After years of attempting to completely rid himself of the practice, he still had to remind himself not to squat in the manner of his childhood. He doubted that anyone would recognize it as the habit of an Arab, but they might think he was trying to take a shit. It would be poor form to attract the attention of a park ranger.
Looking out at the Gulf of Mexico, Nasih again focused on the memories of Dubai. He imagined, fantasized really, that maybe here his work, his patience, would finally come to fruition. Maybe his disappointment at being selected to leave the battlefield in Afghanistan would finally be wiped clean. Maybe his years of murderous restraint while smiling and being pleasant with the condescending British and the arrogant Americans, would be released. Maybe through this intrigue and manipulation the will of Allah would finally be done. Maybe it would be Allah’s providence that he should save this beach.
The thought was interrupted by Gabriel’s arrival. Nasih looked up as the American’s truck came into view. He parked ten yards from the Land Cruiser, got out and walked up the dune.
Nasih expected that working with Gabriel’s group would be another unpleasant necessity. He was surprised to find that he somewhat enjoyed teaching them. He had long since divorced himself from any notion of understanding their purpose, but he admired their passion. He recalled the ecstasy of jihad in Afghanistan, the joy of being able to direct his anger. Nasih watched his training evoke the same emotions in Gabriel and his friends. They would be ready soon.
“Good afternoon, Gabriel.”
“Hello.”
“How was your trip?”
“Successful. I brought my ID. Do you want to see it?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Gabriel already had it in his hand. Nasih took it and scrutinized it.
“Perfect. You did well. Any mishaps?”
“None.”
Nasih knew already that he did not have to ask Gabriel twice.
“How is construction of the units coming?”
“Good. We have some more to do, but it is coming along. We are on schedule.”
“I would not say that you are on schedule. It was important to be careful, but obtaining the identity cards took a little longer than I expected,” Nasih lied. “Sadly there is no room for error now, Gabriel. We are running out of time.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be ready. I promise.”
“I hope so. I do have other clients you know.”
“I know.”
Nasih looked up and down the beach again. There were still only the two fishermen. He sensed nervousness in Gabriel’s posture.
Good, thought Nasih. Just a little more and these men will be ready to explode — literally.
“Walk with me to my car, Gabriel.”
As Nasih got into the driver’s seat he said, “Look on the passenger seat. Do you see that envelope?”
“Yes,” replied Gabriel.
“Pick it up.”
Gabriel picked up the manila envelope and opened it.
“Inside, you will find my contact information, a new cell phone number and email address. Contact me if there are any issues that will keep us from our schedule. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Nasih turned the engine on. Gabriel backed away from the rumbling SUV and watched Nasih put in gear and drive away. Nasih looked out to the sea and frowned. He hoped that the units would be ready on time.
Jazz and Fontaine began turning over responsibility for EOD Mobile Unit Six Detachment Four after the warrant officer returned from the unexpected Secret Service gig. On Monday, inventory of the dive gear was scheduled for the morning and tours of the Pioneer, Kingfisher, and Inchon were slated for the afternoon.
T-Ball was the dive locker petty officer. He came in early and skipped morning PT to lay out all of the gear. As a result the inventory went smoothly. Jazz counted fourteen sets of scuba jugs, six Mark-16s, twelve lo-mu knives, ten masks, ten depth gauges, fourteen regulators, and a wide variety of test equipment and tools. As he counted each, checked the serial numbers, and signed the inventory sheet assuming responsibility for the gear, T-Ball neatly stowed the items in the appropriate drawer or shelf.
Fontaine wanted to give Jazz a familiarization tour of the Inchon and one ship from each class of minesweeper. So after the inventory, the two officers took the det HUMMVEE down to the waterfront. The doors and back window were never on it in the summertime, but the canvas roof never came off. Its diesel was very loud, but Jazz tried to ask Fontaine a few questions anyway.
“How often are you guys able to dive!” he yelled.
Fontaine kept his eyes forward, but turned his face toward Jazz yelling back.
“We try to get wet once a week, but sometimes it’s difficult. What often happens is we’ll get a ton of dives one month and less the next. For example, you have an exercise coming up with USS Scout. You will have long days of diving for about a week. You may not dive again until Readiness Training in Virginia.”
Fontaine pulled the HUMMVEE into a spot adjacent to the pier and cut the engine.
“Captain Solarsky said I should ask about how you guys respond to IED calls in town.”
“Yeah. It is actually a little complicated. Remind me to tell you about that later.”
They started with a tour of Pioneer. The MCM’s had an organic sonar and a sophisticated suite of computers to analyze the incoming data.
“These guys are good. It amazes me sometimes the stuff they find,” Fontaine said.
Pioneer’s fantail was covered with sweep gear designed to detonate influence mines and special cutters to part the cables of contact mines lying just below the ocean’s surface. She also had a remotely piloted vehicle, or ROV, that could hunt for mines with its own sonar. Kingfisher was similar to Pioneer, only smaller. The MHCs did not have the exotic sweep gear, but as a result their fantails were wide open.
“We prefer to embark onboard these ships as a result,” Fontaine explained from the open spot on Pioneer’s stern. “There is plenty of space for our Mark-5 inflatable and all of our gear.”
Finally, the two boarded the Mine Warfare Command Ship. The hangar deck of the Inchon reminded Jazz of an aircraft carrier. It was probably fifty feet off the waterline, higher than the bridge on Pioneer or Kingfisher. It was about the size of four basketball gyms in length, width, and height. Fontaine explained that it housed the MH-53E Sea Dragon Helicopters, the Navy’s mine-hunting variant of the Super Stallion.
“We call ‘em ‘Hurricanes.’ And let me tell you they are big sombitches.”
“How do they work?”
“What, you mean finding mines? Well, the helos drag a ‘fish’ behind ‘em on a cable. It has sonar onboard that sends a signal to the operator in the back. The operator marks every contact and its position is recorded. The squadron has a CIC of sorts a few decks above us where all the data is downloaded, analyzed and disseminated. Sometimes we get info in a few hours. I’ve dove contacts in the late afternoon that a Hurricane found that morning. The helos also employ a sled that they can drag behind that sweeps for influence and contact mines. Just like the MCMs.”
Behind the hangar deck laid an open space that belonged to EOD Mobile Unit Six.
“It is still called ‘Aft V,’” Fontaine explained. “Used to be Marine Aft Vehicle Storage when they were aboard. We can fit three FADLs, a Fly-Away Recompression Chamber, and a support skid back here. It becomes EOD-land very quickly.”
The rest of Fontaine’s Inchon tour was unremarkable. He showed Jazz office space and berthing that was used by EOD. The most interesting part of the Inchon tour for Jazz was the boat davits. Modified with new cradles, winches, and cranes for raising and lowering EOD RHIBs, the Mine Warfare Command Ship could launch four at any time.