DiVersion: New Persia Series, #1

By Richard Barton

Volume I, Approx 330 pages

DiVersion 

It was a quiet life for retired Navy Commander, and SEAL, Ryan McKenzie enjoying his Hunter sail boat, until he sees a mysterious underwater craft in the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico. After seeing this mysterious craft, he is surprised and attacked by a foreign yacht and nearly killed – his sailboat destroyed miles from the nearest coastline. After a series of events, he is summoned to Washington D.C. to help in solving a vexatious problem. A middle-east terrorist is disrupting oil well production in the Gulf and the mysterious vessel he saw may be connected to those disruptions. Working for the US president, and with assistance from several government agencies, they lay out a course of action. As events unfold, he and his partners find a problem on one of the oil wells and he is, nearly killed in the depths of the Gulf. Subsequent events lead to the capture of a key terrorist and his highly capable mission yacht but at a high personnel cost by the US Coast Guard. Ryan is attacked in his own home by a terrorist but survives. Presidential support aircraft are attacked and some are destroyed. In concert with a very incensed president, and members of his staff, a plan is developed which leads to a final climax of action in the deserts of eastern Iran.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Barton
• Release date: Jun 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9780990378914

Richard Barton

Richard W. Barton, a retired U.S. Air Force officer and also retired from a major aerospace company, spends his time, when not writing, on the golf course and climbing the trails and mountains of his adopted state of Colorado. He has written three novels in a series, Diversion, Relentless Target, and Elusive Quarry. He can be reached via e-mail at [e-mail]

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Chapter One

The Mystery Starts

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Wednesday – August 25

East Texas Coast

The day broke from the east over the Gulf of Mexico with a refreshing offshore breeze, the bright sun dancing between thinly spaced white cumulus clouds. The air was warm and wet from a morning shower and the constant wave motion, visibly racing through the water, was begging to be used as Ryan McKenzie took to the coastal waters in his 2010 Hunter 36 sailboat.

Ryan, at five feet nine, was not a tall person. He was a thin and fit 175 pounds from mornings spent running for several miles on the beach. He had a tense look about him, emphasized by his intensity toward living life to its fullest. His full brown hair was partially bleached from outdoors and the sun, and his almost-sad brown eyes, slightly recessed under his eyebrows, matched his hair.

From the marina, if you could see far enough, you could see the coast of western Florida. But the curvature of the earth prevented that. The thought was still a pleasant one. One of these days he planned on making the crossing clear across the Gulf of Mexico and find a temporary berth in Fort Myers, or possibly up in Tampa. As a retired Navy Commander with over twenty years’ service, Ryan retained his love of the sea.

He was heading out for a day of pleasant challenges on the western portion of the Gulf of Mexico; challenges in navigation skills, without the use of GPS, and challenges in honing his sailing skills. He had found many years before that he really liked sailing the way his seafaring ancestors had done it, without the modern navigation aids and without the electronics. Shooting the sun and stars kept him sharp, and the successful conclusion as he pulled into a harbor on the distant waters of the Gulf was remarkably satisfying to him.

He had on a pair of navy-blue shorts and a white polo shirt with his marina’s emblem emblazoned on it, and was wearing blue and white tennis shoes without the laces. As he looked across the slightly churning waters, he could see the distant clouds moving away from him and reflected on how lucky he was to be alive and enjoying his semi-retired life. The presence of the water could be sensed with his every emotion, and he reveled in it. For his daytrip and overnight stay, Ryan loaded up supplies and included enough for a few extra days in case he needed it. He stowed three full changes of clothing, but absolutely nothing formal. That wasn’t in the cards for this trip.

After getting everything stowed away, he notified the Coast Guard station via his VHF radio that he was about to depart, and his approximate course. They wished him a safe and pleasant journey with good winds.

He went back onshore to the marina office and coordinated with his three employees, Betty, Juan, and Steve, giving them some final instructions before he departed. He went back to the boat and, after a few minutes of final preparation, he removed the mooring lines and eased out of his personal slip, using his small motor, and headed into the harbor.

Pulling out of a harbor is like conducting an opera or developing a dance. You have to be constantly aware of what the other players are doing and anticipate their every move to achieve success. The wind, the waves, the currents, the sandy shores, and the other people and boats doing the same thing caused a constant change in environment that he felt to his core, and it exhilarated him. He was also quite good at it.

