Orphaned by the loss of a father to the Iran-Iraq War and by a mother’s death during childbirth, the Trigger had lived with an aunt who failed to conceal her resentment of having to raise him. Arriving in this world in abandoned isolation disconnected him from humanity. He considered his given name meaningless and called himself “the Trigger” because it described the one thing that soothed his pain of living — destroying things.
Small arms bird hunting had grown into a hobby of taking down big horn sheep with game rifles. In his teens, he had discovered nitrogen-based chemical mixtures and started blowing things up, including carcasses of his prey. A university education in chemistry and engineering had completed his formation into a munitions expert.
The name of “the Trigger” became known within spheres of extremist influence as he had orchestrated a series of high-altitude tests of ship-launched ballistic missiles in the Caspian Sea. His last demonstration had placed upgraded Shahab III missiles, variants of the Russian Scud, into low earth orbit.
As he worked on his newest and grandest project, the Trigger stood beside the captain of the supertanker — a mariner he trusted from the Caspian Sea tests. Disliking given names, he addressed his companion by title.
“This disappoints me more than it does you, captain.”
“I am certain of it. Are you sure that General Simon’s missile demonstration necessitates this?”
The Trigger kept his gaze on the open tank below, watching the launchers being disassembled under moonlight and soft halogen lighting. Deckhands unfurled a canopy as a crane hook slipped into shadows to retrieve a section of a missile’s launcher mounting.
“Yes, we must delay our attack,” the Trigger said. “Although I have yet to decide if General Simon is a fool or a genius.”
“He created a media circus courtroom trial that a nation of idiots is gobbling up with mindless gluttony,” the captain said.
“You are missing the more important outcome.”
“I am aware that his missile demonstration stunt has driven up the value of his armament company. At least the speculation of western newspapers supports this.”
“If it’s true, it won’t last,” the Trigger said. “Making one prototype missile that can dive into a river is simple. Design and production of a fleet of missiles for sale in a highly competitive global armament market is an entirely different consideration.”
“Then he sounds like a fool to me. Why might you consider him a genius?”
“If his true intent was to shift the American defense strategy, then he has walked a convoluted path to success.”
“I had suspected American military responses but was unsure. You have access to better sources of information than I do. Excuse me.”
The captain raised a bridge-to-bridge radio to his mouth and ordered his deckhands to stay the swaying of a swiveling crane. When satisfied the motion had stopped, he lowered the radio.
“You know of the American response to General Simon?”
“Since you will be risking your life in this,” the Trigger said, “you deserve to know. They are tightening their coastal air defenses. Anti-air systems of naval vessels in port are on standby, Patriot missile batteries have been deployed, and it is probable that alert aircraft defenses have been expanded. The American sky is all but blanketed with missile defense coverage.”
“This creates a difficulty for us, but surely there are gaps we can exploit.”
“Indeed there are gaps which they will attempt to fill with warships armed with Aegis defense systems and Standard SM3 missiles designed for this very purpose.”
“Where does that leave us in exploiting gaps?” the captain asked.
“That is uncertain. What is certain, however, is that if we can find an Aegis warship patrolling off the American coast, we have then found a gap in the land and air-based defense net, which is an ideal location from which to launch our attack.”
“Ideal? I disagree. Aegis warships provide an impregnable defense.”
“Not impregnable. Even an Aegis destroyer’s missile defenses can be defeated.”
“Dubious,” the captain said. “But if true, why wait? If we can somehow slip our missiles past the defenses, why not strike now?”
The Trigger felt a deep stab of sadness. He was unsure what caused the recurring stabs, but they hit when he thought of death. His words passed through a drying throat.
“Because defeating an Aegis destroyer’s air defenses requires defeating the destroyer itself.”
The captain snorted.
“How do you plan to defeat the world’s mightiest warship?”
“From below and from inside,” the Trigger said.
“Inside? A mutineer?”
“Not quite, but just as useful. Better that you know no more about it.”
“Fine,” the captain said. “But an attack from below? Our allies have very few submarines at our disposal, and they are constantly watched.”
“You are correct. We cannot use the submarine of any ally.”
“Then what are you planning?”
“We have allies who are planning to steal an Israeli submarine, and I have united with them in a coordinated purpose. They have already invested two years into their operation. The timing is perfect.”
“I had heard rumor,” the captain said. “The purpose is to launch its cruise missiles at Tel Aviv with the appearance of a mutinous self-inflicted wound. An admirable goal.”
“The rumor is true, and the launch against Tel Aviv was the purpose,” the Trigger said. “It is no longer. The Dolphin-class submarine Leviathan will instead be at our disposal.”
“The rumor stated that no government is involved. This hijacking is led by inexperienced people. If it goes awry, we may never have a chance to launch our missiles.”
“Nobody is experienced in stealing submarines,” the Trigger said. “The task requires capable and intelligent men who can plan, execute, and adapt.”
“You would trust a Syrian team?”
“We share a common purpose.”
The Trigger felt an awkward and rare sensation that he would later tag as reverence.
“You’ve met the man who will lead them, haven’t you?” the captain asked.
“Once, outside the university in a planning meeting. He strikes me as insightful and driven. He is noted regionally as a rising leader in economic thought.”
“Men of pontification are not men of action. Let him lead a capital ship through high seas before I consider him capable.”
“I also doubted him until seeing him talk through a plan of his own design with the conviction and confidence of a man of action. Apparently, he has led underground resistance activities in Damascus for years while maintaining his status as a talented economist. If anyone can steal an Israeli submarine, he can.”
“I had considered you the most interesting, although depressing, man I’ve known. But should this Syrian man and I survive long enough to make each other’s acquaintance, I will reassess my opinion.”
“Do you care to know his name?”
“I would be impressed if you, the Trigger, who considers given names meaningless, would say it.”
“This man’s name is worthy of hearing. It is Hana al-Salem.”
CHAPTER 2
Thirty minutes after Hana al-Salem had turned the Jammal into a limpet on the Israeli submarine, Leviathan, Haitham al-Asad and Mahmoud Latakia, the Syrian naval veterans, had redrawn vacuum in half of the suction units. The failing port side aft unit never held, and Salem had given up on it.
“Some of the outer units have caught,” Asad said.
“Our upward buoyancy and their rocking pressed them together?” Salem asked.