Exit Plan

Suddenly, it struck him. They’re on foot. In two days, even in her condition, Shirin Naseri should be able to walk twenty-four kilometers. And the recent shamal would have obscured any trace of their passage.

With growing excitement, Rahim followed this line of thought, building on his theory step-by-step: They’re traveling at night to avoid detection, probably paralleling Highway 96 to ease navigation.

But could Akbari take on four Basij? True, he was Pasdaran, better trained and more disciplined, but all the reports had him armed with only a pistol. His combat specialty was in air defense; he was not a professional infantryman. Surely he couldn’t defeat four more heavily armed men by himself, could he?

A cold feeling descended on him as he came to the inevitable, but disturbing conclusion — Akbari and his pregnant wife were not alone. Americans had to be with them. American commandos, soldiers of some sort were in Iran. He bolted for the door, reaching for his cell phone. He had to tell General Moradi immediately.

6 April 2013

1730 Local Time/1430 Zulu

The Outskirts of Bandar Charak

They were packing again, getting ready to abandon the layup position as soon as it was dark. The only things they were waiting on were the transmission from Michigan and for the sun to go down.

The entire group had heard Jerry’s radio conversation with Washington, and the president. Shirin had whispered a translation to Yousef as Jerry made his report. Both had been disbelieving, then impressed when they heard President Myles identified. “Is this commonplace in your military?” Shirin asked.

“No, it’s a sign of just how much trouble we’re in,” Jerry replied with a slight grin, “and also how important you two are to our country. They need you to help stop a war.”

Later, as they discussed what to do next, the debate circled and shifted around the idea of getting a boat. The Iranian Persian Gulf coast was lined with small harbors. Most supported small fishing villages. But they could also accommodate smaller speedboats as well.

“But what about the guards?” Shirin asked. “Every harbor is surely being watched.”

“We could take them out,” responded Ramey. “But if we can’t kill them quietly or sneak past them, they’ll sound the alarm, and there goes any head start we might have had.”

“We’ll need a boat fast enough to outrun the IRGC patrol craft. That may be hard to come by,” Lapointe remarked.

“And how do we get aboard Michigan with patrol boats on our tail?” Jerry asked.

“What if it didn’t have a full gas tank?” Phillips wondered aloud. “That would be very embarrassing.”

The other SEALs and Jerry stopped talking and stared at Phillips, a look of mild irritation on their faces.

“What!?” pleaded Phillips defensively.

Ramey just shook his head. “Here’s how I see it. Bandar Charak is not an option; there’s too much attention focused on this town right now, and that was a long phone call we made. Even though the SATCOM is hard to detect, we have to assume that the military units in the town are still at a heightened state of readiness. And then there’s the IRGC naval station on Kish Island, eighteen nautical miles to the northwest. We’d be cut off before we even reached the twelve-mile limit. Backtracking to the northwest is a nonstarter, so we continue to head southeast, but to where?”

They attacked the problem throughout the rest of the afternoon, looking at the various ports, building scenarios, trying to find weaknesses in the Iranian defenses, or at least ways of reducing the risk. And they had to move; they couldn’t just wait out their pursuers. The longer they took getting out of the country, the more resources the Iranian authorities would add to the hunt. And then there was the big picture issue of getting the information out so that Washington could rein in the Israelis.

But every time, their exploration wound up in the same rut. Which harbor was the best bet? Would there be a boat big enough and fast enough for them to even attempt an escape? Would they have to split up to have a decent chance? What about security checkpoints along the way? Where and how many were there? And then there was the inevitable pursuit.

To a man, each SEAL was convinced they’d have to fight their way out. Their chances of success depending entirely on the type of patrol boat, or boats, they ran into. In other words, a total crapshoot.

There were just too many unknowns. The secret to success of any SEAL mission lay in exhaustively researching the target, planning for as many contingencies as possible, and leaving little to chance. This operation would be entirely ad hoc, opportunity driven, trusting to luck. And the odds just weren’t in their favor. To the SEALs, and Jerry, the small boat escape idea looked like suicide. But what other option did they have?

“Maybe we should just head southeast and figure this out on the fly,” Jerry suggested wearily. “We can task Michigan to get us real time UAV imagery on each of the ports, and maybe some shots along the highway. We can also see if the Rivet Joint aircraft can help us nail down the locations of some of those checkpoints. We evaluate each opportunity as it occurs and go with the one that looks promising.”

Ramey frowned, clearly unimpressed with Jerry’s haphazard approach to mission planning, but he remained silent as he had little to offer in return.

The discussion was beginning to die out, the participants frustrated with the seemingly insurmountable problem before them, when suddenly Yousef had a funny look on his face. Turning to Shirin, he spoke rapidly, with a note of excitement in his voice. Shirin seemed confused, but Yousef was adamant and gestured for her to translate.

“What kind of plane can XO Jerry fly?” Shirin relayed.

Surprised, Jerry answered, “Well, I flew the Super Hornet, a jet fighter.”

When Shirin translated, Yousef quickly asked another question. “Is that the only kind of airplane you can fly?”

“I flew trainers before that, and I have a current private pilot’s license. Why do you want to know?”

Shirin explained for her husband. “Iran has small airfields all along the coast. If we stole a plane, we could be across the gulf within a few minutes’ flying. There would be no time for pursuit.”

“Well, that’s a novel idea,” Ramey observed, encouraged.

“I can’t fly a helicopter, but I could fly most fixed-wing aircraft well enough to take off and head south. I can read the owner’s manual once were in the air,” Jerry added, smiling.

Lapointe was already looking at the maps stored in his laptop. “The nearest airport is at Bandar Lengeh, about sixty klicks to the southeast as the crow flies, seventy-five by road.”

Ramey moved to look over his shoulder. “I like it. The runway is just over a klick from the beach, and Highway 96 runs right past it so we can take a quick look as we drive by. There’s a good road net, and no major obstacles if we have to go cross-country. And there is a harbor just five kilometers away, just in case. Sweet!”

“Highway 96 runs right along the coast line from Bandar Divan all the way into downtown Bandar Lengeh,” noted Lapointe. “We should be able to get a good long stare at the road if CENTCOM gets one of their UAVs up.”

Their critical need for information prompted an early call to Michigan. While the team members on the sub vetted the newest plan and the intelligence requirements, the group ate a quick dinner and prepared to move.

Michigan’s response came just after sunset. Lapointe downloaded detailed photos for the team to study, as well as analyses of military radio transmissions along their intended path. Once he was done, Lapointe gave the handset to Jerry.

“XO, we can see two Falcon 20s sitting on the tarmac at Bandar Lengeh,” Frederickson reported. “Can you fly one of those?”

“That’s not a polite question to ask a pilot,” Jerry answered with feigned offense. “Twin-engine bizjet. Yes, I can fly it.”

“Then the skipper says get it in the air and head for Saudi Arabia. CENTCOM is working on a fighter escort the instant you’re clear of Iranian airspace.”

“Understood. We’ll be moving shortly. Out here.” Lapointe took the headset and had just started to fold the