Flynn noticed heads around the table nod in understanding. He hid a smile of his own. He suspected his hosts now viewed him as one of the Gentile equivalents of the sayanim, Jewish citizens of other countries who were willing to provide critical aid to Israel in times of need. Throughout its tumultuous history, Israel had good cause to be thankful for their support.
In the silence that followed, Elazar looked around the command center. “All right, since the Americans seem to have tied their own hands, what are our options to deal with this Iranian oil tanker and the nuclear missile it now carries?”
“We could sink the ship at anchor with an air strike,” one of the Israeli air force officers suggested. “Or out at sea once it sails.” He shrugged. “Such a mission would be difficult, especially given the strength of the surface-to-air missile and fighter interceptor units currently deployed around Bandar Abbas. It would certainly require the commitment of a large number of our best planes and pilots. But it could be done.”
“Unfortunately, sinking the tanker by air or missile attack is now out of the question,” Elazar said patiently. “Can you imagine the environmental damage and the resulting international outcry if we send a vessel loaded with hundreds of thousands of barrels of crude oil to the bottom of the sea?” He turned back to the head of Shayatet 13. “Can your commandos plant a limpet mine on the ship, Rafael? Something that would damage its engines and keep it in port without rupturing those oil-storage tanks? That, at least, would buy us additional time to organize a more permanent solution.”
Alon frowned. “That oil terminal at Bandar Abbas is a hard target,” he said. “Between the IRGC’s speedboat patrols and its own frogmen, the odds of carrying out a successful operation there would be very low — while the chances of incurring substantial casualties would be very high.”
“And once the Gulf Venture sails?” Elazar asked. “What about then?”
“It would be difficult,” Alon told him. “Planting a mine on a ship moving at fifteen to twenty knots would require the use of one of our Dolphin 2—class submarines carrying a force of divers and high-speed underwater sleds.” One of the command center’s digital maps zoomed in to show where Israel’s three Dolphin 2—class subs were currently stationed. They were all in the Mediterranean. “But it’ll take us at least five days to transfer the Drakon, the Rahav, or the Tanin through the Suez Canal and around into the Persian Gulf.”
“By which time that tanker will have vanished,” another officer commented sourly. “The sea is a big place.”
Flynn saw what they were driving at. A ship steaming at high speed could cover a couple thousand nautical miles in five days. Finding a needle in a haystack would be easy compared to pinpointing a ship somewhere in the vast expanses of the world’s oceans.
“We have a spy satellite in orbit,” Elazar pointed out.
The same officer shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Avi,” he said. “The orbit of our OFEK-16 imaging satellite is optimized to keep watch on Iran’s nuclear facilities and its missile research centers. It’s not designed for ocean reconnaissance work.”
Flynn kept his mouth shut, listening while the discussion went on. Eventually, it became obvious that Alon and the other Israeli officers saw only one even remotely realistic option: A Shayatet 13–led helicopter boarding operation backed up by a support unit aboard fast boats.
Alon finished conferring with his colleagues and turned back to Elazar. “Given twenty-four hours, we can move two Eurocopter AS565 Panther helicopters and a couple of air-transportable Morena rigid hull, inflatable boats to a staging area in the UAE. Naturally, the helicopters will have to refuel on the way from one of our KC-130 air tankers.”
“Under the Abraham Accords, we only have commercial and diplomatic ties with the United Arab Emirates,” Elazar objected. “We are not military allies.”
Alon offered him a wolflike grin. “Officially, that’s true,” he agreed. He shrugged his shoulders. “But for years we’ve worked covertly against Iran with many of the Gulf States. If we’re quiet about this, they’ll gladly turn a blind eye.”
“Two helicopters? And a couple of small boats? With a couple of squads of commandos in the first wave?” another officer commented dryly. “That’s not exactly an overwhelming force, Rafael.”
Heads nodded throughout the command center. Previous Israeli seizures of Iranian shipping had often involved multiple surface warships, hundreds of soldiers and sailors, and large numbers of combat aircraft flying cover.
“What choice do we have?” Alon retorted. “Wait until the Iranians detonate this nuclear warhead the Russians have given them over Tel Aviv? Or one of our other cities?”
Elazar held up a hand, stifling the heated argument they could all see brewing. “As I see it, this decision comes down to the reliability of the intelligence we’ve been given by our American friend here. If what he says is true, we do not have any real choice except to gamble.” He turned to Flynn with a shrewd, calculating expression on his face. “So then, Mr. Flynn, just how confident are you that your assessment of this situation is correct — and that this Iranian missile is actually armed with a nuclear weapon?”
Aware that all the eyes in the room were fixed on him, Flynn knew he could not afford to hesitate. The slightest show of uncertainty would wreck any chance of stopping MIDNIGHT in time. “Confident enough to volunteer to join your boarding party,” he said coolly.
Beside him, Ayish nodded approvingly.
Elazar raised an eyebrow. “That is confidence indeed.” He glanced at Alon. “What do you think, Rafael?”
In answer, the Shayatet 13 commander looked hard at Flynn. “How often have you been in action?” he demanded.
“Four times,” Flynn replied simply.
“And were you frightened?” the Israeli officer probed.
Flynn smiled back at him with a quick flash of tightly bared teeth. “Afterward? Oh, hell, yeah.”
“But during the fighting?” Alon asked bluntly. “Were you scared then?”
Flynn shrugged. “I was too busy to think much about it,” he answered truthfully.
The Israeli commando officer matched his devil-may-care grin and turned back to Elazar. “This American’s totach, a stand-out guy,” he said simply. “We’ll take him.”
The gray-haired civilian nodded. “Excellent.” He looked around the conference table. “Very well, I’ll recommend to the Prime Minister that we proceed. In the meantime, prepare your forces for movement… and outfit Mr. Flynn with the equipment and weapons he’ll need.”
Later, in private with Ayish, Flynn shook his head in amazement. “I cannot believe that I just talked my way into going along on this raid. So much for the whole Four mantra about the need to keep a low profile.” His mouth turned down. “Man, Br’er Fox is not going to be happy about this.”
The older man chuckled quietly. “Oh, I doubt that, Nick,” he said sincerely. “You see, Fox and I had a wager as to whether you would find some way to join any attack force. And he just won that bet.”
Twenty-Four
Two twin-engine AS565 Panther helicopters flew low over the sea at more than one hundred and fifty knots — rapidly closing on the huge black shape of the Gulf Venture, which was now less than five miles away. Nick Flynn had one of the fold-down seats inside the lead Panther’s crowded troop compartment. He was hemmed in between seven Shayatet 13 commandos. Bulky in their body armor, they were all loaded down with weapons — short-barreled X95 bullpup assault rifles, grenades, fighting knives, and 9mm pistols. As a diplomatic gesture to the need to minimize the Israeli military presence in an Arab state, there were no national markings on either helicopter or on any of their camouflage uniforms.