Exit Plan (51 page)

“And if I’d had half a brain, I would have ignored you. All my training, all my instincts, said to get Vern out of there, and instead I screwed up. Look what’s happened now: The mission’s been exposed, and the only way we get Vern back is by telling how he got there, which we won’t do.”

“Trying to get Higgs out of the ASDS would have taken both of us, and the battery packs were already exploding as I pushed you out the hatch. It was the right decision then and it’s even more so now,” Jerry insisted forcefully. “Imagine the effect on the mission if one or both of us had been hurt, or lost.”

“Oh, yeah, the mission,” Ramey answered caustically. “And it’s gone so well. We’ve lost half the precious cargo, my LPO is crippled, and we’re trapped in enemy territory.”

There it was. Loss of a friend, loss of a comrade, loss of a mission, all eating away at Ramey’s insides. SEALs were all about control—controlling the situation and controlling their own feelings. But Ramey was a pressure cooker. Maybe he was trying too hard, or maybe he just had too much on his plate. That much emotion had to come out somewhere. Ramey’s had come out aimed at Jerry.

“All I hear is bullshit,” Jerry answered angrily, his patience threadbare. “You can grieve all you want once we’re back on the boat. Right now we need to focus on getting out of here.”

“Let it go, Boss.” Lapointe’s voice was just as hard, more critical than Jerry’s. “The XO’s right. It sucks big-time, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s right.” He turned to Jerry and asked, “Sir, could you please take over lookout from Philly?”

Wordlessly, Jerry nodded and changed places with Phillips. Lapointe, sitting with his back against a tree, started to stand, and with Fazel and Philly helping him, got up. All four SEALs headed away from Jerry, deeper into the trees. This was SEAL business.

Jerry kept his attention focused outside the grove. The SEALs spoke quietly, but they hadn’t gone far enough away to mask the sound of their voices. The tone of the conversation was stern, with the occasional hard word, but sometimes challenging.

Seeing Ramey’s grief brought back Jerry’s own experience. He’d been navigator on a boat that had collided with another submarine. The fault lay with the other skipper, and Jerry’s own crew had been completely cleared. Not only was it not their fault, there was nothing they could have done to avoid the collision.

But men had died on both vessels. Jerry had been present, with some small influence over the situation—but not nearly enough to prevent a tragedy. Was it pride that kept asking “What if?” even when the situation was beyond your control? Should you be punished for failing when there was nothing that could be done? For some people, being at fault was better than being helpless.

A few minutes later the SEALs came back with Ramey in the lead. Swallowing hard, his jaw was tense. He walked straight over to Jerry. “You were right. It was your call to make. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy about it, but this isn’t about what makes me happy. I let you all down, and I apologize. It won’t happen again.” He made it a point to look at everyone as he said it. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

~ * ~

Dr. Yaniv Revach, the head of Mossad, met them in the hall. “I was in a meeting when word of your arrival reached me.” He waved off the escort. “I have them from here.”

A uniformed aide came to attention as they followed Revach into his office. He closed the door with a look to his assistant that made it clear they were not to be disturbed. Motioning toward a comfortable-looking couch, he sat down wearily. “This room is one of the most private places on Earth. We will not be recorded, and nothing you say will leave here, I promise.”

Patterson didn’t keep him waiting. “It’s bad news, Doctor. We received word that our people in Iran had to abort their escape plan. They’re still relatively safe, but they’ll need a new way to get out of Iran.”

Revach didn’t say anything, but got out of his chair and walked over to a large map of Iran that almost covered one wall of his office. “After our talk earlier today I asked our signals intelligence people to report any unusual communications traffic in the area of southern Iran. You can understand that this meant reassigning resources that were involved in other tasks.”

Both Americans nodded. “I’m sure your Iran section has been very busy,” Hardy said.

“It didn’t take them long,” Revach told them. He ran his hand along the Persian Gulf coast of Iran. “Pasdaran and Basij units from Bushehr to Bandar Abbas have been mobilized, and alerts for a”—he paused to look at a paper on his desk—”Yousef Akbari and Shirin Naseri have been circulated to every police barracks in the southern provinces. There are reports of firefights, with heavy casualties among the Iranian forces.”

He sat down again. “In a way, it’s helped. We saw so much signal traffic we were worried it might relate to our own activities, or to some asymmetric plan the Iranians were preparing, but it’s just an all-out manhunt for your fugitives. This is them, isn’t it, Akbari and Naseri?”

“Yes, that’s them,” Hardy admitted. He looked over at Joanna, and then explained, “They had hoped to steal an aircraft at an airfield near Bandar Lengeh, but at the last moment the airfield’s defenses were heavily reinforced.”

Revach nodded knowingly. “Our analysis indicates that they will find it the same anywhere they go. It is unlikely that we will be looking at the files on your flash drive any time soon.”

“Our people are very resourceful,” Patterson insisted. “I’m sure that they will have another plan very soon. Look at how long they’ve evaded capture so far.”

Revach shook his head. “I must disagree. If they had trouble getting out of Iran before, it will be considerably harder now.” He smiled. “Yes, they have stayed free, but also left destruction in their wake.”

The director stood again, and paced, as if impatient. “This is disappointing news. This affair will probably end badly, for them, or the United States, and possibly for both. Your government should make the necessary preparations.”

