Laura decided it was the right moment to revisit a subject that both had ignored for too long.
“Honey,” she said, “I think it’s time for us to make that trip to D.C.”
“Hmmm,” Yuri mumbled.
“The attorneys in Washington say it would be best for you to make a formal request for asylum directly with the State Department. They will set it up for you. Because of who you are, it will likely reach the secretary’s level.”
“But that will drag you into my mess. I don’t want that.”
Laura had prepared for Yuri’s argument. “They assure me that I will be treated as an innocent party.”
Yuri muttered something in Russian and then turned to face Laura. “My actions put you—and Maddy—in so much danger that it taints everything.”
“You’re ignoring what you did. The U.S. Navy will be grateful when we tell them what happened.”
Yuri gazed lakeward. “One way or the other I will still have to deal with the FBI—and the CIA. That goes against everything I’ve stood for.”
Laura knew how bull-headed her lover could be at times. “Yuri, we can’t go on like this much longer. Sarah Compton’s family deserves to know what happened. My Seattle attorneys can only keep the police at bay for a while longer. Eventually, we’ll have to reveal what went down. If we start at the top by talking with the State Department, it will be much easier to deal with the local issues.”
Yuri turned to face Laura. “You’re right. I need to get this over with. Please have the law firm set it up.”
Laura beamed. “I will.”
Chapter 3
Day 2—Monday
“You need any help?” Yuri asked. He stood by the garage door watching Laura as she secured Madelyn in the child car seat in the rear of the BMW sedan. It was 7:47 A.M.
“I’m good.”
“What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?”
Laura closed the door and turned to face Yuri. She wore a sleek silk blouse with a knee-length pleated skirt that displayed her shapely legs. “Probably around six.”
“Great, I’ll have dinner waiting. How’s grilled salmon sound?”
“Wonderful.”
Yuri stepped toward Laura and gave her their ritual morning kiss. “I love you, sweetie,” he said with a glowing grin.
“I love you, too.”
Yuri watched as Laura and Maddy drove up the private hillside road and disappeared from view behind a cedar tree-lined curve in the asphalt driveway.
Yuri returned to the living room of their residence. After picking up an electronic tracking device about the size of a paperback novel, he methodically walked around the perimeter of the space, eyeing the digital readout as it probed for bugs. He repeated the same procedure in the study, office, bedrooms, and bathrooms of the 5,000-square foot house. Yuri checked for listening devices at least once a week. The FBI was always a concern, but his principal worry was Russia’s FSB. He had managed to evade his birth nation’s security service for over a year but was now back on its radar screen. China’s Ministry of State Security was an equivalent fear. Earlier in the year, Yuri had confronted MSS agents and military operatives of the People’s Republic of China who plotted against both Russia and the United States. Yuri considered the United States his home; he had no desire to return to Russia.
Satisfied that the house remained free of spying ears and eyes, Yuri returned to the garage and climbed into his Toyota Highlander. His office was fifteen minutes away.
Laura was unaware of Yuri’s weekly bug hunt; she already had too much strain in her life. Yuri didn’t want Laura to fret over the possible electronic invasion of her sanctuary.
As Yuri headed to work, he couldn’t help but recall the DVD he’d watched the previous evening with Laura. It was from one of the attorneys in Washington, D.C., preparing Yuri’s case for requesting political asylum. The Sixty Minutes video segment featured a Cold War KGB-trained spy from East Germany who hid out in the United States for nearly twenty years, evading the FBI. After ten years of espionage operations, the KGB ordered the spy to return home but he managed to disappear from Russia’s U.S. spy operations using a clever ruse. He subsequently raised a family, embraced suburban life, and ascended to upper management of a major American company before a fluke incident revealed his presence to the FBI. In the end, he was allowed to stay in the United States.
The story had buoyed both Yuri and Laura’s spirits. His “non-status” as an American would soon be over, allowing Yuri to enjoy a normal life with Laura and Maddy.
