Night Strike

by Michael W. Sherer

  “What do they want?” she said when I finished.

  “I don’t know, but I have an idea.”

  Chapter 27

  July 27—North Pacific Ocean

  Orlov watched the captain sway slightly as the destroyer yawed and rolled gently in the big ocean swells. The motion was as natural to them both as their time in their mothers’ wombs. Orlov didn’t understand people who got seasick. He’d missed it, relegated to a desk job in Moscow for years. Sailing was in his blood, and he’d itched to get back to sea. When Subkov had come to him and told him about the activation of the sleeper and what the sleeper’s research could do for the navy, Orlov had eagerly signed on. He’d cautiously pushed President Putin to reopen the air base on Kotelny Island, and then lobbied for the job of overseeing the fleet that delivered the necessary equipment and supplies to rebuild the base and add facilities for naval ships. Of course, Putin had announced the reopening of the base with great fanfare, sending that pompous ass Cherminsky, on the Pytor Veliky no less, to lead a flotilla to Kotelny. Peter the Great, a nuclear-powered Kirov-class battle cruiser, was the flagship of the Northern Fleet. Orlov had understood the political necessity of sending Cherminsky, the fleet commander, but it had been a slap in the face nevertheless after Orlov had handled the logistics.

  Orlov had bided his time, though, and had finally convinced Putin to send him on this mission. He’d even done it in such a way that Volodya thought it was his idea. After years of planning, Orlov felt at home again with the deck pitching beneath his feet. Cherminsky could have his battle cruiser. Orlov preferred the smaller, nimble Udaloy-class destroyer. And though it wasn’t a second-generation Udaloy II, the rebuild had brought it up on a par with anything in the Russian navy.

  Having a ship to command once more, and this ship in particular, brought back fond memories. The Udaloy-class ships had been developed as sub hunters. Orlov had cut his teeth on ships like this, quickly working his way up to captain due to his uncanny instinct for anticipating movements of the submarines they’d been tasked with following. All the world’s navies played the cat-and-mouse game of finding and tracking each other’s submarines. Only a year or so earlier, the tiny Swedish navy had investigated “foreign underwater activity” in its territorial waters, and alluded to its regular patrols hunting Soviet subs during the Cold War. Orlov had been one of the best hunters in the world. He still was.

  The admiral dampened his excitement as Captain Marinesko finished his progress report. After a lifetime of disappointments Orlov knew better than to get his hopes up. Lowered expectations sometimes begat pleasant surprises, while reality rarely lived up to heightened ones. Still, he was pleased with how far they’d come. Nothing could detract from what they’d accomplished so far on this mission. He just didn’t want his efforts to be meaningless. What they’d developed would serve the motherland well in years to come, but unless their plans came together soon, his role would be relegated to a historical footnote.

  “Thank you, Valentin,” Orlov said when the captain wrapped up. “Well done.”

  Marinesko hesitated.

  “Something else, Captain?”

  Marinesko brushed away an invisible fly. “No, nothing to concern you.”

  “But something that concerns you, my friend. What is it?”

  “The fire and the false lifeboat drill. One incident by itself I could accept. But two… And just now, something quite odd happened.” Marinesko related his encounter with the new physician’s assistant in the hangar. “I’m sure it was nothing,” he finished, “but perhaps he bears watching.”

  Orlov nodded. “Do what you think is best.”

  The captain still hesitated. Orlov waved a hand impatiently.

  “We’ve done everything imaginable to ensure secrecy on this mission,” Marinesko said. “So, if these incidents are not intended to stop the mission…”

  Orlov stroked his chin. “I see what you mean. It’s to sabotage us for some other reason.”

  “The possibilities are endless. After all, we’re the envy of many, and envy breeds hate. But I narrowed it down to who hates us most—the Chechens.”

  Orlov raised an eyebrow. There had been rumors—probably true—that the four terrorist attacks on apartment buildings in Moscow and two other cities in September, 1999, had actually been the work of the FSB, which Putin headed at the time. A fifth bombing attempt in Ryazan, foiled by building residents had FSB fingerprints all over it. Yeltsin had appointed Putin acting prime minister, and Putin had made his mark with the brutal way in which he’d waged the second war on Chechnya. Given the cruel and bloody way Putin had put down the revolt, countless Chechen nationalists harbored grudges, even after all this time.

  “You may be right, captain. If there’s a saboteur aboard, find him.”

  “Yes, sir.” Marinesko snapped a quick salute and retreated through the doorway.

  When Marinesko had pulled the cabin door shut, Orlov used the small key on the chain around his neck to unlock a cubbyhole above the fold-down table, and retrieved the satellite phone. He dialed from memory, and waited as the uplink and downlink connections to the satellite were completed.

  Despite the early hour in Moscow, Subkov answered on the second ring. “Good afternoon, my friend.”

  “Good morning, Mikhail. Are you well?”

  “Hale and hearty. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve missed our last two scheduled calls. I thought perhaps you’d fallen ill.”

  Subkov chuckled. “You worry too much. I didn’t call because I had nothing to report. And you? You sound eager.”

