The report’s salacious details remained fresh. Screwing in a hot tube on an exposed deck of a high-rise apartment! What an arrogant fool.
Nonetheless, Smirnov smiled at the thought, almost envious of his Asian rival. She must really be good—but Kwan is an idiot.
Smirnov stood and walked a few steps to his bar. He opened the freezer compartment of the built-in German refrigerator and removed the bottle. He poured a third serving of chilled vodka into a glass. He returned to his chair and slugged down the shot.
Elena’s doing her part—we’ll just have to wait to see if they take the bait!
Elena Krestyanova was part of the deception. Smirnov also ran another operation in Washington, D.C.
One of the SVR’s legacy plants working inside the U.S. State Department delivered another tantalizing morsel of intel data that would shake Beijing to its core. The MSS operative who thought she’d recruited an American spy by offering a pile of cash was clueless that her agent at Foggy Bottom was really a Russian operative. Smirnov smiled at the irony of the op.
They’re going to pay us to get screwed!
Chapter 23
Day 10—Tuesday
Yuri Kirov and Stephan Maranovich were aboard the P-815. The minisub was moored to a quay at the Rybachiy submarine base with the top of the hull ballasted down to within a foot of the water surface. It had rained this morning. The sky was a dull gray in all directions. “You’ll be fine,” Yuri said. “The lockout chamber is a piece of cake to operate.”
“A what to operate?” asked Maranovich.
“Sorry, slang from my stay in America. The chamber is similar to escape hatches on submarines.”
“All right but it looks tight in there.”
“It’ll be okay.”
Maranovich wore a wetsuit with a scuba tank strapped to his back. A standby diver, already suited up, waited on the exterior deck next to P-815’s sail. A chief warrant officer sat atop the sail, his legs dangling over the forward edge of the fin. He wore a telephone headset. Yuri had a similar headset, plugged into the mini’s com system.
Yuri said, “Stand by, Chief. We’re going to start the test now.”
“Ready here, sir.”
“Very well.” Yuri made one last check of Maranovich’s equipment. “You’re all set, Stephan.”
“Okay.”
Maranovich crouched down and crab walked into the lockin-lockout compartment. It was a tight fit with his lanky frame. His fin-tipped feet added to the awkward gait.
“I’m going to seal the door now,” Yuri said.
Maranovich raised a hand.
Yuri closed the steel access door to the chamber, turning the handwheel that engaged the rack-and-pinion locking mechanism. He picked up a small hammer from a bulkhead receptacle and rapped the hemispherical hatch cover with three sharp bangs. Stephan signaled back with two clangs. Yuri made a mental note to come up with an improved system to communicate with the lockout diver. Banging on steel was not the best stealth for the upcoming mission.
Yuri heard the rush of water flooding the chamber as Maranovich activated a pump. Instead of allowing seawater to flow into the compartment, water stored inside the P-815’s internal side tanks was pumped into the chamber. This procedure prevented a radical change to the minisub’s overall trim.
The water ceased flowing. Yuri checked his wristwatch. It should take no more than a minute for Maranovich to egress the midget. First, he would equalize internal and external pressure by opening a valve. Maranovich would next open the bottom hatch, step into the opening and descend fins first. After clearing the lockout chamber, he would pop up to the surface.
A minute passed. Yuri checked the control panel for the lockin-lockout compartment. The indicator light for the outer door remained closed. There must be a fault in the line. Yuri made another mental note to investigate the anomaly after the dive.
Yuri spoke into his headset mic. “Chief, he should be out now. Let me know when he surfaces.”
“Copy that.”
Half a minute went by. “Do you see him?” Yuri asked.
“No, and there’re no bubbles or any kind of disturbance around the hull.”
Yuri glanced at the chamber’s control panel. The indicator light for the lockout door still signaled “closed”.
“Get the standby diver in the water now. Check the outer door.”
“We’re on it, sir.”
Yuri grabbed the hammer and whacked the interior door of lockin-lockout compartment. No response. Govnó.
The topside watcher made his report. “The diver reports that the outer door has not been opened.”
Dammit. “Stand by. I’m going to drain the chamber. Come down to help.”
“On my way.”
Yuri activated multiple switches on the control panel, triggering the dewatering process for the chamber. The warrant officer clambered down the sail’s interior ladder and joined Yuri.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Water flowed into the side tanks. When the control panel indicated that the pressure inside the chamber matched ambient level, Yuri spun the wheel on the access door and pulled it open. Captain Lieutenant Maranovich’s torso flopped into the hatchway. His face mask remained in place but the breathing regulator with its mouthpiece dangled at the side of the air tank. Yuri dropped to his knees. “Stephan, what’s wrong?” he called out.
No response.
Yuri ripped off the face mask and checked for signs of life. No chest movements. No breath signs. Eyes wide open.
Yuri unstrapped the SCUBA tank’s shoulder harness and removed the weight belt.
He turned to the warrant officer. “Help me pull him out.”
