The Faithful Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  Captain Petrovich mulled over Yuri’s conclusions. “I can’t say that I’m surprised at your findings. The sanctions by NATO and the Americans have hindered our ability to update our software and electronic packages for numerous weapon systems.”

  Punishing its adventurism in Ukraine, Georgia, Syria, and elsewhere, the West had cut off Russia’s access to cutting-edge technology. Nearly anything that could be adapted for military use was prohibited. Russia had countered by attempting to surreptitiously acquire electronics through shady intermediaries. And where they could, SVR and GRU spies outright stole the technology. But it was slim pickings for Russia. For once, the West remained united in its effort to thwart the bullies in the Kremlin.

  Petrovich said, “We might be able to replace the batteries with new ones from another source. That should increase the Starfish’s endurance.”

  “From Israel?” asked Maranovich.

  “Yes—you know about that?”

  “I heard about it from our propulsion engineers.”

  “They’re supposed to have twenty-five percent more capacity.”

  Maranovich and Petrovich discussed the battery situation for a couple of minutes before moving on to software issues. Petrovich addressed Yuri. “I agree with you about the code. We’re far behind what the Americans are doing.”

  “Artificial intelligence is a rapidly evolving field.”

  “What about the company you were involved with in the States? Can you get access to the AI software?”

  Yuri had anticipated the question. “The code is not directly applicable to the mission. The AI software I worked with in Seattle is based strictly on mapping for subsea oil and gas deposits. It might be adaptable but would require a complete overhaul.”

  “How long would it take?”

  “Months at least, sir. It’s far beyond my coding skills. We’d need a team of experts.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time.” Obviously peeved, Petrovich swiveled his chair, turning away from the monitor.

  Yuri let him stew before commenting. “Captain, I have an alternative plan that I would like you to consider.”

  Petrovich turned back. “And what is that?”

  “Rather than relying on an AUV, I propose a manned mission using a midget with divers. The midget would penetrate harbor defenses, allowing the divers to install the recorders.”

  “Hmmm,” Petrovich muttered, surprised at Yuri’s suggestion. “The mission planners specified that an autonomous vehicle is to be used. There’s nothing autonomous about a midget and divers.”

  “I understand. But from what I reviewed at Fleet, it’s reasonable to expect the Chinese already have a robust underwater warning system in place at their key bases. They’re not worried about our capabilities.”

  “Americans?” Petrovich asked.

  “Exactly. U.S. Navy subs with their AUVs are no doubt running ops deep inside Chinese waters, just like they do to our facilities.”

  Petrovich squirmed in his chair. “They certainly have newer equipment than we do.”

  “Yes, sir. And that’s why the Chinese are paranoid about the security of their capital ships while dockside. American AUVs launched from their Virginia or Seawolf-class boats are capable of sinking everything PLAN has moored at Qingdao, Ningbo, and Zhanjiang.”

  “What’s your experience with midgets?”

  “About five years ago, I trained with an underwater comms intercept unit out of Kaliningrad.”

  “What about recently?”

  “Nothing recent—but Stephan has.” Yuri gestured for Captain-Lieutenant Maranovich to proceed.

  “Yes, sir,” Maranovich said. “I do have current experience. There’s a minisub squadron here at Rybachiy that I’ve worked with in the past—training missions only.” Maranovich keyed a laptop on the table next to where he sat. The video screen at both venues split into two viewing frames. The smaller frame continued to show the conference participants. The larger panel displayed a photograph of a black hulled minisub floating alongside a quay—a wharf. The steel teardrop hull was about a hundred feet long and twenty feet in diameter at its widest point. An eight-foot-high sail rose above the deck about a quarter hull length from the bow.

  “This is the newest mini we have—Project Eight One Five,” Maranovich said. “It has an air independent propulsion system with an electric motor powered by oxygen-hydrogen fuel cells. Uses an anaerobic diesel generator for hydrogen production and battery recharging. Based on the Kronstadt’s AIP system.”

