Key to the manipulation was China’s absolute rejection of a nuclear-armed Taiwan. China remained convinced that the United States would soon base nuclear-capable cruise and medium range ballistic missiles on the island—a complete fantasy but one that SVR chief Smirnov calculated would send Beijing into a frenzy. The United States unwittingly assisted the deception by increasing it resistance to China’s adventurism in the South China Sea.
Relaxed, President Lebedev said, “Your plan to implicate the Americans. How is that proceeding?”
“On schedule, sir. The navy continues to prepare for the mission.”
“What about the special unit?”
“They will arrive in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy later this week.”
“Very good. And the scapegoat—how is that progressing?”
“The rumor about a defection was passed on to the PRC in Singapore as planned. Details of the defection were also conveyed to the MSS by our mole in the U.S. State Department. The news should have reached Beijing by now.” Smirnov massaged his scalp. “We have a backup operation with another senior MSS officer in the works, too.”
“Will they believe it?”
“We have good reason to think they will—it fits what will be logical to them. To avoid prison for espionage and to protect his American lover, Kirov will offer up everything he knows to the Americans about what China did.”
The president rubbed his hands together. “I agree. That will make perfect sense to those backstabbers.” Lebedev continued to smart from China’s attempt to incite a war between Russia and the USA.
“That’s what we are counting on, sir.”
“Once Beijing believes the Americans know the truth, they’ll be expecting a response.”
“And we will provide that response.”
The Russian leader broadcast an approving smile. “Yes, we will. Excellent work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
President Lebedev stood; Smirnov followed his lead.
The two men shook hands.
As the president escorted his visitor to the door he said, “Payback will be sweet, Borya.”
“Yes, sir. Very sweet indeed.”
* * * *
Four thousand miles east of Moscow, the two men walked along the shoreline at the North Sea Fleet submarine base in Qingdao. It was a warm muggy afternoon with a slight haze over the still harbor waters. They had the waterside walkway to themselves. Both wore matching white trousers and short sleeve shirts and head covers with gold braid—summer uniforms for the People’s Liberation Army-Navy.
“We had a visitor last night after we docked,” the younger of the pair said. Lieutenant Commander Zheng Qin was thirty-one years old, slim, of medium height with jet-black hair cut to regulation length.
“I heard,” said Commander Yang Yu. Of similar statue to his subordinate, Yang had graying hair that marked his eight years of seniority.
“Scuttlebutt says it’s the Americans again.”
“No doubt.”
Yang and Zheng walked in silence until they reached their destination. A dozen paces away from the gangway that led down to the floating pier, they stopped and peered seaward.
Moored to the float, the Heilong’s sleek rounded bow was in full view. The sail rose nearly twenty feet above the deck. Over 360 feet in length, the Type 095 nuclear-powered fast-attack submarine extended well beyond the floating pier it was moored to. Several other submarines occupied duplicate nearby piers. Those boats were shorter and diesel powered.
Named after the Amur River in the northeast sector of mainland China, the Heilong represented China’s newest and most technologically advanced underwater warfare weapons system. The English translation of the warship’s name was Black Dragon. The 1,700-mile-long Amur-Heilong River forms the boundary between Russia’s Siberia and China’s Heilongjiang province, which is part of Manchuria. The river basin is the tenth largest in the world.
The captain of the Heilong leaned against the guardrail that capped the steel bulkhead. Yang Yu peered seaward at his charge. The submarine sat low in the water, its black hull coated with sound-absorbing rubberized tiles. The forward escape hatch was open. An armed sentry stood on the hull between the hatch and a gangplank that provided access to the adjacent floating pier.
The Heilong’s second in command stepped next to Yang. Lieutenant Commander Zheng reached into a pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes. He extracted a Furongwang and lit up, not bothering to offer his boss one, knowing Yang was a non-smoker. “Captain, do you think that intruder was following us?”
Yang rested his elbows on the guardrail. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. Yes, I believe it followed us in.”
The junior officer voiced a curse in Mandarin.
Yang said, “Apparently, our sonar is not as good as we were led to believe.”
The state-run defense contractor guaranteed to the PLAN that its passive sonar hardware and software could detect any subsurface threat the American Navy might pose.
Zheng took in a long drag and exhaled. “They must have been waiting for us when we surfaced last night .”
“Let’s hope that’s what happened.”
Zheng’s eyebrows arched.
Yang continued, “We could have been followed long before reaching Qingdao.”
“But we didn’t detect anything on approach. It must have been loitering offshore. That’s got to be it.”
“Maybe—but why didn’t the base’s offshore bottom sensors pick it up?”
Dozens of passive sonar hydrophones littered the seabed offshore of Qingdao. Linked together by a network of buried fiber optic cables, the underwater listening posts transmitted acoustic energy detected by the seabed sensors to a mainframe supercomputer at the base headquarters building. The Chinese-developed system filtered the firehose stream of underwater racket, searching for unique acoustic sound prints of alien submerged craft.