Still, a knot remained in Yuri’s gut. Asylum was not a slam-dunk. He was a military spy who had engaged in espionage operations against the United States. Yuri’s only hope was to prove his new allegiance to the USA by telling everything. That briefing would take weeks and in the end, it would entangle Laura. The consequences to his lover troubled Yuri far more than his own fate.
Chapter 4
Nicolai Orlov was the only occupant in the code room of the Consulate-General of Russia. Located on the thirteenth floor of a polished high-rise near downtown Houston, Texas, the windowless interior room was about twenty square feet. To defeat electronic snooping by the FBI and the National Security Agency, the room’s perimeter walls, ceiling, and floor were lined with special copper wiring.
Tall and trim with stylish dark hair and a chiseled face, Nick was nearing forty. He had appealing looks that were received well by females and envied by males. The SVR had recruited him just after he completed his university studies in Moscow. He rarely spent time in Russia. His last duty assignment had been at the San Francisco Consulate until Washington forced its closure as part of an ongoing diplomatic dispute between the Russian Federation and the United States. He had recently relocated to Houston, where he was promoted to SVR rezident of the consulate. Single with no strong family ties to the homeland, Nick found that his itinerant lifestyle suited him.
Nick sat at a table in the center of the room. It was mid-morning. His eyes focused on the monitor positioned at the end of the conference table. His boss was eight time zones ahead on the opposite end of the encrypted satellite circuit. SVR chief Borya Smirnov was alone in his office at Russia’s foreign intelligence headquarters, located in the Yasenevo District of Moscow. “So, the hard drive is useless,” Nick said, responding to Smirnov’s summary.
“Yes. Our tech people were not able to recover any meaningful data.”
The computer storage device belonged to the People’s Republic of China. Nick had appropriated the drive from an MSS operative. Multiple attempts by SVR techs to crack the mechanism’s encryption code triggered a self-destruction feature that bit-bleached all digital evidence.
Nick reached for the cup of tea on the table. He took a swallow and said, “We still don’t know everything they were up to.”
“Not completely. We’re certain they were behind the Sakhalin debacle and probably the oil spill in the Arctic. And from what you uncovered there’s no doubt China was playing us off against the Americans.”
“They tried to trick us into war,” Nick said.
“They obviously wanted us to tear at each other’s throats.”
“Bastards.”
Nick watched as the SVR director removed a color photograph from a file folder. He studied the image before turning the photograph of the attractive blonde toward the camera. “I assume you remained convinced that she was turned.”
Nick shifted in his chair as he eyed the photograph of Nastasia Vasileva, aka Elena Krestyanova, his fellow spy and past lover. “In my opinion, her actions in Seattle and Vancouver went beyond her assignment. Kwan got to her somehow… It’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”
Smirnov remained silent.
“Did she confess?” Nick asked.
“No. She’s consistently stated that she was working to turn Kwan and played along with h
is requests to build trust.”
“Bullshit.”
Smirnov tossed the photograph of Krestyanova aside and removed another print from the folder. He directed the file photograph of a Russian naval officer in uniform at the camera. “What’s Kirov’s current status?”
“He remains in the Seattle area.”
“Are the Americans still in the dark about him?”
“We believe so. He continues to work at the same company.” Nick hesitated. “I believe all he wants is to be left alone. He saved all of our collective butts from what the Chinese had planned.”
“I understand, Orlov. But remember, he’s still in the navy—our navy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need you to contact him.”
“Sir?”
“He’s needed back home. We have a new mission for him.”
Chapter 5
After completing the security check at home, Yuri made his daily commute to Redmond, where he repeated the electronic sweep of his personal office at Northwest Subsea Dynamics. Finding no threats at the residence or his workspace, he was able to concentrate on business. Yuri sat behind his office desk. It was 9:15 A.M. Sitting across the desk was Bill Winters. Short and rotund with a shaggy graying-blond mop, Winters served as NSD’s chief engineer.
