Exit Plan

last card. “The most likely scenario involves Iran launching two or even three brigade’s worth of missiles at one time, perhaps as many as twelve or fifteen missiles, of which one or two would have nuclear warheads. The Iranians have never launched that many missiles at one time. Have you seen preparations for a simultaneous launch of that magnitude? We have not.”

“This is true,” Revach agreed.

“Then we have at least twenty-four hours. Let us get our people out of Iran tonight, and we will look at the data on the flash drive together. We can have the lot uploaded to us here or anywhere else within an hour of them getting out of Iran.”

Patterson added her own arguments. “Imagine getting all this data, and what it will tells us. After we have reviewed it, we release it to the world together. It’s a triple embarrassment for Iran: First, that one of their own engineers turned against them; second, that they have consistently lied about having a nuclear weapons program — no more political cover for their allies — and finally, that they just can’t get it done. A humiliation like this could potentially bring down the government. On the other hand, an airstrike will only strengthen domestic support for their leadership.”

Revach actually smiled, just a little, while Lavon remained neutral, but at least he wasn’t frowning. “What if we find the information is false, or it doesn’t convince us?” the general asked.

“We only ask that you examine the data before acting,” Hardy answered. “We believe that if you see it, the information will convince you.”

“You’re going for broke,” Lavon answered, “but it’s our money you’re betting.” He paused for another moment, and looked at Revach, who shrugged.

“All right,” the general announced. “If we were intending to launch an airstrike against Iran, we will refrain from doing so for another twenty-four hours so that we may exa mine the intelligence on the Iranian nuclear program which you will provide once you obtain it yourself. And once we have seen it, Israel is free to act as it sees fit for its own self-defense.”

“With the United States supporting your decision,” Hardy completed.

“Then we have an agreement,” Lavon said, offering his hand.

* * *

Back in their own car, Patterson first hugged Lowell in celebration, then reminded him, “You just promised Israel unconditional U.S. support, even if they do attack Iran.” Her tone wasn’t critical, but there was a note of warning in it.

“That’s just Andy Lloyd’s current policy,” he answered, smiling. “Besides, we’re already betting that the data on that flash drive will completely discredit Iran’s nuclear program. Once you’ve gone that far, you might as well go ‘all in’ to convince the Israelis.”

He smiled again. “Let’s go shock the president and give him some good news.”

19 OLD IDEAS

7 April 2013

1600 Local Time/1300 Zulu

Kilo-Class Submarine, Yunes, SS903

South of Qeshm Island

Like all submarine fire control systems, Yunes’s Russian-designed equipment allowed the operator to create an artificial target on the displays. This feature enabled the sub’s attack team to train as if it were fighting a real opponent. Everything about the target could be defined, from its acoustic characteristics to its own sensors and weapons.

Commander Mehr had started drilling his team while the torpedoes were still being loaded. It wasn’t that they were ignorant of antisubmarine warfare tactics, but they were rusty. After all, Iran was the only Persian Gulf country with submarines. Most of their training was against surface targets, while the ASW training requirement was a twice-a-year canned drill against another Project 877EKM-class boat.

No more canned targets now. Mehr had started them out slow. Simply creating a very quiet synthetic submarine target had been enough of a shock. Radiated sound levels were a fraction of what they’d seen from surface ships, with initial detection ranges well inside weapons range for both sides.

That had spurred Mehr to add rapid salvo-firing training against targets that suddenly appeared. He might only get one chance, and seconds would matter. Choices had to be considered and made now, before the fight started. For example, the TEST-71ME-NK torpedoes had two speed settings. They could run at 40 knots for 15,000 meters, or the range could be extended to 20,000 meters by slowing to 26 knots. Given that this would be a close-in fight, he’d ordered 40 knots preset into the weapons.

His first officer, Lieutenant Commander Khadem, ran the drills while Mehr watched and thought about how he would fight this enemy. Once the team was used to a target that could change depth, he would start experimenting. Should he use active sonar before he fired? What was the best number of torpedoes in a salvo?

The latter one was not a simple question. The newer version of the TEST-71 torpedo was a more flexible weapon than its predecessors. It had an acoustic seeker that would either listen for the target or use its own active pulses to locate the enemy sub and home in. It could also be wire-guided, with a thin wire that connected the torpedo directly to Yunes. A wire cassette would reel out the guidance wire to compensate for the movement of the torpedo and the submarine, allowing Yunes to see what the torpedo’s seeker saw and to control its movements.

Yunes had six tubes, but only two of them had connections for the guidance wires. The other four tubes would only allow the acoustic homing mode. The final complication was that he could only fire two TEST-71ME-NK torpedoes in active acoustic mode at a time. If he fired more than a pair of weapons, they would likely begin homing in on each other once they went active, like a cat chasing its own image in a mirror.

Mehr had one of his officers researching the Ohio-class and its torpedoes, the Mark 48. He would present a detailed brief in a little over an hour. Other parts of the crew were running emergency drills. Everyone understood they were going to war.

He stood up and stretched. His desk was cluttered with manuals, printouts, and scribbled notes. It was time to take a tour. The crew needed to see him.

Nikhad, the senior radioman, found Mehr as he left his stateroom. “Captain, urgent message!”

Mehr snatched the printout out of his hands and then cursed himself for showing too much excitement. He took his time reading the short message, then read it again to make sure he understood it clearly.

PASDARAN BOAT PATROLS AND CIVILIAN SHIPPING REPORT BRIGHT FLAMES ON THE WATER IN THE VICINITY OF 26° 16’ N/054°49’E ON THE NIGHT OF 6 APRIL APPROXIMATELY 2030 HOURS/1730Z. THIS CORRELATES WITH TIME OF A SUBMARINE MISSILE ATTACK DURING A GROUND SKIRMISH NEAR MOLLU. INVESTIGATE.

A skirmish? Missile strikes? Nobody ever told him anything. The message was signed by Admiral Zand. The routing was through the main headquarters at Bandar Abbas via Tehran. A sighting report from Pasdaran units and civilians, no wonder it was so old. Mehr said, “Acknowledge the message, and say, ‘We are en route. ‘ “

The radioman hurried off, while Mehr headed for control. Khadem was still drilling the attack team, and the captain did his best to appear calm.

“How are they doing?” Mehr asked casually.

“Better,” the first officer answered, “especially after I told them they could improve, or die.”

“Good, because we have a possible sighting of the enemy, about eighty kilometers from here.”

Like Mehr, Khadem fought to control his excitement, and didn’t entirely succeed.

“Drill them for another hour, and feed everyone,” Mehr ordered. “I’ll get us headed toward the reported location, and then we will work up a revised search plan. The sighting is nineteen and a half hours ago, and it isn’t very precise, but it gives us one critical advantage over the Americans.”

“What’s that?”

“We know they’re there.”