Maranovich lay on the open deck of the minisub’s control center. After checking for a pulse and finding none, Yuri initiated CPR. He ordered the warrant to call for help.
A medic team from base headquarters arrived twelve minutes later.
Exhausted, Yuri moved aside to let the professionals take over.
The first responders worked on Maranovich for nearly half an hour before giving up.
After zipping up the body bag, the medics struggled to remove Maranovich from the confines of the P-815.
Yuri sat alone in the control center, stunned at the events of the past hour.
What happened?
Chapter 24
The two men drank green tea. They sat in a private dining suite in a Shanghai restaurant. While breakfasting on the exquisite fare, they caught up on family and mutual friends. With their bellies filled and personal updates completed, it was time for work.
“We remain convinced that the Americans are still in the dark,” said Guo Wing. The overweight, middle-aged deputy minister of operations for the Ministry of State Security rubbed his neck.
“I would not underestimate them,” said Lieutenant General Sun Jin. “They could easily be holding back.” Sun served as chief of the Second Department (aka Er Bu) of the PLA’s General Staff Department. The Second Department was responsible for providing intelligence services to China’s military. A year older and nearly half a foot taller than his balding MSS counterpart, Sun had retained his hair but kept it close cut. He was not in uniform this afternoon; his summer suit revealed his gaunt frame.
“You are correct, of course. The Americans can never be trusted. Still, all indications are that they do not suspect what happened.”
General Sun took a sip from his cup. “My main concern is the Russians—the hard drive from the yacht.”
Guo sat up straight. “We have strong reason to believe the hard drive is no longer an issue.”
Sun flashed a questioning glare.
Spymaster Guo continued the rundown. “My operative, Kwan Chi, reestablished contact with the SVR agent who assisted us with the early ph
ase of Sea Dragon.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“A trade mission delegate—her cover. Works out of Vladivostok and Vancouver.”
General Sun tilted his head to side. “The blonde?”
“Yes—Elena Krestyanova.”
“I thought she was arrested and sent back to Moscow.”
“She did return to Moscow, but for treatment of a gunshot wound—multiple surgeries.” Guo paused, taking a taste of tea before dropping the bomb. “A couple of days ago, she showed up in Hong Kong and reestablished contact with Kwan.”
The general frowned, confused.
Guo continued, “After recovering from her injury, Krestyanova was sent back to Vancouver to continue her work at the trade mission. If the Russians somehow managed to work around the self-destruct feature of the hard drive, she would certainly have been imprisoned but more likely executed. There was plenty of incriminating evidence in it to reveal her spying for us—as well as critical details on Sea Dragon.”
“That’s your evidence—that she was sent back into the field because the hard drive was useless? What about their own people on the Yangzi?”
Guo’s posture stiffened. “What did they know? Only that we had an op underway against the Americans near Seattle. They had no evidence other than what was on the hard drive. The yacht sank and all of our people on the mission either returned home or were killed. None were taken off that boat by the Russians.”
“What about the mine? Some of them might have seen it.”
“So what—how would they know what it was? Besides, it’s gone, blown to bits along with the Yangzi.” Guo returned his teacup to the table. “And consider our current relations with the Kremlin. Nothing has changed. Not a hint of trouble. In fact, we’re about to start work on the new oil pipeline to Siberia. That’s going to be a huge cash generator for Russia once the oil starts flowing.”
Sun glowered, not convinced. “Come on, Guo, you don’t think the SVR or FSB believe she’s a double? Well, I don’t buy that. They’re trying to set you up.”
Guo held up a hand. “Of course I’m concerned. But if what she told Kwan is accurate, everything changes.”
General Sun took the bait. “What changes?”
“Operation Sea Dragon! We just might be able to resurrect it.”
“We blew it. Beijing will not proceed with Sea Dragon.”
“That may have been the case a few days ago, but no longer. Not after what Krestyanova told Kwan.”
“Where are you going with this?” demanded Sun.
“We now have two sources. Krestyanova and one of our agents in the U.S. State Department. Beijing is going crazy.”
“What?” the general asked, annoyed at Guo’s build up.
“The Americans are preparing to base military assets in Taiwan.”
“Tā māde,”—shit—muttered General Sun.
Chapter 25
Supervisory Special Agent Ava Diesen walked into her boss’ office at FBI Headquarters. It was late morning in Washington, D.C. She carried a file folder.
“Morning, John. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course. Have a seat.” Assistant Director of Counterintelligence John Markley was in his early fifties. He was average height with a trim waistline. He retained most of his russet hair with the exception of a retreating hairline. A pair of reading glasses was parked on his nose.
Ava sat down and opened the file folder. “I have an interesting situation I’d like to brief you on.” She removed a photo and placed it on the desk.
Markley picked it up. “Russian?” he asked, noting the naval uniform.
“Yep. Capitan-Lieutenant Yuri Ivanovich Kirov. GRU Fleet Intelligence. Underwater intel expert. Last assigned to a sub based out of Petropavlovsk.”
“And how did this guy get on your radar?”
