Exit Plan (34 page)

“I’m changing the traitors’ status as well. They are no longer to be captured. Pasdaran Captain Yousef Akbari and the nuclear engineer Shirin Naseri are dangerous traitors and should be shot on sight.
If they
are taken alive, they are to be held incommunicado until they can be turned over to VEVAK.”

The major continued, “The captain’s only living family member is his mother, but she is in a vegetative state. Naseri’s father is dead, but arrest her mother and uncle. Question them both thoroughly.”

“Yes, sir. The mother lives in Shiraz, but her uncle lives in Bandar Charak. We don’t have an office in such a small town. They’d have to come from Bandar Abbas.”

“We can’t wait,” Rahim insisted. “Go ahead and tell the Bandar Abbas office to send a team, but tell the local Pasdaran to make the arrest immediately. He should be held incommunicado until our people arrive and take custody. We know where these people live,” he added. “I want them both in our hands an hour from now. Move.”

After Dahghan left, Rahim placed a secure call to Moradi. He’d briefed the general earlier about the discovery of the body, but the new evidence confirmed his suspicions, and raised new concerns. The general answered immediately.

“They have been in contact with the Americans,” Rahim reported. He described the cover to the logbook. “If nothing else but to arrange a meeting. There is no way to know what information the traitors have passed to the Americans. At a minimum, they could provide a great deal of information on the actual status of the program.”

“Which could delay an attack,” Moradi concluded.

“The greater risk is if they had knowledge of our immediate plans.” Even on a secure line, Rahim was circumspect.

“Have you found any evidence that they do know?” Moradi’s tone was carefully neutral. They both understood the implications if the couple had revealed their plan.

“I am concerned that the date of their disappearance coincides with the commencement of our operation. I never assume coincidences.”

“Once they are captured, we will know how much they told the Americans.

“I disagree, General. That is irrelevant. We are on a short time scale, and there is nothing we can do to reverse what has been done. Our best course is to limit any further spread of the information. If they have the secret, it will die with them. I’d also like to withhold information about the discovery of the body.”

“You’re asking a lot. There are several ways we could publicize this that would badly damage American prestige.”

“I understand, sir, but it also warns the other side. I don’t like telling them what we know.”

“Concealment is not always the best course.”

“General, this is about more than merely embarrassing the United States. Because the Americans were meeting with Akbari and Naseri, there may be a link to our operation. Questions will be asked by both sides. If we can find them before news is released, then that link will be broken.”

“All right. I am convinced, and while we wait, I will use the time to plan how to use our dead friend to the best effect.”

“Another question arises. Was he alone?” Rahim asked.

“You think there was more than one American aboard the submarine?” Moradi asked.

“Two is likely, more is possible. But are they entombed within the wreck, or will they float ashore tomorrow? Or are they already on our shores, and alive?”

“In which case our traitors would not be traveling alone. Live Americans would look even better on television than a dead one,” Moradi observed wistfully.

“If there are Americans here, then their sub is still offshore, waiting for them,” Rahim said. “They will be trying to reach it,” he reasoned. “We must find it and sink it.”

“Only Pasdaran units can operate in gulf waters,” Moradi reminded him. “The navy operates east of Hormuz.”

“I understand that, sir. But only the navy can find and kill an American submarine, which, you can remind them, they let slip through the Strait of Hormuz unmolested.”

“If you’re suggesting we ask the navy for assistance, that will not sit well with my colleagues,” Moradi said, “I’m sure you remember how hard the Pasdaran had to fight to get sole control of the Persian Gulf.”

“Yes, sir, I do. But can you think of another way to find and kill an American submarine? No disrespect, sir, but the Pasdaran Navy is not equipped to hunt down a submarine. And finding that submarine not only helps us find their friends on land, but will interfere with their attempts to escape.”

“All right,” Moradi conceded. “You’ve made your point. I’ll speak to the commanders of both navies immediately.”

Highway 96 left the coast halfway to Bandar Charak, bending north, then east again, skirting around a mass of rough rocky hills between the highway and the coast. Following Shirin’s instructions, north of Charak they turned right onto another paved road that would take them straight into town. The road lay between the hills to the west and an eroded flat plain to the east. Neither showed many signs of man.

They stopped a couple of kilometers north of town. A grove of trees on a low hill gave cover, and after they’d unloaded everything from the van, Ramey and Phillips drove it back north half a kilometer. A dirt road ran at right angles into the hills from the paved highway, and they hid the van there, sanitizing it like they had the Peykan.

Yousef and Shirin had wanted to take the van into town, but both Ramey and Jerry had decided against it. “By now the patrol’s been missed, and they’re looking for their vehicle.” That meant Shirin and Fazel would have to walk into town, and her uncle’s house was at the southern end of town, near the water.

While the two SEALs hid the car, the others under Lapointe’s guidance worked on setting up what would be a layup position at least until that evening, and quite possibly for a day or two. It was nearly 1230 by the time Ramey and Phillips returned. After inspecting their newest home, Ramey pronounced it acceptable. “Time for phase two.”