As he departed the dock and harbor at his marina and headed out just south of the Freeport, Texas harbor, he reflected on his career in the Navy. A Navy Commander is a very successful rank, and he had enjoyed most of his career. He was free now to enjoy life as it came at him. In the Navy, his work as a SEAL and some exposure to deep-sea diving was very satisfying and the men who he commanded in those roles were the best in the world. He wasn’t biased about this; he had worked with the best and they had proven this many times on special missions, ship repairs, and shipwreck work.

After several more hours of sailing, he came across a series of oil platforms. He drew close to one of the rigs and was constantly amazed at the sheer size and complexity of this manmade island. While he had never been on one, he knew it accommodated all the normal living requirements for a crew of over a hundred men and sometimes women. With over ten acres of space and room for very complex machinery and electronics, it was a virtual city of steel and concrete amidst the ocean’s currents. This particular platform was a production platform that was capable of extracting thousands of barrels of crude per day from a water depth of over one thousand feet. He looked up at the top deck and exchanged waves with an oil crewman taking a smoke break.

After leaving the platform behind, he headed out into the Gulf on an easterly course with intentions of heading south and an eventual landing at Port Aransas for the night. The day continued to be quite pleasant, with temperatures in the low eighties and prevailing winds supporting his course. He had several friends scattered throughout the Gulf and Caribbean waters, and he was anticipating a great evening with a couple of them. He was truly in his element sitting back at the wheel, enjoying the pleasant sound of the water sliding past the sides of the boat, burbling at the stern, and observing a few seagulls. Owning a small marina of 102 slips just south of Freeport, Texas, having competent help, and living in a part of the world that just satisfied his soul was his idea of the perfect life.

Moving out of sight of land on the easterly course, he contemplated how his wife Marcy would have loved these times. The pancreatic cancer that claimed her just four years ago was a dramatic end to her life, and he still missed her greatly. They had a lot of plans for the future, and her passing had been a major emotional blow for him. Time had partially healed the hurt, and he remembered so many good times spent with her over the years.

His musings were interrupted as he noticed a small craft that he had not noticed a few minutes earlier. This sudden appearance surprised him. He was puzzled. Where had it come from? It had not been there a few minutes earlier; he was sure of it.

Picking up his field glasses, he was surprised to see that it was apparently a small commercial submarine about twenty-five feet in length and moving along at about ten knots. He noticed a strange piece of machinery on the bow that looked like a combination plow and metal-cutting saw apparatus. The sub was dark blue/gray in color and, sitting very low in the water, quite difficult to see. Except for his keen eyesight and the clear horizon, he might not have noticed it. He concentrated his attention on it once more. Definitely not a whale! It was heading on a slightly diverging course away from him to starboard and was moving right along, obviously being driven by some form of engine. It had no signal flags or other identification to it.

Ryan changed the frequency on his radio to the guard channel and tried to hail the sub. He got absolutely no response. Looking through his field glasses, he saw a hatch open. A crewman stuck his head out and panned the horizon with field glasses. When he got to Ryan’s boat, he stopped, and he was watching Ryan watch him! He quickly disappeared back into the sub and then, to Ryan’s surprise, it was almost like a hole had developed in the ocean waters. The sub dramatically slowed down and sank from sight very quickly. The water seemed to just open up and swallow it. One minute it was above the surface and moving along, and the next minute it had disappeared. Just gone! After watching the location where the sub disappeared for close to an hour, Ryan gave up and altered his course for the anticipated evening with his friends.

Setting a westerly course, Ryan headed for the harbor at Port Aransas. After several hours’ sailing, he could now see the port on the horizon. After pulling in to the dock and hailing the harbormaster for an anchoring assignment, he docked at the assigned space.

He filled out the required information and proceeded onshore to Charlie’s Restaurant for his evening’s meet and greet session. He reflected that friends were really good to have, especially ones that met you in these out-of-the-way places the world kinda forgot.

On the waterfront with a nautical décor, Charlie’s was an older restaurant. Both the indoor bar and dining room, along with the covered outdoor porch area, had wide plank floors, nautical décor items throughout, and well-worn furniture. It was a fixture in the port area, and each time Ryan was nearby, he made sure he stopped there for an evening meal, especially when meeting friends.

