Keith Douglass - Seal Team Seven

More than that, though, the country simply could not afford to have a military that involved itself in politics. That path led to military dictatorship, as had been proven time and time again elsewhere throughout the world. "Sorry, sir," Roselli said.

"If I might be allowed to continue," Fowler went on, "the Iranian squadron is continuing on course toward the Straits of Hormuz, with the Yuduki Maru in tow. We now believe that they will escort the Japanese ship to their naval base at Bandar Abbas. The President has ordered that they be allowed to pass without interference."

"Fuck that," MacKenzie said, the vulgarity shockingly loud in the silence following the intelligence officer's words. Fowler and the SEALs in the compartment all turned and looked at him. "Ah, 'scuse me, sir," the chief added. "But that's just plain damned screwy! Those bastards get into Bandar Abbas, and it's gonna take nothing less than a Marine invasion to winkle them out!"

"That may be," Fowler said coldly. "Do you really want to be the one setting our foreign policy out here, Chief?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"Good. Then I suggest you keep your mouth shut and listen, or you'll find yourself bounced back to the States to sit this one out!"

"Hold on there, Commander," Murdock said suddenly, rising.

Fowler looked at Murdock, eyebrows rising. "Huh? What is it now, Lieutenant?"

"Might I have a word with the Commander, sir? In private."

"Lieutenant, this is hardly the time..."

"These are my men, sir. And my responsibility. I respectfully suggest that if you have something to say to any of them involving order or discipline, you say it through me."

Fowler locked eyes with Murdock for a beat. "You're out of line, Lieutenant."

"No, sir. I don't think I am. Would you care to discuss the matter in private?"

Fowler stared at him for another moment, then took a deep breath and shook his head. "I really don't have time to discuss this matter, Lieutenant. Time is short and I have other briefings to deliver." He turned his gaze on MacKenzie. "Chief, if I was too harsh a moment ago, forgive me. The past few watches have been long ones."

MacKenzie grinned. "No problem, sir."

"Good. As I was trying to explain, the political situation over here is highly unstable. If we launch an outright attack on the Iranian squadron now, while they're claiming to be on an international rescue mission, well, it won't matter much whether they're hijacking that plutonium or not. The United States will be condemned all over the world... for interfering with that rescue, for putting our own prestige ahead of the lives of people in that region, for endangering the coastlines of countries from Saudi Arabia to South Africa if the Yuduki Maru is sunk, for acting like an out-of-control gunslinger when negotiation might have resolved the situation peaceably. The list goes on and on. Whatever you might think about his foreign policy statements lately, the President doesn't really have any other choice on this one. The draft for a formal resolution has been placed before the United Nations, but until we know for sure what's happening over there, our hands are pretty well tied."

Murdock raised his hand.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Damn it, sir, we were aboard the plutonium ship. We brought back a freed hostage and a prisoner. What more do we need?"

"Frankly, Lieutenant Murdock, we need a clear picture of what the Iranians are thinking right now. Were the Iranians your people encountered aboard the Maru a revolutionary faction allied with Japanese terrorists? Or were they some kind of special action group working with the knowledge and approval of the mullahs in Tehran? We don't know, and until we do, our hands are tied.

"What we really need now, Washington feels, is a close look at what's going on aboard that Greenpeace yacht, the Beluga. If Kohler and the others aboard the yacht are telling the truth, then the Iranians have done our job for us, taking the Yuduki Maru back from the terrorists who hijacked her."

"With respect, sir," Roselli said, "that's a load of crap."

"That may be, Chief," Fowler said. "Personally, and speaking strictly off the record, I have to agree with you."

The man appeared to have resigned himself to comments from his audience. He was not, Murdock thought, used to briefing SEALS, as nonconformist and as non-elitist a bunch Murdock had ever known.

"However," Fowler continued, "the Joint Chiefs have ordered a new mission, an intelligence-gathering operation this time. They want you guys to go aboard the Beluga and find out just what's going down. The operation will be code-named Prairie Watch. If Kohler and the others are not hostages, you are to ascertain that fact and leave, hopefully without upsetting the diplomatic apple cart. If, as seems more likely from what we know now, the Iranians are holding Kohler and his guests prisoner, you'll proceed with a hostage rescue scenario."

"Yeah!" Magic Brown said. "That's more like it!"

The other men of Third Platoon sounded excited at the prospect of getting another shot. Murdock wasn't sure that he liked the sound of this mission, though. "What do we know about the target, sir?" he asked. "We don't have models or..."

"The Beluga was built by Luxuschiff, a luxury yacht manufacturer headquartered in Hamburg," Fowler said. "Detailed deck plans, including any modifications Kohler may have had made at the Hamburg boatyards, are being transmitted to us via satellite. You should have them within the hour."

Murdock glanced at his watch. It was nearly 2300 hours. "And when do you need our plans?"

For the first time that evening, Fowler smiled. "Lieutenant, I'm afraid I'll need a copy by zero-nine-hundred hours tomorrow. I know that's stretching things tight..."

"I don't mind a little late-night work, Commander," Murdock said. "But when is Prairie Watch supposed to go down?"

"Tomorrow night," Fowler told him. "Either late Friday evening or early Saturday morning. We have to know which way to jump in regard to the Maru by Sunday. Judging from her speed under tow, she'll reach Bandar Abbas sometime around midday on Sunday. We don't expect to be able to move against her before she's in port. But we must take action before the Iranians have a chance to remove her cargo. Your changing the access code on the Yuduki Maru's computer was a good move, Lieutenant, but once they have the ship in port, all they need to do is cut through the deck hatches with a shipyard-sized cutting torch. I'd guess we're looking at Sunday evening, at the latest."

"Then we'd better get busy," Murdock said. "Sir. We don't have a hell of a lot of time."

2315 hours (Zulu +3)

Indian Ocean, 220 miles southeast of Mashirah

Beneath a black and overcast sky, the Marine CH-46E Sea Knight skimmed across a black sea, its twin fore— and aft-rotors pounding against the night. The transport helicopter was running without lights, deliberately flying low to avoid enemy search radar. Somewhere, a few miles to the south, the Iranian squadron, the hijacked Japanese freighter, and the civilian pleasure craft were all making their slow way north at a speed of about eight knots.

Aboard the Sea Knight, the men of SEAL Seven's Third Platoon sat in armored seats on the red-lit cargo deck, giving their equipment and each other a thorough final inspection. Of all the means of insertion into enemy territory, Murdock liked helocasting the least. At least with other types of airborne approaches, you got to use a parachute.

"Three minutes!" the plane's crew chief yelled, holding up three fingers for emphasis. The Sea Knight's rotors made so much noise it was hard to talk and be understood, and Murdock found it difficult to believe the enemy hadn't heard them from the moment they'd lifted off from the deck of the Nassau. Of course, helicopters from the Marine Expeditionary Force had been probing and circling the Iranian force's perimeter all day, partly to push them into some suitably revealing response, but mostly to accustom them to the sound of nearby American helicopters.