“What’s the endurance?” asked Yuri
“The batteries are good for twelve hours at five knots.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, but it should be sufficient for our needs.”
Yuri slipped a hand behind his lower back and massaged his spine. The BOQ mattress he’d slept on was too soft for his liking. He glanced back at the wall-mounted screen. The PowerPoint slide of a Russian-manufactured autonomous underwater vehicle filled the display. Code named Starfish, the AUV was cylindrical, about two feet in diameter and sixteen feet long. A propeller and rudder assembly with fins were located at the stern. The bow cap consisted of a rounded nose cone. The entire steel casing was painted navy gray.
“Obviously, it fits through the tubes,” Yuri said.
“Correct. Once the tube is flooded, it will swim out on its own and the fins will unfold.”
“How about retrieval?”
“Manual.”
This did not surprise Yuri. Divers would be needed to maneuver the AUV for reinsertion into an open tube. “I assume it has sidescan sonar survey capability as well as ranging sonar.”
“It does.” Maranovich advanced to a new slide filled with bullet points. “This provides a summary of the surveying and navigation equipment incorporated into the Starfish.”
Yuri scanned the specs. He was not impressed but did not let on. The Russian Navy’s top-of-the-line AUV was a dinosaur compared to the technology developed by Northwest Subsea Dynamics.
Yuri looked back at Maranovich. “It would be helpful if you could provide me with details of missions where you have deployed the Starfish and how it functioned. I’m interested in any problems that developed with the unit itself.”
Maranovich narrowed his eyebrows.
Yuri caught the glare. “It’s been my experience that we learn much from our mistakes, and please believe me, I have had way more than my share of screw ups with AUVs.” He smiled. “If it can go wrong, it will and it has for me.”
Maranovich’s frown rolled into a grin. “I understand. We’ve had trouble with the Starfish. When we received the first unit, the battery pack failed on the first mission.”
“Manufacturing problem?”
“Yes. We ended up scrapping the batteries and purchased replacements from Sweden.”
Yuri was not surprised. Russian manufacturing practices were not yet close to the quality of the West’s. “What about electronics?”
Maranovich sighed. “The GPS module worked fine as well as the ranging sonar, but the original sidescan was crap. We replaced it with an American-made unit.” He named the unit and summarized its design specifications.
“How did you get that though the sanctions?” Yuri asked. The United States imposed a long list of penalties against Russia for harassing its neighbors and interfering with American elections. Near the top of the list of restricted commerce items were specialty electronics that could be adapted for military uses.
“We used a third party.”
Yuri smirked. Maranovich used code. The GRU obtained the blacklisted gear by either outright bribery or blackmail.
Yuri asked several follow-up questions regarding the Starfish before moving on to question Maranovich about his background.
“How much diving experience do you have?”
“Basic dive training at Sevastopol—SCUBA and hardhat.”
Yuri grabbed a plastic water bottle from a tabletop tray. He removed the cap and took a swig. “What’s your deepest dive?”
“Just forty meters—basic certification.” Maranovich also helped himself to a water bottle.
After another swallow Yuri asked, “Any experience with rebreathers?”
“A couple of shallow-water training dives. How about you?”
“Extensive training and experience—numerous hundred meter-plus operational dives.”
“My God,” muttered Maranovich. “What were you doing?”
“Installation and retrieval of surveillance equipment.”
Maranovich glowered. “Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to participate in those activities.” He hesitated. “No way that I can go deep like that.”
Yuri clasped his hands. “From what I’ve seen so far about the mission, I don’t see the need for diving deeper than twenty meters or so.”
“Good,” Maranovich said, relaxed.
Yuri looked back at the screen image of the Starfish. “I need to observe the unit in the water. Is there someplace around here where we can test it without drawing attention?”
“I already checked. No testing allowed.”
Yuri was about to protest when Maranovich said, “We’re too close to China. They have electronic eyes on us constantly—like the damn Americans. Plus, who knows how many agents they have planted in the city.”