He went to the covered open-air bar, looked around, and ordered up a margarita. Looking out at the marina, he enjoyed the view of the multiple boats in their slips, bobbing in the small spaces as the water rippled with the wakes of passing boats.

He perused the menu for a moment and then put it down as the margarita showed up. Taking a sip, and tasting the salted rim with satisfaction, he thought back to the sub.

He was quite puzzled over the lack of identification and response from the mystery sub. He had seen similar subs working around the oil rigs along with divers, but they usually had bright colors for visibility. This one did not and there were no oil rigs nearby.

It intrigued him.

Chapter Two

Dinner with Friends

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Wednesday Evening – August 25

Port Aransas, Texas

After several minutes, Ryan was joined by his good friends. They shook hands and exchanged bear hugs in welcome. Both looked like they had spent most of the day out on the water.

Dave and Jasper were on a nearby island doing a little scuba diving and fishing. Jasper worked for Ryan while they were in the Navy and was an excellent deep-sea diver. Dave did consulting work for Underwater Submersibles in Galveston, a company that built various underwater vehicles and structures supporting the oil industry. As required, they also supported certain U.S. Navy requirements.

Dave Carlson reminded Ryan of a Woody Allen type—small and frail looking but with degrees in both electrical and naval engineering, a nationally known expert in both fields. He only stood about five feet seven and probably didn’t weigh more than 150 pounds. He had a comb-over that hid part of a balding top and wore solid-frame glasses. But looks can be deceiving, because Dave was resilient and tough. On several occasions he had saved a mission due to his toughness and tendency to keep at a project when others were giving up.

Jack Charleston, or Jasper to his many friends, was a certified deep-sea diver who knew no fear. If a job needed to be done, he handled it and handled it well. Standing six feet three and weighing in at over 250 pounds, Jasper was a little oversized for the work he did, but his quality of work and dependability kept him quite busy around the shipyards and docks. They were close friends now that all had retired.

Both men were dressed very casually in shorts, golf shirts and running shoes without socks. Very casual. As they approached the bar, Ryan smiled, took a sip of his drink, and said, Hey, guys! It’s good to see you both! Did you two make it down here without any problems?

They both smiled back, shook hands with Ryan, and settled in at the bar before responding. Dave ordered a Beefeater Gin on the rocks with an olive, and Jasper ordered a draft Bud Light beer.

Dave said, Yes, we were running together and we had a little problem with that front that went through ... it was a little more than we expected, with reasonable winds and a little rain, but no serious problem.

No serious problem is right, said Jasper with a grin. We went right through it, or more accurately, it went by us fairly quickly. We just closed up and kept going. Piece of cake. Looking at Ryan, he said, You have any problems?

Ryan responded, No. I followed the front you had fun with for a while until I got to one of the production rigs. Watched the rig for a bit, headed out into the Gulf a little further, and headed this way. Didn’t even get wet, and toward afternoon it was really nice out there.

They enjoyed their drinks and chatted about the local weather. Then Ryan said, I did see something a little strange out there today.

Dave, looking over his martini, asked, What’s that?

Jasper took another swallow of his beer, put his boot on the barstool leg support, set the beer back down, and looked at Ryan expectantly.

I saw a small submersible with no markings, wouldn’t respond to my hails, and had a strange mechanical thing on the bow. It had absolutely no markings at all, or at least I couldn’t see any with my glasses.

Dave said, Come on. You’re pulling our leg. There aren’t any subs out there, at least not in these waters.

No, really, said Ryan. I saw a mini-sub and it didn’t have any markings at all. Real strange.

That is strange, said Dave, taking a sip of his drink. All sea craft have to have registration markings in today’s world. I wonder what it was doing. And you think it was a sub?

Jasper asked, Could you tell what the mechanical device was?

No. Ryan responded to Jasper first. I couldn’t tell what it was. Yes, I’m sure it was a sub. But it was obvious the folks on board didn’t want to be friendly. I mean, when I tried to hail it on the radio it just sank out of sight almost immediately.

That’s weird. How far away was it? asked Dave.

Oh, I was probably 150 to 200 yards away, but distances at sea can be very deceiving. It just sank. I stuck around for a while but it never resurfaced. I couldn’t see any sign of it, so I left to join up with you guys.

