Exit Plan Read online

  Facing the assembly, Guthrie offered a final opportunity for comment. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Frederickson. “Captain, I’d like to request restricted access to the BMC and missile compartment lower level to enable my guys to properly prepare for this mission.”

  Guthrie had seen SEALs go into a similar isolation mode in the past. It helped the SEALs mentally prepare for a mission. He thought it was a little strange, but it was their way and it did seem to bear fruit. “Granted, Travis. Only the navigator, Mr. Carlson, the XO, and myself will have access. Everyone else has to get your permission. Jerry, make sure you pass the word.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,”

  “Thank you, Captain,” responded Frederickson.

  “Alright, people, we have a job to do, so get hot,” ordered Guthrie.

  Everyone in control clearly heard the SEALs. “HOOYAH, Skipper!”

  ~ * ~

  4

  SORTIE

  2 April 2013

  1005 Local Time/1505 Zulu

  The White House

  Joanna Patterson concentrated on staying two steps behind the national security advisor. Ray Kirkpatrick was shorter than her by a good six inches, but he walked fast, and she worked to keep up. They were a little late, and that only added to her adrenaline level.

  She knew the West Wing very well, and had been in the Oval Office dozens of times, but this was a new job, with a new administration, and of course, a new boss—two new bosses if you counted Dr. Kirkpatrick. A close friend of President Myles, he’d been a deputy undersecretary of defense in the Huber administration. It was a big jump from deputy of whatever to national security advisor, but Kirkpatrick had made a name for himself. Energetic, almost to a fault, with good communications skills and ambition, he’d transformed his little acre in the Pentagon from a disaster to “a model of efficiency,” according to the cover of Pentagon Weekly. Kirkpatrick also understood the value of good press.

  Getting the briefing perfect had taken a few minutes too long. They arrived almost breathless, five minutes late, but the president’s secretary waved them inside. “You’re not the last. We’re still waiting for Admiral Hughes.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. McDowell.” Kirkpatrick headed inside and Patterson followed. A memory, of going to the dean’s office with a professor to ask for a grant, flashed in her mind.

  She’d only met President Kenneth Myles a few times, and then only briefly, without getting a real chance to talk with him. She’d enjoyed a long relationship with President Huber, based on their common advocacy of environmental issues. Her relationship with the new president was based on a glowing recommendation from Huber and a vetting by the Myles transition team.

  The room was crowded, in her opinion much more than necessary. The secretaries of state and defense waited near the president. It seemed like half the U.S. Intelligence apparatus was in the room: General Duvall, Chairman of the National Intelligence Council was here, as well as his boss, Gregory Alexander, the Director of National Intelligence, and Dr. Randall Foster, Director of the CIA. The military side included the secretary of defense, chairman of the joint chiefs, and General Ramsdale, head of Special Operations Command. Too many people drew too much attention and too much talk.

  The president was speaking to the Secretary of State, Andrew Lloyd. Lloyd was an old-school diplomat, with over thirty years of experience in the state department. Myles’s vice president had been picked to balance the ticket, but Lloyd was Myles’s closest political ally. He’d helped shape the president’s foreign policy platform before the election, as well as taking state after the inauguration. They’d been friends for decades, sharing interests in Asian history and Italian cooking.

  President Myles had taught in Asian studies and written extensively before becoming involved in foreign policy, and then politics. He had the gravitas of a scholar, with a shock of snow-white hair that the political cartoonists loved, over an angular face with a strong jaw. Politically, he was more pro-business than many Democrats would like, but Patterson approved of his environmental record, and he’d said all the right things about national security. This would be his first real test.

  Admiral Hughes, the Chief of Naval Operations, hurried in and took a seat next to the General Dewhurst, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  “We have a quorum, gentleman, and we’re ten minutes late,” Myles’s chief of staff announced. “Dr. Foster, please begin.”

  The CIA director s tone was grim. “Good morning Mr. President, ladies, and gentlemen. Nothing has changed since the initial briefing last week. There has been no indication of what happened to Pilot, who was supposed to convey Opal out of Iran to our agents in Kuwait. To the best of our knowledge, Opal is still safe and is following the instructions we provided for the backup extraction plan. Contact with Opal has been irregular since the loss of Pilot. It is possible that Pilot has been arrested, but we have no proof either way. While he had no information on Opal’s identity, Pilot did have instructions for making contact and extracting someone. If he’s been compromised, VEVAK knows we’re trying to get someone important out of Iran.

  “How important?” Secretary Lloyd’s question had an edge to it.

  “For several years, Opal has provided detailed, consistent information on the progress of the Iranian nuclear program. Two weeks ago Opal asked that he and his wife be extracted, saying he had urgent information, but that he feared discovery. ‘They’re closing in’ were his words,” Foster added.

  The CIA director explained, “Opal’s information is especially important now, because it could resolve the conflict between recent intelligence, including imagery, indicating they’re preparing to test a device, and our past information, which had them years away from making a weapon.”

