Just a few minutes later, with everything set, the big LM-100J Super Hercules taxied out onto the beginning of the little airport’s short asphalt runway and halted in place. Its engines ran up to full power, thrumming at high volume. When Ingalls released his brakes, the four-engine aircraft shot forward, steadily gathering speed until it lumbered heavily off the ground not far from the end of the short strip. Red, green, and white navigation lights blinking from its wings and tail, the plane climbed steeply into the swiftly darkening sky. It banked sharply to the right and kept climbing, steadily accelerating toward its maximum flying speed of 362 knots as it headed northeast toward the Atlantic Ocean.
Captain Reza Heidari studied the repeater screens showing the measurements recorded by various weather instruments — anemometers, barometers, temperature sensors, and others — sited at different places around the hull and superstructure of his ship. They all confirmed the evidence of his own senses. The weather was improving fast, as so helpfully predicted by the Americans themselves. He picked up the intercom phone and connected to the Launch Control Center one deck below the navigation bridge.
Dr. Hossein Majidi answered him on the first ring. “LCC here, Reza.”
“What is your evaluation of the meteorological data we’re seeing?” Heidari asked.
“I recommend that we proceed with our prelaunch preparations,” the scientist said confidently. “Based on current trends, all the necessary conditions — most critically wave motion, wind strength and direction — should be nominal by the time the Zuljanah rocket is in position and ready to lift off.”
“Very well, stand by,” Heidari acknowledged. He turned to his second-in-command, Touraj Dabir. “Set Launch Preparation Warning Condition One,” he ordered.
“Set Warning Condition One, aye, sir,” Dabir repeated. He stabbed a button on the control panel in front of him.
Immediately, klaxons blared throughout the massive ship. Bright yellow emergency lights positioned around the hull and superstructure turned on and began rotating. Their quick, strobing pulses of light would alert any sailors working out on the windswept deck or in the noisy turbine and generator rooms to what was happening.
“Warning One set,” Dabir reported. He watched a row of lights turn green across his panel. “All departments acknowledge and report they are ready to proceed.”
Heidari nodded, pleased by the rapid, efficient response to his orders. During the nearly month-long voyage from Iran to this point deep in the Atlantic, he’d run his crew through repeated drills to simulate the steps required to carry out a successful missile launch. Now all that hard work and practice was paying off. “Begin jettisoning our ballast oil,” he instructed.
The younger naval officer pushed a new set of buttons, sending electronic orders to the technicians manning the Pump Control Room, which lay deep inside the hull below the tanker’s above-deck superstructure. More lights turned green. “Pump Room acknowledges, Captain.”
One after another, the special high-speed pumps installed aboard the Gulf Venture during her secret retrofit went into action. A rhythmic vibration, accompanied by a low rumble, steadily built up, until it could be felt in every compartment from the ship’s bow to its stern. The cargo pump outlets were located on both the port and starboard sides, roughly halfway down the more than eight-hundred-foot-long hull. Abruptly, black gouts of thick crude oil spewed out — jetting toward the ocean below. The pumps were emptying the tens of thousands of barrels of oil stored in compartments above the concealed Zuljanah ballistic missile.
Heidari watched this operation proceed. He was utterly unmoved by the damage it would do to the ocean and its abundant marine life. He supposed the world’s naive environmentalists would have been horrified by this intentional oil spill, but it was necessary. Ridding the ship of the crude oil they’d used as camouflage was the only way to clear the way for their rocket launch. And, as an added bonus, deliberately creating a massive slick would also further dampen any wave motion around the tanker as it steamed in circles through layers of oil slowly spreading across the sea.
He looked at Dabir. “How much longer until all the camouflage compartments are empty?”
The younger man studied his readouts for a moment. “Judging by the observed flow rate, another thirty minutes or so.”
Heidari checked the monitors which showed the Gulf Venture’s current range of motion. It was already greatly reduced, but there were additional measures available to him. “Deploy all stabilizers,” he said quietly.
Dabir obeyed. His hands darted across the control panel, flipping switches. Additional instrumentation lights changed color from red to yellow and then, finally, to green. Large stabilizer fins rigged to the tanker’s bow and stern slowly unfolded and locked into position. Like those used by cruise liners, they significantly reduced the ship’s roll rate.
Satisfied that matters were well in hand, Heidari settled back to wait for the high-speed pumps to finish their work. Just short of the predicted thirty minutes, the gouts of oil jetting over the side sputtered, slowed, and then stopped. The rumbling vibration rippling through the ship’s hull faded away. He glanced at Dabir.
The younger man had his eyes fixed on his control panel. He leaned forward to check a bank of monitors displaying infrared and low-light imagery from inside the ship’s upper tier of oil-storage compartments. “All camouflage oil jettisoned,” he confirmed.
“Are there signs of excessive sedimentation?” Heidari asked. Over long periods of time, some of the various components of crude oil in storage could settle out, forming a thick, toxic sludge. Given the relatively short duration of this voyage, that should not be a serious problem for them, but there was no point in taking any chances now.
“No, sir,” Dabir answered.
“Very well, but purge the tanks anyway,” Heidari ordered.
His second-in-command sent more instructions to the technicians manning the pump controls deep inside the hull. Obeying, they opened a series of new valves and then restarted the pumps — flooding the compartments with successive sprays of pure water and then high-pressure steam to wash away any oil residues still clinging to the bulkheads, vertical and horizontal framing, and fittings. Several minutes later, the cleaning process was finished.
Heidari spoke again to Hossein Majidi in the Launch Control Center. “We’re ready to proceed with the next phase.”
“Understood, Reza,” the missile scientist said. “The rocket remains stable. All systems are go for launch pad roof retraction.”
Heidari swung toward Dabir. He could feel his pulse beginning to speed up with growing excitement. The months-long process of rebuilding this massive ship to carry out its role in MIDNIGHT and training its specialist crew was now coming very close to fruition. “Set Launch Preparation Warning Condition Two.”
The younger man followed his orders. More klaxons blared. And now the rotating emergency lights scattered around the ship glowed red. Again, acknowledgements rippled in from the various departments.
Satisfied that his crew was ready, Heidari issued the final necessary orders. “Retract the launch pad cover.” From here on out, Majidi and his technicians would be in charge.
Near the Gulf Venture’s midsection, powerful motors activated. In sequence, sections of the deck and inner hull slid apart and folded up — opening bulkheads and frames to reveal the missile storage unit hidden deep inside the ship’s hull. Once that was done, the twin doors built into the roof of this secret compartment unlocked and lifted, exposing the Zuljanah rocket for the first time since it had been loaded aboard at Bandar Abbas. Topped by its black nose cone, the twenty-five-meter-tall missile lay on its side, still safely secured to its surrounding framework.