Exit Plan (17 page)

How far was a kilometer? Better than half a mile. In the dark? On an unfamiliar landscape? After a bone-chilling hour-long swim? He definitely hadn’t planned on this when he’d gotten up this morning. He was breathing hard, and felt like he’d already run miles.

He wasn’t the only one showing signs of fatigue. Shirin was moving more slowly, now leaning heavily on Yousef. The SEALs seemed unaffected by the evening’s intense physical activity.

Jerry marveled a little when he thought about the husband. A captain in the Pasdaran. They were supposed to be Iran’s shock troops, politically reliable and completely devout. What had turned him against his own service?

He tried to focus on the plan. They’d hole up tonight and tomorrow, then
Michigan
would launch a CRRC. They’d break cover once it was en route, meet on the beach, and an hour later they’d be back aboard. They were in a bad spot, but they hadn’t been detected, and they had a plan.

Ramey motioned for Lapointe to go ahead; he ran to the cave and did a quick inspection. Jerry heard his report in his headset. “It’s still clear, Boss.”

A low line of hills loomed ahead, and they retraced the SEALs’ earlier path. Turning right toward a high bank, then following it back, they came to a place where Lapointe stood next to a large shadow on the side of the bank.

“Pointy, take the first watch, everyone else inside.” After giving the order, Ramey led the way. Once he was inside, he turned on his flashlight.

Shirin was surprised by the intensity of the beam. It seemed like a big red floodlight to her night-adjusted eyes, and she turned to see if it revealed their position. But the beam was directed into the cave, and little of the light was reflected back out.

When her eyes adjusted, she saw a space a little smaller than their bedroom. It was larger than she expected, but she hadn’t spent a lot of time in caves. Water had eaten away the earth under a layer of rock, so the cave had a relatively flat, but rough ceiling. The floor was hard-packed sand with a band of pebbles running down the center, almost a gravel path.

Farther inside, Yousef was arranging a blanket for her to sit on. Suddenly she felt very tired, almost dizzy. With a small moan, she gratefully sank onto the spot, leaning back against the wall.

The Americans all turned at the sound, and Fazel asked in Farsi, “Are you all right?” When she didn’t reply, he turned to Yousef. “Is your wife ill?”

Yousef, still helping Shirin sit comfortably, answered, “Not sick. She’s pregnant.”

The medic quickly knelt down beside her. One hand was on her wrist, taking her pulse. The other found her forehead. “How many weeks?”

“Nineteen,” she answered almost automatically. She could see Yousef starting to protest. Normally such things were not discussed with strangers, but the American had medical training, and at least he spoke Farsi. Calming her husband with a hand on his arm, she said, “I’m just tired.”
And under a great deal of stress,
she added to herself, but that was understood.

“I’m glad the walk wasn’t any longer,” the medic remarked. “You probably need something to eat, and please drink as much of that water as you can.” He indicated the bottle Yousef was holding. “We’ll make sure you have plenty of water.”

Unslinging his pack, he pulled out a small square, which unfolded to a drab green thermal blanket. “Here. It will cool off tonight.” Shirin noticed Yousef scowling, and so did the American. He offered the blanket to her husband, who took it with a polite “Thank you.”

Yousef covered her and tucked the edges in around her. Although it felt light and flimsy, she felt warmer almost immediately, and drowsy. She closed her eyes as the warmth embraced her.

Yousef watched Shirin for a few minutes, peacefully asleep, then noticed the American medic doing the same thing on the other side. “I can take care of my wife,” he said sharply.

“Of course,” the American replied coldly. “But her welfare affects all of us, and we don’t want to do anything that would endanger her and the baby.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Yousef asked angrily. “We’re hiding in a cave waiting for a boat to pick us up because you couldn’t keep your submarine from catching fire.”

“Our comrade died in that fire—coming here because you asked us to.”

Yousef shook his head. “It’s not my fault he died, and I’m not the person you’re here to rescue. You can’t get anything right.” He smiled at the American’s confusion, then pointed to his peacefully sleeping wife. “She’s the one who has given you so much information. Shirin is an engineer at the Natanz Uranium Enrichment Facility.” There was passion in his voice, and the words fell from him.

“She’s risked her life for years collecting information on my country’s nuclear weapons program and sending it to your government. It’s not because we love America. I don’t believe America is our enemy, but you haven’t been our friend either. She was disgusted at how Iran has lied about making a bomb, and the waste of money and talent that have been spent on the program.”

“What about you? You are Pasdaran. Surely—”

“My reasons are personal, and just as strong as hers. I won’t betray my country, but we should not have nuclear weapons. They are un-Islamic.”

“We won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t even have to stay with us, if you think your chances are better on your own.”

“No. We want to leave Iran any way we can.” Yousef was firm. He tilted his head toward Shirin. “She doesn’t want to go back to Natanz, no matter what. And neither of us want to go to Evin Prison.”

The American nodded. “My parents told me stories about that place, both before and after the Revolution. And about the Pasdaran. The Basij beat my uncle until he was a cripple. The Revolutionary Guards seized my father’s business and drove my parents from their home.”

Yousef wanted to say it was all lies, American propaganda, but he knew the stories were true-—about Evin, and the Pasdaran’s zealous cruelty. He’d been a good soldier, but the Pasdaran was corrupt. They had their fingers in civilian businesses all over Iran, and he’d heard how the generals lived, more like rich executives than soldiers of the Revolution. He was unwilling to agree with the American, but could not argue. In the end, Yousef said nothing.

