Deathrace (15 page)

“There’s a chance that most of the people living here are paid by the Secret Police and the army not to say a word about it,” George said. “I’ve heard such talk.”

Murrah nodded. “I’ve heard that talk as well, but there is no chance to keep this many people quiet about something like this. We had a small group of protesters here for a while, but three of them were killed when they were said to be trying to escape from jail. They were simply murdered. I’ve got a lot of scores to settle.”

The car crept into Chah Bahar with lights off. They sat in shadows watching the main street. They saw no police cars, no roving military patrols. They turned off the main street into some sparsely settled areas, and soon came to a house better than the rest. Murrah sent her driver in to knock on the door.

Five minutes later, they all were inside the house, and the car had been hidden behind it. A man and woman came into the room, and there was much hugging and crying by the two and Murrah. Then she wiped her tears, and introduced them to the three Americans.

“These people are my dear friends who used to live in Tehran. They have kept out of trouble here with the authorities, but have been our listening post, and sent us mail reports.

“Now it seems that security has been stepped up. They know the main road into the hills, but have no idea where the trucks vanish to after that.”

Douglas rubbed his face and nodded. “Is there any way that Guns and me can get back in there? Fifty miles and then a turn. Do they agree with the distance?”

Franklin asked the question in Farsi, and the man, who was tall with thinning gray hair, smiled. He replied in the same tongue.

“I’m pleased you speak our language so well. You can’t drive in there. The road is constantly patrolled and no one is allowed in that area. The only solution may be to disguise you as prospectors. There are still crazy men who risk being shot hunting for copper and chromium back here in our hills to the north. There’s a huge chromium mine up by Bandar-e, and nuts think they can find another one in the mountains down here.”

Franklin briefed Douglas on what the host had said.

“You mean a prospector with a donkey, a pick, and a sack full of food?”

The Iranian chuckled. “More likely a beat-up old jeep or a falling-apart sedan, and a backseat full of food and water. That would give you cover, and let you move longer distances. Most of the wildcat prospectors use this kind of a rig these days.”

“They get shot at?” Franklin said.

“Routinely. When they get too close to a closed area or
one patrolled. The guards, and the helicopters, do it mostly for sport, and target practice. They don’t really chase them unless they really move in too close.”

“Which way do you guess the big plant is, to the left or right of the end of that highway?”

“I simply don’t know. It could be either way.”

Douglas figured their host was in his fifties. Murrah said he was a teacher in the local school system, teacher and principal. He was a highly respected man in Chah Bahar, and had the full respect of the local authorities, and the military units posted to the town.

“How much army is there here?” Douglas asked. Murrah interpreted for him.

“Roughly two hundred men,” the host said. “They rotate in units of fifty up to guard duty around the facility. They are gone for a week, then another fifty go up to replace them and the first group returns in trucks.”

“Do you have military law here?” Franklin asked.

“Yes and no.”

The woman of the house left, and soon returned with rolls and coffee. It was almost daylight outside.

“We have civil law. Judges, courts, but this is strongly slanted toward the religious leaders. If there is any problem, the military have the final say, or so it would seem down here. We are a long way from Tehran.”

When the rolls and coffee were gone, Murrah said now was the time for some sleep. She would need to put in an appearance at the town’s main meeting hall the following night. The guards at the first roadblock would be sure to radio their men down here that the famous dancer was coming.

“Between now and then I’ll help arrange for a prospector’s car for the two of you. It’ll be all outfitted with food and water and supplies and ready to roll.”

Douglas brought out a stack of ten-thousand-rial notes and gave them to Murrah. “I know this sort of thing costs
money. Uncle Sam will pay his way. If that’s not enough, we have more.”

Murrah leafed through the bills and smiled. “Do you know how much money this is? It’s a fortune to the average Iranian. I’ll put it to good use, without tipping our hand. Now, off to bed, all of you. I need to make some early morning arrangements before I get to sleep.”