The waitress brought them menus and they turned their attention to ordering. As they were looking at the menus, Jasper said, You know, maybe one of the drilling companies has some kind of experimental sub that they are keeping under wraps. As cutthroat as that business is, someone could be coming up with a bright idea for underwater work on the wells or wellheads.

Dave looked at Jasper and pursed his lips in a facial shrug.

Ryan responded jestingly: Quit disturbing my thoughts. I’m hungry and need to order. What are you guys ordering?

They looked back at the menus as the waitress came back to the table. She took their order, asking if they wanted another drink. They all said yes with a tip of their existing drinks and then went back to their conversation.

Ryan looked over at Jasper and commented, You know, Jasper, you may have a good point. As competitive as these companies are, one of them might just be pulling a sneaky to get ahead of the industry. If they can devise a method for getting heavy maintenance done on the risers and bottom support equipment without having to pull them out of the water, they could be millions ahead. Plus it would save a lot of non-productive time. Interesting thought.

Dave looked at both of them and said, in his typical sensitive way, You guys are nuts. Even if they were developing a new mini-sub, they still have to register it with the Coast Guard and in the state they are operating. Even an experimental, to work in the state and national waters, has to be registered. Don’t forget Uncle Sam and the states want their registration money! Plus they keep track of these boats due to possible drug traffic use.

Ryan responded, Hmm. Well that makes sense too. So if it didn’t have any registration on it, where did it come from and who owns it?

The conversation stopped at this point when their meals were delivered. They dug in and each was lost in his own thoughts as they ate. In a silent acknowledgement of the mystery, they looked at each other and then out at the beach.

Dave broke the silence, saying, We have quite a mystery here. If this is what it seems—he waved his hand at the water in emphasis—someone out there is up to no good. You don’t violate national and international law if you’re legitimate.

The waitress came back and cleared the table for them. She asked if they wanted dessert; they said yes and she went to get a dessert menu.

Jasper watched her go back to the wait station and, looking back at his friends with a shrug of his shoulders, said, I could watch her all day. She moves sooo nicely!

Ryan and Dave looked back as she approached the table. She was very easy to look at. They ordered dessert and all watched as she departed. Ryan looked back at the table and said with a knowing grin, Okay, guys. Let’s get back to submarines.

Ryan said, Tomorrow I think I’ll call the local Coast Guard station and see if they know anything about this. For all we know it may be something the Navy is doing. If it’s not, then I can file a report and they can investigate it.

Dave said, Good idea. At least the Coast Guard can be on the lookout.

The waitress came with their desserts. This time they felt a little foolish and were more respectful. They didn’t watch as she left the table.

After finishing their desserts, they had another drink and discussed some other areas of interest. Ryan talked about some of the changes he was making to his marina and mentioned some of the future plans he had for expanding it. Jasper talked a little about some of his work in the harbor at Corpus Christi and Dave brought them up to speed on his current project with Underwater Submersibles, a technologically advanced tourist submarine.  Finally they headed back to their respective boats for the night. Ryan said he would let them know what he found out from the Coast Guard.

While getting ready to turn in, Ryan decided to approach the harbormaster to see if he was aware of any unusual submersible activities. He proceeded up the docks to the harbormaster’s office. Looking in the office, he saw an older gentleman of about sixty-five, full head of white hair, glasses sitting on the desk, and tilted back sound asleep in his chair. Ryan entered the office just as the man was recovering from falling over. Looking a bit sheepish, he asked Ryan if he could help him. Ryan went over to the desk and shook hands and introduced himself. Ryan said he was sorry if he startled the old gentleman and related the story of the mysterious sub to the harbormaster. The harbormaster was puzzled, saying he knew nothing about it.

A mini-sub with no markings? I haven’t heard of one, and there’s nothing out here even like that, said the harbormaster while rubbing his chin and putting his glasses back on. It’s probably got something to do with the oil rigs. Maybe they’ve got an experimental that they are playing around with. But it still should have registration markings. I’ll check around a little, but if it is an experimental, they’ll keep pretty quiet about it.

Okay, said Ryan, looking around the very nice office. It had windows on all three sides facing the marina and the sea. Quite picturesque. He continued, Some of the same thoughts we had. Probably nothing, but I am curious. See you in the morning.

The harbormaster said, I won’t be here in the morning. Different shift. You fellows heading out in the morning? Make sure you get up early. The sunrise here is pretty spectacular. My wife and I get up early every morning to watch it. One of the things we like most about this area. The sunset’s not that great because of the land to the west, but the sunrise over the Gulf is quite something.