“I have to tell the others,” Harry explained, and stood.

While Fazel had been taking care of Shirin, the others, with a few words from Ramey, had worked to improve their position. Jerry and Phillips camouflaged the cave mouth, while Ramey and Lapointe prepared firing positions, piling rocks and digging shallow ditches in the floor.

“XO, Boss, you need to hear this,” Fazel called, then briefed Ramey and Jerry in a soft voice. Jerry was surprised to learn Shirin’s identity, and dismayed at her condition. It was a complication they could have done without. The lieutenant’s reaction was more extreme, almost hostile.

“And the fun just keeps coming.” Ramey had been digging out a fighting position near the cave mouth. “Maybe I should just make this a little deeper and crawl in. Save us a lot of trouble.”

Jerry said, “Matt, you can’t blame yourself—”

“Shut up!” The SEAL’s vehemence shocked Jerry. Ramey had put one hand on his weapon, and Jerry wasn’t sure if it was just habit or deliberate intent. “It’s your fault Higgs is dead, and then you made us leave him behind. I should have left you and taken him instead. We don’t even know if he was really dead.”

“He was dead, Lieutenant.”

“So
you say.”

“I feel as bad about it as you do. I was responsible for him.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t work and train with him for a year and a half. How many deployments had he been on? How well could he shoot? Do you even know if he was married?”

The outburst had drawn everyone’s attention, although to Phillips’s credit, he continued to keep watch from just outside the cave mouth. Shirin was awake now, too, watching Ramey’s angry rant with a confused expression. Yousef sat next to her, looking concerned. He knew Jerry was the senior officer. He also knew the Americans had lost a man.

Lapointe was the senior petty officer. Slowly easing himself over to Jerry, he said quietly, “Sir, let’s go outside. Doc, can you help the Boss with his position?”

Gratefully, Jerry followed the petty officer outside. They found a spot a short distance from the cave, Lapointe sat down with his rifle across his knees.

Jerry stood, leaning against the hillside. Thoughts flew though his mind. Ramey was clearly upset, grieving, under great stress. But that was no excuse for his outburst; naval discipline had just been shattered. Admittedly this wasn’t the usual senior-junior relationship. And weren’t they all under stress?

Lapointe kept his eyes on the landscape. “Sir, I’m sorry about the lieutenant. We all feel like he does, but he’s the guy in charge, so Higgs’s loss hit him harder.”

Jerry wasn’t buying it. “I’ve lost people, too. It always sucks, but you don’t fall apart. And you’re SEALs. This may be a little harsh, but aren’t you prepared to lose a man when you go on a mission?”

“Not like that, sir. From a freak accident? And when I said
lose,
I didn’t mean
die.
SEALs never leave anyone behind, alive or dead. In Afghanistan, we’ve lost more people recovering a brother SEAL’s remains than we have from our direct action missions, and nobody thinks it’s a waste.”

He saw Jerry start to speak, but interrupted. “I’m not kidding, sir. We’ve never left anyone behind before. At all. Ever. This would be the first time.”

Jerry shrugged helplessly. “I’ve thought about almost nothing else since we came ashore. I sent him back to open the breaker. I’m not as familiar with the ASDS as Higgs and Carlson. Was there something else I could have done? Was there some sign that Higgs and I both missed? You can damn well believe an investigating board will be asking those same questions when we get back.

“But Higgs wasn’t severely wounded, he was gone. Doc checked him before we left; he was dead. I’ve been trying to imagine how we could have gotten him out and ashore if he’d only been injured.”

“We would have found a way,” Lapointe answered flatly.

Mitchell nodded as Lapointe continued. “We would have tried our damnedest. Higgs might have died anyway, but the point is we would have tried.

“Maybe it’s the lack of trying that the boss is mad about,” the petty officer reasoned. “You didn’t even try.”

“We couldn’t help him. He was dead, and trying to recover his remains would have risked more lives, and the mission. The batteries had already started exploding. I made the call to preserve as many lives as possible.” Jerry was thinking like an XO now, his thoughts clearing.

“My brain agrees with you, sir, but other parts still need convincing. We just haven’t had a chance to think about it much. There’s something else, too.”

“What? There’s more?” Jerry tried not to sound too dismayed.

“The lieutenant is mission-oriented. Shoot, we all are. But he really takes a job on board, and we’re on ‘Plan C’ at this point. It doesn’t matter what the reason is. A mission failure is a personal failure for him. And he’s never failed.”

“He’s worried about us making it back.” It was a question, but Jerry made it a flat statement.

“He won’t say so, but hell, yes, XO. We planned the bejesus out of this job, but if the pickup tomorrow doesn’t go down, we start winging it. There is no ‘Plan D.

Lapointe paused, and Jerry sensed that he was waiting for something from him. “So what do you want me to do?”

“We need Matt’s, I mean, Mr. Ramey’s head in the game until it’s over. He’s been shaken, and badly, and right now he isn’t firing on all cylinders. He’s starting to make mistakes.”

Jerry’s perplexed expression amused Lapointe. “You haven’t been trained as a SEAL, so you don’t know what to look for. The mistakes are little ones, but they’re mistakes all the same. That has got to change. And the only way I can see that happening is you’ve got to stop being nice. You can’t be oozing with sympathy, no matter how much he may be hurting inside.”