Tianha put the camera aside. “A threat to what?”
“Four Harpoons could cause some major damage out there, although I can’t imagine why Egypt would want to sink an oil tanker.” Eissa turned back inland. “I don’t want to pass them again so quickly.”
“Yeah. The good news is that the tubes were flat on the platform, and they have to be raised for a launch, so nothing immediate is happening. We can give it a final check in the morning before we leave.” He briefly considered going after the missile battery tonight and monkeying around with the hydraulic lifting system. That would probably require killing the two crewmen, which would compromise the overall mission. He decided to leave it be and let the allied intel services, which would have Tianha’s photos and report, keep an eye on the installation from a satellite. If the launcher went to an offensive posture, someone else could make the decision on whether, and how, to take it out.
“I would love to know if it has a specific purpose, or if it is just there as a precautionary defense measure during the troubles,” Tianha wondered.
“Oh, it has a target,” said Kyle. “Bet on it. Otherwise it would be parked at the base rather than be out here on its own. Now let’s go get some dinner.”
11
Colonel Naqdi of the Army of the Guardians was at his desk in the Palm Group headquarters offices early and watched a majestic dawn break on what was to be an important day. Urgent messages from the commander of the First Naval Zone in Bandar Abbas were waiting on his desk, but the rear admiral’s pleas would be ignored. The man had already been told that the mission would not be canceled under any circumstances at this point. Either he cooperated or he would be replaced, just as a broken-down old ship could be replaced. The admiral needed to be reminded that the creaky Iranian Navy was gone forever, a relic of the shah’s regime, and that he was now just another cog in the reorganized Navy of the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution.
The ship in question was the old Babr, an antique Pakistani-built utility vessel of the Delvar class with a 1,300-ton displacement and a crew of twenty officers and sailors. More than fifty years old, its only armament was a single ZU-23 23 mm antiaircraft gun. The superstructure sat aft, near the blocky stern, and the midships was broad and flat, suitable for the role it had been playing as a replenishment vessel for the Iranian fleet that had been chasing Somali pirates in the Gulf of Aden. That gave the colonel a pause to chuckle to himself. The United Nations itself had let this little wolf in sheep’s clothing go on the prowl by stating that vessels of different countries could enter the area of the Gulf of Aden to combat piracy, and the Iranians had actually done well in that role. From that position, the Iranians had expanded their reach to penetrate north in the shipping lanes into the Red Sea.
The Babr was innocent and scruffy enough not to draw much attention as it meandered up the coast. Its only possible hostile military use would be to lay mines, so it would be kept under loose observation. The captain had orders to proceed to a point that was carefully plotted on his map through the use of a military-grade GPS navigational system, then slow down and maintain only enough speed to keep headway when his ship reached the invisible mark on the water. A high-frequency beacon would be activated; then he was just to await further orders. Since he carried no commercial cargo, the skipper deduced his ship was being used just to push the envelope of tolerance of the other nations for having an Iranian presence of any sort in the energy-rich shipping sector. When the secret mission was over, the Babr would probably return to the 16th Fleet and help chase some more pirates. He could feel the vibration as the twin diesel engine lazily turned the propeller shafts. The captain realized he probably would never know the real purpose of this little voyage, for that was the domain of those higher in rank than he. His job was to follow orders. The sun had come up to starboard, and he was sitting in his padded chair, sipping a cup of hot tea, and watching the giant vessels plying the shipping corridor.
Colonel Naqdi was finally satisfied that everything was as it should be, and he issued a final flurry of encrypted communications and orders. Last among them was an official letter of commendation for his chief of staff, Major Mansoor Shakuri, citing the excellence of his performance in coordinating today’s complicated action.
Kyle Swanson whipped through an hour’s worth of isometrics, crunches, and push-ups before stepping into the steaming shower and pondering Tianha Bialy. Why was she really on this trip? So far she had accomplished absolutely nothing other than setting up a good car service with a decent undercover agent who had happened upon an antiship missile battery. Omar could easily have replaced her as a translator, if needed. Granted, Hurghada was just a stopover on the way to Sharm, so maybe he was expecting too much, and she would perform some MI6 magic over there.
He took his time getting into another rich-guy tailored business suit and knotting a branded silk necktie that Lady Pat had bought for him. The shoulder harness for his pistol ruined the line, so he left the jacket unbuttoned. Showtime. He called the concierge to send someone up to collect the bags, because that was what rich guys did.
Tianha was waiting at a table in the restaurant, reading news from her laptop computer. “Not much to report, Kyle. A lot of unrest after the Iranian soccer team massacre in Cairo the other day.” She had a cup of coffee to one side, and a basket of pastry was in the middle of the square table, along with fresh flowers.
A waiter appeared, poured a hot cup of coffee for her, and took Kyle’s order for fruit and cereal. “Perhaps nothing much is being reported, Tianha, but this place is strung tight as a violin.”
She looked around to be sure no one was listening. “I made contact about that missile battery to London last night. No further orders.”
“Another piece of data for a big picture that we can’t see.”
“I just feel we should do something more about it.”
Kyle bit into a fresh croissant and chewed thoughtfully. “Not our job. Well, it might be yours, because I still don’t know your assignment. But it’s highly doubtful that you are supposed to have a shoot-out over a parked Harpoon battery.”
Bialy sniffed and went back to her computer. “We will discuss this later,” she said. “This is not the proper place.”
“Well, if we ever get to the proper place, will you let me know? Freezing your partner out of the loop sucks.”
Her dark eyes looked steadily at him. “I’m under strict orders, Kyle. You just have to believe me.”
“I want to. Just try not to get us killed while you follow those orders, OK?”
Thirty minutes later Omar Eissa arrived at the hotel to pick up Swanson and Tianha, right at nine o’clock, and was assured by the doorman that the maids had told him that the two wealthy visitors had not slept together the previous night. The connecting door remained closed and locked on both sides. The doorman thought it strange, he said, accepting the usual tip while he helped load the luggage. The American businessman must be sick for not pursuing such a beautiful woman and for being so obviously cool toward her. They did, however, tip better than the Russians, who wanted everything for nothing. The Germans were the worst of all, but right now he would welcome any customers at all, even Greeks.
Omar cut the conversation short and got his customers into the car. The fast ferry ran over to Sharm three times a week, as did a slow ferry, although the schedules of both had been disrupted by the revolution. If they missed the ten thirty departure, there was no telling when another would sail. Omar told the doorman he wanted to be early.