The Honorable Knight

by Patrick John Donahoe

  Serena, seeing her chance, asked, “Can I jump in now?”

  “Go ahead, Serena,” Desiree said, and leaned back in her chair.

  “I obtained copies of all the video recordings made at the Notting Hill Farmer’s Market for the period a week before through the week when the outbreak started. Since the 9/11 attack the UK has installed over one and a half million cameras, so the average Londoner, conducting his usual daily routine, has his picture recorded more than three hundred times in any given day. I have tacit agreements with the NSA, Interpol and the British Secret Service to run all suspicious characters against their databases, and have asked for permission to run them against the CIA’s, the FBI’s and the Mossad’s databases. It’s only a matter of time until we find the culprit.

  Our examination of all the data we captured when we took down bin Laden and Jahangir point to an attack of some sort taking place, with a ‘truck’ bringing it to our doorstep. The Tehran Times ran an article last week. This is more food for thought. I’ll read the article to you.

  “TEHRAN, Feb 20: The International Daily Tehran Times announced today that the Supreme Leader of Iran, Ali Hosseini Khamenei, has sanctioned a World Peace Cruise consisting of the Jamaran, a domestically produced Moudge class guided missile frigate, and a Kilo-Class diesel-electric submarine, Tareq 901. Both vessels are currently docked at Bandar-e-Abbas preparing for the voyage. The Iranian peoples have the right to worldwide ocean access and will demonstrate to all world peoples that we are a freedom loving peaceful country. The voyage will visit several ports, to be announced, on its six-month cruise. Rear Admiral Habibollah Sayyari is in charge of the voyage.”

  Serena looked up at her three friends. “So what do you think about the Iranians launching a World Peace Tour?” Serena asked.

  “Well, first off, they have no interest in peace, at least not with the Great Satan,” Ian offered.

  “I think it’s tied in with the next Al Qaeda attack. We need to know their route and schedule so we can counter whatever they have in mind,” Serena said.

  “It doesn’t seem like they can do a lot of damage with a diesel-electric submarine and a frigate,” Jacques added.

  “I agree. They can’t go up against the US Navy with those two platforms,” replied Ian. A diesel-electric submarine can’t sail underwater forever like one of our nuclear submarines, and doesn’t have much firepower. Neither does the frigate. They could do some damage to a strategic target, but not earth shaking damage. From the material we captured from Jahangir’s cave I’m guessing he was planning on using a submarine to inflict some kind of horrific damage.

  If they’re going to use a small nuclear weapon, why use a diesel-electric submarine? Why not hand carry it across the Canadian or the Mexican border? Some of the other Seals and myself initially thought the Iranians might be going to attack Israel, but a World Peace Tour seems like a great deal of effort with too much risk and without much return. Our Navy would be all over them if they tried to attack Israel from the Mediterranean.”

  Serena held up Desiree’s world globe and pointed to Iran. “We need to find out their intended route and final destination so we can monitor them along the way and prevent their attack.”

  “Do you have any guesses who they might attack?”

  Pointing at the globe while she talked, “I‘m guessing France, Great Britain, maybe even the US.”

  Ian added, “They’d need to make refueling stops along the way, but only in countries friendly enough to allow them into their ports.”

  Serena continued, “That’s right. Another private source said the Iranians intend to prove their friendly intentions by allowing representatives from the countries that allow them into their ports to inspect the vessels to insure there are no WMDs aboard. We need to go on board at every possibility to do our own inspections. If I go to every port my presence will become suspicious, so maybe Jacques, you could go onboard in your cover as a reporter for the Paris Match. Ian, maybe you could go as a maritime engineer checking out the pride and joy of the Iranian Navy.”

  “That could be fun. What can you tell us about the platforms, Serena?” asked Jacques.