Yuri frowned. “I’ve got to become intimate with the unit if we’re going to have any hope of pulling off what the Kremlin wants.”
“I understand. I’ll talk with Captain Petrovich. I think it’s time that we head to Rybachiy. We can check everything there in private.”
“Good.”
Maranovich excused himself to confer with Captain Petrovich. Yuri remained behind, thumbing through the slides. His worry quotient ratcheted up a notch. He was less than impressed with the Starfish. Its range was seriously deficient, regardless of Maranovich’s opinion. But his principal concern was the AUV’s lack of stealth. He again scanned the slide displaying the electric motor’s performance characteristics. I bet she’s a noisy bitch. She’ll never get past the sensors.
How the hell do I fix that?
Yuri stood and stepped to a map pinned to a wall on the right side of the conference room. The map depicted Russian military installations in Russia’s Far Eastern Province. Prominently identified on the lower left side was the naval base at Vladivostok. To the far upper right of the map was another naval installation near the southerly tip of the Kamchatka Peninsula. Located nine miles across Avacha Bay from Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy—the region’s capital—the naval base was homeport to several squadrons of attack boats and Russia’s newest ballistic missile submarines. The Rybachiy Submarine Base was also Yuri’s last duty station.
Over twenty months earlier, Yuri departed from Rybachiy aboard the nuclear-powered attack submarine Neva. After crossing the North Pacific and taking extreme care to avoid detection by the U.S. Navy’s Integrated Undersea Surveillance System, the sub entered the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The twelve-to-eighteen-mile-wide waterway separated Washington State from British Columbia. Hugging the bottom, the Neva sailed far into enemy waters where Yuri commenced his mission—planting subsea recording devices and spying on U.S. and Canadian naval installations.
The mission was nearly complete when an accident sent the Neva to bottom, over 700 feet below the surface. Using high-tech diving equipment from his espionage operations, Yuri escaped the underwater tomb—barely. Suffering from decompression sickness, alone, and a hundred miles inside enemy lines, Yuri had to rescue the Neva’s remaining three dozen survivors before the U.S. Navy discovered the marooned spy sub.
Yuri thought of his diving partner and friend, Senior Warrant Officer Viktor Skirski. Viktor perished along with fifty-three others. He made the first dive after the accident to inspect hull damage but never returned. Yuri wondered if Viktor’s widow, Alma, and her son still lived in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy. If I have time, I’ll try to look her up!
Yuri returned to his chair and took a swig from the water bottle. He reminisced about other survivors, reliving the nightmares and triumphs they had all endured. None of them should have survived the initial accident—it was simply luck that the entire casing didn’t flood. And then Yuri somehow survived the escape ascent despite suffering from the bends and hypothermia. Was that luck or something more?
Yuri shivered as his body recalled the f
reezing water and the untold hours he spent immersed in it after escaping from the hulk. Nick—thank God for Nick!
Moscow dispatched Nicolai Orlov to investigate Yuri’s sudden and unauthorized appearance behind enemy lines with the express task of returning him to Russia. But Nick became an ally, sympathetic to the plight of the stranded crew. Elena—what a cold-hearted bitch.
Elena Krestyanova accompanied Nick Orlov. She helped but the Neva’s survivors meant nothing to her. Later, Elena caused Yuri untold apprehension and heartache.
Prison—that’s where she belongs. Lock her up and toss the key away.
Yuri could never forgive Elena for her recent treachery that nearly cost Laura and Maddy their lives.
Laura—sweet Laura—you are the light of my life. I could never have done it without you.
Yuri closed his eyes. He pictured Laura, her sunny smile, her sweet voice. Lord, please watch over Laura—and Maddy. Keep them safe.
Yuri’s mother sparked his early belief, but her guidance ceased after she succumbed to cancer a week after his twelfth birthday. With a nonbeliever father, Yuri’s faith languished. But surviving the trauma of the Neva’s sinking had rekindled his conviction. Lord, please help me through the mission, and let me return home.