Douglas went to the flat roof on the house and set up his radio antenna. He adjusted it to the satellite, then sent off a quick message to Stroh: “Stroh: At Chah Bahar. Contacts here good. Will be moving out in old car into hills as prospectors. Many do this in these hills. Try to penetrate to the road and see which way it turns. Any satellite photos to help us? Read them and send us directions. Be a big help. All else cool. Three Iranians had an accident at a roadblock, but all is taken care of. Douglas.”

Douglas folded up the fanlike antenna and stowed it, then hit his bed. It was going to be a long day even after he woke up.

16

Sixteen SEALs and Kat Garnet swam fifteen feet underwater in the blue Pacific Ocean a half mile off the Silver Strand that linked Coronado to Imperial Beach. They moved forward with a steady stroke using their Drager LAR-V rebreathers. They use pure oxygen that is recycled through the device to eliminate any of the telltale bubbles that follow ordinary SCUBA divers.

This new model Drager was worn on the chest, and the SEAL’s personal weapon was strapped on his back. They had on their usual black wet suits, hoods and boots.

Lieutenant Blake Murdock looked around through the clear greenish water. Visibility good, at least twenty feet. Slightly ahead, and tied to him by a buddy cord, swam Joe “Ricochet” Lampedusa, his new lead scout. The rest of them were also paired with six-foot-long cords so they could stay together.

Tied with Ron Holt was Kat Garnet. Holt was the platoon radio operator who carried the fifteen-pound SATCOM set.

Next in line were Magic Brown and Kenneth Ching.
Murdock watched Kat. She had taken the first two days of training with the Drager in stride. But then she had been an instructor with SCUBA back in Washington, D.C., so the Drager was no stretch.

She carried the full load of combat gear the other SEALs had, including the combat vest with ammo for her MP-5, K-bar knife, canteen, and the belt Mark 23 MOD O .45 pistol.

So far so good.

They had entered the water a half hour before, swam out a half mile, and now were on the way back. This was another exercise to get Kat integrated into the platoon operation as smoothly as possible.

They all had live rounds in their weapons. Kat was getting used to her MP-5 and firing it. She had daily firing practice now. During the past two days she had taken six parachute jumps at Brown Field, a civilian airport near the border with Mexico. A jump school over there contracted with the SEALs for refresher jumps and in this case shepherded Kat through her jumps with full gear. Murdock had limited her load to forty pounds, which still make a big difference in the way her rectangular chute opened and drifted.

“A lot different than the round chutes I used before, with no load other than me,” she told him.

They had completed her rush training course in the elements that SEALs must know. Now they were in a crash operation to get her used to working within the group. Most was land training, since they would most likely drop into the mountains of Iran, and go by ground to the suspect facility. By now, Kat was more than trained on the Drager to make an exit from Iran by water if they needed to.

As they neared the beach, Murdock held up his hand and stopped the first pair of swimmers. They passed the sign along until the platoon was assembled, then they went to the surface.

It was to be a normal assault landing on a beach. They treaded water with their mouths barely out and the Dragers unhooked.

Murdock waved his right hand, and Lampedusa ducked underwater and swam hard for the beach. He came out of the last wave and lay in the sand without moving. Slowly, a half-inch at a time, he turned his head to scan the beach. When he was sure it was secure, he lifted his right arm and brought it down toward the sand.

Six more SEALs from the first squad powered toward the beach, surfed in on the last wave, and lay motionless on the wet sand, where an occasional wave washed over them.

Half a minute later the rest of the platoon surfed in on the four-foot waves and lay on the beach. Kat knew exactly what to do. She had rehearsed this with Jaybird a dozen times on dry land. When she saw the hand raised, she moved with the others. They had cut their buddy cords. She swam furiously, surfed down the last breaker, and was the second man in the platoon to go to ground on the wet sand.

On another signal from Murdock, the SEALs crawled forward, pulled their weapons off their backs, emptied out the water, and charged a round into the chambers. Kat was in sync with the rest of the platoon.

The two snipers leaped up, charged across the dry sand to a small dune, and went prone behind it, simulating fire to the front. On signal the first squad charged the dune and spread out around it, facing the shore. Kat bellied down in the sand, her MP-5 up and ready to fire. She lay six feet from Ron Holt, where she had been assigned.

