M/V TARABULUS PRIDE
Hurtubise motioned to Zikri in the galley. They went to a far table and sat down. “We need to have a more definite plan if we are intercepted.”
The captain said, “I thought you would fight off any attempt to board.”
“That depends on the attacker. If we are hailed by a warship, we do not have many options, do we?”
“Well, no. Other than surrender, there are only two choices: fight or scuttle. If we fight, we lose. If we scuttle, we lose. From my view, it would be far better to stop and let them search. There is a chance they might not find all the yellow cake.”
“But you said we were unlikely to be stopped by a warship,” the Frenchman reminded him.
“Yes, that’s right. We are exercising legitimate right of passage. Where possible, I will keep within the territorial limits of each country we pass. The Americans have no authority there—even less than in the open sea.”
Hurtubise bit his lip in concentration. “Very well, then. We are most likely to be intercepted by an American or Israeli commercial ship, with naval commandos.” He paused, considering the likelihood. “We have a good chance of beating them off, but they may chase us.”
Zikri gave an indifferent shrug. “They can chase us all they like. As long as we are in international waters, and they cannot actually stop us, all they can do is follow.”
“Well, what could they do to stop us?”
“If they cannot put a boarding party on deck?”
Hurtubise nodded.
“Maybe they would try to disable our rudder or propeller, but to do that they have to get very close. They must have no deck guns or heavy weapons. Maybe if they have rocket launchers…”
“No, they cannot get that close. Our machine guns and RPGs would rip their speedboats apart.” Hurtubise thought for a moment. “What else could they do?”
“I cannot think of anything else. Unless … well, maybe they would ram us.”
“With their own ship?” Hurtubise asked.
Zikri’s eyes went to the vinyl tabletop, then back to the Frenchman’s. “It is possible. But that is no guarantee they could stop us. They might only dent some plates.”
“Could they disable your steering by collision?”
Zikri did not like the direction the conversation was turning, but he tried to remain objective. “Perhaps. But it is unlikely. You see, our stern overhangs the rudder and propeller. They would have to ram us very hard from just the right angle to have a chance. And I would be maneuvering to avoid them.”
“So that could go on for a long time?”
“Yes, yes.”
Hurtubise tapped the table in a momentary pique. Finally he said, “If they get that close to us, I could turn my RPGs on them. I doubt that they have anything comparable, and after we put a few grenades on their bridge, they will have to respect us. That should keep them at least a hundred meters away.”
“Would your grenades be effective against a ship?”
“They cannot sink a ship. But the warheads are powerful enough to penetrate a tank’s armor. So … ordinary steel plate?” He snapped his fingers with a surprisingly loud pop.
“But they could still follow us indefinitely.”
“Then we are back to where we began,” Hurtubise replied. “As you said before, let them follow us to Iran if they like.”
Before Zikri could reply, Hurtubise pursued another subject. “With so many men repainting the ship, we are starting to look different already. Now, what identity have you found for us?”
The captain touched the side of his nose in an exaggerated gesture of confidentiality. “We have many flags to fly. But the blue and white paint fits Greece so I have decided on a new name. Star of Hellas.”
“Is there such a ship?”
“Yes and no. That is the beauty of the name. There was such a vessel a few years ago, but apparently she was sold for scrap. However, that name still appears on some registries. Anybody who checks closely will learn the facts, but it will take time. Meanwhile, I have a man over the stern, painting the new name right now.”
“Greece,” Hurtubise mused. “I have been there only twice. I didn’t much care for ouzo.”
Zikri leaned against the back of his chair, adopting a relaxed posture. “Well, mon ami, whatever you like to drink, I suggest that you finish it before we get to Iran. You will find my Shia friends far less tolerant than I am.”
M/V DON CARLOS
Pope finished the briefing and set down his marker. He folded his brawny arms and looked around the room. Fifteen operators stared back at him. He decided not to comment on Breezy’s and Bosco’s attire: both wore pirate-style kerchiefs on their heads. Bosco even had an improvised eye patch. Green grinned; Pace yawned.
“There’s not much else to say,” Pope stated. “I’m certainly not going to give you guys a pep talk. In the first place, you don’t need it, and in the second place, you’d resent the hell out of it. But I do want to say just a bit about how I feel about this mission.”
He glanced at the deck, then looked up again. “I think we’re engaged in a battle for Western civilization. No, I don’t think it’s going to be settled tonight. This is a long-term commitment, probably for generations. After all, the Crusades lasted two hundred years and the Moors occupied Spain for about eight hundred. I see myself as one man among other men—you guys. Whatever happens to me tonight, there’s no place I’d rather be and nothing else I’d rather be doing.
“That’s enough oration. Now, let’s ruck up and get going.”
* * *
Gerritt Maas spoke with Pope, Malten, and Cohen on the bridge. Tapping the Feruni color radar display, the skipper pointed out nearby ships. “You should not have much trouble identifying the target. These two are well to the south and not in your intercept area.” He noted another blip nearby. “This big one is a supertanker, at least one hundred thousand tons. Depending on whether it maintains course, you might use it to cover your approach to Tarabulus.”
The captain touched the display to indicate another large vessel. “This is probably a container ship. If you match its speed for a while, you might get within one or two miles before you break out of the radar coverage of the tanker.” He looked at Pope. “That’s up to you, of course. I will monitor your frequency the full time.”
Alex Cohen added, “I’ll be in the radio room the full time. If I hear anything unusual, I’ll pass the word to you immediately.”
Don Carlos’s executive officer stood behind the operators. “Captain, we also have light signals in case radio communication fails.”
“Yes, yes,” Maas responded. “I am glad you reminded us, Carl.” He looked at Pope and Malten again. “I think our main concern will be finding anyone overboard or a lost Zodiac. We will flash a Morse Code DC. You do the same.”
“Delta Charlie,” Malten replied. “Dah-dit-dit, dah-dit-dah-dit?”
The Dutchman smiled around his pipe stem. “I don’t know! I haven’t used Morse since I was a cadet.”
Then he turned somber. “Good luck, gentlemen. And good hunting.”