The Faithful Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  Cognition’s receptionist had just escorted the visitors into Laura’s penthouse office unannounced.

  “Ms. Newman, my name is Michaela Taylor. I’m with the FBI.” She opened a wallet, displaying her credentials. Laura studied the photo ID. Taylor gestured to her side. “This is Agent Todd Rossi.” She turned toward the receptionist, who remained in the office threshold. “We need to speak in private.”

  “It’s okay, Jeanette,” Laura said. “Please shut the door.”

  Laura sat down, stunned at the intrusion and suddenly very worried. It’s about Yuri!

  Taylor and Rossi took chairs fronting the desk.

  “Ms. Newman, about ten minutes ago there was an incident in this building. Two men were shot in the parking garage. Both expired.”

  Laura’s hand raced to her mouth. “Oh, dear God… Were they my employees?”

  “No.” Taylor faced Rossi. “Go ahead.”

  He removed his cell phone and pulled up face shots of the two men, picked up by surveillance cameras the FBI had installed in Laura’s building.

  “Do you recognize either individual?” Rossi asked.

  Laura peered at each image. The men were Asian…Laura’s mind instantly went to the Chinese. “I’ve never seen them before. What were they doing?”

  “Both men were armed. They were waiting for someone when we confronted them.”

  “Waiting for whom?”

  “You were their target Ms. Newman,” Taylor said.

  Laura sat rigid in her chair—astonished. This can’t be happening again! “Why do you think they were after me?” She clasped her hands to suppress the tremors.

  “We’ve been tracking them,” Michaela said. “They were waiting near your vehicle. When our decoy came out of the elevator, they started—”

  “Decoy?” interrupted Laura.

  “One of our agents dressed in an outfit similar to yours.”

  They’ve been following me!

  Taylor continued, “These two also made an earlier attempt at your residence. We were able to intervene but they escaped.”

  Laura’s forehead wrinkled. “At my house, what are you—” Laura stopped in mid-sentence. The revelation hit with the impact of an avalanche. The call from the security company. The rush to the safe room. The Sammamish police showing up so quickly.

  The FBI has been monitoring my home!

  Bewildered, Laura whispered, “What do you want from me?”

  Special Agent Taylor removed a tablet from the handbag she carried and activated the screen. She motioned for Laura to take a look.

  Laura picked up the device. Yuri’s image stared back. It was his official Russian Navy portrait.

  “Ms. Newman, where is Captain-Lieutenant Kirov?”

  Chapter 51

  Laura handed the Surface tablet back to the federal agent. “I’m not going to answer any questions without my attorney present.”

  Taylor turned the screen so it faced Laura. “Are you aware that this man—the man you have been living with for the past year—is a military intelligence officer with the Russian Federation?”

  Laura didn’t answer.

  “Ms. Newman,” joined in Agent Rossi, “were you also aware that Captain-Lieutenant Kirov is an expert in underwater espionage?”

  “That’s right,” Taylor added. “And he just happens to be the general manager of a high-tech underwater technology company that you own. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

  Laura gripped the armrests of her chair; her fingers turned white from the pressure. Rossi called up a photo on his phone. He turned the screen toward Laura. She gasped at the color image of the corpse—the horrific wound to the skull vividly clear.

  Taylor said, “This man and his companion wanted to kill you. And they would have if we had not intervened. Why were they after you?”

  Laura turned away from the hideous image. She was on the verge of vomiting.

  “Ms. Newman, you need to start cooperating with us right now.”

  Laura fought the tickle of bile that surged in her throat. “I’m not going to answer any more questions without my attorney present.”

  “You need to start talking right now.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “I can detain you on the basis that you’re a material witness regarding the two gunmen in the parking garage.”

  “I’m going to call my attorney right now.” Laura reached for her desk phone and keyed the intercom to her secretary. “Jeanette, call Tim Reveley’s office immediately and track him down. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

  Agent Taylor scowled while pursing her lips. “You’re making a serious mistake, Ms. Newman. You need to be cooperating with us—not lawyering up.”