  “In other words,” Lloyd suggested, “Opal will provide cover for your failure to notice they’ve built a bomb.”

  Duvall interrupted. His tone was hard, but he kept his voice calm. “We have conflicting information, which we are reviewing carefully. It would be nice to give you a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, Mr. President, but it would be intellectually dishonest.” He was staring straight at Lloyd, who remained silent, but stared back.

  “Opal’s information is our best bet for understanding their true status. We also owe it to Opal to get him and his wife out if we can.” Myles nodded at the last point.

  “Sounds like a setup to me,” Lloyd responded cynically. “We haven’t had a lot of success with defecting Iranians. Opal could have been a plant from the start, feeding you false information that you swallowed whole. Now, even as they’re preparing to test a weapon, Opal suddenly has ‘urgent’ data that will confuse us and delay any action by us. And we have to go get it. They’ve already rolled up one of our agents, and this gives the Iranians a perfect opportunity to create an incident, with us as the villains.”

  Duvall answered quickly and sharply. “Maybe. But we can’t leap to conclusions. First, only a fool relies on a sole source of intelligence. As I said earlier, Opal’s information has been consistent with other information we’ve gathered. Second—”

  “Then why are they drilling a hole in the ground?” demanded Lloyd angrily.

  “That is what General Duvall is trying to find out,” President Myles answered. “Andy, we aren’t going to resolve this question today. Ray, what’s Plan B for Opal?”

  Kirkpatrick answered, “I’m going to ask Dr. Joanna Patterson to brief you. She will be the action officer for this operation. She’s familiar with submarine operations and the technological issues.”

  Joanna didn’t stand up. It was too intimate a setting, and besides, many men felt threatened by a tall woman. She ignored the others in the room and spoke directly to the president. “It’s really a variation of the original plan. Without going into too much detail, Pilot planned to smuggle Opal out by boat. Since we’ve lost Pilot, we will use a different boat. USS Michigan is in the theater and has a detachment of SEALs embarked, and is
carrying a minisub. We need to use subs because the coast is heavily patrolled by IRGC Navy small craft.

  “Michigan will make a submerged approach to the thirty-fathom line, a point approximately eight nautical miles off the coast, by the port city of Bandar Kangan, then launch the Advanced SEAL Delivery System, or ASDS minisub. It will close to within a few hundred yards from the shoreline—really, almost shouting distance. The SEALs will leave the ASDS while it’s submerged, swim ashore, rendezvous with Opal, and bring him and his wife back to the minisub. The SEALs, Opal, and his spouse will swim back on the surface to the ASDS, which will broach as they approach so that the swimmers can use the upper hatch. Once on board, the ASDS will rendezvous with Michigan, dock, and we’re done. It’s a simple plan, but simpler is always better.”

  “Simple, except for the part about commandos and nuclear submarines,” answered Myles, smiling. “I assume this is being done at night?”

  Patterson answered, “Actually, sir, we’re recommending the end of nautical twilight, or last light. While the SEALs prefer to operate at night, the civilians will need some daylight to find their way to the rendezvous point. And late-night activity on the coast can draw attention from passing patrols. The SEALs are trained to handle that, but the civilians are not. However, a couple out for a stroll on the beach during the evening glow is not an unusual event, even in Iran.”

  “How long will the SEALs be exposed?” asked Secretary of Defense Springfield.

  “If Opal is at the right place, at the right time, ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Even with civilians, the use of GPS significantly increases the chances of a quick rendezvous. Opal has a GPS device and he knows how to use it.”

  “And if they’re discovered?” asked Myles.

  “They run back to the water, hopefully with Opal, and leave,” Patterson answered. “They only risk exposure when they actually leave the water to make contact, and if bad guys are in sight, they just won’t go ashore.”

  She added, “CENTCOM will have an RC-135 SIGINT aircraft on standing patrol in the gulf. It will monitor radio and phone transmissions in the area. They’re also tasking a medium-endurance UAV to monitor the rendezvous point. If either one sees anything amiss, we can warn the SEALs off.”

  Myles looked at his notepad. “What’s the thirty-fathom curve?”

  She answered, “The line on the chart where the water depth becomes less than thirty fathoms, a hundred and eighty feet. Nuclear subs can’t maneuver well in shallow water, especially ones as big as Michigan.”

  “How far is that line out from shore?” the president asked.

  “At that part of the coast, a little over eight nautical miles, sir.” Opening her folio, she took out a map and handed it to the president. “This shows the route of Michigan and the proposed pick-up point. This is Bandar Kangan, the nearest major city—really no more than a small town.” Myles nodded and returned the sheet. She quickly put it away, and did not show the map to anyone else in the room.

  “There is a risk,” Lloyd insisted. “If the Iranians discover us in their waters, they’d consider it an act of war.”

  “They won’t find Michigan or the ASDS,” the SECDEF replied confidently. “The Iranian Navy operates to the east of the Strait of Hormuz, in the Gulf of Oman. The IRGC Navy has responsibility for operations inside the gulf, and they have no antisubmarine warfare capability whatsoever.

