“I don’t like this. Something’s up, all right. Can you get any closer? I’d like to get a look at ’em.”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
Rossi worked the PC’s keyboard. The video image blinked, displaying a magnified view of the front end of the SUV. The heads and shoulders of the two front-seat occupants were visible but remained grainy.
“That’s the best I can get,” Rossi said.
“They could be anybody.”
“Maybe they’re Russians, trying to make contact.”
“Maybe…but then again, these guys might be crooks, casing the place.”
“Yeah, all of the homes around here are worth at least—” Rossi stopped as the Toyota pulled back onto the road. “They’re leaving.”
“Try to get better visual as they drive by the camera.”
“On it.”
A minute passed. Agent Rossi enhanced an infrared flash screen shot of the Highlander as it neared the HD surveillance camera.
Michaela stood behind Rossi, eyeing the PC screen. She squinted. “Asians.”
“Yeah—not what I was expecting.”
“They’re definitely up to something.”
“What do you want to do?”
“We need backup. I’m going to call Seattle and ask for help.”
* * * *
Twenty minutes passed. Agent Rossi continued to monitor the video feeds on the main control panel. All fourteen cameras were live. The cameras inside the residence broadcast color images. The exterior feeds remained in night vision mode.
Michaela Taylor walked back into the surveillance room after visiting the kitchen to refill her coffee mug.
“Anything?” she asked while reclaiming her chair next to Rossi.
“Quiet—nothing new.”
“Maybe I jumped the gun.”
“Backup should be here soon. How do you want to—shit! Look at that!” Rossi pointed to the street monitor.
Two individuals crept along the edge of the roadway. They were about fifty feet from the Newman driveway. Although dressed in black, their body heat registered as gray tones on the video display.
They stopped at the edge of the light cone from a decorative pole fixture that illuminated the entrance to the Newman driveway.
“Home in on ’em,” Michaela ordered. The screen blinked as the camera zoomed in on the pair. “Damn—they’re armed,” Rossi said.
Both men carried pistols in their hands. One of the men aimed at the light. The street light blinked off. Unaffected by the action, the video feed from the FBI’s street cam remained unchanged.
Stunned, Rossi said, “They’re using suppressors. What should we do?”
Michaela Taylor reached for her cell. She hit a speed dial. “Taylor here, what’s your ETA? Dammit, step on it. Armed intruders are approaching the house as we speak.”
“How long?” asked Rossi
“They’re fifteen minutes out.”
“This could be over by then.”
“I know.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Let me think.”
* * * *
Laura woke when the telephone on the bedside table blared. It was a landline, rarely used.
She reached for the handset, noting the time on the adjacent clock: 3:33 A.M.
“Hello,” she said, her tone showing annoyance.
“This is your security company. There are potential intruders on the grounds. Please activate the perimeter lighting and take protective shelter immediately. The police are on the way.”
“What?”
“Please, there isn’t much time. Activate the perimeter lighting and take protective shelter.”
Laura tossed the phone aside and launched herself out of bed. She sprinted into Maddy’s room, picked up her daughter, and wrapped a blanket around her sleeping form. Laura raced down the long hallway, passing through a door that opened to another hall that led to the guest quarters over the garage. Laura used her free hand to bang the door.
“Amanda, wake up!” she yelled.
Madelyn’s nanny opened the door, clad in a T-shirt and panties. “What’s going on?”
“Alarm company called. Someone’s trying to break in. We need to get into the saferoom.”
“The what?”
“Please, just follow me.”
The trio returned to the master bedroom. Laura stepped into Yuri’s walk-in closet. She pushed aside a rack of his shirts and removed a wood trim panel on the back wall. Inside was a key code reader. She punched in the code. The hidden door rotated inward.
Handing Maddy to Amanda, she said, “Quick, get inside.”
Amanda complied while Laura pulled the shirts back in place and replaced the wood trim over the key pad. She stepped inside the safe room, flipped a light switch on, and closed the door.
The room was just eight feet square with two folding lawn chairs and a foot locker next to the far wall. A security alarm panel was mounted to the wall next to the door. Laura triggered the exterior lighting system. She opened the locker and removed the weapon.
Amanda’s eyes widened as Laura racked the Mossberg 12-gauge 500 Tactical Adjustable Stock shotgun.
* * * *
“Where are they now?” asked FBI Special Agent Michaela Taylor.
“I’m not sure. When the lights came on, they bolted into the brush.” Rossi pointed to the edge of the video screen. The camera monitored the south side of the home.
Michaela spotted movement in one of the other monitors. “Locals are rolling in now.”
A police cruiser raced down the driveway. Half a minute later, another cruiser pulled into the parking court. Both officers got out of their vehicles with pistols drawn.
Michaela picked up her cell and speed dialed. The phone was answered on the first ring. “Center.”
“This is Taylor again. I need you to call Newman and let her know the local police have arrived.”
“Yes, ma’am. Will do.”