  “There could be more of those gunmen out there,” Rossi added.

  “That’s right. You need us. We can protect you—and your lovely child.” Taylor queued up another file on her tablet.

  The video showed Maddy crawling on the living room floor toward Amanda as they played a game of chase. Laura lost it.

  “You have cameras inside my home! How dare you!”

  “It’s all legal, Ms. Newman. We have warrants from a federal judge.”

  Laura turned away, fuming while scared out of her wits. Taylor continued to encourage cooperation but Laura refused to engage. Laura’s desk phone rang.

  She picked up the handset. “Hello, Tim. I have two FBI agents in my office asking questions…”

  Chapter 52

  Day 27—Friday

  Commander Yang Yu stood atop the sail of the Heilong. It was 1:57 P.M. at the Qingdao Naval Base. The officer in charge of the dive team stood on the floating pier below Yang’s perch. After spending forty minutes inspecting the submerged hull, the two navy divers climbed back onto the floating dock.

  “All clear, Captain,” announced the dive officer with an inflated voice.

  “Thank you,” Yang said. He felt confident that the underwater intruder never made it to the base.

  Yang turned to face the chief petty officer in charge of the moorings, who stood on the hull forward of the sail. “Chief, single up the lines and prepare to depart.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Sailors on the floating pier released the mooring lines from dock cleats. The half dozen line handlers standing on the hull hauled in the lines.

  Yang took one last survey of his command and its surroundings. The harbor was clear of vessel traffic. And with still air and slack tide conditions, there was no need for a tug assist.

  Yang keyed the microphone he held in his hand. “Maneuvering, minimum power astern.”

  The quartermaster in the control room repeated the order. Yang spotted a swirl of water at the stern of his ship as the ducted propeller engaged. As the Heilong backed out of its slip, the men standing on the floating dock saluted in unison. Yang returned the gesture.

  * * * *

  The Remora remained on standby while embedded in the bottom sediment. When it detected the telltale sound of the ship’s propeller biting into seawater, it backed out of its mud hole and discharged compressed air into its internal bladder. Now neutrally buoyant, the robot activated its jet pump and began to ascend. About a minute and half later, the Remora clamped itself to the underside of Heilong’s hull sixty feet forward of the propulsor.

  * * * *

  Commander Yang remained atop the sail as the submarine headed eastward in Jiaozhou Bay. The radar antenna rotated on its mast ten feet above his head. The deck crew relocated to the interior of the pressure casing and both fore and aft hatches were sealed. Standing next to Yang was his executive officer, who had just ascended the sail’s internal ladder.

  “Glorious day for our departure, Captain,” Lieutenant-Commander Zheng Qin said. “A sure sign of good fortune ahead.”

  �
�It is a good day to be at sea for us and the fleet.”

  The Liaoning and a dozen escorts would depart Qingdao later in the evening, also bound for southern waters. Both men stood silently, enjoying the fifteen-knot induced breeze. To the port about 500 yards away was an inbound supertanker, laden with two million barrels of Saudi crude. The ship’s product after refining would fuel the Qingdao region’s ravenous hydrocarbon appetite for several days before another refill. Three hundred yards ahead was the Heilong’s escort. The frigate bristled with fore and aft cannons, torpedo launchers, and assorted missile batteries. Its active sonar pinged the waters, searching for submerged interlopers. Two miles ahead, a PLAN helicopter from the same warship deployed a dozen sonobuoys. The underwater microphones listened for submarines and radioed their findings back to the aircraft for analysis.

  Two hours passed. The Heilong was well into the Yellow Sea. After receiving an “all clear” encrypted radio broadcast from its escort, Commander Yang and his XO descended into the hull. Yang then issued the dive order.

  The Remora remained undetected, firmly attached to the hull. Its acoustic and electronic sensors recorded a treasure trove of digital secrets.