  “We’ve completed construction of the device, and mounted it aboard one of the helos. We still need the final delivery to make it operational. You’ve heard nothing from our suppliers?”

  “These things can take time, Leonid. And this case, in particular, is ticklish, as you know.”

  “I thought you said our sleeper had already produced the parts we need.”

  “Of course he has.” Subkov’s voice turned irritated. “He’s been reliable so far, providing schematics for both the device and the receiver. I see no reason to doubt him now.”

  “Then why haven’t the parts been delivered yet?”

  “I don’t know,” Subkov growled, even more rankled. “I’ve heard nothing from his handlers.”

  “His principals are criminals. Street thugs. What happened to us, Mikhail? How have we been reduced to this? Intelligence used to attract the best, the brightest. Now instead of spycraft we use killers and thieves.”

  Subkov tried to make light of it. “Who better than thieves to steal from the Americans?”

  “These people have no loyalty, Mikhail. The only things they understand are money and violence.”

  “It’s why we’re fighting so hard for our cause,” Subkov said quietly.

  “I hate that Vova has brought us to this—working with common thieves.”

  “From his days with the FSB, yes. Water under the bridge, friend. First we make Russia strong, then we take her back and return her to her former glory.”

  “I fear it may be too late, Mikhail. Vova has allowed the corruption to spread too far. Every aspect of our society is rife with it, and it’s rotting us from the inside out. All to line the pockets of him and his cronies, and give him a comfortable retirement.”

  “You’re too much a Russian at heart, Leonid. Too pessimistic. Remember, by holding our enemies even closer than our friends, we know them intimately. When Vova’s time has passed, we’ll cut out the cancer. I know where the skeletons lie, old friend. Every day, my knowledge of the criminal network grows. The more we use them, the more we know about them.”

  “And you’re sure Vova is unaware of our larger plans?”

  “He’s been too busy annexing Crimea and pieces of Ukraine.”

  “Causing the EU and America to issue more sanctions. When will it end? He pushed too hard trying to bring Ukraine back into the fold. He should have settled for Crimea.”


  “You know the old saying, Leonid: Russia without Ukraine is a country, but Russia with Ukraine is an empire.”

  “He risks too much. We want closer ties with Europe in any event. Let Ukraine be. When we change the course of Russia, Ukraine will find us a strong ally.”

  “I agree. But for the moment, we must be patient.”

  “Patient in the long run, yes, but we are running out of time on this mission, Mikhail. We need the device tested and operational in the next few days. I remind you that RIMPAC ends in five days and our chance will be lost.”

  Subkov’s voice steeled. “I’m aware of the time constraints.”

  “There’s been some developments which add to the urgency you sense from me, Mikhail.” Orlov told him about his conversation with the captain.

  Subkov sighed. “This is what makes us who we are, Leonid. Nothing is ever easy. We’re Russians, so we suffer. Very well, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you. Da svidanya, friend.”

  Chapter 28

  July 27—Suitland, Maryland

  A pool of light spilled out of Tolliver’s cubicle onto the carpeted hallway and trickled away into the dark office. Black windows insulated the interior from noise, cocooning her in quiet, making her aware of small sounds she normally wouldn’t notice—the rumble and purr of the water cooler compressor down the hall, the whirr of the fan in her computer, the creak of her chair when she shifted her weight.

  She sat back and looked around the empty office, wondering for a moment what the evening would have been like if the rush project hadn’t come in at the end of the day. She’d watched NCIS Agent Parker and his partner disappear down the hall with regret and envy. She hadn’t put herself out there for so long that she wasn’t even sure she was dateable anymore. Her ex had been such an asshole that he’d put her off men for a while, but she knew she couldn’t judge an entire gender based on one jerk.

  Young and naïve when she’d met Phil, she hadn’t seen any of the warning signs. Handsome and charming, he’d swept her off her feet. He was fun and made her laugh—as long as he wasn’t drinking. He’s kept that side of his personality hidden, but a year into the marriage he started coming home after a few too many, and would yell at her for the slightest imperfections. The laundry wasn’t folded right. He didn’t like her perfume. Her cooking was lousy. She’d chalked it up to stress on the job at first. But his drinking had gotten worse. And the worse it got, the angrier he’d become until he hit her. He’d broken down the next day like a little and apologized, promising never to do it again.

  But he did, again and again. She’d hidden the bruises with make-up and clothes. When someone at work had finally noticed, she decided enough was enough. On top of the abuse, she’d been sure that he was sleeping with other women. Not until she’d filed for divorce did she learn the real reason for Phil’s deteriorating behavior. He had a gambling problem that had put him several hundred thousand dollars in debt. She’d given him everything she had just to keep the people he owed from coming after her. And she’d started over.

  Now she was lonely, and she missed being with a man. When Parker had returned her smile she’d been sure that he was interested, though her intuition was rustier than an old anchor. She was angry with herself for not pursuing the opportunity despite the fact that Parker had turned out to be the enemy in Reyna’s situation.

  And that might have been the end of it except for Reyna’s text message asking Janet to buy her more time. Janet knew immediately that it meant Reyna was going to disobey orders and try to find out why NCIS considered her a suspect. Janet had been torn. She liked her boss and knew Reyna was potentially on a fast track up the chain of command. Janet could ride it with her, if this NCIS business didn’t derail Reyna’s career completely. That would kill Janet’s, too.

