Larry Bond - Exit Plan

The road was deceptive. Probably built to support construction of a pipeline that paralleled it, it was wide enough for two cars (or more likely trucks) to pass, but it was still just graded earth. It was definitely better than walking cross-country, but the uneven surface kept him alert. Ruts from tires or rocks in the surface could make him stumble. He imagined the effects of a sprained ankle on their progress.

A fair portion of Jerry’s attention was on Shirin Naseri. She trudged along next to Yousef, who concentrated on picking the smoothest path. Jerry followed. Shirin didn’t move quickly, but she seemed to be pacing herself, and never had to wait too long for a short respite.

The moon had just come out, which helped a little with their navigation. To his night-adjusted eyes, a quarter moon seemed bright, especially on the bare, brown landscape. There were lights to the right, either from scattered buildings on the far side of the highway or occasional vehicles passing. The glow from Bandar Tahari could be seen over the ridge past the highway.

Of course, the bare ground also made them more visible, but the SEALs took extra care to limit that vulnerability. Whoever was watching the road would spot the approach of a car by the glare of its headlights, and call a warning. Everyone would go to one knee and freeze until it had passed. It seemed extreme, given that they were several hundred meters away from the highway, but it was best not to take chances. Traffic had trailed off after midnight, but never stopped completely. Highway 96 tied Iran’s Persian Gulf coast together, running all the way from Bandar Mahshahr, near the Iraq border, to Bandar Abbas.

Highway 96, Just North of Bandar Tahari

Corporal Molavi had drawn three new men for the patrol. Men? None was older than nineteen. One of them was still trying to raise a beard, and Molavi’s five-year-old nephew could follow instructions better.

They were covering a twenty-five-kilometer section of Highway 96, ten kilometers on each side of Bandar Tahari, as well as the city itself. The highway ran nearly a kilometer north of the city, between two large ridges; with little light it required boots on the ground to be patrolled properly. The Tahari Basij Brigade did not have enough vehicles for the increased number of patrols, so they were using a panel van loaned by Private Salani’s employer. Local business support of the Basij was considered an act of piety, and with Salani mobilized, there was nobody to drive it, anyway.

The van only had room for two in front, the corporal and Private Salani, who drove. The other two privates had to ride in the back. Salani’s employer ran a cleaning service, but even with most of the cleaning equipment left behind, the privates were uncomfortable in the windowless van. Molavi wasn’t too concerned about the privates’ comfort; but they were useless in the back.

“Here’s a good spot.” The corporal pointed to the left. “Pull off there.” He could hear Salani sigh as he slowed and turned off the pavement. The ground was hard-packed and smooth, and led up to a cement factory. Molavi had him drive about a hundred meters north, until the surface was too rough for a civilian vehicle.

The van sat in a relatively flat area between two high dunes. The land rose sharply to the north, and the dunes were fingers of higher ground shaped by erosion and wind into north-south ridges. The bare ground was graced with a few dark green shrubs, but there wasn’t enough greenery in sight for a decent garden, even if it had all been brought together in one spot.

Molavi pounded on the metal partition between the cab and the rear of the van. “Out! Wake up back there!”

Salani seemed reluctant to get out of his seat. “Qassem, we did this just thirty minutes ago. Isn’t this too soon?”

“It’s ‘Corporal,’ to you, Private, and unless we’re out of the car, searching the ground, we’re not patrolling, we’re just driving. Now get moving.” Molavi grabbed his rifle, an Iranian-made copy of the AK-47, dubbed the KLF. It had a folding stock, which allowed him to carry it in the confines of the cab. The three other members of the patrol were similarly equipped.

The rear doors of the van swung open as Molavi approached, and two privates slowly emerged from its depths. “Get your butts out here!” the corporal roared. “Are you two sharing a goat back there? No, wait. You wouldn’t know what to do. And where are your weapons?”

The taller of the two, Private Jebeli, answered, still stretching. “We had to get out of the back, first.”

“As useless as you two are with a rifle, you’re more useless without them, if such a thing is possible. Move!”

While the two quickly fetched their weapons from the back of the van, Molavi harangued them. “A weekend on the range and a green headband doesn’t make you soldiers. Listen to what I tell you. I was getting shot at by Kurds while your father was teaching you how to wipe your ass.

“We are searching for smugglers, spies — people who are breaking the law. Nighttime is when they are out and up to no good. They will not wait while you lazily retrieve your weapon. When we pull to a stop, you will boil out of the back, alert, armed, and looking for trouble.”

He surveyed the three and sighed. “By now, any lawbreakers nearby have left, but we are still going to search the area for evidence of illegal activity: footprints, tire tracks, evidence of digging, unusual trash.”

He handed Private Jafari, the other militiaman riding in the back, a pair of binoculars. “Your turn.” Molavi pointed to a large dune to the west. “Get up there and see what you can see. Report any movement off the highway, no matter how innocent it looks. Stay there and watch until I come and get you.”

The skinny private nodded and trotted off. “You two,” he ordered, “we are going to systematically search the area.” He gestured with his arm. “Salani to the left, Jebeli near the road, and I’ll take the center. Go.”

They started quartering the ground. Molavi didn’t expect to find anything, of course, but that was when you were most likely to actually find something: a cache of weapons, drugs, or maybe those two fugitives they had been warned to look for.

Molavi divided his time between searching his own sector while watching the other two privates. He was sure they could screw up walking. They had flashlights, but were under orders not to use them. It ruined their night vision, and besides, with the moon out, there was enough illumination for a simple search.

They’d been looking for about ten minutes when Jafari, up on the dune, called out, “Corporal, I see something!” Molavi turned to see the private on his knees waving to him. “There’s something out there.” The private pointed to the west, the far side of the dune.

“Get down, you moron!” Molavi took off at a trot, but he turned his head and called to the other two as he ran. “Keep searching your sectors.”

Shirin thought about her uncle while she walked. It kept her mind off her feet, and besides, there was a lot to think about. Seyyed Naseri was Mehry’s younger brother, and was as bold and outspoken as Mehry was quiet and thoughtful. Their similar temperaments were one reason she’d always been close to Seyyed, who bragged about being Shirin’s “favorite uncle.” Of course, he was Mehry’s only sibling.

He would be delighted to see her, and doubtless willing to help her and Yousef, but a mob of Americans? And getting two people out of Iran had to be easier than smuggling out seven.

How would they go about contacting him? They’d have to hide somewhere while Shirin or Yousef made contact. But if VEVAK agents were looking for her and Yousef, would they be watching Seyyed? They might be watching him anyway. Maybe she’d have Harry go into town with her. She didn’t normally go veiled, but wearing one would keep her from being recognized. That seemed like something from a spy novel, which meant it was probably the right answer.