Exit Plan

admirals were definitely unhappy with part, or all, of the mission, which meant it had been directed from on high.

“Well, Captain, what are your thoughts?” demanded Zand.

“Finding a submarine in the Persian Gulf, sir, is a difficult challenge,” Mehr explained carefully. “The geography and physics are against the searcher; this is made even worse the closer one gets to land.”

“So, you are saying it is impossible,” Varamini blurted out.

Mehr looked across the table and saw Aghassi’s facial expression, reinforcing his earlier advice. “No, Admiral, I am not saying it’s impossible, but it certainly won’t be easy either. Do you know what type of submarine I’m to hunt down?”

Varamini hesitated, his face contorted into a scowl. It was clear he was not pleased with Mehr’s response. “We believe one of their SSGNs is in the gulf.”

“A converted Ohio-class missile submarine?” Mehr asked, surprised.

Varamini nodded stiffly. The Kilo captain leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “That’s a whale of a submarine, Admiral. An Ohio-class is at least five times larger than my boat. Size like that has definite advantages and disadvantages.”

“Explain, Captain,” Zand growled, but less intensely than before.

“A submarine of that size has considerable room for noise reduction measures. An Ohio-class boat is one of the quietest submarines in the world. This will complicate things considerably. However, once found, her size restricts her ability to maneuver. This is particularly true in shallow water. If I can find her, I have the advantage in a close-in fight.”

“So, provided you can find the American, you feel your odds are good,” concluded Varamini.

“Yes, Admiral. But finding her will be the trick. The Project 877EKM submarines we bought from the Russians were designed to hunt surface ships. They have a fair antisubmarine capability, but it is mainly for self-defense. An Ohio has a better passive sonar suite than my boat, however, her systems will be affected at least as badly as mine by the environment, perhaps more so since they are more sensitive. I have a superior active capability. If I can get a whiff of her, I’ll be able to quickly transition to the attack.” Mehr tried to look as confident as he sounded. What he had said was true, but he doubted either admiral appreciated just how hard it would be to get that initial whiff.

“Well, Captain, I must admit I’m encouraged by your succinct explanation of this complex problem,” remarked Zand, clearly impressed. “Is there anything we can provide to assist you?”

“Yes, sir. I need the best torpedoes we have. I’m assuming that some of the weapons on the dollies are TEST-71ME~NKs?” asked Mehr hopefully.

“All of them are the newer torpedoes,” Aghassi replied, smiling. “I’ve given you all of the available TEST- 71ME-NKs that I have.”

“Thank you, Captain. They will improve our odds.”

“Anything else?” Zand asked.

“Any information I can get on the American’s location would be of considerable value. I will begin constructing our search plan, but the more I can focus it, the better my chances of finding her.”

“I will ensure you are given all available information,” Varamini responded pleasantly. The Pasdaran admiral was even smiling.

After the well-wishing and farewells, Aghassi escorted Mehr out of the conference room. He whispered, “Well done, Ebrahim!” and shook his hand. Mehr reiterated that the tasking he had been given was a significant challenge, but he would do the best he could to find this American submarine and put it out of their misery.

But as confident as he was in the conference room, Mehr was troubled by a story he recalled from the Koran. The story was about the Prophet Yunes, Arabic for Jonah, who also had to face a whale. Mehr prayed that his boat would fare better than their namesake, and that when they grappled with their whale, it wouldn’t swallow them.

16 ROUGH ROAD

6 April 2013

1800 Local Time/1500 Zulu

Highway 96, Between Bustaneh and Mollu

Lieutenant Sistani looked at the map and then pointed to the right. “Here.”

Corporal Afshar pulled the big Zil truck off the highway. Before Sistani could get out of the cab, Sergeant Zahedi was out of the back and shouting, ”We’re here! Everyone out! Start unloading! We’re losing daylight!”

Sistani asked the sergeant, “Who should take the first turn?”

Zahedi looked at the squad and spotted one small soldier struggling with a case of ammunition. “Ostovar. He’s no use to me setting up.”

“Fine, I’ll take him and Corporal Afshar. I want to pick the spot myself.”

Zahedi saluted. “Yes, sir. I’ll keep them busy here.”

“Be sure you get that truck far away from the road, and camouflage it well,” Sistani ordered. Under Zahedi’s direction, the corporal and Private Ostovar shouldered several pieces of red-and-white-striped wood and followed the lieutenant.

The three headed west along the side of the highway while Sistani studied the ground.

Along this part of the coast, Highway 96 was a two-lane asphalt road, pushing through a sandy brown landscape dotted with dark green scrub and trees. Although dry now, the ground showed signs of water and erosion everywhere, with dry streambeds cutting into the earth from north to south as the land sloped gently toward the gulf. A few hundred meters from where the truck had stopped, the lieutenant said, “Here. This is good.”

The two soldiers quickly assembled a wooden barrier, blocking the road. They placed battery-powered lanterns on each side, reflecting brightly off the painted wood. There wasn’t a lot of room on the shoulder, and the ground on both sides was uneven and rutted.

While the soldiers worked, Sistani checked a portable radio and flashlight, then handed them to Ostovar. “Repeat your orders.”

Ostovar came to attention and recited, “Stop all traffic and check identity documents. I’m supposed to watch for two fugitives — ” He stopped and pulled a paper from his shirt pocket, “ — named Akbari and Naseri. They may have accomplices and are dangerous.”

The private had read the last part off the paper, but Sistani was satisfied. “And if you spot them, or have any trouble?”

“Use the radio,” Ostovar answered.

“And when do you use your rifle?”

“Only if I’m shot at.”

Sistani nodded. “Good. You’ll be relieved in an hour.”

The lieutenant and the corporal walked back to where the rest of the squad was working. Looking back, he could see Ostovar, nearly dwarfed by his KL assault rifle, standing alone with an oversized sawhorse across the highway.

“Sir, shouldn’t we leave two men at the roadblock? He can’t stop anybody by himself.”

“Let me worry about that, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sergeant Zahedi had already set up one man on a low hill as a lookout, while others organized equipment or made positions for themselves in scrapes in the rocky ground.

Sistani climbed to the top of the rise. The lookout lay prone, reasonably well concealed, under a camouflage smock that would keep him warm while it masked him from observation. Using his own glasses, the lieutenant could see the highway for several kilometers in either direction. It ran almost straight east and west here, and while the ground was uneven, there was no place that offered a covered approach on his position. Aside from the paved road, there was no human mark on the land — no buildings, not even a power line. Private Ostovar’s checkpoint