Chapter 16
“Sir, I believe we have another FBI surveillance operation underway at the guest quarters.”
Nick Orlov looked up from his desk. The consulate’s security officer, a young man in his late twenties, stood in the open doorway of the office. It was 2:35 P.M. at the Russian consulate in Houston.
“What’s going on?”
“One of our cameras detected movement in the home across the street.”
Nick signaled for the visitor to take a seat. Oleg Babin wore civilian clothes but was on loan from Russia’s military intelligence service, the Glavnoye Razvedovatel’noye Upravlenie, aka the GRU. Medium height with a trim build, Army Captain Babin’s most distinct feature was a two-inch scar above his right eye. Shrapnel from an IED in Syria had clipped his forehead, resulting in a concussion and a permanent tattoo that reminded Babin everyday how lucky he was. Two other GRU officers in the vehicle lost limbs. Babin placed four photographs on Nick’s desktop. The color blowups showed the partial image of a male peering through the narrow gap of a set of window blinds, backlit by lights from inside the home. Time stamps on the photos revealed the photos were recorded the previous evening.
Nick picked up a photo. “Have you IDed this guy?”
“Yes, sir. He’s an agent assigned to the FBI’s Houston Field Office.” Babin recited the name.
“How long have they been in the unit?”
“At least the last twenty-four hours.” A clerk assigned to the security office reviewed the video images every morning, accessing the cloud-stored data file from the consulate. “They could have been watching us longer.”
Nick waved the photo. “This guy was sloppy. Others might take more care.”
“Yes, sir. I see your point.”
“I want you to go back for at least a week and examine every photo and video we have on the building. Look for other anomalies. Lights on. Background movement behind the blinds, pedestrian traffic in front of the home, vehicles coming and going, anything out of the ordinary.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.”
The officer stood and started to collect the photographs.
“Leave them,” Nick ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
After Babin departed, Nick picked up another photo. What are they up to now? The residence in question was almost directly across the street from the main entrance to the consulate’s guest quarters. If it had been Nick’s op, he too would have chosen the house.
The SVR had long suspected the FBI had human as well as electronic eyes on the guest residence. About a year earlier, they finally had the proof. A search of public records revealed the home was purchased by a company registered in Montgomery County, Maryland. Further mining by SVR staff in the Washington embassy ascertained that the FBI controlled the shell company.
Nick considered the development, again perusing the photo. So, Mr. FBI man, just what are you doing?
It had been several months since federal agents occupied the home on an around-the-clock basis. The last campaign occurred when the Russian Foreign Minister paid a visit to the consulate during an international conference held in Houston.
Nick tossed the photo onto the desk and stared out the window. His office had a view of Interstate 610. He reflected on the events of the past few days. Worried that Yuri might have been tagged at Houston International, Nick was thankful he’d taken extra precautions to ensure Yuri’s surreptitious return to Russia.
They must have followed Yuri’s double! After spending a night at the quest residence, the SVR officer masquerading as Yuri departed the next morning on foot using the backyard and a connecting greenbelt to access a residential street. He then used Uber to return to the consulate.
They must think he’s still there.
Although pleased that the evasion tactics worked, Nick’s worry quotient ratcheted up a notch.
If Yuri was spotted, then he might really be on FBI’s radar!
Chapter 17
Day 7—Saturday
Elena Krestyanova settled into the business-class seat of the Canada Air 777. The Boeing was third in line for departure from Vancouver International. She glanced out her window; it was raining this late morning. A summer front had moved in overnight, casting a gray pall over British Columbia’s lower mainland. While in the terminal waiting to board, Elena had checked the weather of her destination. For the next week, the forecast for Hong Kong called for scorching daytime highs, windless clear skies, and dripping humidity. Never a fan of sticky climes, Elena would avoid the outdoors wherever possible.
