoke and she explained, “They’ll report the car. The next patrol will check to see if it is still here.”

Ramey ordered, “Okay, everyone, let’s move. Philly, we’re joining you.”

A few minutes’ walk brought them to a dune where Phillips lay prone near the crest, facing the car. Spotting them, he eased back down the slope and knelt near the base. “Two guys in fatigues, in their early twenties. They had radios, but I didn’t see either one use them. They wrote down the license plate.”

~ * ~

Joanna Patterson had come in early, and had heard
Michigan’s
signal that the ASDS launch had taken place as planned, at 0830 Washington time. The next call would not be until Opal and the team was safely aboard the ASDS, expected a little after eight in the evening local time, shortly after noon for her.

She’d brought along work and managed to get some of it done between glancing at the clock and checking radio intercepts. An RC-135 with the call sign “Pinto” was patrolling over the Saudi coast at high altitude. At that height it could pick up transmissions hundreds of miles away, including not just military and commercial radios, but cell phone and microwave communications as well.

The U.S. routinely kept a plane on station over Saudi Arabia, so Pinto wasn’t directly connected with the operation. In fact, they knew nothing about it, but the operators on the plane had been told that signals coming from the vicinity of Bandar Kangan, on the south coast of Iran, were to have top priority for both detection and analysis.

So far, Pinto’s reports had been routine. There had been some traffic: Basij units on routine patrols, Pasdaran boats off the coast, but it had been clear-language transmissions, and no reports of contact.

Images from the UAV signal had also been piped in to the Situation Room. Being shown on a supersized wall monitor didn’t improve their clarity, but she’d seen two people on the beach waiting.

She’d fidgeted, sent out for some coffee, and thought about all the people who had waited while others risked their lives.

The SEALs were late coming ashore, and that was enough to start her worrying. What had slowed them down? Then the UAV’s image showed figures arriving on the beach, and joining the other two, but they didn’t leave. What had happened?

The ASDS was supposed to transmit one of a series of code words once Opal was aboard and they were headed back to
Michigan.
One meant a successful extraction; another meant they hadn’t been able to find Opal at the rendezvous point; another would warn that they had been discovered, and so on. Instead, the call came from
Michigan
, and late. The communications specialist had passed her the handset.

Captain Guthrie’s report was grim. After reporting the loss of the ASDS, Higgs’s death, and the team’s rendezvous with Opal,
Michigan’s,
skipper said, “They’re going to a safe layup position and we’ll send a CRRC in for them tomorrow night.” Guthrie made another request to bring
Michigan
inside Iranian territorial waters. The closer he got to the coast, the better the odds of recovery with a combat rubber raiding craft.

After giving her Higgs’s name and rank, Guthrie listed the others on the beach. When she heard Jerry’s name, she was surprised. What was
Michigan’s
executive officer doing on the beach? Guthrie explained, and she realized Jerry was the fifth man. Only four men were supposed to come ashore, and she cursed herself for missing that vital detail when she’d seen the UAV’s image.

She’d known Jerry for years, and had once sailed with him on a mission. He was a dear friend. Jerry had also served under her husband, Lowell, before he’d left the Navy to run for congress.

Distracted by the news, Patterson automatically thanked him for the report and said she’d pass on his request. Her mind filled with activity. Someone had died, and there were things to be done. When a mission starts going bad, it often gets worse, quickly. Kirkpatrick would have to be briefed, and after that, the president.