Thanks for the idea, said Ryan. I’ll take your advice and be up early. You have a good evening now and we’ll see you the next time we’re in this area. He smiled, shook hands, and waved to the older gentleman as he left the office.

He stepped outside and watched the sea beyond a breakwater that protected the marina. He slowly walked down the pier to his boat, admiring several of the other boats moored in the slips.

He stopped on the dock several slips from his mooring and looked at his own boat. While the boat had a few years on it, it was in good shape. He had bought it two years before Marcy passed away. They had enjoyed quite a few good times in those two years, and he smiled at the thought. Made of fiberglass, the gel coat was primarily white with blue accents.  The interior paneled cabin was well equipped with a propane stove, a small bar refrigerator, a head with shower, and berths for up to six. More comfortable for four, though. It had a small twenty-seven-horsepower engine for motoring and a small transom-mounted windmill to maintain the two deep discharge marine batteries with a full charge. It had a good-sized mainsail and a jib sail. He kept thinking about getting a Genoa or a spinnaker, but hadn’t made up his mind. The cockpit had a binnacle with a wheel, compass, GPS unit, and VHF radio equipment. In the cockpit were a couple of padded benches on each side for comfortable sailing or sitting while in the harbor. He really liked it.

He got to his boat, went down into the small cabin, and got a cold bottle of Sauvignon Blanc out of the refrigerator. He poured himself a glass. The glass frosted quickly in the humid air and Ryan looked at it with approval. He liked his wine cold. Not cool, but cold! He went back up to the cockpit and sat down, looking aft at the harbor.

He looked at the breakwater that protected the marina and followed it out to the point where the small red and green entrance lights were illuminated. Another small sailing boat, sails furled, motored through the entrance and continued down the harbor way. It must have been an electric motor, because he couldn’t hear it. Silent.

Beyond that wall was a mystery—the mystery of the small submarine. Boats just don’t respond the way that sub did, or, more accurately, didn’t respond at all. It bothered him that he didn’t understand.  Perhaps there was a good, logical reason for its actions. He would find out tomorrow from the Coast Guard. They’d know what was going on.

He slowly sipped his wine, with his feet up on the bench and a cushion at his back. He looked at the lights of the other boats and the city beyond the harbor. The night sky, with a myriad of stars, was mystical and fascinating. It was very pleasant, and he felt a sense of peace and calm. The mystery would keep and he would see more about it in the morning. Maybe the harbormaster would have some more information then. He finished his wine, went back down into the cabin, turned off the cabin lights, and went to bed.

Trouble waited in the morning.

Chapter Three

New Persia

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Thursday – August 26

Stronghold – Iranian Desert

Located in the very rough deserts of southeastern Iran, the stronghold was the center of the movement called New Persia, and this movement would soon shake the world to its foundations.

The primary area of the stronghold was built in the cliffs in a section of the desert that had a very small nomadic population. That area of the world had practically no population. It was too dry and too hot. The stronghold was in a point of cliffs that protruded into a ravine. The stronghold actually had two sides, even though, from the top, it wasn’t visible. Reinforced with concrete and steel beams, there were multiple rooms, electric power, and a communication center.

At the base of an adjacent cliff sat a power building with multiple garage bays for various support vehicles. The generation station provided power to the stronghold through several cables that ran from the power room at an up angle to the side of the stronghold across the ravine.

The stronghold did not want for any of the modern advancements in communications or personal comforts. With only one road a few miles to the east and only a few trails, this area was really isolated from what westerners would call civilization. While located in a very remote area, it was equipped with standard electric generation equipment, solar power generation equipment, and state-of-the-art secure satellite communications. It was built so that only from certain aspects at ground level could it be seen. It was not observable from the air or from satellite cameras. There was no visible sign of the stronghold from above.

Due to the heavy influx of fighters and other support personnel, a small village had been built outside the actual stronghold. Built on the top of the adjacent cliffs, it had been built to look old and decrepit and intentionally looked like a deserted nomad village.

The movement to take over a portion of the world and create New Persia, both geographically and politically, was surreptitiously being supported by several benefactors in the Muslim world. Influential people in Syria, Iran, Iraq, and factions of the Muslim church were all supporting the movement with both money and expertise. China was a hidden ally, helping with technical support and providing the yachts and submarines for the missions in exchange for future energy promises.