The FBI call center functioned twenty-four-seven, available for undercover and stakeout operations. When Michaela first called the center, she provided the basics to the on-call facilitator located in Washington, D.C. The female agent in the headquarters building called Laura Newman, issuing the warning. She next called the Sammamish Police, masquerading as Laura’s security alarm monitoring service. The line was untraceable.
“Now what?” asked Rossi.
Michaela checked the master bedroom monitor. “They’re still in the saferoom, so they’re okay for now.” She scanned the remaining monitors. “I don’t think those guys are burglars.”
“Not with suppressors.” Rossi checked his wristwatch. “Our backup team should be arriving any minute.”
“Tell ’em to come here for now. I don’t want to have to explain to the Sammamish cops what we’re doing—at least not yet.”
“Roger that.”
Michaela thought about calling her boss but decided to wait. The immediate crisis was over. Still, uncertainty plagued her. What’s going on here?
Chapter 42
Forty-seven hundred miles west of Sammamish, Washington, the Novosibirsk continued its southbound track. Underway for over forty hours after departing Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, the submerged warship paralleled the Kuril Island chain. It would soon pass through Le Perouse Strait near the northern end of Japan’s Hokkaido Island and enter the Sea of Japan.
The attack submarine was navigating 500 feet below the surface. Yuri was aboard the P-815. He had entered through the minisub’s lockin-lockout chamber after passing through the Novosibirsk’s diver access module. He was alone in the compact galley and mess compartment. Lieutenant Tumanov and his crew, along with the two Spetsnaz operators, remained sleeping aboard the Novosibirsk.
The mother sub was massive�
�390 feet long and almost fifty feet in diameter. Yet, like most warships, it was packed with equipment, supplies and people. There was no privacy. For the next couple of hours, Yuri would have the mini to himself.
Sleep eluded him. Anxiety over the pending mission left him restless. He cherished the solitude as he sat at the four-person mess table. Laid out in front of Yuri were a navigation chart and a collection of aerial photos. Yuri had expected the mission to be directed at the Jianggezhuang submarine base, located east of Qingdao. Jianggezhuang was China’s oldest nuclear-powered submarine base and the homeport of ballistic missile submarines. However, orders from Vladivostok sent over an encrypted satellite communication network called for the P-815 to spy on a PLAN submarine berthed at the Qingdao Naval Base.
Qingdao served as the homeport for the North Sea Fleet’s squadron of diesel-powered subs, but recent satellite imagery revealed that one of China’s newest nuclear attack boats, a Type 095, also moored at the base. Fleet mission planners targeted the Type 095 for underwater reconnaissance. Russia considered it a direct threat to its own submarine force.
Captain Petrovich had expressed his reservation about the approach to Qingdao. Commercial vessel traffic into and out of the harbor would help mask the Novosibirsk’s minuscule sound print, but new intelligence updates from Vladivostok suggested the People’s Liberation Army-Navy had increased harbor sonar sweeps. Onsite GRU assets noted a flurry of daytime activity by antisubmarine warfare craft within the inner harbor area and offshore waters. ASW corvettes and patrol boats constantly ran transects as if conducting a coordinated search. An uptick in unmanned patrol craft was also observed in the evenings and early mornings. At first, Yuri and Petrovich thought the Chinese were running an exercise. However, when radio reports from Vladivostok indicated the activity continued into the next day, doubt set in. Something must have spooked them.
But what?
Yuri tossed the photo aside. Standing, he walked aft into the accommodations compartment and climbed into one of the bunks.
Lying on his back, he settled into the mattress, arms clasped behind his head. The P-815 was tomb quiet, its engine and generator shutdown. Electrical power from Novosibirsk powered the minisub.
Yuri could hear the faint rush of water next to the hull. He closed his eyes. His last conscious thoughts were of Laura.
* * * *
Laura Newman stood in the foyer of her home, talking with two King County deputy sheriffs. The City of Sammamish contracted with the county for police services. Sunrise was about an hour away.
“What have you found?” asked Laura.
“Some footprints around back, but nothing else.”
The deputy was young—mid-twenties, over six feet with a rugged build. The name tag on the chest pocket of his shirt displayed Halvorson. His Latina partner was about the same age but diminutive, barely over five foot four and slim. Her name tag read Fernandez.
“Are they still out there?”
“Doubtful, ma’am. You certainly have an impressive perimeter lighting system. I suspect they bugged out as soon as it was triggered.”
“Ms. Newman,” Fernandez said, “do you have exterior sensors for the lights?”
“Yes, for lights around the house itself, but the lights along the edge of the woods are manually controlled.” Laura brushed a hand through her hair, realizing she must appear disheveled in her robe and pajamas. “The deer and other wildlife were constantly triggering the system and one of the neighbors complained, so we disengaged the auto function.”
“We?” asked Halvorson.
“My partner programmed the computer. He’s out of town.”
“So, it’s just you and the young lady with your child?”
“Yes. Amanda Graham is Madelyn’s nanny.”
Amanda had returned to her apartment after placing the still asleep Madelyn in the spare crib in Laura’s bedroom.