  “What about the exhaust from the diesel generator?” Petrovich asked.

  “No exhaust is discharged overboard—it’s recycled. No snorkeling required.” Maranovich advanced to a new slide. The design drawing illustrated the P-815’s interior. He used a cursor to point out key features. “Control station, galley, and mess room in this area. Accommodations for eight. Toilet here. Propulsion in the stern compartment with liquid oxygen and diesel tanks. Batteries are in the bilge.” He moved the cursor to the bow. “There’s also a bottom-opening lock-in lock-out chamber in the forward compartment for divers.”

  “Weapons?”

  “It can carry a variety of external packages. Two exterior mounted dispensers carrying twenty bottom mines, 600 kilograms each. Or four Mark Twelve Vipers in canisters with anchors. Another option is two diver-operated mine delivery vehicles with a total of 10,000 kilograms of mines. It can also remotely carry two naval Spetsnaz delivery vehicles and has internal space for up to twelve operators.” Spetsnaz was short for Spetsial’noye naznacheniye, which means special purpose.

  Yuri joined in next. “Sir, the hull has an anechoic coating—just like our nukes. Sound suppression of the diesel generator is excellent. Minimal sound print. When running on fuel cells, she’s virtually invisible sound wise.”

  “What about performance, endurance?”

  Maranovich rejoined the conversation. “Eight knots transit speed—submerged. Burst speed submerged is eighteen knots and sustained speed is twelve knots. Submerged endurance is fourteen days.”

  “Impressive little bugger. What else can it do?”

  Yuri said, “An ROV package can be mounted to the hull and controlled from the pilot’s station.”

  Yuri waited for Captain Petrovich to respond.

  “Okay, Kirov, sending in an autonomous vehicle is one thing, but how do you get a mini through the underwater monitoring systems? The P-815 is at least a magnitude larger than the Starfish.”

  “With the right pilot and navigator, a midget like the P-815 has a better chance of defeating an aggressive monitoring system than the best AUV. Under manned control, decisions can be made on how best to avoid or get around underwater sensors. For that type of environment, brains still beat the best AI software out there.”

  “Adaptability.”

  “Yes, sir—exactly.”

  “I get it, Kirov. We’ve got sub designers from Central telling us that they have plans for attack subs like the Novosibirsk that will be completely autonomous—no crew needed. That’s just pure bullshit.”

  Yuri glanced at Maranovich and cracked a weak smile. He responded in kind.

  Petrovich continued his rant. “There will always be a human captain in charge of a Russian warship—not some digital deviant.”

  “We couldn’t agree more, sir. That’s why we recommend you consider the P-815 for the mission.”

  “I like the concept but its range is insufficient—fourteen days is not enough time for the distances involved.”

  “I understand that issue,” Yuri said. “The only way it will work is for the mini to be transported to the operating area by another vessel.”

  “Hmmm. Sounds like you have the Novosibirsk in mind.”

  “I do, sir. It’s ideal.”

  Captain Petrovich looked pleased. During a recent refit, the forward side-by-si
de twin vertical launch tubes for cruise missiles had been removed and replaced with a diver-support module. The purpose of the hull modification was to provide improved ingress and egress for special underwater operations teams.

  “Access the mini from the diver-support unit?” Petrovich asked.

  Maranovich answered. “That’s correct, sir. A cradle for the mini can be welded onto the outer casing aft of the sail.” He advanced a new slide of a sketch illustrating the concept. “The P-815 is already equipped with a mating collar around the lockout hatch that will allow it to connect directly to the diver module’s air lock. That will permit access between both vessels while underwater. This is particularly beneficial when…”

  Maranovich completed his briefing two minutes later.

  Captain Petrovich leaned back in his chair, contemplating. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m interested. Let’s take this to the next level.”

