“Did you see this report, Admiral. The one just in.”
“Not yet, Ben. What’s it say?”
“It’s brief, from the security chief out on the main gate to the new dock. It reads:
In accordance with your instructions, I am reporting on two men we turned away at 1052 this morning for having incorrect identification passes. One of them was an office executive, Abbas Velayati, who has some clearance but not enough to enter the site. The other was a VIP guest with a correct pass, but again without clearance to the site. He said he was from Ukraine. I believe both men may be found in the procurement office, according to Velayati’s identification pass.
“We must place them under immediate arrest,” snapped Admiral Badr. “Neither of them could have any reason for going out there except to snoop around. We should interrogate them both. Harshly.”
“I would be inclined to do none of that,” replied Commander Adnam. “In fact I’d prefer to do the exact opposite. I think we should apologize for treating a guest here in such a brusque manner, then issue the correct documents for them to go out and visit the new dock, and even the model room…perhaps at around 1800 when the day shift is packing up. Then we can shoot them both. It would save a lot of time…and we would be confident our secrets were safe.”
“My God, Ben. You mean I should instruct one of the guards to execute them?”
“Absolutely not. Say nothing to anyone. I intend to deal with them myself. Out by the new pumping station… in my new capacity as tour guide. I believe they’re pouring the concrete foundation in the morning. Most convenient, don’t you think?”
“Bad news I’m afraid, Admiral,” said Jeff Austin, even before he pulled up a chair to Admiral Morgan’s desk.
“Lay it on me.”
“We’ve had a disaster in Bandar Abbas. Lost two men, one of them our only insider in the Naval base; the other one’s Tom Partridge, senior field officer, speaks Russian and Iranian. They both disappeared five days ago.”
“Where?”
“Out at the base. Our man at Abbas got Tom in, on some kind of a VIP pass, and neither of them have been seen since. The Iranian’s wife has kicked up a huge fuss, but the military police say they have no knowledge of anything. They say both men left the base at the regular time. The civilian police say it is nothing to do with them. My guess is they were both caught, and shot.”
“Jesus Christ, Jeff. That’s bad. Did it get in the papers out there?”
“Not a word. Ever since that building got started, the security’s been cast-iron. We have a man in the local newspaper, and he knows absolutely nothing. Nor is he planning to investigate. We only found out when both men missed their check calls, two days after they went missing.”
“Hmmmmm. We better sit on this for a few days. See if anything pops up. One thing we do know…they’re pretty damned touchy down there, whatever the hell it is they’re up to.”
“Okay, Ben. We got a communication back from Moscow. They’ve agreed to sell us the systems…four of the new SA-N-6 Grumble Rifs…the one you suggested in the first place. It took ’em long enough…and it’s not cheap… $300 million, including 50 SAMs.”
“All of those Russian missiles are pretty reliable. I’d say a 95 percent chance of a successful launch and flight. Kill probability depends on target maneuvers and countermeasures. But this one is very fast, hits Mach-2.5– 1,700 mph — almost immediately. It’s good to altitude 90,000 feet. Carries a 90kg warhead. The export version may need minor modification.”
“Are the Russians using ’em?”
“Uh-huh. I think they’re replacing a lot of the old SA-N-3s with them. I read somewhere they completely tested it on one of those old Kara-Class cruisers. The
“Well, Ben, I think we can look forward to something in the next month. This system is fairly new, and it’s in production, and we are very good customers. All four of them are coming on a freighter, direct from the Black Sea, and through the canal. According to this, it will clear Sevastopol in four weeks, pending receipt of our money.”
“They do not, of course, have the slightest idea why we are buying Grumble-type surface-to-air missiles?”
“No. They do not. We told them we live in fear of an air strike against us from the U.S.A. We require the missiles strictly for anti-aircraft defensive purposes, to protect our navy base here in Bandar Abbas. These things could take out an incoming American fighter bomber…and the Russians had no reason to question us further. Anyway, I think they’ll take the money from anyone these days.”
The admiral looked at his watch. “Ben, we have to go. The flight’s taking off in a half hour.”
“Since we’re the only passengers, I expect they’ll wait for us,” the commander said, smiling. But he stood up, quickly tidied his desk, checked out with security downstairs, and joined Admiral Badr on the upstairs landing.
One of the disciples opened the side door to the courtyard for the two Naval officers. He touched his left hand to his forehead and brought it down in an elegant arc. “Admiral,” he said, nodding with respect. And to Ben he added, “Good afternoon, Mr. Dundee,” barely suppressing his overwhelming joy at the keenness of his wit. Commander Adnam smiled, turned to the admiral, and said, “Sir, in the Royal Navy that would be described as an in joke.”
They walked past the fountain and into the cool stone-floored room in which the Ayatollah sat, accompanied by the
The Ayatollah was anxious to begin, but he did not rush into the most pressing aspect of the discussion. Instead, he began carefully, summarizing the progress report he had received from the top-secret project down on the south coast.
He confirmed that he understood the team had been selected from among the best men in the Navy. The dry dock was just about complete and would be flooded inside ten days, and the new missile system would leave the Black Sea on a freighter within a matter of days. Everything was slightly ahead of schedule, and there had been no serious outside inquiries as to the nature of the operation, save for two CIA spies who had tried and failed to gain entrance to the building site.
For all of this he congratulated his admiral and his new commander. But then his face took on a look of concern, and he spoke very quietly. “Commander Adnam,” he said, “before I approved this project, you told me you intended to fit this missile system to a submarine. You even undertook to provide one. As you know, I authorized the expenditure because the dock would always be useful for our new Kilo, and the SAM system will serve as strong air defense for the base. However, before I authorize further funding, I need to know a great deal more detail about how you intend to proceed from here.
“For instance, upon which vessel do you intend to attach this extremely expensive Russian missile system? I think the time has come for us to know that.”
“Sir, it will be engineered onto a submarine, right behind the fin for vertical launching.”
“I see. Is this liable to be a difficult operation? I refer to fixing a surface-to-air missile system onto the deck
