Exit Plan (37 page)

~ * ~

They’d barely taken off when an Air Force tech sergeant said, “Ma’am, Senator, I’ve got an urgent video call from the White House Situation Room. They’re in contact with some people in Iran.”

Joanna almost leapt from her seat, with Lowell close behind her. The communications tech guided them to one side of a conference table in the midsection of the cabin. “The video conference camera will see you both,” he said, pressing a key. Then, speaking into his headset, he said, “Dr. Kirkpatrick, they’re both here.”

The communications tech pointed to one of the video screens. It showed Kirkpatrick in the situation room. A screen next to it showed her and Lowell, and she fought the urge to fix her hair. Men never notice anyway.

With Joanna on the move, Kirkpatrick had taken her place in the situation room. It was appropriate, considering that the problem was now much larger than a simple intelligence op. A war could start in the next few days, and the U.S. had to stop it, or be ready if they couldn’t.

“This is a secure line,” the technician announced.

“The president is still en route, but were going to start anyway,” Kirkpatrick announced. “Commander Mitchell’s position is not completely secure. Commander, are you still there?”

“We’re still here, sir.” Jerry’s disembodied voice wasn’t as strong as Kirkpatrick’s, and was overlaid with a little static.

“Jerry, it’s Joanna. What’s your status?” she asked. She tried, and failed, to hide her worry.

“Were safe for the moment, but our source’s contact was killed by the IRGC. We’re going to have to work up a new strategy to get out with
Michigan
.”

“We’re working with them as well,” Kirkpatrick added. “Joanna, I’ve explained your role to Commander Mitchell, and why I thought you should hear his information.”

President Myles appeared in the screen, and sat down next to Kirkpatrick. “Commander Mitchell, the president just joined us. Please tell him and Dr. Patterson what you told me a few moments ago.”

Jerry’s voice sounded intense, almost desperate. “The Iranians are deliberately provoking Israel into bombing Natanz. Our Iranian friend confirms that they aren’t even close to assembling a weapon. An Israeli attack gives them an excuse for their failure, and makes Israel the bad guy.”

Patterson didn’t respond immediately. In her mind, she walked through what they knew; it was entirely consistent with Jerry’s report. It made sense. “It explains Iran’s behavior, including several things that have happened in the last few days. I’m assuming you’ve been too busy to follow the news.”

Kirkpatrick shook his head “no” and added, “And there’s no hard proof, Commander? No files?”

“No files, sir. They have nothing that directly substantiates it. We’ve been transmitting for some time, now, sir,” he reminded Kirkpatrick. “There is some risk of detection.”

“Jerry,” Patterson interrupted. “Lowell is with me; we’re going to try and convince the Israelis to wait. To give us time to get all the data together that shows this is a deception.”

“So I’ve been told. Just don’t beat them bloody with the facts, Skipper,” joked Jerry. “We kind of need their cooperation.”

Patterson and Hardy both snickered at Jerry’s affectionate poke at his former commanding officer’s personality. “We’ll do our best, Jerry. But I won’t make any promises I can’t keep,” Hardy replied.

“Fair enough, sir.”

After a brief moment of silence, Kirkpatrick asked, “Joanna, any other questions? Mr. President?”

She shook her head, and then realized Jerry couldn’t see that. “Godspeed, Jerry.”

President Myles said, “Getting all of you and the information you have out of Iran is vital. Stay alive.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Out here.”

After Jerry signed off, Patterson spoke hurriedly. “Mr. President, before we break the connection, I have a question.”

“Yes, Joanna.”

“How much can we tell the Israelis?”

“Use your good judgment, Doctor,” Myles answered. “But also use your discretion. Like Ray said, we don’t have direct proof, and Opal’s information only makes sense if you believe they don’t have a weapon to test. Their intelligence plays by different rules.”

Hardy nodded. “They’ve got a lower threshold of proof. If they make a mistake, they could cease to exist as a nation. With an outcome like that, they are far more willing to shoot first and ask the hard questions later.” Myles added. “And they’ve got an attitude as well. Their intelligence people are good, and most of them think we’re not as good.”

“At least this validates your decision, Mr. President,” Kirkpatrick observed.

“Only if you accept that they’re not close to assembling a weapon,” Myles insisted. “There are people in my own administration who won’t buy this theory. And the only way we can prove it is to get our people out of Iran. Make it happen, Ray.”

~ * ~

Rahim paced impatiently in his makeshift office. He was starving for information. It had been over five hours since he ordered the coastwide alert and arrests of Seyyed and Mehry Naseri. The Shiraz office had responded quickly. Naseri’s mother was in custody and pleaded ignorance. Her questioning was underway.

Despite numerous calls to Tehran, all he knew about Seyyed Naseri’s arrest was that the Pasdaran had been ordered to raid his home. What were the results? Was the uncle in custody?

His last call to headquarters, an hour and a half earlier, had been a waste of time. All the desk officer could say was that two agents from the Bandar Abbas office, Omid and Sattari, had left for Bandar Charak shortly after the alert had been received. They had to drive to Bandar Charak and the earliest they could have been on the scene was sometime around 1500. No reports as yet had been received, but the desk officer assured him that he would be contacted as soon as any information was available. Rahim had slammed down the phone into its cradle, cursing the overly centralized command structure of the Iranian security services.