“That is troubling, sir,” Zheng said. “Fleet ordered us to dock at Qingdao instead of Jianggezhuang because of improved harbor security. Nothing should have penetrated those sensors.” Located about ten miles east of Qingdao, Jianggezhuang was China’s oldest submarine base and in need of an upgrade. Its direct exposure to the ocean provided easy access for interlopers.
“You’re right,” Commander Kang said. “The trespasser never should have reached the inner bay.”
“But part of the system worked,” Zheng offered. “One of the sentries picked up something—that’s how we found out.”
Zheng took one last drag and flipped the butt seaward. He turned to his left and peered back at another floating pier near where they had started their walk. A dozen small boats moored along the sides of the float. The cabin-less runabouts were each 33-feet long. Equipped with a bow-mounted machine gun turret, torpedo and depth bomb launchers, and a 14-foot-high mast populated with video cameras, dual radar domes, GPS unit, and multiple secure radio comms, the autonomous surface vessels—ASVs—mimicked similar robotic systems deployed by the U.S. Navy.
Commander Yang followed Zheng’s gaze. “The system eventually worked, Qin, but it was too late.”
Zheng frowned, unsure of his CO’s direction.
“I checked with base security. The robot picked up a radar contact, not a sonar hit. It appears to have been a periscope or some type of mast.”
“A sub—not an AUV?” Zheng had assumed the underwater contact was from an autonomous underwater vehicle, launched from an American submarine lurking offshore.
“Yes.”
“Inside the bay?”
“Yes, about four kilometers south of the base.”
Zheng peered at the nearby harbor opening and muttered another curse. He turned back to address his commanding officer. “Did the robot have any video evidence?”
The ASVs contained a full complement of optic sensors inclu
ding high-definition infrared video with live streaming capability. The Qingdao Naval Base deployed its new fleet of ASVs at night and during inclement weather conditions. Manned patrol boats guarded the base during daylight hours.
“No. The contact disappeared before the robot arrived on scene. Its sonar didn’t pick up anything either.”
“Bastards—sneaking into our waters like that—must be the Americans again.”
“I think their captain is what they call a ‘cowboy’.”
Zheng squinted.
Yang said, “Kind of reckless, a showoff. Testing us to see what they can get away with.”
“Yes, cowboy, that does seem to fit,” Zheng replied as another troubling thought jelled. “Captain, if this cowboy followed us before we arrived offshore of the base, where did he pick us up? During our entire mission, we did not make any submarine sonar contacts.”
“If I had to guess, right now I’d say he was north, monitoring Rybachiy.”
“And he tracked us the whole way back?”
“Yes.”
“Gāi sǐ”—Dammit.
Chapter 37
Day 18—Wednesday
The Novosibirsk’s wardroom was spacious compared to the last nuke Yuri Kirov spent time onboard. The oak table with brass trim easily accommodated a dozen. This morning, just two others sat at the table besides Yuri—Senior Lieutenant Tumanov and Captain First Rank Leonid Petrovich. Petrovich summoned the two junior officers for the 9 A.M. briefing. He arrived the previous afternoon at the Rybachiy submarine base aboard a military air transport from Vladivostok. The Novosibirsk sailed into Avacha Bay that morning.
“Moscow has issued new orders,” Petrovich said while cupping a mug of tea. “We need to be underway by early Friday morning.”
“But sir, we’re not ready,” Yuri said, dazed by the news.
“I know it’s sooner than we planned, but there have been new developments. The Chinese are making waves again.”
“About the Americans?” asked Tumanov. Both he and Yuri watched a Russian government television news broadcast the previous evening at the officers’ club. During a speech at the United Nations, the Chinese ambassador condemned the United States’ decision to send a carrier strike group into the South China Sea. A day earlier, the USS Ronald Reagan and its armada of escorts departed from a port call in Sydney, Australia.
“Yes,” Petrovich replied. “It appears the U.S. Navy is going to test Beijing once again. Fleet expects multiple territorial encroachments on Chinese bases in the South China Sea.”
“That’ll really piss ’em off,” Tumanov said while running a hand over his shaved dome.
“No doubt.”
In an attempt to establish control of the South China Sea, the PRC embarked on an aggressive program of creating dry land outposts from reefs and rock outcrops in the Spratly Islands, an archipelago located between Vietnam and the Philippines. By dredging bottom sediments and using the material as fill, China created seven artificial islands. Beijing claimed national jurisdiction over the islands and the waters and airspace within twelve miles of each island’s shoreline. China also invoked economic control zones, reserving all natural resources within 200 miles of each island. The United States, China’s South China Sea neighbors, and the International Court in the Hague did not recognize China’s claims. To protect its investment, Beijing armed the islands with missile batteries, squadrons of fighter aircraft, and an armada of combat naval patrol vessels.
Captain Petrovich continued the briefing. “Fleet expects Beijing will deploy a significant number of its naval assets to intimidate the Americans as part of the PLAN’s scheduled war games. That means they’ll be massing ships soon. Moscow wants us to have our equipment in place before that occurs to monitor their preparations.”