The leader of the New Persia effort, Ayatollah Abdul Sarhardi, was in his study working on plans for the upcoming worldwide introduction of the New Persia movement. He had been working on this movement for several years and his multitude of followers were anxious to hear his views and directions. Many parts of his plan had been revealed through his teachings and writings. He was about to change the world. With it, Islam would be lifted up to be the primary religious influence in the world. There would be a return to the teachings of Muhammad and the one true worship of Allah.

The return to a Muslim-dominated government in his part of the world was his dream of many years, and had been the dream of many believers in the past. The recent aberration that had taken hold in the Middle East, with oil and western-style business interests, needed to be eliminated, the area returned to true belief. He would accomplish that. Of this he was certain, and he had dedicated his life to this objective.

New Persia—a combination of Iran, Iraq, and Saudi Arabia from the current world—would ascend to the heights of influence and power and eventually be joined by Turkey, Jordan, Egypt, and others. It didn’t matter to the ayatollah that the original Persia existed over two millennia ago in the BC time period ... he wanted it for Muhammad and Allah. Thus the Persia of old would be reborn and, Arabia, the home of Muhammad, would once again be the center of the world. In the process of taking back the territory and creating New Persia, he would attract many new disciples and they would further the goals beyond the borders of New Persia until the entire world was one in belief.

Allah’s natural resources, including the oil and natural gas in the region, would be used for Allah’s purposes and not be squandered by western infidel interests. A better life for all believers would be possible, and the use of the oil reserves would be reduced to a point where it would be many centuries before the oil was exhausted.

Allah was kind to the believers, and Ayatollah Sarhardi would be the leader who brought all this to pass, and exalted in the memory of all believers for all time. The history would be written of these times with a reverence in the telling and the certainty of Allah’s desires being fulfilled.

Western infidels would fight against his plans. But his stronghold was remote and unknown at this time. He could plan in peace and his people were in the process of being trained and getting the expertise they would need to accomplish New Persian goals. His world-wise national partners were firm in their support for him.

Actions were now underway to undermine economies and prepare to accomplish his real purpose. In the very near future, the western world, and the non-believing Arab world, would feel his power and he would create economic turmoil on a scale never before seen. The oil resources, that were now only going to satisfy the rich western powers and the non-believing Arabs in Saudi Arabia, would be diverted and not made available to them. The economic impact would be severe, but his people would not feel this impact because they did not have this oil dependence ... they were already free and living simply, and easily as Allah wishes.

With his leadership and guidance, the world would re-establish the correct balance; not the self-destructive and world-polluting ways of the infidel. He and his dedicated people would once again become the center of the will of Allah and impose a correct and accurate religious discipline on all believers of the world. Those that were non-believers would find the wrath of Allah to be very great, and very final.

Ayatollah Sarhardi finished a brief review of a portion of his plan and stepped outside on a camouflaged balcony in the cliff face to stretch and view the horizon. He never failed to admire and wonder at what Allah had wrought in the world. The distant mountains, the shimmering desert, the slight winds—all amazing and wondrous. And soon many of the other parts of the world would view it as he viewed it.

He was a thin man and some would call him very intense. He stood moderately tall at about six feet, but weighed only 160 pounds. He had a slight, dark beard that he kept trimmed fairly close. His eyes related his passion for his dream; they were piercing and captivated people close to him. He was well educated and spoke with both a knowledgeable background and fervent zeal for his beliefs. His distaste for the west and its wasteful ways was extreme. His voice fairly boomed when he wanted it to, and he was direct and to the point when he spoke.

He stepped back inside and called for his young primary assistant, Khatib, so he could call for a meeting of his overseas leaders and workmen. He needed to find out how the plans and actions now underway for diverting and stopping the oil were progressing. With two advanced mini-submarines and their mother support ships wandering around the sea-based oil wells in the Gulf of Mexico and North Sea, he needed to keep track of their progress and make sure they maintained their schedules. There was also one more mini, for a total of three, which was being kept in reserve for any special missions that might have to be accomplished. With the advanced secure satellite communications systems he had at his disposal, he was able to maintain contact with his worldwide field personnel on a frequent and personal basis.