~ * ~

Shirin looked at Harry in the stolen Basij uniform. They had a pair of pants and a uniform shirt that more or less fit him, but they hadn’t taken any boots from the corpses. “I wouldn’t change these anyway,” he told her. “Nobody will notice the difference, especially after we’ve been walking for a while.”

The American had left all his equipment behind, except for his radio, which he’d hidden in a pocket. Reluctantly, Yousef handed him the Iranian-made pistol and gun belt. They had the rifles they’d taken from the Basij soldiers, but they’d all agreed a rifle might draw unnecessary attention from the authorities. Basij normally wouldn’t carry one unless they were on duty.

The American also had the identity papers for the dead Basij corporal, a Qassem Molavi. The photo, height, and weight were wrong, but they might pass casual examination.

Together, they worked on a legend, with “Corporal Molavi” escorting his sister-in-law “Miryam” to visit her family in town. Shirin’s husband was away on duty with the Pasdaran, and no self-respecting Iranian woman, especially a pregnant one, would travel unaccompanied by a male relative. It was also true that no self-respecting Iranian husband would let his wife be accompanied by a stranger, but Yousef could see no alternative.

“I wish you didn’t have to do this,” Yousef had told her. He was looking at the American while he said it.

“I don’t want to do this either,” she’d answered. “I hate the thought of walking that far. But it won’t be bad. And I’m looking forward to seeing Uncle Seyyed. I know he will help us.”

“I also wish I knew something about the Charak Basij Brigade,” Yousef complained. Looking directly at Harry, he warned, “Remember, you’re wearing an Iranian corporal’s uniform now. Show some discipline. If you act the same way you do with your own officers, they’ll either spot you as an impostor or throw you in jail for insubordination.”

Anger flashed across Fazel’s face and into his voice. “You don’t have a clue about what it means to be a professional soldier. It’s going to be easy to pretend I’m Basij. I’ll just act like a thug. Oh, no, wait, that’s if I want to be Pasdaran.”

Shirin threw herself between the two men, and while the other Americans may not have understood Farsi, they knew trouble when they heard it. Lapointe and Phillips were closest. They managed to move so that while they discouraged Fazel from saying anything else, they stood with their teammate, facing Yousef. “That’s enough,” Lapointe ordered. Looking at Ramey and Jerry, he said, “It’s time to go.” Both officers nodded.

Embracing Yousef one last time, Shirin sighed and followed “Qassem.” They waited briefly, made sure the highway was empty, and hurried out to the roadside. Although it was early April, in the south it was already in the low twenties of degrees Centigrade. This close to the water, the southerly breeze was humid, but thankfully cool.

The Bandar Charak Road ran almost straight north-south here, two lanes of asphalt bordered by wide shoulders that blended with the surrounding landscape, sometimes almost seamlessly. It seemed flat, but as they walked, Shirin could see that the road cut through a series of low, gently sloping dunes.

Harry explained, “It’s a little less than two kilometers to the edge of town. We should get there in half an hour or so.”

“Fine, Qassem. So tell me about yourself. How old are you? Do I have any other in-laws?” Her tone was humorous, but she knew she was right. They were supposed to be family, even if only by marriage.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before the American answered. “We are not supposed to share personal information with the people we meet, but we are also taught that if we have to construct a legend, it’s best to stay close to the truth. I am twenty-eight.”

“So you’re Yousef’s older brother. Yousef is twenty-four. You have”— she paused for a moment—”had another brother, three years younger than Yousef, Ali. He was at university, but protested the 2009 elections and was arrested. He was killed in prison, by the Pasdaran.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard on Yousef and our parents.”

“Your father passed away several years before that. Your mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease earlier in 2009, and the loss of her younger son accelerated her decline. Ali was the only family Yousef had. That is why it is so important that the two remaining brothers should get along.” Her plea came from her eyes, as well as her voice.

Harry walked silently for several minutes. “Alright. Thank you for telling me about Ali. But why would Yousef join the Pasdaran if he felt that way?

“He was already in, and stayed because of me, and because leaving the Pasdaran without good reason is not always easy, or safe.”

They walked and worked out several more details of his life. She and Yousef had met in Shiraz, so it made sense that “Qassem” lived there. He was an army veteran who had joined the Basij, and was studying to be a paramedic.

“I’m probably in charge of giving first aid classes to my fellow Basij fighters.”

“Don’t take them lightly,” she warned sternly. “They don’t, and they’re a law unto themselves. Yousef wasn’t wrong about being careful.”

She was telling Harry about Shiraz when they reached the edge of town, with scattered houses stretching away from the road. The city limits were officially marked by a small traffic circle, busy but not crowded with traffic in the middle of the day. The center island was filled with carefully tended greenery.

A policeman stood at the edge of the circle, watching the traffic. He noticed the couple and waved. Fazel waved back and Shirin nodded politely.

Another road headed east from the circle, and they turned that way, doing their best to look like locals. Walking east past a soccer field, they turned south again. One- and two-story buildings, all built from the same tan brick, lined the street. The bare ground was dotted with dark green scrub, but no grass. Trees often grew in the houses’ courtyards, with the houses built to surround them.