Yuri was uncomfortable with the change in plans. “Sir, they’ll likely increase harbor defenses as they prepare.”
“I know, but that doesn’t matter. We have our orders. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now that you know the schedule, tell me your plan for implementation.”
As the designated mission commander, Yuri responded. “First and foremost, we need to mate the P-815 to Novosibirsk’s casing.”
“Here, at the quay?” asked Petrovich.
“We could, using the dockside mobile cranes to lift and then lower the mini onto Novosibirsk. But since we have so little time to prepare, I think it would be best to try it in the bay with Novosibirsk submerged. It’ll be harder that way, but it will provide Tumanov and his team real-world experience.”
Petrovich considered Yuri’s request, draining his mug. “That makes sense from an operational point of view.” He looked toward Tumanov. “Have you ever operated your mini on a boat before?”
“Ah, yes, sir. We trained with the Barrakuda.”
“Using a cradle?”
“Yes, welded to hard points on the hull. Worked well.”
“I assume you can oversee installation of the cradle onto my boat?”
“Certainly, sir. It’s already quayside, ready to go.”
“Good. How about provisions?”
Yuri signaled for Tumanov to continue. “I’ll need to top off the fuel and oxygen tanks for the power plant. Our breathing gas supplies are at one hundred percent. Other than that, we’re ready to…” Tumanov’s voiced tailed off as an errant thought materialized. He turned to face Yuri. “Ah, sir, what about the special equipment you ordered?”
Petrovich tilted his head. “What special gear?”
Yuri said, “I contacted a couple of former colleagues at the St. Petersburg base. They’ve been working on new diver-deployed autonomous underwater probes. They’re supposed to send two prototypes out. I thought we’d take them along and if the opportunity presents itself, we’ll deploy them rather than the normal recorders.”
“What’s so special about them?”
Yuri described the capabilities of the spy gear.
“When are they supposed to arrive?” Petrovich asked.
Yuri checked the notepad he carried. “The flight is supposed to touch down here tomorrow evening. But you never know.”
All three officers were well aware that the Pacific Fleet and especially Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky were at the opposite end of the country. Scheduled air service by military transport was less than reliable. Mechanical breakdowns, crew unavailability, and harsh weather all contributed to delays.
“Interesting. Maybe the gear will be on the same flight?”
“Sir?” Yuri said.
“You’re going to have two additional passengers—specialists, also from the St. Petersburg base.”
“What kind of specialists?”
“Naval Spetsnaz. They are bringing some of their special equipment, too.”
Yuri took a deep breath. “Sir, is there more to this mission than just installing recording devices?”
“I don’t know. Moscow has not provided me any details on the Spetsnaz mission. We’ll be briefed when they arrive.”
* * * *
“What the devil?” muttered Nick Orlov.
Nick was in his office at the Russian consulate in Houston. It was mid-afternoon. He was halfway through a routine monthly personnel activity report from the Vancouver Trade Mission’s security officer. It was part of Nick’s duties as SVR rezident. Besides Houston, the consulate monitored Russian outposts on the west coast of North America—Mexico City and Vancouver. Nick’s office kept track of the whereabouts of all Russian nationals under its jurisdiction.
Nick read the entry again:
Trade delegate Elena Krestyanova resumed her duties at the Mission after completing a special assignment in Moscow. She continues to coordinate her activities in Western Canada and Northeast Asia. She completed a three-day trip to Hong Kong with a stopover in Vladivostok before return
ing to Vancouver.
Stunned, Nick set the report aside. It can’t be. Something’s wrong!
Nick attacked his keyboard, calling up an encrypted file of all personnel in the Vancouver Trade Mission.
Shit! Nick turned away from the PC monitor, still in shock.
How could they bring her back?
Nick’s report to SVR director Smirnov four months earlier had been damning. Convinced that Elena was traitor, he laid out all of the facts. He was certain that she would be locked up for years—or worse.
She was working for Kwan and she screwed over Yuri! Why isn’t she in prison?
How come no one told me?
Nick was about to call Moscow demanding answers when doubt set in. Elena clearly schemed against Yuri and orchestrated the abduction of Laura and Madelyn at the bidding of the MSS—this Nick knew from personal observation. But could that have been part of her cover?
Throughout the ordeal—just months earlier—Elena consistently maintained that she operated under SVR directives to infiltrate the MSS with goal of turning Kwan Chi into an intelligence asset for Russia.
But Nick still couldn’t buy it. The damage she inflicted ran deep. They must be running her as a triple.
While she had originally been assigned by the SVR to turn Kwan Chi into a Russian agent, Nick was certain that Elena succumbed to his charms and the Ministry of State Security’s fat wallet. But when Moscow discovered her treachery, Elena returned to her roots to save herself.
That’s got to be what’s going on!
The bombshell news conflicted Nick. Working for the MSS against Russia and then returned to the fold without penalty? And then there was their affair. Nick still cared for Elena—deeply.
The Faithful Spy Page 14