Khatib Al Daye, the primary assistant, came in response to the bid and call of his ayatollah. Also thin and about six feet tall, he had the same intensity as the ayatollah, but this was tempered with his knowledge, and admiration for, technical progress and capabilities of the western nations. Only twenty-eight years old, his eyes burned with the fervor of dedication to this cause. He too wanted the resources of Allah to last for centuries.

You called, sir.

Ayatollah Sarhardi responded, Yes, Khatib. I want you to set up a meeting with Malik and Najid, who lead each of our two dispersed submarine missions, so I can be updated on progress of our activities. I want the meeting to be tomorrow at 9 a.m. and for each to provide his progress and be prepared to answer any questions I might have.

Yes, sir. I shall do as you request.

Khatib departed the room to attend to his tasking. He immediately went to the communications room and sent out a secure message informing Malik and Najid of the meeting and the ayatollah’s desire for a briefing and question-and-answer session. He requested a return message response no later than an hour from when the message was sent. The yachts had state-of-the-art communications systems that were both secure and worldwide capable.

Khatib went to the small conference room and made sure the various computer-controlled projectors and video screens were fully operational for the next morning’s discussions/briefings. As he looked around the room at the various pieces of telecommunications equipment, and the nicely furnished conference room facilities, he couldn’t help but smile with the knowledge that they were basically duplicating, and using to their benefit, what they were fighting against: western influence. But then again, he hadn’t seen anything in the Koran or the various other teachings of Muhammad that said they couldn’t use modern ways, and he had certainly seen how effective they were. Fight fire with fire!

It had been a half-hour since he had sent out the message tasking each of the leaders with the meeting tomorrow morning. He went back to the communications center to see if there had been any response. As he walked into the communications center, he was pleased to note that both leaders had responded and would be supporting the discussions.

He knew from his own past experience in the field that both of them were now in a preparation mode to get ready for the meeting. Standard data/status charts were being updated, problems were being identified along with their respective resolutions, status of the oil-distribution mitigation efforts—the technical term for stopping the oil flows—and any requests for support at national and international levels above the capabilities of the leaders. Of course, each leader was getting a thorough briefing by his direct reports on their current operations, shortfalls, successes, and support requirements, so he wouldn’t be caught short during the question-and-answer period.

The leaders would have the updated information in the conference room an hour before the meeting was scheduled for automatic uploading into the computers. Khatib would review the information to make sure there were no transmission problems.

Satisfying himself that his support personnel were ready to receive the information and check out the systems just before the conference, Khatib headed back to his office to attend to other pending issues.

Chapter Four

Attack at Sea

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Thursday – August 26

Western Gulf of Mexico

Ryan awoke at his usual 5:30 a.m., did some minor stretching exercises to get his forty-two-year-old muscles moving again, and went out for a five-mile run on the back harbor trails and roads in the early-morning stillness. He came back to his boat, made some coffee, and sat down aft of the wheel to ponder the morning’s sunrise. Taking last evening’s advice from the harbormaster, he watched as the sun rose over the distant eastern horizon, where the water met the majesty of another beautiful morning sky. The blaze of light coming across the nearly motionless water was transfixing.

He put on his hiking clothes and leisurely walked into town, where he met Dave and Jasper for breakfast. He loved the taste of fresh fruit and fish tacos grilled over an open pit fire. The day was going to be just glorious, and he intended to make the most of it.

Dave was at the restaurant before either Jasper or Ryan arrived. He had already arranged to have the food prepared and was enjoying a mimosa when Ryan joined him. A few minutes later, Jasper also joined them. Jasper and Ryan passed on the mimosas and opted for a bloody mary each. They dug into their breakfasts with gusto.

Dave said to Ryan, I’ve been thinking about that incident with the sub you mentioned last night. There’s something very fishy-no pun intended, guys—about that. The sub is in U.S. territorial waters, at least we think it was, doesn’t respond to hailing, didn’t have any running lights showing, has no markings, and runs away when you try to contact it. I agree with you from last night that something’s just not right there.

Ryan agreed. Yes. Last night I talked with the harbormaster here and he doesn’t know anything about it. He thinks it might be one of the oil companies experimenting around with a new sub, but even then he said they had to have registration markings. He’s going to check around some but doesn’t expect to come up with anything.

Jasper chimed in saying, Well, at least it is going to be looked at. Since the harbormaster is part of Homeland Security it is in the right hands for investigation.

Ryan