“How long do you think it will take to finish?” Yuri asked.
“We need at least another week, possibly two, to work out the bugs, and then a month of sea trials.”
Yuri clasped his hands. “I promised Aurora that we’d start the survey on time. It’s going to be close.”
“I know, but with Deep Adventurer out of the picture, we remain behind the eight-ball.” At forty-eight, Winters was NSD’s oldest employee and one of the original founders of the high-tech marine company. NSD designed and manufactured cutting-edge autonomous underwater vehicles—AUVs. It used those underwater robots to map the ocean depths, conduct geophysical surveys, monitor environmental conditions, and assist in the worldwide hunt for subsea oil and gas deposits.
Yuri fidgeted in his chair. Winters was charitable in his reference to the loss of the half million-dollar autonomous underwater vehicle. Several months earlier, Yuri lost Deep Adventurer during a test dive for a prospective customer—or so Yuri told Winters. The replacement AUV—Deep Guardian—was under construction in the warehouse section of the NSD building. Yuri looked up, meeting Winters’s eyes. “Do the best you can but we’ll still need to ship it up on time.”
“Okay. But without a thorough set of sea trials we’re taking a big risk.”
“I know, and it’s on me.”
Winters owned 25% of the company. Laura Newman held the remaining shares. She purchased controlling interest of NSD for Yuri, who served as general manager. Bill reported to Yuri.
Yuri shifted gears. “What’s the latest from Barrow?” He referred to NSD’s offshore survey operation in Barrow, Alaska.
“Deep Explorer keeps chugging along. No problems, but she’s way overdue for an overhaul.” Deep Explorer was NSD’s flagship machine. It was monitoring the massive oil spill in the Chukchi Sea offshore of the northwest coast of Alaska.
“If we get in a bind, any chance we can pull her off the spill and move her north as backup for the Guardian?”
“It’s such an awful mess up there. With the breakup and trapped oil still seeping out of the ice just about everywhere, the Coast Guard is overwhelmed. They bitch when we pull the Explorer off surveillance for routine maintenance and battery charging. If I even hinted about re-tasking her, they’d go ape shit for sure.”
“I get it, Bill. I was just hoping that with all the equipment up there now, we’d get a break.”
“That damn oil entombed itself in multiple layers within the ice. There are millions of chunks up there now, floating around and slowly melting, each one bleeding shit. Trying to keep track of the stuff and predicting where the next major spill is going to erupt is a frigging nightmare. The Explorer is the only unit that is up for the task.”
Yuri smiled. “I know, Bill. You and your team are doing a magnificent job. Laura is extremely pleased with your work—and so am I.”
“Thanks, boss. I appreciate the vote of confidence.” He stood. “We’ll do our best to get the Guardian ready in time.”
“Thank you.”
Yuri remained alone in his office. He was grateful that Laura had not wasted her funds on the purchase of the once-struggling NSD. The company was now well into the black. With the notoriety of its Arctic work, new customers were placing orders for surveys at an unprecedented rate.
Yuri glanced at the poster-size framed color photograph hanging on the wall opposite his desk. The image depicted the Deep Explorer mounted to its launching cradle aboard a workboat in Puget Sound. It was the inaugural voyage. Canary yellow, twenty feet long, and three feet in diameter with a bullet-shaped nose cone, stubby tailfins, and a ducted propeller, the autonomous underwater vehicle looked like an apparatus of war. research stenciled in black paint on both sides of the fuselage identified its stated purpose.
Unknown to Bill Winters and the NSD staff, Yuri had converted the Explorer’s sister submersible, the Deep Adventurer, into a real war machine. Its last mission wreaked wholesale havoc on an adversary who had blackmailed Yuri and harmed his family. The peril had diminished but Yuri sensed it was not over.