  “The Jamaran is a domestically built Moudge class guided missile frigate. It was launched in early 2010 in Bandar-e-Abbas, Iran. The Iranians are proud of this ship.” Serena held up a glossy photo of the ship for them to see. “For them the design and building of the Jamaran is one of the greatest achievements of Iran’s naval industries. This is a valuable asset for them to use in a World Tour.”

  “What are its capabilities?” asked Jacques.

  “Well, the frigate’s not very large, about 1,400-ton displacement, and carries a crew of 130 men. It has a variety of anti-ship and anti-submarine weapons, and modern radar and electronic warfare capabilities, and a top speed of thirty knots.”

  “What about the submarine?” asked Ian.

  “The sub is a Kilo diesel-electric about 74 meters long and a ten-meter beam. It can go ten to twelve knots on the surface and seventeen to twenty-five knots submerged, with a 400 nautical mile range at three knots submerged on batteries, and a 6000 nautical mile range at seven knots snorkeling on diesel. It can endure forty-five days at sea without replenishment and carries a crew of 52.”

  “What about weapons?” Jacques asked.

  “It has no ballistic nor cruise missiles that we know of, but can carry up to 24 mines or 18 torpedoes, and up to eight surface-to-air Gremlin or Gimlet missiles. I doubt it will carry the 24 mines, since mines are not WMDs and are only used for all out warfare. Since this is supposed to be a peace tour, they would look unfriendly if they had mines onboard,” replied Serena.

  “So let’s come back to why Desiree called us here. Do you think the Iranians could launch a terrorist attack with possibly a water borne virus on this peace tour and no one would be the wiser?” asked Ian.

  “Yes, and no one would be the wiser if done clandestinely,” Serena answered.

  “That’s pretty far out,” said Ian.

  “That’s pretty diabolical,” added Desiree.

  “And they call us the Great Satan,” replied Jacques. “Your speculation is fascinating, but we would need proof of their intentions.”

  “Let’s review what we think we know,” said Serena. “The terrorist, Jahangir, was organizing a WMD terrorist attack that would be delivered by a ‘truck,’ which he was acquiring through Al Qaeda. Some of our clues to the identity of Jahangir were gleaned from the computers and notes acquired when Seal Team Six killed UBL and when Ian and his team captured Jahangir.

  Apparently, even UBL was somewhat afraid of Jahangir, who was the darkest side of the terrorist organization. He killed not for money, insane pseudo-religious ideology, nor power; he killed because he liked to kill. The three letter boys are keeping him from the light of day and have interrogated him in ways that make water boarding seem like a Caribbean holiday, but like a true fanatic has not told them anything of value, yet, and probably won’t.

  Officially we never captured anyone named Jahangir. He was as paranoid as UBL, or maybe more so. Like UBL, his only communication with the outside world was through couriers, and a receive-only radio in his cave. Jahangir used his typewriter to generate cryptic notes which the courier carried in small plastic tubes. You don’t want to know how he carried them.” Serena looked at her friends and grimaced.

  “Alicia at the NSA is working on interpreting the notes in Jahangir’s 3-ring binder. The ones she’s translated so far are non-specific in content and ambiguous as to intent,” Serena said, and leaned back in her chair.

  “You make a good case. Like Ian, you don’t think they would try to attack Israel, do you?” asked Jacques.

  “That wouldn’t appear very peaceful. Our Navies, the US and Israel, are already prepared to corral that possibility,” replied Serena. “I’ve pulled some strings and asked for the four of us to work as a team for the next couple of months. Can I count on each of you?”

  Desiree, and Ja
cques each answered, “yes.”

  Ian asked, “What did my commander say?”

  “You can have some not-to-interfere time to assist us.”

  “I can work with that. Who else besides us knows about your conspiracy theory and our involvement?” asked Ian.

  Desiree answered first. “I’ve only discussed the Notting Hill virus with my team here at the CDC and the Head of the CDC, of course. They’re operating on the assumption that this is a naturally occurring virus and not a terrorist act until we find proof otherwise.”