In a way, it was worse than no news. Rahim was not pleased to hear that Omid had been sent to Bandar Charak. The man was far too emotional and his legendary temper had affected his judgment in the past. He was also known to hold grudges against those who crossed him, something Rahim had done on numerous occasions.

Would Omid put his feud with him ahead of his duties to the Islamic Republic? It was a possibility, but Rahim didn’t think so. For all his faults, Omid was also passionate about protecting the homeland of the Islamic Revolution. He would fulfill his obligations, Rahim thought, and work with him, even if Omid really didn’t want to.

Dahghan had the misfortune of walking into Rahim’s office soon after the phone call, to deliver the final autopsy report. Without warning, the major exploded on his assistant, venting his frustration, and ordered him to personally contact the local Basij militia commander and demand a progress report. He would not tolerate being ignored any longer. The surprised young agent was highly motivated to carry out his new orders, and hurriedly left the office, the autopsy report still in his hands.

Sometime later, a knock at the door snapped Rahim out of his brooding. “Sir, I have the report from Mullah Dashani that you wanted,” Dahghan said warily.

“About time,” growled Rahim. “What does our venerable Basij commander have to say?”

Dahghan ignored the sarcasm and read the report as received over the phone. “Mullah Dashani says the additional security checkpoints have been established on both sides of Bandar Kangan, as well as on the eastern side of Deyyer. All vehicles traveling on Highway 96 have been stopped and searched since 1400 this afternoon. There has been a constant Basij presence at both harbors since Thursday, and every vessel is searched before being allowed to depart. There has been no sign of Akbari or Naseri at the checkpoints, or in Kangan or Deyyer. There has also been no trace of their vehicle. Extensive searches of the beaches along a forty-kilometer front have not produced any additional bodies or debris.”

Rahim rested his head in his right hand as he listened to Dahghan, analyzing the information he was hearing. The trail had gone cold. The two traitors were no longer in Kangan, of this he was certain, but where did they go? Were they on board the American submarine when it sank? Oh, if only Allah would be so gracious.

Dahghan concluded the report with a request from Dashani, asking how long Rahim would like the security checkpoints to be in place.

Annoyed by the mullah’s request, Rahim ignored it and shot back, “Is that all?”

“Ah, no . . . sir,” replied Dahghan, his voice sounded nervous. “Mullah Dashani admitted that he discussed coordinating checkpoints with Mullah Bahar, the commander of the Tahari Basij Brigade yesterday afternoon.”

Rahim stifled a groan, and rubbed his face as Dahghan relayed the Tahari Brigade’s report. He’d asked Dashani to keep this whole thing quiet, but that discussion had been overtaken by events. Still, it irritated him greatly that people didn’t seem to take him seriously when he asked for something. He was considering what “corrective guidance” he would administer, when Dahghan said something that suddenly caught his attention. “. . . and Mullah Bahar is concerned that one of his patrols has failed to return. The men did not show up for their muster this afternoon, and inquiries showed they had not returned from their patrol earlier this morning. A search is underway to try and find them.”

“What? Repeat that last part,” demanded Rahim. The assistant read again the part about the missing patrol. Rahim was more than curious. Could it be merely a coincidence that a Basij patrol disappears during the same time frame when the two traitors may have fled the area? He didn’t believe in coincidences.

“When was this patrol taking place?” he asked, his voice was tense.

“Between midnight and 0600 today, sir,” replied Dahghan.

“Where?”

“They were patrolling a twenty-five-kilometer section of Highway 96 north of Bandar Tahari.”

“How many men?”

“Four, sir. One corporal and three privates.”

“Why wasn’t this reported earlier?” Rahim asked with disdain.

Dahghan gulped quietly. He was afraid to answer that question. “This brigade’s policy is that if the patrol does not discover anything significant, the members can go straight home and sleep, then report when they muster in the afternoon.”

Rahim rubbed his face again, desperately fighting the urge to laugh. Such laxness was simply incomprehensible, almost comical. “Militia,” he finally whispered to himself. After a brief pause, Rahim straightened and spoke firmly. “Dahghan, get a vehicle. We leave for Bandar Tahari immediately.”

“Yes, Major. At once,” responded the young agent, who literally ran out of the office.

Rahim grabbed his holster, jacket, and cap and quickly put them on. He had just started walking toward the door when the phone on the desk began ringing. Grabbing the handset, he answered tersely, “Major Rahim.”

“Major, Agent Mahdipur at headquarters. I have the initial report from the Bandar Abbas agents.”

“Excellent. Is Naseri in custody?” asked Rahim impatiently.

“Agent Sattari reports that the Pasdaran raid was a ‘bungled disaster.”‘

“Go on,” he prodded. Rahim’s expectations sank with every word Mahdipur spoke.

“Two squads of Pasdaran soldiers responded to the arrest order. The occupants violently resisted arrest with automatic weapons and hand grenades. The first assault was repulsed. The second assault was successful and the house was taken at 1355.” Rahim closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaped from his lips. He already knew what Mahdipur was going to say next.