  On the other hand, if Janet had a chance to help Reyna and didn’t take it, if Reyna came out on top in this imbroglio, Janet would appear disloyal. When she thought about it, Janet realized she not only liked Reyna, she wanted to be more like her. In the past two years, Lt. Cmdr. Chase had gone from quiet, first-class intelligence analyst to a woman who followed her instinct and a no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners, kick-ass field agent. Janet admired her courage, her commitment and the risks she took. And she’d suddenly had the crazy idea she might be able to kill two birds with one phone call.

  So, she’d done a little digging and called Special Agent Timothy Parker, NCIS, at the new Russell-Knox Building in Quantico, Virginia, and had asked him if he wanted to have a drink after work. To her surprise, he’d said yes. She’d looked forward to meeting him all day, had thought about how she might get him to talk about his investigation.

  Then, an hour before quitting time, a rush request had come in from Nimitz, the operational intelligence arm of ONI. An SSBI on a skinhead meth dealer that the D.C. metro cops had picked up in a drug bust. An alert cop had heard the kid muttering in the holding cell about “retaliating” and “getting even” and “bombing the shit” out of something. The cop had called in the FBI, and in a rare example of interagency cooperation the FBI had informed ONI when the kid mentioned a naval facility. The kid was high as a kite when he’d been questioned, but the FBI took all threats of domestic terrorism seriously and opened an investigation. Someone at Nimitz thought it would be a good idea to backstop the Fibbies, and the request trickled down to Janet, since Reyna had been suspended.

  Sadly, she’d called Parker back to tell him the bad news, and had dived into the work. First, she ran a computer search of all the domestic communications intel they’d intercepted in the past six months, searching for key words. While the program ran, she started in on a database search on the kid himself, as well as his family members and all his known associates. She looked under every rock she could think of, expanding her search from D.C. outward. After more than six hours, she found a nugget. One of the kid’s relatives—second cousin twice removed or something like that—owned acreage in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. County arrest reports indicated that the sheriff’s office had tangled with members of an extremist militia group on a couple of occasions.

  Her fatigue vanished as her excitement grew. The FBI might already have the group on its radar, may even have made the connection, but she didn’t think so. They would have let Nimitz know when they made the courtesy call earlier in the day. Following protocol, she called the officer who’d given her the assignment. Since it was after midnight, she got his voicemail. She left a message saying she’d completed her preliminary SSBI on the subject and had found something interesting.

  As she gathered her things to head home for a few short hours of sleep before she had to be back at her desk, her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re still at work?”

  “Special Agent Parker?”

  “Tim, please. Yes, it’s me. I felt badly that you had to stay late, and wondered if you’d had a chance to eat.”

  At the mention of food, Janet realized she was famished. “No, as a matter of fact. Why?”

  “I know a great little diner not far from your office. I’m ten minutes away. I could meet you there and buy you a late dinner.”

  “Are you asking me on a date, Agent Parker?”

  “No, ma’am. Just offering to feed you since you had to work so late.”

  Janet smiled. “Give me an address. I’m wrapping up here.”

  Fifteen minutes later she slid into a booth across from Parker in an all-night restaurant set in a small strip mall a few blocks off the Beltway. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she smooth her hair with one hand and her skirt with the other. Parker grinned at her.

  “Some date, huh?” she said. “Nearly 1:00 in the morning, me still in my uniform…”

  Parker, she noticed, not only had changed out of his uniform, but in black jeans, and black leather jacket over a black T-shirt that stretched taut across a broad chest looked as if he’d just gotten ready for th
e evening. Nonplussed, she reached for her hair again, thinking she must look frightful. Parker’s grin was infectious, and she smiled shyly until his stare made her squirm.

  “What?” she said. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth or something?”

  “No, you’re adorable,” he said. “I just can’t believe my luck that you agreed to go out at this hour.”

  She laughed then suddenly put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my god, you’re not married, are you? I’d just die. But not before I killed you.”

  His grin widened. He held up his left hand and pointed to it. “Not married. Never have been.”

  “Well, that makes one of us.” She grimaced.

  “You’re married?”

  “No, was.” She shuddered. “What a disaster. Enough said. How’d you get into NCIS?”

  “My dad was a cop. I joined the navy after 9/11, and when my tour was over, I realized I liked the navy, but wanted to be a cop like my dad.” He shrugged. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

  A waitress sauntered over to take their order. As soon as she was gone, they launched back into conversation. Maybe it was the fact that she’d gotten a little older and wiser, or maybe it was because she had more self-confidence due to a job she liked and a career that was advancing, but she felt completely comfortable with Parker. Nothing about their conversation felt forced or phony the way a couple of disastrous dates had gone right after her divorce. They circled back around to their jobs again, and Janet mustered the courage to ask about his investigation.

  “You caused quite a stir this morning,” she said. “What’s that all about, anyway?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I guess we came off pretty hard-assed. But we’re talking about one of our own.”

  “We’re all navy here, you know. Commander Chase is one of the good guys.”