Fernandez jotted a couple lines on a notepad. “The intruders must have triggered some kind of alarm to have woken you.”
“I guess so. The alarm company called and woke me up. Said there were intruders on the grounds and requested that we take shelter, which we did—in our saferoom.”
“So, they must have called us, too?” Fernandez asked.
“They said the police were coming.”
“Which security company is that, ma’am?” asked the male cop.
Laura recited the name and the officer recorded the information.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where is your saferoom?” Halvorson asked.
“In our bedroom.” Laura reluctantly decided it was time to reveal another factor, knowing it would eventually come up. “It was installed several months ago along with the enhanced outdoor lighting system…ah, after the home invasion.”
That admission spiked the interest of both officers.
“Could you provide us with background on that?” Halvorson asked.
“My daughter and I were abducted. A ransom was paid and we were released unharmed. It was done without police involvement, as demanded by the kidnappers.”
“Wow,” Officer Fernandez commented. “We’ve heard nothing about that.”
“We cherish our privacy. Anyway, we have cooperated with your department.” Laura mentioned a detective’s name.
“Okay, we’ll check in with him.”
Laura yawned. The adrenaline rush was over.
Fernandez smiled. “We’ll be out of here soon, ma’am.”
Laura waved a hand. “That’s okay. I’m thankful you’re here.”
Fernandez glanced down at her notes. “Do you think what occurred tonight could be related to what happened before—the abduction?”
Laura retained her neutral face. “I don’t think so. There have been burglaries in this area, as you know.”
Fernandez smiled. “Yes, ma’am, we do.”
Halvorson added, “We’ll make another walk around before heading out.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem, ma’am.”
The police officers drove out of the driveway five minutes later. Laura relocated to Yuri’s home office. She replayed the security camera videos, stored on a dedicated hard drive. The outdoor cameras revealed nothing.
Laura switched off the monitor.
They were probably kids, looking for an easy way in to rip-off stuff to buy drugs.
Laura headed back to her bedroom, unaware the FBI had saved the lives of Maddy, Amanda, and herself.
Chapter 43
Day 23—Monday
FBI Supervisory Special Agent Ava Diesen walked into her boss’ office. It was 8:35 A.M. in Washington, D.C.
“Excuse me, John,” she said standing in the threshold of the open door. She held a file folder. “I need to run something past you.”
Deputy Assistant Director for Intelligence John Markley looked up from the Dell monitor on his desk. “Sure, come on in.” He pushed his keyboard to the side.
Ava took a seat facing Markley. “It’s about the Seattle op.”
“The missing GRU officer?”
“Yes, we’re still looking for him but something troubling has happened.” Ava reached into the file and removed a grainy black and white photograph enlarged to eight by ten. “The woman Kirov is living with, Laura Newman, had unwanted visitors early Saturday morning. They were armed with suppressed weapons.”
Markley frowned as he reacted to the image. The blowup of the surveillance video frame revealed two individuals in all black apparel. Each carried a handgun with an extended barrel.
“Who are these guys?”
“We don’t know, but they were casing Newman’s residence. Our people running the surveillance became so concerned that they initiated imminent threat protocols.”
“Was our op blown?”
“No. Ou
r measures worked. The perps bugged out. Neither the local police nor Newman was aware that we intervened.”
Ava slid another photograph across the desk. “One of our cameras picked up two men in an SUV driving by Newman’s driveway earlier. We think they were surveilling the place.”
Markley studied the photo. The blowup showed the front of the Highlander. Through the windshield, two males were visible.
“Asians?” he said, looking Ava’s way.
“That’s our assessment.”
Markley again examined both photographs. “She’s been targeted.”
“I think so.”
“Anything on the vehicle?”
“Rental—from the airport.” Ava checked her file folder. “Someone named Chou from Shanghai. We checked with Homeland. He arrived at SeaTac Airport on a tourist visa a couple of days before the incident.”
“No doubt a bogus name. What about the other one?” Markley placed the photos on the desk.
“We’re still checking.”
Markley scratched an ear. “What have you learned about Newman since your last briefing?”
“Squeaky clean. There’ve been only a couple of telephone conversations where John Kirkwood aka Yuri Kirov’s name has come up. She’s been consistent in her response that he’s attending to family matters—an ailing sister.”
“I assume there’s been no contact from him.”
“None that we’ve recorded.” The federal warrant authorized monitoring of all of Laura’s communications—residence landline, cell phone, business phones, Internet, and even her snail mail at the local Post Office.
Markley clasped his hands. “She may be an innocent party to whatever Kirov’s been up to.”
“It’s possible but we just don’t know yet. I’m still perplexed about her acquisition of the underwater tech company that Kirov has been running. What’s that about?”
“Technology transfer?”
“Maybe,” Ava said. “The file says he was assigned to submarines.”
Markley again picked up the photos of the gunmen. “These guys might be coming back.”
“I agree.”
“Have you coordinated with the local PD yet?”
The Faithful Spy Page 17