  Serena added, “I asked Alicia at the NSA for help with examining the Notting Hill surveillance tapes and facial recognition support, and gotten initial agreements with the CIA, FBI, and Mossad to assist with identification and location, if we find a suspect. For now, we’re in control of this mission. I brought up the possibility of a link between Notting Hill and the peace tour with the Chairman, hence the cooperation without explanation from the three letter boys.”

  “And if we find that the Notting Hill virus is natural and the peace tour is peaceful?” asked Jacques.

  “No one will complain. In the interim, let’s get to the bottom of this without creating panic or letting Al Qaeda create a pandemic. I’m going undercover as a cook on the frigate in Iran. My Mossad connections are going to provide me with an ID and set up the job. No female can get onboard the Kilo, but the frigate’s always in need of a cook. Seems the married captain has difficulty acting PC where female cooks are involved, so there’s a job opening.”

  “You’ll be in constant danger. Do you want me to accompany you to Iran?” asked Ian.

  “Thanks for the offer, but not this time. I have to be careful, but I have to do this on my own. My Farsi is impeccable, and my cover story will be as tight as my Mossad connections can make. I’ll have support from a local who’ll pose as my husband and a dock worker.” Serena reached over and patted the back of Ian’s hand. “As the voyage progresses we’ll need Intel from our reliable sources to figure out their ports of call, and destination.”

  “What would they use as a delivery system?” asked Jacques.

  “We need to figure out what they plan to use. I’ll snoop around the ship and see if I can find the weapon and the delivery system.”

  “Jacques and I will provide a quick escape route by helicopter, jet transport, or whatever, when you call. Don’t get caught snooping or get captured. We’ll stay in touch by encrypted satellite telephone.”

  “Thanks, Ian. My local asset and I may need to escape in a hurry.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Serena carried the tray of food to Captain Reza Shirazi’s cabin, head held high underneath the burqa. Her years of spying and theatre served her well portraying any character she attempted. The burqa completely covered her body and her face except for her eyes, which were partially concealed by the mesh insert. She wore body padding to disguise her otherwise perfect hourglass figure.

  The only parts of her that were not disguised were her voice and her almost too perfect hands, which could have been used for hand lotion and diamond ring commercials. Her hands had been instrumental in the hand-to-hand combat killing of more men and women than she cared to remember. Her voice was melodious and seductive when she spoke naturally. She affected the mannerisms of a not so pretty devout Iranian woman who was subservient to all men, a female ‘step and fetch it.’

  She was the female cook and food server for the crew of the Iranian Frigate, Jamaran, while it was in port. She spoke, prayed, dressed, and acted convincingly enough that no one questioned her resume. She had infiltrated, as far as an Iranian woman would be able to infiltrate, the workings of whatever plans Al Qaeda really had for the Iranian Tour of Peace.

  She wouldn’t have the luxury of being able to board the Iranian submarine even though it was tied to the frigate and the submarine crew had to pass across the frigate’s main deck to gain access to the pier, but with skillful spy craft she might be able to uncover some of whatever dastardly conspiracy they were pursuing.

  The frigate captain, a swarthy bearded pig of a man, hinted at taking advantage of her station as a female cook and food server, even though he had a picture of his wife and children prominently displayed on his stateroom desk. Serena set the tray down carefully, and surreptitiously tried to read the paper the Captain was reading. Although the paper was upside-down to her, she was able to pick out a nine-word sentence in Farsi below the TOP SECRET stamp, ‘The submarine captain is in charge of the mission.’ She turned to leave as he looked up from his work.

  “Why the hurry, Mishka?” he asked friendlier than necessary for the difference in their stations.

  “I serve you first while the food is still hot, but I need to serve the others in the galley before it becomes cold,” she tried to say matter-of-factly.

  “I’m sure the men appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  Trying not to appear too interested, Serena stopped, turned slightly, and asked, “When will you depart?” She paused for a second and continued, “I need to know so I can find new employment.”