  Petrovich spent several minutes issuing new orders before terminating the video conference. Yuri collected his notes from the table and stood. Maranovich followed his lead. “Nice work with Petrovich,” he said. “I think he’s on board.”

  “But it’s your experience with the mini that won him over.”

  “All of my experience is training and simulations—no real covert missions.”

  “You’ll be fine, Stephan. You know the P-815 and its crew. That’s why I recommended you for mission commander.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I think you should be in charge.”

  Yuri met his colleague’s eyes. “This is the kind of mission that will rocket your career. Most officers would give their left nut to have such an opportunity. Don’t let it slip by.”

  “I’d like you to be my deputy.”

  “Thanks but you don’t need me. Assign that task to one of the minisub officers. They’ll be hungry to be involved.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Maranovich left for another meeting. Yuri remained behind, sitting at the table and working on a fresh cup of tea. So far, Yuri’s plan was headed in the direction he’d engineered. Yuri beamed. Yes, this just could work!

  Chapter 22

  Elena Krestyanova sat up in the bed and stretched out her arms. Sunlight flooded the enormous bedroom. She glanced at the vacant side of the king-size bed. Kwan Chi was already up. Elena checked the clock on the bedside table: 9:25 A.M. She’d slept soundly, almost eight hours straight. Jetlag contributed to her weariness but the sex had helped. Celibate for over four months, she had exhausted Kwan and vice versa.

  Elena slipped her legs over the edge of the elevated platform bed and stepped onto the bamboo flooring. Nude, she walked into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, Elena entered the living room. She wore a silk robe and a pair of slippers she found on a counter, both placed earlier by Kwan’s housekeeper.

  “Good morning,” Kwan greeted, walking in from the kitchen. “I hope you slept well.” He wore a plain white T-shirt and a pair of tan Bermuda shorts. Leather sandals covered his feet.

  “I did, and I hope you did too.”

  “It was excellent. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. Thank you!”

  Elena flashed a friendly smile. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  “It is. My housekeeper made a full pot plus a delicious breakfast. Please join me on the deck. It’s wonderful outside this morning.”

  “Great, I’m famished.”

  Elena devoured the scrumptious omelet along with the smoked salmon. Kwan also cleaned his plate, which Elena noted was unusual. In the past, he rarely ate anything in the mornings.

  Kwan poured a second cup of coffee for both and settled back into his chair.

  “I’m so pleased that you’re here.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  Kwan decided it was time for business. “Have you heard anything new about Kirov?”

  “Only that he’s apparently still living with the woman and her child in the Seattle area.”

  Kwan took a swallow from his cup. “Although our arrangement regarding Kirov did not work out, we remain interested in continuing to retain your services.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear that. I too wish to continue.”

  “Good. Anything you can provide us regarding Pacific Fleet activities, submarines in particular, would be useful to us.”

  “I’ll be visiting Vladivostok on my return trip. I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Great.”

  Elena clasped her hands over the table. “When I was in Moscow, I heard something that might interest you—but it’s not about the Russian Navy.”

  Kwan’s eyebrows narrowed. “Please tell me.”

  “A few days before I left, I sat in on a classified SVR briefing regarding American operations in the western Pacific—Japan and China plus the Spratly Islands. Most of the discussion was related to the South China Sea and the waters disputed by—”

  “They are not disputed waters,” Kwan interrupted. “They belong to us.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand.”

  “Sorry for interrupting. Please continue.”

  “Near the end of the briefing, the officer reported that the Americans appear to be strengthening ties with Taiwan.”

  Kwan sat up rigid in his chair. “What kind of ties?”

  “Military, as near as the GRU can determine at this time. Possibly related to stationing of U.S. forces on the island.”

  Cleary agitated, Kwan said, “How much confidence do you have in that report?”

  “It was mentioned in passing during the briefing. Apparently, one of our operatives learned about Washington’s overture to Taiwan from an agent in the U.S. State Department. That’s all I know.”