  * * * *

  Captain Tom Bowman stood beside the sonar watch console in the Colorado’s control room, holding a coffee mug. Senior sonar technician Anderson provided an update.

  “Captain, it’s the same boat we trailed into Qingdao—Master One. Identical submerged acoustic output. Running on a heading of one eight five at fifteen knots. Depth is 115 feet.”

  “Continue Master One designation. Inform me immediately of any course changes.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Colorado’s commanding officer considered Master One a likely threat. Two days earlier, People’s Republic of China’s state-run media outlets had launched a barrage of nationwide television and radio propaganda broadcasts condemning the USS Ronald Reagan Strike Group’s intrusion into the South China Sea. The resulting public outcries demanded action by Beijing, just as the Politburo Standing Committee of the Communist Party had planned.

  Captain Bowman returned to his command station near the center of the control room.

  Every console and monitoring station was staffed. The tension inside the compartment was electric.

  The executive officer stepped away from the plotting table to join the captain. “What do think this guy is up to?” Commander Jenae Mauk asked.

  “Based on COMSUBPAC’s last report about the Liaoning strike force, I’d say Master One is the advance guard. It’s probably going to be on the lookout for the likes of us.”

  “They’re behind the eight ball.”

  “And I intend to keep it that way. We’ll remain in its baffles and see what it’s really up to.”

  “Good plan, skipper.”

  For almost a week, the Colorado had loitered fifty to a hundred miles offshore of Qingdao, monitoring the arrival of North Sea Fleet vessels. The high-powered sonar pings this afternoon compelled SSN 788 to investigate.

  Although the Colorado had a clear acoustic lock on Master One—the Heilong—its cutting-edge sensors did not detect the Novosibirsk earlier when it arrived offshore of Qingdao. The Russian nuke’s sound suppression measures, coupled with Captain Petrovich’s skill, evaded the Colorado’s sensors.

  The Novosibirsk was in a similar situation. Its many sensors were blind to the Colorado’s presence.

  * * * *

  Four hundred miles south of the Heilong and Colorado, the Novosibirsk continued on schedule for its next mission. Yuri Kirov had just entered the P-815. He was alone. The minisub’s crew and the two Spetsnaz divers were in the Novosibirsk’s mess, enjoying a meal. Yuri headed aft to the equipment storage locker. It was time to check Lieutenant Tumanov’s earlier warning about the exposed dosimeter. Yuri pulled open the locker door and stepped inside. He crouched down due to the pressure hull’s curved overhead. The locker was compact, about six feet square. Packed from the deck to the overhead with gear, the storage room contained a collection of spare parts for the mini’s power plant, backup electronics for navigation and communication systems, diving equipment, and spy apparatus.

  Yuri squatted and reached inside the stacked gear. His hand searched for the cigarette pack-sized device he’d planted earlier beside the fiberglass cases containing the Spetsnaz team’s equipment. He extracted the electronic dosimeter and examined the readout.

  “Dammit,” he muttered.

  The LED light was illuminated, signaling exposure.

  Tumanov was right—there’s radioactive material inside this equipment.

  Yuri spent several minutes removing the equipment stacked on top of the two remaining cases containing the special underwater recorders. Both were stored next to the pair of cases housing Yuri’s Remoras. He unsnapped the locks on one of the cases, removing the cover. Nestled inside the foam packing was a stainless-steel cylinder about eighteen inches in diameter and two feet long—identical to the unit installed at Qingdao. Yuri extracted the cylinder.

  It was heavy, at least fifty pounds. He opened the plastic cover that protected the built-in control panel. A digital keypad sized to accommodate a diver’s gloved finger occupied half of the panel space. A classified code was required to activate the recording device, once placed on the bottom. Yuri suspected the code also armed a self-destruct charge—standard on all covert recorders. Should the device be discovered, any attempt to open it without entering the code would detonate a chunk of semtex. Yuri turned the cylinder on its end, examining the hard plastic cover that housed the recording mechanism. He gripped the cover with one hand while holding the cylinder casing with the other. He tried to rotate the plastic cover.