  “You’ve been doing a fine job. I’ll recommend you to other captains before we sail.” He paused for a second and then continued, “We sail tomorrow, as soon as we’re prepared.”

  “I could wait ‘till your return and work for you again, if it’s not too long, Aqa.”

  “You would have to wait quite a while.”

  “How long?”

  “I’m not permitted to divulge any details . . . but it will be several months.”

  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t wait that long. It must be a long voyage.” She edged closer to the desk, hoping to obtain another glance at the message.

  The captain, either by natural paranoia or suspecting her intentions, covered the exposed portion of the message with another paper. “We will make stops in several countries.”

  Serena tried to appear not interested in the message and stepped closer to the desk with her arms akimbo. “I’ve never been anywhere except here and Pakistan. I would love to travel around the world.”

  “Our peace tour will travel halfway around the world.”

  “I had a cousin who went to Cuba and never returned. I haven’t heard from her since. Maybe you could contact her for me.”

  “We’re stopping in Cuba . . . wait . . .” Captain Shirazi set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “I never said that. You must go now. But thank you.”

  “I apologize if I’m too inquisitive. I envy your freedom. I’ll probably return to my village, bear children, and serve Allah as a woman must.”

  Captain Shirazi narrowed his eyes and asked, “What was the name of your village?”

  “I thought I told you.” Serena didn’t want to divulge any more of her back story than was absolutely necessary. It was too easy to have to make up material and too hard to have it pass muster. Each new question and answer could lead to an unanswerable question and reveal her as a spy.

  “You may have, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time.”

  “It’s a remote, little place; you’ve probably never heard of it.” Serena knew where the captain was from and doubted he had ever been to her backstory village.

  “Perhaps. Remind me.”

  “Khash, near the Pakistan border.”

  “Of course, now I remember, when I read your resume. Our navigator is from Khash. Have you talked to him about your common home town?”

  “I don’t make light conversation with members of the crew. I’m a married woman.”

  “You are most traditional.” The captain laid his hand on her arm. “You must speak to my navigator. He’s saying farewell to his family and will return tomorrow at noon as we prepare to sail. You may have family in common.” The captain gripped her arm gently.

  Serena pulled her arm back from the captain’s grip. “I’ll do that. Thank you, sir.” Serena had little time left now. She couldn’t speak to the navigator about her fictitious background. She backed away from the captain�
��s desk, hoping to exit before there was any more talk of her home town. Even though she was a woman, if she was suspected as a spy by the MISIRI, she would be brutally tortured unto death.

  The captain waved his hands in a push away motion and said, “Thank you, you may go,” a note of impatience in his voice.

  Serena had already taken every opportunity to check out the ship within her purview as the cook, but didn’t find anything potentially dangerous. The top secret message Captain Shirazi had been reading in Farsi gave the submarine captain operational control of the peace tour. The submarine captain was in charge. They were going to stop in Cuba. She needed to get access to the submarine or one of its crew to find out the peace tour’s true mission, since it was doubtful it was about peace. Even as an excellent version of a female Iranian cook, food server, and dish washer she would never be able to access an Iranian submarine, but she might be able to compromise one of the crew.

  Serena’s local asset, Levi, a Mossad agent acting as her husband with the undercover name of Farouk, met her at the gangplank and walked her back to their apartment near the docks. Women were not allowed to walk the piers without a family member escort. Her cover would be blown as soon as the captain mentioned to his navigator that the cook came from the same village as he did. When they arrived back at the apartment, Serena made an encrypted satellite call to Ian to be ready to extract her and Levi at noon the next day.

  Before daylight, Levi entered the apartment as Serena was preparing to leave. He reported, “I helped carry two loads of food supplies onto the deck of the frigate last night, one of produce and the other of frozen foods. Two fuel trucks topped off the Kilo’s and the frigate’s fuel tanks. But, the most interesting event was the delivery of three large unmarked wooden crates.”