  Hughes and Ramsdale both nodded in agreement, but Lloyd didn’t look satisfied.

  “Why does Michigan have to go into Iranian territorial waters?” Myles asked.

  Patterson answered, “To shorten the run for the ASDS.”

  “Could the ASDS travel the distance if Michigan stayed outside the twelve-mile limit?” he asked.

  Joanna paused, considering a moment before answering. “Yes, sir. It has a range of a hundred and twenty-five nautical miles at five knots.”

  “So a total run of what?—twenty-five or thirty miles, is well within its abilities, and at least Michigan is in the clear. Will it affect the timing of the operation?”

  Patterson studied her notes. “Not significantly, sir. Michigan will be on station well before the ASDS is launched. It will double their time inside the ASDS, but it’s ‘dry,’ so fatigue isn’t the problem it was with earlier vehicles.”

  “Then is there any other reason to put a nuclear submarine inside Iranian waters?”

  Patterson looked at Kirkpatrick, Hughes, and Ramsdale. They’d built the plan together but had never considered keeping Michigan back. They all looked unhappy, but nobody spoke.

  “Then change the plan so that Michigan remains outside Iranian territorial waters. Also, add in a slight buffer to guard against any navigation errors,” Myles ordered.

  “We’re still violating their territory,” Kirkpatrick reminded him.

  “I understand that, Ray, but perceptions are important. And in this instance, there is a very big difference between the ASDS and a very large cruise missile-armed nuclear submarine.”

  Patterson nodded, making notes. “We’ll make the change immediately.”

  “It would be better if we didn’t have to send anyone into their territory,” Lloyd insisted. “If we’re discovered, the Iranians will turn it into a major incident.”

  “Like they need an excuse,” the SECDEF muttered.

  “Let’s not hand them one,” Lloyd countered, annoyed. “Imagine the propaganda campaign if they capture U.S. commandos lured ashore by someone pretending to be an American agent.”

  The SECDEF shook his head. “They don’t show themselves until it’s clear, and they’ll only be on the beach for ten or fifteen minutes. Mr. President, I agree with Ray and his people. Either we do this, and accept the low risk, or lose Opal and the information he carries. And what about the propaganda coup if VEVAK arrests Opal?”

  Lloyd persisted. “I’m assuming there’s nobody else in Iran—anywhere— that we can use to get Opal out of the country.”

  Patterson started to answer, but Foster broke in. “That was our first choice, Mr. Secretary, but again, without giving too much detail, Opal’s movements are being watched. We are using this secondary plan,” Foster said, emphasizing the word, “because my people don’t have any safe way to get him and his wife out quickly.” He motioned toward Hughes and Rams-dale. “When we couldn’t do it, we asked the Navy and SOCOM to help.”

  The CIA director turned back to Patterson. “Michigan will be on station by 1600 hours local time tomorrow. With your approval to proceed, the operation will start about an hour later. By this time on Thursday, Opal should be safe and the information should be in our hands.”

  Myles and Patterson both scanned the room. Lloyd looked unhappy, and Duvall grim, but there we no dissenters. “All right, Dr. Patterson, gentlemen, proceed with the operation.”

  ~ * ~

  South of Shiraz

  Bushehr Province, Iran

  They headed south on Highway 65, another couple on an excursion to Bandar Kangan. They’d made reservations for three nights at a modest hotel near the ocean. After a drive to the coast and lunch in Bandar Tahari, Shirin and Yousef would explore some of the ancient Persian ruins before arriving in Bandar Kangan by midafternoon. The next day, they’d visit a national park farther down the coast before beginning the return trip home.

  Shirin’s mother, Mehry, had completely approved. “You spend too much time indoors, Shirin. Maybe underground, if the stories I’ve heard are true.”

  “Mother, please don’t repeat rumors.”

  “Go. Take walks by the ocean. Get some fresh air. We’ll have plenty of time to visit later.”

  So they’d made their plans and left Mehry’s home, a little later than planned, because their car had developed some sort of mechanical fault that Yousef couldn’t fix. They’d intended to get on the road early, and none of the garages were open, so Mehry traded cars with them. Shirin had protested. “Mother, what will you use?”

  “I’ll ring Yashar once his garage is open. I
’m sure he can come round today and fix it.” Yousef and Shirin had a Chinese-made Cowin, their first purchase as a married couple. It was a little extravagant, and much nicer than her mother’s twelve-year-old Peykan.

  It had taken only moments to shift their luggage, and they drove off, only half an hour behind schedule.

  Shirin kept it inside until they were outside of town. They’d driven silently for a while, each with their own thoughts. Finally, Yousef said, “It’s good we can leave her with the Cowin. It’s a much better car. . . .”

  And she’d started to cry. Clutching Yousef s arm as he drove, she sobbed into his shoulder, breathing in gasps. All her worries, the fear, and the grief of parting poured out of her. She tried to speak, and Yousef did his best to listen, but he could understand only a word here and there. One question barely squeaked out, “Will she be safe?”