The Harpoons seemed to be looking down at all of the sea traffic as the launch codes transferred to inertial guidance and GPS settings. The deadly birds completed the climbing arch and dove toward the water, flattening into an attack mode at almost the speed of sound. The missiles covered the first ten miles before any of the ships reacted; then a steady chorus of bells and alarms grew in a cascade as battle alerts sounded and the Harpoons bored in on the noisiest ship in the target area, an Iranian naval vessel named the Babr, which was holding station while giving off more than enough radar and radio signals for the missiles to ride a true track.
The first Harpoon punched in ten feet above the waterline and drilled a burning hole through the crew compartment and the galley before detonating in the engineering spaces, the explosion going upward and outward. A gust of bumpy air lifted the three-foot-wide stabilizing wings of the second missile, and it smashed directly into the bridge, killing everyone there. The ship rose from the water with its top sheared away and its back broken by the dual direct hits. A fireball wreathed in smoke bloomed over the wreckage as the Babr rolled to starboard and began to sink by the stern.
For miles around, surprised crews stood momentarily frozen as the surprise attack unfolded and the concussion wave of the mighty explosion spread across the sea. Captains on every ship snapped out of the moment, ordered the highest possible alerts, and activated their missile defenses. Boats were ordered lowered to rescue any survivors from the stricken Iranian naval vessel. Almost all eyes were on the tower of black smoke rising into the sky.
“Here come the other two,” Swanson said, leaning into his telescope with more coins in his palm.
The white exhaust trails in the clear sky were especially menacing now, because the original target ship was destroyed and no longer able to broadcast and assist the guidance systems of the incoming missiles. They went up, curved over, and dove to begin the sea-skimming run into the crowded sea lanes at 537 miles per hour.
Flashes of countermeasures erupted from every ship carrying a weapon. Tracers crisscrossed in interlocking fire, and a nearby British frigate pumped off antimissile missiles that swept toward the incoming Harpoons. The combined speed of the weaponry closed the gap fast, and the lead Harpoon in the second wave ran headlong into the defensive web, was peppered by bullets and fragments of antiaircraft shells, and tumbled into the sea.
The last one kept coming, nicked just enough to slightly change its course. It buzzed erratically out of control for another mile before smashing into the broad side of a 130,000-ton, double-hulled tanker that was registered in the Bahamas and filled with unrefined oil.
12
Thick and ugly black smoke pouring from the hulk of the burning tanker could be easily seen from the Sea Jet 1 as it pulled into the pier, more than twenty miles away from the site of the Red Sea attack. The ferry passengers had panicked with the sudden appearance of death and destruction on the water and were fearfully scrambling to reach the perceived safety offered by solid earth beneath their feet. It was hard for Kyle to blame them. The blast that had rolled across the water was followed by a tremendous set of waves that shoved the Sea Jet 1 sideways like a toy boat.
He had remained standing, braced against the pedestal of the big telescope while the disaster unfolded, mentally cataloguing everything that was happening. Bialy and Omar had grabbed the railing and held on tight. Screams of some passengers had blended with the alarm and horns of distressed ships during the first few minutes, until the ferry captain announced over the loudspeaker that bigger ships were surging forward in rescue efforts, and the ferry would stay out of the way and proceed to Sharm under maximum speed. With that, its engines roared and the Sea Jet 1 leapt forward, away from the danger zone.
“I told you we should have done something!” Bialy yelled at Swanson, her eyes wide in horror. She pointed toward the burning oil tanker and the sinking Iranian ship, blaming him. “We could have prevented this! It didn’t have to happen.”
“Why don’t you just shut up?” Kyle was tired of listening to her. Dr. Tianha Bialy was no field agent, and she was allowing emotion to impact her judgment. He made a decision on the spot. “We’re done as a team. You’re on the first plane back to London.”
Then he gave a hard glare at Omar Eissa. At least this guy had some dirt under his fingernails, some mileage as an operator. Can I trust you?
Eissa looked back unflinchingly. “I suggest we all go to the automobile and prepare to disembark as soon as we can. There’s nothing more to see here.” He gently took Tianha by the elbow and tugged her away from the confrontation.
She shook him off. “You can’t make me leave, Swanson. You’re not my superior.”
“No, but I can refuse to work with you any longer. Things are turning nasty in a hurry around here, and your presence would be almost a death warrant for both me and Omar. Those missiles changed the rules. It’s no academic exercise, no series of quiet meetings, but a shooting war. That is no place for a rookie. You just witnessed what could be the start of a war between Egypt and Iran, with God knows who else being drawn in before it’s over.”
She shrugged away from Omar and crossed her arms, anger rising in her eyes. “I’ll be staying, Swanson. You don’t even speak the language here. If one of us leaves, it will be you.”
His lips barely moved. “You know, come to think of it, that would be fine, too. Next time I come to Egypt, I had just as soon be part of a Marine Expeditionary Force armed to the teeth. If you wish, call London when we reach the hotel and let the big dogs make the ‘you-or-me’ decision, and tell them I volunteer to leave.”
“Good,” she snapped. “I will.”
“Good.”
They fell silent and went below to the automobile parking deck. Deckhands had been briefed by the captain to stay calm themselves in order to help settle the passengers, and they moved about as if this were business as usual, unlocking axle chains and steel hooks and preparing cargo to be off-loaded. Their eyes reflected an inner fear as they worked without the usual shouts and orders and controlled chaos of docking. More than anyone else, the crew was aware that the ferry had been but a minnow out on that broad sea and would have easily been crushed to splinters by any of the big ships rushing to the rescue of the stricken vessels.
The ramp was lowered, and Omar kept his place in the line of cars and trucks, ready to react if another driver panicked to get away faster. On almost every trip he had made, the courtesy and temporary friendships shown during the voyage evaporated as soon as the vehicles cleared the pier, and it became every driver for himself.
Once on the road, Omar looked in the rearview mirror at his two passengers, who sat without speaking against the doors on either side of the backseat. He inhaled a deep breath. “Neither of you has asked my opinion, so I will give it anyway. You are acting like quarreling teenagers. We are a very small team of agents that just happened to be in an advantageous position to see what happened back there. Our report will be invaluable in both London and Washington. If you break us up now because of your petty differences, it will be a long time before another team can be inserted.”