“That’s a lot to speculate about.”
“Maybe I can narrow it down for you. Do you remember five months ago, an Iranian Kilo submarine took damage and headed to the repair yards?”
“Yeah. They were tight-lipped about it. Collision damage was the official story, but we’ve got photos showing something much cleaner. It looked like explosives planted by divers.”
“For the sake of argument, let’s say the mercenary fleet was responsible. What the hell? Let’s say it’s hypothetically my fleet to keep it simple.”
He looked away in thought and then responded. “Okay. If your fleet did that, then that could lead to a retaliation. But it’s hard to say without more data.”
“My fleet has no other bad blood with the Iranians.”
“You’re sure? They haven’t messed with any Iranian allies or sympathizers?”
“That’s an awfully small population.”
“But non-trivial. You have the usual suspects, Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, Venezuela, and Russia. After the fall of Saddam, you have Iraq, too.”
“I don’t see much chance of a connection there.”
“But your fleet attacked Russia recently, right? The Iranians could be doing secret puppet revenge work for the Russians.”
In the Black Sea conflict, she’d helped bail Renard out of a stalemate, paying the Russians double the amount of damage the Frenchman had inflicted. “They did attack Russia, but they paid off anyone who’d still be pissed off. Plus, they staff one of their submarines with veterans from the Russian Navy. The Russian’s wouldn’t be too quick to kill their own sons.”
“That’s got a hint of ancient Rome to it. Conquer and recruit. Not bad for a bunch of mercenaries. But what about their Israeli work? Could they have upset local Iranian allies?”
“Quite the opposite. They spent their own money to break a blockade and feed the Gaza Strip, and then they stopped a tank battalion from rolling into the Golan Heights. If anything, the Iranians should be thanking them.”
“Huh. And no interactions with the other allies?”
She shook her head. “Not that I know of.” The monster added requisite flair. “And I’d know about it.”
“The last time I helped you, you captured an Iranian woman who was seducing an American destroyer captain. If your fleet was connected back then, maybe there’s some motivation there.”
She respected his thorough questioning, but it wearied her. “Even if my fleet had participated, the Iranians from that operation died or fell from power.”
“Then you’re saying it comes down to that… let’s call it an incident, where your hypothetical fleet hypothetically placed explosives on an Iranian Kilo.”
“I think so.”
“This fleet? It’s got what? A couple submarines and that half-destroyer, half-submarine catamaran that can carry them?”
“Two top-of-the-line Scorpène-class submarines commanded by the two brightest commanders on the planet. And that catamaran makes thirty-four knots surfaced, thirteen submerged, and it has twin railguns with a range of one hundred and twenty miles, guided rounds, mind you.”
He wiggled and switched the crossing of his legs. “You know so much about it, I think it is your fleet.”
“I know my subject.”
“Well, like I said, I’m no naval expert, but I know a lot of Iran’s money’s been going into its navy over the last decade.”
As part of her real-time homework during the evening’s crisis, she’d verified the count. “They’ve got two dozen submarines and half a dozen frigates. But most of the submarines are small coastal subs.”
“Coastal… That sounds innocuous, but I’m sure that’s the point. A deceptively small vessel with full-size weapons?”
“Exactly.”
“And their sheer numbers could be a problem for your fleet in Iranian waters?”
The question overstepped the bounds of her undersea warfare knowledge. “Yeah. Let’s assume so.”
“It’s hard to assess Iran’s motivation. Everyone likes to think of them as madmen, but I see them as selectively fanatical. When it comes to making people believe they’re committed to a cause, you’ll see fanaticism. When it comes to using their resources, they’re rational actors.”
“You don’t see revenge as a motivation for them going after my fleet?”
Thinking, he looked away before answering. “They’d probably be willing to risk a couple midget submarines, maybe as part of a reactionary plan of opportunity. For example, if your fleet happened to take the Strait of Hormuz… you said your fleet’s heading towards Iran.”
The monster forced a half-truth as a query. “They are, but I’m questioning if it’s a preemptive strike. Is it possible my fleet’s aware of and trying to stop a premeditated Iranian attack against them?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. The Iranians wouldn’t go after your fleet just for that insult on the Kilo. Even if they were upset, there’s no upside. Your fleet officially belongs to nobody. So, there’s no public image value in attacking them. It doesn’t align with their normal routine.”
“What about a show of strength? They could claim success where Russia, Greece, and Israel failed in getting revenge.”
“To which audience? Again, I’m no naval expert, but isn’t it really hard to prove who sunk whom with submarines?”
She leaned back in her chair and pondered. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Are you sure your fleet isn’t attacking Iran as part of their own agenda? By definition, they’re mercenaries. Have you considered the long list of actors who’d pay for that?”
“If they were attacking Iran, I’d know about it.”
“Fair enough. So, what’s left to consider?”
Her psychological razor cut through the thoughts of caricatures of Iranian political and military leaders, but she couldn’t link their mindsets to the attack on the Goliath. If anything, an Iranian attack would’ve sunk all three of Renard’s ships and claimed a quick and decisive victory. The hijacking was something more complex. If the Iranians were involved, they weren’t alone. “Spend a few hours looking through financial transactions, arrests, and border stoppings in the last three months, and see if anything pops up for someone sympathetic to Iran who has any links to naval activity.
“I can do that. I’ll need to do some digging at my desk.”
“Dinner’s on my secretary’s desk. Enjoy, and call me ASAP if you find anything.”
After he passed through her office door, she turned her attention to her computer screens and unmuted her speakers. In a corner window, her supporting technician looked frustrated. “Where’ve you been, ma’am?”
“I had the sound turned off during a meeting.”
“I’ve been trying to get your attention. The commander of the U.S. Fifth Fleet wants to talk to you.”
She’d wanted more time before confronting the vice admiral who ruled the seas surrounding the Goliath. As the inner girl wished away the pending challenge, her geek’s supervisor appeared in the window.
As a mid-ranking watch captain, he had respectable authority within the CIA, but he had fewer stripes than her. Everyone but a handful of old men had fewer stripes than her.
But the supervisor made no apparent effort to hide his discomfort. “Miss McDonald, the executive assistant for the commander of the U.S. Fifth Fleet has been trying to get your attention for ten minutes. You weren’t answering your phone or computer.”