Chapter 6
Only forty-three, Kwan Chi often felt like eighty-three. But today the pain level had dropped a notch. For most of the afternoon, he was able to move about his apartment without the damn walker. However, he still needed a cane this evening. His right tibia continued to mend—pinned together with a network of screws and stainless-steel plates. Kwan was lucky to have kept his leg. The burns to his wrists and forearms remained a concern. His doctors warned that additional skin grafts might be needed. He dreaded the thought of having to endure that awful procedure again.
He shuffled to the living room of his Kowloon condominium. Perched on the fifty-third-floor of the glimmering tower, the penthouse unit had an awesome vista of Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour.
Tall for his race, Kwan eased his sinewy frame into his favorite chair by the window wall. He gazed seaward at the nightly lightshow. Scores of workboats, ferries, and yachts scurried about the harbor, marked by profuse cabin illumination and nav lights. Although the view was breathtaking, Kwan’s thoughts focused on the events of several months earlier.
With his mission aborted by Beijing, Kwan retreated aboard his yacht the Yangzi accompanied by most of the assault team. The other team members followed in the workboat. The plan was to avoid U.S. waters, staying at least fifty miles offshore. Once Kwan reached Ensenada in Baja Mexico, he would return to China aboard his private jet.
But within just a day, as the superyacht cruised southward along the Washington State coast approaching Oregon, Kwan’s escape plan collapsed into catastrophe.
While Kwan had napped in his palatial forward cabin high up on the fourth deck, a massive explosion near the stern rocked the 305-foot-long yacht. Tossed from the bed, he smashed into a cabinet, snapping his shin bone with a sickening crack. In shock, Kwan crawled through the cabin door onto a passageway and peered aft. Half of his ship was missing. Flames fueled by 10,000 gallons of diesel oil raced through the remaining superstructure, blocking his only escape route.
Kwan ended up in the sea. He clung to debris with seared arms, managing to keep his head above the water. He endured mind-numbing cold for twenty minutes. The workboat following the Yangzi plucked him and one other survivor—a female assistant steward—from the chilled waters.
Kwan closed his eyes while taking in a deep breath. He pictured his adversary, knowing the Russian had someway sabotaged the Yangzi, just as he’d upended Operation Sea Dragon. Yuri Kirov—you son of a bitch!
Chapter 7
“Welcome back. We’ve missed you,” t
he Chief of Mission said.
“Thank you, sir. It is good to be back.” Elena Krestyanova’s flight landed at Vancouver International late Saturday evening.
“Please, sit down and share tea with me.”
Elena took a chair facing Alexi Popov, who sat behind an antique Russian desk. The tall and thin fifty-two-year-old balding diplomat poured steaming tea from a pot into two Russian crystal hot-tea glasses with vintage Podstakannik metal holders. He passed one to Elena. They were alone in a corner office of the Russian trade mission. The office overlooked a park in downtown Vancouver, British Columbia.
Popov noticed the change the instant she walked through the door, escorted by his secretary. “You cut your hair. Very nice,” he offered. He had learned of her pending return the previous week.
Elena hated the butch cut but had no choice in the matter. “Thanks—I was tired of the old look. Time to try something new.”
Popov was attracted to Elena from day one. Her lovely face, blond tresses, and sumptuous curves were irresistible. Yet he knew his limits. Although he was the boss, she was out of bounds. The SVR controlled Elena, not the Ministry of Industry and Trade. He was tasked with assisting her as needed. “Tell me, Elena, how are ‘things’ back in Moscow.” Popov knew little about Elena’s four-month absence. Moscow had informed him that she was recalled for a special project but provided no details.
Elena said, “In a word—tense.”
Popov tilted his head to the side. “Sanctions?”
“Yes. The Americans are ruthless.”
The envoy’s forehead wrinkled. “I thought so. They’re causing problems here, too. Washington is pressuring Ottawa to cut trade ties with us. Very serious situation.”
Russia’s continued harassment of its neighbors, coupled with its refusal to participate in the oil spill cleanup in the Arctic, resulted in a new round of penalties imposed by the United States. Trade relations between Russia and the West were at an all-time low.
The Faithful Spy Page 2