H.M.S. Unseen

“Probably not. You guys are generally regarded as dangerous outlaws in the world community.”

“And soon we show them how dangerous, eh Ben?”

“Yes. Except they’ll think it’s Iraq.”

Both men laughed. They were the only passengers in the big, noisy military aircraft, as it thundered on to Bandar Abbas. But such was the deadly nature of their business, they still spoke in the guarded tones of strangers, despite having worked closely together in Tehran for more than three weeks. The two officers were already kindred spirits, mainly because of Ben Adnam’s certainty that it had been the U.S.A. that destroyed the three Iranian submarines.

Admiral Badr had been the project manager for the entire Kilo-Class program in 2002. He had been at his home in the Bandar Abbas dockyard when the American hit squad had struck, smashing all three of the Russian- built submarines onto the bottom of the harbor. For Admiral Badr it represented ten years of work in ruins. He was fortunate not to have been dismissed from the Navy, but the Ayatollahs liked the big, bespectacled submariner from the south-coast port of Bushehr, and he was held in great respect by his fellow admirals. No one in Iran knew more about submarines than Mohammed Badr. At least, not before Commander Adnam arrived.

In the months after the attack, the admiral had concluded, like almost everyone else in the Iranian Navy, that the American President had blamed the Ayatollahs for the loss of the Thomas Jefferson, and acted accordingly. But the Americans were wrong. Iran was innocent, and the gnawing desire for revenge against the Great Satan seemed only to grow with each passing month. Especially in the mind of the man most affected by the loss, Admiral Mohammed Badr.

For him, the sudden appearance of Benjamin Adnam represented a beacon of light in the murky waters of naval sabotage, that no-man’s-land of world politics, where no one admits anything; neither the criminal, for obvious reasons, nor the victim, for fear of humiliation.

But in this former Iraqi Intelligence officer, Admiral Badr could see a man with a plan — a plan of such monumental dimensions it would be a miracle if it worked. But the ex — Israeli submarine commander seemed coldly sure of his own abilities, and Iran had the money and the will to make it happen.

The admiral smiled again. It was a good-natured smile, indicating contentment with his new colleague and anticipation of the future.

“You know, Ben,” he said, “I really admired your planning for these missions. But one thing puzzles me. Why did you turn down their offer of becoming a rear admiral?”

“I suppose I’m a purist about some things. Remember, I earned my rank in the Israeli Navy. I was Commander Benjamin Adnam, and I was CO of a submarine. I’m very proud of that. And I’m proud of my rank. It does me honor, and I do not want to be a fraud admiral. I am Commander Adnam. I expect you heard me tell them I’d accept rear admiral when the project was successfully completed. Because then I will have earned it.”

“Very admirable,” replied Admiral Badr. “And now I have a question. I heard you say twice in that last meeting that the West believes you are dead? How can they? They don’t even know you? Who told them you were dead?”

“The Mossad, I expect. There was a pretty serious hunt for me after I deserted the Israeli Navy. But they thought they found me.”

“Can you explain that, Commander?”

“Well, I suppose I can now. Okay. This is what I did. I had known for many months a professional forger, an Egyptian who specialized in passports and official documents. He lived in Cairo. He did the most exquisite work… and I had used him often in the past. The strange thing was that he bore the most remarkable physical resemblance to me. Same height and build, same complexion. He even walked like me, the big difference being a very slight limp, and he always walked with a black cane with a silver top.

“And so, I set him up. Phoned him and asked him to meet me, privately, in a secluded place, at night, up in the precincts of the Citadel, on the southeast side of the city. There I would hand him a small attache case made of soft leather, in which were several documents I wanted him to copy for me. I would also hand him $300 in American currency as a down payment.

“I made the time 1930, because I knew he would walk straight down the hill to the mosque he attends every night at 2000. Then I called the Mossad in Tel Aviv and spoke to a duty officer. Told them I was a sympathetic member of the sayanim and that I had valuable information which would cost them $100,000 if it proved to be accurate. I gave them the number of a Swiss bank account, and told them I had many contacts, and that I might be able to inform them of important matters…but right now, however, my information was this…that the missing Israeli naval officer, Commander Benjamin Adnam, was to be kidnapped and interrogated that evening by an Iraqi hit squad. The Mossad had one chance, to take him out themselves on the dark and lonely lower part of the hill leading down to the Mosque of Sultan Mu’ayyad Sheikh.

“Obviously, I told them the man would be wearing Arab dress and walking with a slight limp, using a black cane with a silver top. Their men should wear Western suits and approach under the guise of Egyptian secret police, requesting to see his papers. I was working on the theory that a criminal such as this would carry no papers of his own. That would leave only the attache case, and right there it was up to them. Because in that case was every one of my most valuable documents…you know, Navy record, passport, driver’s license, birth certificate…not to mention my cigarette case and my precious Israeli submariner’s badge.

“After my own transaction was complete, I slipped away and followed the forger from a distance. I watched two men approach him and examine the contents of his briefcase. Then I watched one of them kill him instantly from behind with one shot from a silenced pistol. I watched them leave, taking the briefcase with them.

“It was ample evidence for the Mossad, and there was thus no doubt in their minds about who the dead man was. Someone found the body a few hours later, and the Egyptian police took over. But, of course, they knew nothing. There were no documents left on the corpse…. Two weeks later the Israelis sent$100,000 to my account in Geneva.”

Admiral Badr burst out laughing at the sheer brass of the scheme. “Ben, I guess a lot of people in Tel Aviv think you are dead.”

“Yessir. And they will undoubtedly have informed the Americans.”

“But Commander, what had you done, precisely, to make the United States so interested in you?”

“I don’t think I can reveal that. Except to say that I know your country had nothing to do with the elimination of that U.S. aircraft carrier.”

“My God, Ben. Was that you?”

But the Iraqi just smiled, and said, “Admiral, let’s look to the future…”

Admiral Badr, however, remained thoughtful. “Is your vision of the future the same as ours, Commander?”

“I believe so, sir. If you are referring to a general belief that one day the Nation of Islam must dominate the earth, to the everlasting glory of Allah.”

“That is our dream, Ben. That is our dream. And there are many of us in the military here in Iran who believe that the only way to achieve this aim is to cause chaos in the West.”

“You mean, sir, if we frighten them often enough, they may begin to fall apart?”

“I believe they will, Ben. Because unlike us, they are a Godless society. They have no central rallying point except money. In fact they have nothing except money. Their God is material possessions. They have no ideals.

“Great wars of the past have often been won behind a religious banner. But in this millennium, Allah alone can inspire brilliance and courage. Because Allah is great…and Allah is all-powerful…Allah makes us great…and when we attack, we attack behind his power, for a common cause. In the end, nothing can withstand us. Certainly not the infidels of the United States.

“We must strike hammerblows against them, over and over, until their will dissolves…as it must. Because they have no God. They are just overfed disciples of a lesser God — the God of money…and country clubs…and huge cars…and beautiful houses. But in the end they are nothing. Because they believe in nothing…and they have no true God. The Koran does not guide them. Nothing holy lights their way.

“They are the rampant heathens of the twenty-first century, sucking the world’s resources dry. Taking, grabbing, using, claiming the rights of other countries, treating our own Gulf of Iran as if it were theirs. But one day, we will rise up and claim what is ours, what has been ours for thousands of years. And when that day comes, the power of the United States will be returned, finally, to the Nation of Islam.”