  “It won’t come off, sir.”

  Startled, Yuri turned to the side. Shtyrov stood in the passageway beside the storage locker.

  The Spetsnaz officer continued, “The boot is fused to the casing to ensure it’s watertight and pressure resistant.”

  “You just about startled the piss out of me, Shtyrov. How long have you been aboard?”

  “I just got here. I wanted to check my dive gear for our next mission.”

  Yuri placed the recorder onto the deck and stood.

  “What’s inside that thing?”

  Shtyrov cocked his head. “Sir?”

  Yuri handed over the dosimeter. “I placed this next to one of your cases twelve hours ago. It’s been exposed. So, I say again, what’s inside those recording devices?”

  After Lieutenant Shtyrov eyed the LED readout, his stocky frame stiffened. Yuri had caught him in a lie.

  Yuri said, “They contain radioactive material. Why?”

  “It’s part of the power supply, sir.”

  “I asked you about that earlier. You assured me these units are battery powered.”

  “I was under orders not to reveal the alternative power source.”

  “Well, I’m ordering you now. What’s going on?”

  “It does have a conventional battery system, but there’s a backup power system that utilizes a radioactive isotope.”

  “Why is that needed?”

  “I don’t know. That information was not provided to me. All I was told was to not reveal the presence of the isotope.”

  “Why?”

  “For transportation purposes.”

  “Explain.”

  “As you know, sir, transporting any radioactive materials requires special handling and permits, plus it can scare the crap out of those who handle it or are located near the stuff. By keeping silent, all that hassle goes away.”

  Yuri glowered.

  Shtyrov continued, “I was told the recorders have minimal exposure, no health risks.”

  Yuri grabbed the dosimeter from Shtyrov and reexamined it. “I don’t know about that. I just hope those emissions haven’t impacted the Remoras—or
our diving gear.” Yuri slipped the dosimeter into a pocket of his jumpsuit and squatted down next to the recorder.

  Still addressing Shtyrov, Yuri said, “Help me put this damn thing away and restack the compartment.”

  “Yes, sir,” Shtyrov dropped to knees next to Yuri.

  Yuri turned toward his charge. “And Lieutenant, don’t ever lie to me again.”

  * * * *

  Four hours after the Heilong departed Qingdao, the microcomputer housed inside the Remora’s pressure casing executed a preset maneuver. A circular port at the rear end of the robot rotated open. The first of a dozen tennis ball-sized aluminum spheres nested inside the Remora’s cargo compartment ejected. A squirt of compressed air from the onboard ballast control tank propelled the ball downward with sufficient thrust to avoid the sub’s propeller and rudder assembly.

  The sphere descended about thirty feet before its positive buoyancy and drag retarded its downward velocity. It then began a gradual ascent. When the sphere broke the water surface, the Chinese submarine was about half a mile away. Neither the Heilong or the trailing Colorado detected the ejection and ascent of the sphere, which was now functioning as a buoy. A wire about the diameter of a paper clip emerged from the upper hemisphere. Simultaneously, a tiny counterweight attached to a monofilament line descended from the lower hemisphere. Once deployed, the six-inch antenna broadcast an encrypted signal on a rarely used ultra-high frequency. Neither the Heilong nor the Colorado detected the radio transmission. Both submarines were too deep. However, Russian military satellites passing over the North Pacific listened for the unique transmission.

  Within five minutes of commencing the broadcast, two low-orbit spy birds detected the signal. After collecting data from the satellites, a land-based monitoring station near Vladivostok decrypted the digital information, which allowed calculation of the buoy’s earth coordinates. Also processed were compressed data streams of recordings of the Heilong’s electronic and acoustic emissions.

  The location of the Heilong along with its relative course and submerged depth were duly reported to Pacific Fleet Command. The buoy would continue broadcasting on a looped circuit until it exhausted its battery, estimated to range between two and three hours. It would then sink.