Free H.M.S. Unseen by Patrick Robinson Page A

use. But you may trust me implicitly. The entire plan depends on it—and at the correct time I will inform you how I propose to acquire it.”
    “But Ben,” they had protested, “we must know how. Do you intend to rent one, borrow one, or even buy one? If so, from whom? We must be told the costs and who the provider might be. There may be great political ramifications.”
    “Not yet,” the commander would reply curtly. “When the time comes I will, of course, present you with a detailed plan and report. At that time you will be free to accept or decline, as you wish. Bear in mind I do not anticipate your declining, because that would cost me $2,750,000, which I consider to be an unacceptable consequence.”
    Out beyond the model room, work continued under the wilting rays of the sun by day and under lights at night. Security was phenomenal. It was impossible to reach the buildings without crossing a cordon of armed guards, placed 200 yards from the new dock. Miles of barbed wire protected all approaches to the site. Every worker wore a plastic identification badge. Every man on the site was photographed and fingerprinted, checked, and searched both incoming and outgoing. A simple sign on the main gate along the road to the base read:
    AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY .
INTRUDERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT .
    Three drivers who had arrived without their badges had been incarcerated in the Navy jail for a week as suspected spies. Special patrol craft crisscrossed the waters of the inner harbor with unprecedented frequency. A frigate remained on permanent patrol outside the harbor entrance, ready to intercept and, if necessary, sink an unauthorized visitor.
    By the year 2004, the Iranian Navy was 40,000 strong, 20,000 regular personnel, and a further 20,000 members of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps, special forces loosely modeled on the U.S. Navy SEALs, or the British SAS. They managed some heavy practice during the war with Iraq, but had never achieved the sophistication of the Americans, and the British would probably have been amused by their efforts. Nonetheless, the young Iranian Naval commandos were tough, fit, and quite incredibly brave, believing as they did, that in the end they were fighting for Allah and that he would protect them and lead them to glory.
    From the ranks of these men, Commander Adnam would handpick two hit men for his mission. The other eighteen would be recruited directly from the submarine service—men who had been essentially without ships since the U.S. attack two years before.
    He spent long hours in consultation with the commanding officers of the IRGC, poring over the records and finally selecting five outstanding veterans for interview, of whom he would reject three. He spent, of course, even longer with the submarine commanders, looking for the men who would one day man the watches on a long submarine journey.
    When he was not involved in selection, Ben spent many hours alone in the Black Ops inner office, studying the superb data on the little Toshiba computer that had come from Barrow-in-Furness. Then he would consult his designers and go to the model room, to help build and perfect another corner of the phantom submarine he had masterminded.
    By early December the model was almost complete, and the commander had selected his personnel. In company with Admiral Badr he had made his way out to the building site to meet the busload of twenty young men with whom he would soon go on a mission of justice for their country.
    Both officers stood and watched as the select few disembarked and formed two lines of 10 men in each. The admiral and the commander walked carefully along each line, addressing each man by name and rank, talking for perhaps two minutes with each of them. They then ordered everyone into the air-conditioned conference room, set beyond the stern end of the 200-foot-long model.
    And there the world’s most notorious terrorist outlined their duties for them. Most of the men had