As far as the Vancouver trade mission knew, Elena was on a follow-up assignment to a trade delegation team she’d led from Vladivostok earlier in the year. She would renew contact with Chinese government trade officials. But it was cover only.
Elena’s real assignment, dictated by SVR chief Borya Smirnov, was to reestablish her personal relationship with Kwan Chi.
After checking into her hotel, Elena would text Chi. If he responded, her new op would commence. If ignored, she’d complete the trade mission charade and then fly to Vladivostok, where she would report her failure to Smirnov by encrypted email. Under no conditions was Elena to attempt any communications with the SVR while operating in Hong Kong. The PRC’s Ministry of State Security would have digital eyes and ears on her the instant she stepped off the wide-body jet at Hong Kong International.
China’s One Nation, Two Systems policy toward Hong Kong provided a modicum of independence for the former British colony. When the UK’s lease for Hong Kong expired in 1997, China allowed Hong Kong to police itself, along with a pledge not to import mainland security forces to the enclave. That promise, along with others, didn’t last long. The MSS now operated freely in the city of seven million.
Another scenario vexed Elena. While in Hong Kong, the MSS could collect Elena at will. Rushed to the mainland by any manner of transport, she might end up in a holding cell in Beijing. Foreign spies caught operating in the People’s Republic of China sometimes earned a rifle shot to the back of skull without even the pretext of a trial. As the triple seven throttled up for a sprint down the runway, Elena’s body tensed. She was now committed—no turning back.
Elena reached up with a hand to massage her wounded shoulder. The ache persisted but, thankfully, a little less each day. Fifteen minutes later, as the jet climbed above Vancouver Island to cruising altitude, a flight attendant announced over the cabin intercom that portable electronic devices could now be turned on. Elena removed her cell from the handbag at her feet and checked just one app, which bypassed airplane mode.
The iPhone and the RFID tag
embedded in Elena’s shoulder continued the hourly check-ins. Although Elena’s cell could not email her GPS coordinates to the anonymous address until the 777 landed, the non-stop flight time to Beijing was well under the twenty-four-hour death limit.
Elena would limit the cell’s use to local calls and texts while in China. Nevertheless, she would keep the phone nearby at all times—her own private reminder of Moscow’s ultimate control. Elena carried a pack of spare batteries and a backup phone with the same app already installed—just in case.
Although plagued by the burden of carrying her own demise twenty-four-seven, there was one positive element to her predicament. If arrested, the MSS would undoubtedly confiscate her phones. By the time technicians dissected the iPhones and discovered the RFID query device, it would be too late.
No more torture, no more pain—just the end.
Chapter 18
Day 8—Sunday
The North Pacific offshore of the Kamchatka Peninsula remained docile this afternoon. Low and slow swells tracked from the northeast, rolling under the workboat as it strained to maintain station. The 130-foot-long vessel hovered in place, employing its main diesel engine in combination with bow and stern thrusters.
Yuri Kirov and Captain-Lieutenant Stephan Maranovich stood near the stern of the WB-112. The Russian Navy support vessel was several miles east of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy. Yuri and Maranovich had arrived at the Rybachiy Nuclear Submarine Base the previous day. They’d hitched a ride aboard the military transport that ferried the Starfish and its support gear.
“How’s it checking out?” Yuri asked. Maranovich held a tablet. He squinted at the screen, fighting glare from the overhead sun. “Everything is in the green.”
“Let’s turn it loose.”
“Okay.” Maranovich tapped the screen with his right index finger. The wireless transmitter broadcast a coded signal. The two-foot wire antenna atop the Starfish’s twenty-two-inch-diameter cylindrical hull intercepted the radio single, transmitting the start command to the autonomous underwater vehicle’s central processing unit. Thirty feet to the west of the WB-112, the Starfish’s propeller bit into the water. Ballast water tanks near the bow and stern of the sixteen-foot-long robot flooded. Within ten seconds, the AUV disappeared.
The Faithful Spy Page 6