Larry Bond - Exit Plan

“Yes, sir.” Rastkar didn’t look pleased, but he knew where Rahim’s authority came from.

“I am concerned that these people may have contacted foreign agents. They may be meeting one, or may have met one last night. It doesn’t matter if that foreigner is still with them, or if they have exchanged items or information. Whatever has happened, our first priority is to find them. Everything else will follow from that.

“Lieutenant Rastkar, were any boats out last night? Did you make any arrests near the water? Any unusual reports?”

“I’ll find out, sir.”

“Contact the local Basij commander. I want the two men who found the car to guide some of your officers to the exact spot they saw it. Search the area for any trace of activity. Move quickly. You only have a short time before sunset.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, tell the commander that I want to see him immediately,” Rahim added. “I have other work for them. Go.” Rastkar left quickly.

“Dahghan, search the hotel room. You know what to look for.”

The agent nodded.

“How are your relations with the police? Their commander?”

“They have been very helpful, Major. I have no complaints.”

“Good. Then go over the police reports on their movements. It’s possible that someone here in Kangan was the agent they were supposed to meet. Or they may have left something in a dead drop somewhere along their route. Follow their path and investigate anyone or any place you think is worthwhile.”

The agent nodded again, taking notes.

“And take one of the police officials along with you. He may see something that you wouldn’t know is unusual, and I don’t want you getting lost. Time is critical. The faster we work, the closer they’ll be.”

A large map of Kangan covered one wall. “Where is the cell phone tower? I assume there’s only one.”

Dahghan had to ask a police sergeant, who came in and marked a spot near the center of town.

“Akbari was within thirteen kilometers of this point when his phone went dead at 0810 hours this morning. Since their car was found east of town, along the highway, we can begin our search in the eastern half of that circle.”

A police sergeant knocked. “Sir, the Basij commander is here.”

Dahghan opened the door and stood back. A small man wearing a black turban and a brown, sleeveless cloak over his white robe waited for a moment, then came in, smiling. He was only a little older then Rahim, but his white beard gave him an air of great dignity. The black turban marked him as a descendant of Mohammed.

Rahim stood.

“I am Mullah Hamid Dashani, leader of the mosque and commander of the Kangan Brigade of the Basij.”

“Thank you for coming, Mullah Dashani. I am Major Rahim, from the Ministry of Intelligence and National Security.” Shaking the cleric’s hand, Rahim bowed his head slightly, and motioned to the chair on the other side of the desk.

Sitting, Dashani smiled broadly. “You have created quite a stir, Major. My Basij are at your service. In fact, they are already mustering, in advance of your orders. I think we may even have a few new volunteers.”

Rahim sighed. “I had hoped to investigate this matter quietly.”

“This is a small town, Major. Word spreads like lightning. A helicopter? A missing Pasdaran officer? I saw the pictures of the couple when Dahghan questioned my two men from last night. Are they mixed up with smugglers? Murderers? Or are they spies?” The cleric was still smiling.

“Please, Mullah Dashani. I cannot tell you any details, for obvious reasons, but I need your help.”

The major’s manner became more serious. “And please, no more speculation. I need checkpoints set up along the coastal highway and other major roads, as well as an increase in the number of patrols along the coast highway. I will also need, dedicated teams walking all the beaches north and south of the city. They should look for signs of a recent landing, or boats in unusual places. All foreigners must be stopped and questioned.”

“We could give you several checkpoints, each manned by four men. And four-man patrols walking the beaches. And we can ask the police for more vehicles.”

The cleric paused, and Rahim could see him calculating. “Normally we have just one patrol on the beaches, and another on the highway. We can do what you ask for a short while, but my brigade can only muster about fifty fighters. Many of them will have to miss work while we are mobilized. Should I ask some of the other brigade commanders for assistance?”

“No, please do not. It should only be for a few days. And tell your fighters that they are not to speak of this matter.”

Dashani nodded knowingly. “I understand.”

“And we need to increase the number of boat patrols, with some in close to shore, and others farther out.”

“This can be done. I am on very good terms with the Pasdaran naval commander here. I will coordinate closely with him.”

“If your men do find this couple, they should apprehend them, but it’s important that they be taken alive. Can they do this?”

“Of course. My boys are energetic. What they lack in skill, they make up in devotion.”

“There will be no pitched battles, I promise.”

They arranged the locations of the checkpoints and communications procedures, and the mullah left, excited and eager to “send his fighters into action.”

4 April 2013

1700 Local Time/1400 Zulu

USS Michigan, Battle Management Center

Captain Guthrie had been expecting to get a final brief on the rescue mission, but the plan was to wait until sunset to make a go/no go decision.

Instead, Frederickson had summoned him early, and he hadn’t sounded happy.

“We started to hear increased traffic on the naval circuits earlier today. It took some time to find out if they were reacting to something specific, but there hasn’t been any mention of a specific contact or an intercept.” Frederickson sighed. “But boat patrols have stepped up their coverage by over fifty percent.”

“Any pattern?”

“Yes, sir. But it’s not one we can exploit. There are too many boats out there now.”

“What if we shorten the run — say, close to six nautical miles?”

Frederickson fought to hide his surprise. “And disobey a direct presidential order?”

“It’s merely a hypothetical question, Mr. Frederickson,” remarked Guthrie quietly.

“Oh, well, in that case — it wouldn’t help, sir. There are way too many patrol boats. Besides, that isn’t our only problem.”

He gestured to an operator, who called up images on the briefing screen. “This is why I called you. This is the beach where the rendezvous took place.”

The UAV image showed the now-familiar beach, but Guthrie saw men in a ragged line, slowly walking over the landscape. “They’re searching for something,” he said.

Frederickson smiled grimly. “I don’t think they’re looking for seashells.”

“This is seriously not good. Why that beach?” Guthrie asked, but the answer was obvious. “Correction — Is there any way that this is not connected to our people?”

The SEAL lieutenant frowned. “There has been no activity in that area since our people left last night.”

“Other areas?”

“Nothing that we’ve seen, yet. They drove up in a couple of vehicles and began systematically searching the beach. We’ve got traffic on the road, people moving near structures, but this is the only organized activity near the shore within the UAV’s field of view.”

“Well, whoever they are, it’s obvious we can’t execute the pickup on that beach, or the secondary one down the coast.”