  “Thank you. This is most helpful. What is your fee for this information? I’ll make arrangements for immediate payment.”

  Elena shook her head. “No, don’t worry about it. You’ve been so generous in the past.”

  Kwan smiled. “Very well, but anything else that you might uncover regarding this situation would be most appreciated. And we will compensate you handsomely for that effort.”

  “I’ll try, Chi.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * * *

  Two SVR officers sat at a table on the balcony of a luxury hotel suite that bordered Victoria Harbour. The building was over a mile southwest of Kwan Chi’s penthouse. They had a partial line of sight of Kwan’s unit from the hotel room, but relied on another surveillance device for up-front and personal views of the targets.

  “She’s hot.” The older of the two Russian intelligence officers said. Although in his mid-forties, he retained a trim, athletic build.

  “Yeah, she’s not bad looking, but I don’t care for the butch cut. She used to let her hair hang below her shoulders.” The younger one commented.

  “How do you know that?”

  “There was a photo of her in the case file, taken a year or so earlier. She’s much sexier with the longer locks.”

  A drone hovered over the bay about a thousand feet directly offshore of Kwan’s apartment. Operating at the same level of the apartment, the zoom lens on the drone’s HD camera captured vivid images of Elena and Kwan as they chatted on the exterior deck. The drone transmitted the encrypted images to the laptop parked on the balcony tabletop.

  “I wonder how many times they screwed last night?” mused the older one.

  “With her good looks, you’ve got to believe he wore himself out.”

  “Especially in that hot tub, he really worked her over.”

  “That’s for sure—lucky guy!”

  The surveillance team followed Elena from Moscow. The high-tech drone was already in place when they arrived, arranged by another Russian NOC stationed in Hong Kong. The specially modified unit’s four propellers issued a whisper instead of the typical shrill high-p
itched tone. It also came with an infrared camera for nighttime conditions.

  “What do you think she’s up to with that guy?” asked the junior officer. He was thirty-four. Slim for his nearly six-foot-tall frame, he was handsome with his soft blond hair and tan complexion.

  “I have no idea. Moscow provided nothing about her mission, only that we’re supposed to observe and report what we see.”

  “With a palace like that place, I bet she decides to hang out with him right there. He’s certainly rich.”

  “There are lots of rich guys in this city—they’re everywhere.”

  The two SVR officers entered Hong Kong with tourist visas, masquerading as an affluent gay couple on vacation from Germany. Besides their native Russian tongue, both men were fluent in German, having served in the Berlin embassy as security officers. Both remained single but were straight.

  “Oh, looks like we’ve got a low battery,” the junior officer said, reacting to a flashing low battery icon on the drone’s handheld control device. The agent in charge studied the laptop screen; the camera remained focused on the couple. Both were holding coffee cups. “They’re not going anywhere yet. Let’s bring it back in for a charge.”

  “Okay. I’ll issue the recall signal.”

  Although the drone had about fifteen minutes of flying time left, neither operative was about to take any unnecessary risk with the $50,000 mini-aircraft. Their Moscow supervisor informed them that if they lost the drone to carelessness, their salaries would be docked until the debt was paid off.

  Six minutes later, the muted drone landed on the balcony table without operator assistance.

  * * * *

  SVR director Borya Smirnov relaxed in a comfortable leather chair in the library of his sprawling Moscow home. He gazed out the windows, taking in the late afternoon view of the garden. The serene vista was calming but it was the two shots of chilled Russian Standard burning in his belly that mellowed his outlook.

  Before he had departed SVR headquarters for his chauffeured ride home, a hardcopy of the latest secure email report from his operatives in Hong Kong arrived. Decrypted and marked with a cover sheet containing the SVR’s equivalent of a CIA “EYES ONLY” designation, the 22-page account detailed Elena Krestyanova’s encounters with her target. He read the report during the twenty-minute commute.