“Homeland Security tagged him at Houston International last week. Our field office tracked him to the Russian consulate. But that’s the last we have on him.” Ava knew the rest of the report would upset her boss. “The Russians used a decoy to throw us off. They sent a double to the consulate’s guest quarters.”
Markley removed his reading glasses and gave Ava an accusing look. “You mean we don’t have eyes on this guy?”
“We don’t.”
“Dammit, that shouldn’t have happened.”
“I agree.”
Markley’s forehead wrinkled. He studied the photo again. “What the heck is a submarine officer doing here, anyway?”
“It gets weirder, sir.” Agent Diesen removed another document and handed it over.
He slipped on his glasses and thumbed through the papers. It took about twenty seconds for Markley to make the connection. “This is the same guy.”
“Ninety-three percent confirmation on facial recognition.”
“Tell me more.”
“DIA made the original ID off a surveillance photo at the airport. I then asked Homeland Security to back-check every camera in the entire airport for the morning in question.” She removed another photo from her file folder and held it up to show Yuri in civilian clothes walking out of an arrival gate. “He arrived on a United flight from Seattle.”
“What name was he using?”
“John Kirkwood. Matched both his Alaska Air ticket and the Washington State driver’s license he provided TSA when checking in at Sea-Tac Airport.”
Markley reexamined the papers he held. “It says here that he’s the general manager of Northwest Subsea Dynamics—what kind of company is that?”
“Very high-tech. Builds state of the art autonomous underwater vehicles and conducts underwater investigations. The company he works for has a multimillion dollar contract with the Coast Guard. It’s involved in the cleanup of the oil spill in the Arctic offshore of Alaska.”
“The Russian oil spill?”
Ava nodded.
“Damn! A Russian naval intelligence officer—running an American company that’s under contract to an agency of the U.S. government?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Where is he now?”
“Unknown. As best as we can determine, he has not returned to Seattle. There’s no indication of how or when he left Houston.”
“They smuggled him out. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“I agree.”
“What was he doing here?”
“We have no idea.”
Markley rolled his chair back a few inches from his desk. “What do you have in mind, Ava?”
“My guess is that he was recalled home for a meeting or new orders. Something that required him to leave the country covertly, which could be arranged through the consulate. It was just a fluke that Homeland picked him up at the airport—CBP was testing new facial recognition software.” Ava crossed her legs. “John, there’s a chance he might be coming back. I’d like to implement a full-scale surveillance operation of where he works and lives in the Seattle area.”
“By all means. Start setting it up.”
“I will.”
Markley said, “I’d also like a summary memo on this situation by two o’clock this afternoon. I need to brief the boss ASAP to get his blessing for a FISA hearing.”
“Will do.”
* * * *
Laura Newman took one last look at her reflection in the master bedroom mirror—silk pleat neck blouse, pinstripe jacket with matching ankle pants, and three-inch heels. Satisfied with the outfit for the day, she walked into the kitchen. “I’m about ready to head to the office,” she announced, addressing Maddy’s live-in nanny. Amanda Graham had started work the previous day. She would care for Madelyn from eight in the morning to when Laura returned from work, Monday through Friday.
“Wow, you look terrific,” Amanda said. “May I ask where you bought your ou
tfit?”
“Sure, it was Ann Taylor.”
“It’s very nice.”
“Thank you.”
Amanda was a tad heavy for her five-foot-four frame. A brunette with her hair bundled into a ponytail, she wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a sweatshirt with her alma mater’s team logo: University of Washington Huskies. She sat at the kitchen table spoon-feeding Madelyn apple sauce.
Laura stepped to Maddy’s side. She traced a finger along Madelyn’s cheek, initiating the dimpled grin that stirred Laura’s heart every time. “How are you this morning, sweetie?”
Maddy babbled a chorus of giggles. “Was she hungry?”
“She took most of the bottle.”
“Good.” Laura was in the process of weaning Madelyn. “There should be plenty of milk in the freezer.”
“No problem.”
“I should be home around six tonight.”
“Okay, see you then.”
“I’m going to order out tonight. How does Thai sound?”
“Great!’
“Okay, I’ll take care of it.”
Amanda occupied the guest quarters located over the three-car garage. The one-bedroom apartment contained a compact kitchen with the usual modern conveniences. An enclosed hallway linked the apartment to the second floor of the main residence. Since Yuri was gone, Laura had invited Amanda to join her for dinner. Sharing the evening meal also allowed the two women to get to know each other.
Laura walked into the garage and punched a keypad. While the door rolled open, she climbed in the silver BMW Seven Series. She started the car and buckled her seatbelt. As the sedan warmed up, Laura reached into her purse and removed her cell phone. She scanned through the list of telephone messages, texts, and emails. She had not checked since last night. Still nothing! Where is he?
Laura had heard nothing from Yuri for a week. Each day with no word further increased her anxiety. More than ever, she wanted to hear Yuri’s voice, know that he was safe. But it was as if he had dropped into a black hole. Her duties at Cognition Consultants were mounting, and the pressure didn’t help, either.
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