“As long as they’re free, there’s a chance,” Patterson insisted. “We’ll keep you informed, every step of the way…”

“No, Dr. Patterson. We agreed to delay any hypothetical operation, and there will be no operation today. However, preparations for tomorrow must begin soon. Hypothetically, of course.”

Hardy stated, “Dr. Revach, if Israel attacks, you will be doing exactly what the Iranians want.”

“So you said earlier, based on information you haven’t even seen. Mossad has more rigorous standards.”

“We can’t let you do this,” Hardy insisted. “Another war will not solve your problems.”

“What will you do, take away my car keys?” Revach’s voice hardened. “We are not drunk, and we are a sovereign nation. Many Muslim countries think we are your cat’s paw. Don’t believe the lie yourself.”

“I cannot predict what the political cost to Israel will be in the U.S., how the U.S. public and Congress will react.”

“More threats, Senator? We kept our end of the agreement. You failed to do your part.”

Patterson and Hardy both absorbed the harsh words. Hardy’s answer was just as harsh. “I believe we will get our people and the information out of Iran, and I believe it will prove that Iran does not have any nuclear devices. If we release the information after your raid, it will show Israel acted rashly, that Israel refused to listen. And with Natanz destroyed—nobody doubts that you can level the place—there will be no way to prove who was right.”

“So if we act in our own self-defense, you would undermine us? Stab us in the back? Israel has stood alone before. Maybe in the end, we are always alone. Tell your president that Israel will act as it sees fit, and will remember others’ actions as well.”

Revach added, “Since your purpose in coming here has been accomplished, there is no further need for you to remain in Israel. Leave without delay.” He opened the door, and his aide was standing outside, accompanied by two security guards.

Silently, the two Americans left, with the aide leading the way and the two guards in back. They stayed with Patterson and Hardy all the way to the lobby. Their car was waiting, and Joanna found herself glad to see her security detail, just to look at a friendly face.

As they drove away, a sense of failure washed over her. She grasped Lowell’s hand. His face was a grim as she’d ever seen. “I’ve never been declared persona non grata,” he said. “Doesn’t feel very good.”

“I don’t like it either,” she answered. “I’ve never had a whole country mad at me before.” It was supposed to be a joke, but she could not make herself laugh. “What do we do now?”

“We tell the president we failed,” Hardy answered bluntly. “That the Israelis are emotionally committed to attacking a blood enemy. That we have pissed them off, and that we’ll probably have to make them even madder before they will stop. It’s time for tough love.”

~ * ~

Ramey wouldn’t stop talking about the airfield, and despite his earlier assessment, kept looking for cracks in the defenses. “I’ve memorized the layout, and no defense is perfect. We find the hole and we’re in and then gone. We use one Cormorant to create a diversion some distance away. That draws off some of them, then we use the second one to blast a hole in the airfield’s defenses and get a plane out of here.”

“Boss, the Cormorant can only carry eight rockets,” Phillips said from his lookout position. “It’s too big a fight even if some of the defenders are pulled. . . .
Everybody down and freeze!”

They’d actually practiced what to do, and Jerry half-rolled into a hole right next to him, pulling a carefully selected branch over himself. The others did the same, except for Phillips, who was observing from a concealed position to begin with. “I’ve got a helicopter, low, to the northwest. It’s going to pass by about a klick away.”

“Type?” asked Ramey.

“It’s a gunship. A Huey, of all things,” Phillips answered.

“Iranians have a ton of them,” Fazel added.

“Night vision or IR sights?”

“Not according to the specs, Boss, but anything’s possible.” Jerry could almost hear Harry shrugging his shoulders. Jerry agreed. Even if the helicopter didn’t have night sights, the gunner could just use a handheld night-scope. He would.

The aircraft did not change course or speed. It flew off to the east, staying low. Within a few minutes the sound faded, and then the machine’s navigation lights disappeared.

“I bet it was heading for the air base,” Fazel suggested.

“I have never been this popular before, and I don’t think I like it at all,” Phillips observed.

“That’s it, we’re going for a boat,” Jerry said.

“XO, are you sure about that?” Fazel asked. Concern filled his question.

“Absolutely not!” Ramey countered. “We go for the airfield.”

“What does heading inland do for us?” Phillips asked. “They know we’re trying to go south. If we go north, the net won’t be as tight.”

“But we’re farther from
Michigan.
No help from the CENTCOM UAVs or the Cormorant.”

“And there will still be roadblocks, tougher ones,” added Fazel.

“And it would take too long,” Jerry finished. “While I regard our personal survival as an important goal, there are larger matters at stake. I don’t know Israel’s time line, but we’ve got to get Shirin’s information out of Iran as soon as possible. What if the war starts tomorrow while we’re sitting here, or fighting another Pasdaran patrol?”

“The quickest way out of Iran is a boat,” Fazel answered. “We go to the nearest harbor and swipe the fastest boat. There’s a harbor two klicks from here. To quote T. E. Lawrence, ‘It’s just a matter of going. ‘“

Ramey smiled. “Did T. E. Lawrence mention how to deal with the Pasdaran patrol boats?” In spite of his smile, the lieutenant’s tone was serious. “That’s been a nonstarter since the first night.”