“I don’t think so. It’s too shallow beyond the marked sea-lanes. The lack of depth will drive you to the surface. And we cannot have that.”
“You mean we let them out right in the main tanker channel?”
“No choice. But they have very speedy boats, and you’ll wait for a break in the traffic, and then move fast. It’s a two-boat mission. We’re talking minutes here. Not half-hours.”
“So Team One will be right in the middle of the main tanker route when they set off?” asked Alain Roudy, a shade doubtfully.
“Yes, they will. But it’s well buoyed. Plenty of lights and warnings. Anyway those SF guys know what they’re doing. But we will want two boats on that target. I think Georges thought four men in each?”
“I did think that, Admiral,” replied Georges Pires. “Although we could probably achieve our mission with seven men in one boat. But that leaves no margin for error. We definitely take two boats, just in case we have a problem, equipment failure or something. I’m talking rescue. We can’t afford to leave anyone behind, no matter what happens.”
“We cannot. You’re absolutely correct there, Georges,” replied Admiral Romanet.
“Anyway, as soon as Team One is gone, the submarine turns south and runs on down the ingoing right lane. You’ll have to put a mast up from time to time for a visual. But, remember, in these waters, you have no enemy. You are
“Nossir. So we don’t wait around for the Special Forces at the first holding point? The one you’ve marked right here? I mean for them to return?”
“No, you leave them immediately. Proceed south for another five kilometers, to the very end of the tanker route. Then you cut through this narrow seaway between these shoals into an area that is, again, more than thirty meters deep, two miles northeast of the main tanker anchorage.
“Look…right here, Alain…at this point Team Two will be less than a mile from the enormous Sea Island Terminal, perhaps the most important part of this mission. As you know, we are going to blow it up. It’s a massive loading structure, stands a little over one kilometer offshore from the biggest oil exporting complex in the world, Ras Tannurah. Sea Island is known as Platform Number Four, and it pumps over two million barrels a day into the waiting tankers.
“Now, at this second hold point, the Zodiacs have a very short run-in to the target. No more than eight hundred meters. We have been studying a progression of satellite pictures to see how light it is on that terminal. My own opinion is that the frogmen will have to swim the last three hundred meters. Just depends on the degree of darkness.
“But they will accomplish this very swiftly. There will be six swimmers carrying six bombs through the water. Each man fixes one bomb to one of the six principal pylons. It’s a magnetic fix. Then he sets the timer and leaves, being very careful to keep the light blue wires as well hidden and as deep as possible.
“All this must be precisely coordinated with Louis’s operation in the Red Sea. Because when they blow, they must blow absolutely together. It is essential that these huge explosions cripple the oil industry all at one time.
“So, the moment the timers are fixed, the frogmen head immediately back to where the Zodiacs are waiting. It should take them only two minutes to reach the submarine, climb aboard, and start back up the channel to the previous holding point, one hour north, and pick up Team One, which will be there by this time, after their much longer Zodiac journey.”
“If that liquid petroleum terminal goes up,” said Savary thoughtfully, “Prince Nasir will have lit a blowtorch from hell. It will probably light up the entire Middle East.”
“The Sea Island Terminal would also have a fairly spectacular edge to it,” said Captain Roudy. “Imagine a million barrels on fire out in the ocean? Ablaze. That would be quite a sight.”
“But I am afraid you will not see it, Alain,” said Admiral Romanet, smiling. “When Team Two is back inboard, you will have the
“That’s going to take you five hours at a tanker speed of ten knots. You’ll need to be on your way by twenty- three-hundred, in order to launch the cruises at o-four-hundred. The bombs on the pylons probably want a seven- hour time delay. But you’ll work that out.”
“And, of course, we leave the datum immediately after firing the missiles?” asked Captain Roudy
“Of course. You target the pipeline, the inland pumping station, and the Abqaiq complex. They will explode simultaneously with the pylon bombs. At which time you will be thirty-four kilometers away, heading quietly east, well below the surface. The Saudi oil industry will blow to smithereens within four minutes of your departure from holding point three, the firing area.”
“Sir,” said Captain Roudy, returning in his mind to the place that worried him most, “do we get the Zodiacs back inboard when the SF guys return?”
“No time. Scuttle all of the boats. Same for Commander Dreyfus. Get the frogmen back in, and take off, back up the tanker route.”
“And then head east, through Hormuz and south to La Reunion, submerged all the way?” asked Captain Roudy.
“You have it, Captain. Then you have a vacation, and in a few weeks, bring the
“Well, sir. That sounds like a very good plan. And of course we do have a terrific element of surprise on our side. No one would ever dream a Western nation would be crazy enough to slam Saudi Arabian oil out of the market for two years.”
“Correct,” said Gaston Savary. “It would seem like that English proverb…er…cutting your nose to spite your face…but not in this case. I understand France’s need for oil products has been taken care of. We do not need Saudi oil for several months. And when it comes back on stream, it will effectively be ours to market, worldwide, at whatever price we fix.”
“What about OPEC?” asked Commander Dreyfus.
“I don’t think Prince Nasir, the new King, will want to compromise his position with France, not to placate his fellow Arabian producers,” replied Admiral Pires. “This is the most extraordinary military action, It could only have been created by a potential new King. It is also devilishly clever — a plan direct from
“Except that at the heart of it all lies an honorable objective,” said Admiral Romanet. “To restore the best elements of the Saudi royal family and to give the people a new, enlightened ruler: our friend, the Crown Prince.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I think we should raise a glass to the takeover by Prince Nasir, and, of course, to the…er…prosperity of France.”
The former SAS Major Ray Kerman had made his headquarters eighteen miles north of Moulhoule, close to the Eritrean border, on the northern Gulf Coast of Djibouti. He had chosen the semi-active Foreign Legion outpost of Fort Mousea, because the training of his fifty-four-strong assault squad would attract less attention there.
There, in one of the world’s hottest climates, even in the cool season the temperature rarely dipped below ninety degrees. They were only eleven degrees north of the equator, and in summer the heat was around 106 degrees day after day. The entire country had only three square miles of arable land, and it hardly ever rained. Ray Kerman imagined he must have been in worse places than this tiny desert republic, but, offhand, he could not recall one.
His squad had been in hard training now for many weeks. The men had willingly driven themselves, pounding the pathways through the Taverny woods, fighting the Legion’s obstacle courses down in Aubagne, and then hammering their bodies through the heat of the rough desert tracks around Fort Mousea.
To his men, he was known by his formal name, Gen. Ravi Rashood, Commander in Chief of Hamas. Even the more senior French officers now referred to him as General, and every day he joined them in their relentless military training. Some of them had served in the Foreign Legion and understood how hard life could be. But nothing, repeat