Second squad raced out of the wet sand, came near the dry dune, and spread out facing the water as a rear guard. Murdock gave another hand signal and Miguel Fernandez leaped up, raced up beside the snipers, set up his machine gun, and chambered the first round. He held up his hand to show that he was ready.

Murdock gave him a signal and he simulated firing.

The next move came as Murdock leaped up. The rest of first squad lifted as a unit with him, and charged past the machine gunner, through the sand toward the highway fifty yard inland. At the edge of the highway, Murdock went prone, and the squad followed.

A moment later the machine gunner Fernandez and second squad charged up beside them.

Murdock stood. “Gather around,” he barked, and the SEALs pulled up nearby and sat.

“Not bad. A little ragged getting the second squad to shore. Get your buddy lines cut quicker so you’re ready. Kat, any problems?”

“No. That Drager is a sweetheart. I want to take one home with me.”

“You can. They price out a little over three thousand dollars.”

“On the other hand …,” Kat said, and the SEALs laughed.

“Kat, you kept up with us, you stayed in your position, you took to the sand in good form, and you charged across it like a veteran. How does it feel to swim and run with forty pounds of gear?”

“Better than if had sixty.”

The SEALs hooted and jeered at Murdock.

Murdock grinned. In a week this small lady had won the hearts of every man in the platoon. Now all he had to be sure of was that she could carry her load, keep herself alive, and didn’t cause any of his men to get wasted. Oh, yeah, and he had to be careful that none of his SEALs put himself in danger trying to help out Kat.

“Let’s get back to the OP shack. I want you to change into dry cammies. We’re going for a ride in forty-five, so hustle.”

“Where we riding to, L-T?” Jaybird asked.

“Didn’t tell you chief? We’re headed for Niland and a
little bit of live firing practice, in formation. Kat, you can change in my office. Let’s move it. Jaybird, a column of ducks and double time.”

The squads formed in a column of twos automatically, and Murdock and Jaybird led them the two miles down the wet sand to the SEAL Grinder. Kat ran beside Holt. She had no trouble keeping up. Holt looked over at her and gave her a thumbs-up.

Kat Garnet, physics professor, nuclear weapons breakdown expert, and temporary SEAL, grinned.

Four hours later, the Third Platoon had saddled up with full combat gear, personal weapons, and regular ammo load, and headed across country from their Navy bus at the edge of the Navy’s Chocolate Mountain Gunnery Range in the California desert.

Murdock had given them the orders before they started out from the bus. “Our mission today is to take Hill 284. It’s about five miles out to the left. First we find it, then we assault it, and we hope we don’t kill any of our own men—or women. This is a live-fire drill.”

He turned to Kat.

“Lieutenant Garnet, do you read me?”

“Yes. We have live rounds. We follow standard procedures, and fire in our designated areas, and do not endanger any friendlies.”

“Right, remember that.”

They hiked out in combat style. Lampedusa led off as scout, working a hundred yards ahead of the rest. They had two diamond formations side by side. Murdock led the point on first squad, followed closely by Ron Holt with the radio, and then Kat. She carried her MP-5, and six extra magazines.

From time to time, Kat stared down at the safety on the weapon. It was on. She didn’t want to stumble and fire off a half dozen rounds. When the order to fire came, she would
check to be sure her field of fire was clear of any friendly force, then fire in the indicated direction on single-shot or three-round burst. Yes. Now all she had to do was do it right. This was her first live-fire training exercise with the rest of the platoon.

They were halfway out to the mountain in the hot afternoon sunshine of October, when Holt touched his mike button once, creating a one-shot
tsk
on the radio. Sixteen SEALs hit the dirt, and lay without moving. Kat tried to look ahead. All she could see was Ron Holt’s boots. She looked over at Magic Brown. She’d watch him.

Magic stood. Kat stood and saw the rest of the platoon on its feet and moving forward slowly toward where the scout remained on his stomach looking forward to the right.

The radio receiver in her ear came on. It was Murdock. “We have some activity to the right front. First squad on the double, and form a line of skirmishers in the dirt on the scout. Move!”