The Faithful Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  * * * *

  Elena Krestyanova stared at the digital image of SVR director Boris Smirnov as she sat in the code room of the trade mission. He wore a business suit with a crimson tie. Elena wore jeans and a sweatshirt.

  It was a quarter to midnight in Vancouver; Moscow was ten hours ahead. Smirnov had scheduled the video conference.

  “Kwan is clearly worried,” Elena said.

  “He should be, the son of a bitch.”

  “He placed another message in the Outlook account yesterday, requesting a progress report on Kirov’s whereabouts. As you directed, I responded that the SVR has narrowed it down to one of three locations: Andrews Air Force base, CIA headquarters, or an FBI safe house in Virginia.”

  “Good, that will give him heartburn.”

  “He also asked for information about our protocols if we’re ever captured. I responded that we’re supposed to remain silent, only asking for a representative from our embassy.”

  “Excellent. We want him to have the illusion of hope that Kirov might not talk.” Smirnov remembered another question for his operative. “Tell me about his personal security.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” Elena said.

  “When you last visited him in Hong Kong—his body guards, armored vehicles, personal weapons, those kinds of things.”

  “At first I didn’t notice anything obvious. But later I spotted several guards—very subtle. Whenever he was in public at least two men accompanied him at all times, his driver and another.”

  “From what you observed, how difficult will it be to get to him?”

  Elena digested Smirnov’s question. “To take him out—in Hong Kong?”

  “Yes.”

  Elena fought to maintain her composure. “Sir, it’s doable. But because of his security, it’ll be a bloodbath if it’s done in public.”

  The video call ended five minutes later. Elena stood and walked to her office.

  They’re going to kill him. And I’m next!

  Chapter 73

  Day 39—Wednesday

  Nick Orlov sat on a park bench near the consulate. It was the noon hour. He observed no obvious tails; if the FBI had eyes on him, it was from far away. Nick was halfway through a salami and cheese sandwich when his cell chimed. He checked the display. Six-zero-four area code. Vancouver.

  “Hello,” Nick said.

  “Hi, Nick.”

  He recognized the voice straight away. “Elena?”

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m back in Vancouver.”

  Nick’s heart raced. What’s this about?

  “Welcome back,” Nick said. “I received notice the other day that you’d returned.” Nick’s tone became more personal. “Your shoulder, how are you feeling?”

  “Good. It’s healing up. Still sore but I’m managing.”

  She must know it was me—dammit!

  “How’s it going at the mission?” he asked.

  “Same old stuff.”

  “Traveling?”

  “Not much, thankfully. Made one trip west, Hong Kong, and Vladivostok. Probably more coming up. How about you?”

  “Just local stuff.”

  “How do you like Houston?”

  “It’s certainly not San Francisco but it’s okay—too damn hot at times.”

  Elena asked a couple of follow-up questions about Texas before revealing the purpose of her call.

  “Nicky,” she said, “I have a little time off coming up and I’d like to take you up on your offer to see the Bay Area.” She hesitated. “I really didn’t have much of a chance during my last visit. You know—my shoulder.”

  When stationed at the San Francisco consulate, Nick had invited Elena to visit but nothing ever jelled. She must want something—but what? There was only one way to find out.

  “Sure,” Nick said. “When can you come down?”

  “This weekend—if that’s not too soon.”

  “Okay, I’ll schedule a trip for a security check of the San Francisco consulate. Send me your flight info and I’ll pick you up.”

  “Fantastic—thank you.”

  Nick’s travels within the United States were restricted to the Houston area by the U.S. State Department. However, he could periodically visit the Bay Area to check on the security of the mothballed consulate. After the call ended, Nick munched on the remains of his lunch while mulling over what had just happened.

  She’s a traitor!

  Maybe not.

  Despite Elena’s past actions, Nick never had concrete proof that Kwan Chi turned her. He was privy to Elena’s original mission—seduce Kwan Chi and turn him into an SVR asset. As part of that effort, Elena outed Yuri and helped facilitate the abduction of Laura and Madelyn Newman.

  Moscow must have approved her actions. Otherwise, why would they have returned her to Vancouver? Nick finished the sandwich and used a paper napkin to wipe a trace of mustard from his upper lip.

  Maybe I had it all wrong. Could she be innocent?

  Walking back to the consulate, Nick smiled at the thought of seeing Elena—especially while revisiting the Bay Area. Despite the trauma that occurred earlier in the year, his longing for Elena bubbled to surface.

  Chapter 74

  Day 40—Thursday

  The USS Colorado’s commanding officer sat at his cabin desk. Tom Bowman had just shared a two-page classified message from COMSUBPAC with his XO. Jenae Mauk occupied the visitor’s chair next to the desk.

  “I think you’re right,” Mauk said as she returned the decrypted cipher to the captain. “Master One has new marching orders. That has to be tied into what happened at Hainan.”

  “The Chinese believe we did it.”

  “No surprise there. It seems like they blame us for everything these days—just like the Russians.” Mauk’s interest was piqued. “What do you think really happened, Tom?”

  Bowman rubbed an ear. “COMSUBPAC confirmed Yulin was subject to an EMP attack. To me, the real question is: Was it from hostile action or self-inflicted?”

  “Why would they do it to themselves?”

  “They wouldn’t do it on purpose. But China has a host of directed energy weapons. If they had an accident or a misfire aboard one of the ships moored at Yulin, that could account for what happened.”

  “From Master One’s actions, it appears Beijing believes they were attacked and is now out for revenge—and Pearl Harbor seems to be the target.”

  Bowman frowned. “It looks that way. COMSUBPAC is concerned that Master One might try to retaliate with an EMP weapon—tit for tat.”

  “The boat certainly has the capability with its vertical tubes. It could launch one of its YJ-18 supersonic cruise missiles 300 miles offshore and fly it into the base at wave top level. We’d never see it.”

  “I know. It’s our job to prevent that from happening.”

  Mauk waited for orders. Bowman didn’t hesitate.

  “Command has given me broad discretion on how to handle Master One. Once it’s close to missile range of Pearl, I intend to neutralize that threat.”

  * * * *

  Nearly fifty miles ahead of the Colorado, the Heilong cruised eastward in the mid Pacific. The submarine was 660 feet below the surface, running at twenty knots. A few hours earlier, the Chinese warship passed the halfway point of its voyage to the Hawaiian Islands.

  Heilong’s commanding officer sat in his captain’s chair inside the attack center. Yang Yu was oblivious to the threat lurking in the Heilong’s wake. None of the submarine’s acoustic monitoring systems detected the Colorado or any other nearby surface vessels. Yang believed he had this section of the Pacific to himself.

  Using the touchscreen feature of the monitor attached to his chair, Yang paged through a collection of color photographs—targets. Stored in the Heilong’s mainframe computer were thousands of imag
es of U.S. Navy warships.

  He soon found one of the images he was looking for—the USS Theodore Roosevelt (CVN-71). The nuclear powered aircraft carrier was nearly 1,100 feet long, carried ninety aircraft, and was crewed by some 5,500 officers and enlisted personnel. South Sea Fleet headquarters provided Commander Yang with the Roosevelt’s current location. It was just over a thousand miles ahead of the Heilong, also on an eastbound course.

  After a six-month deployment in the North Pacific with more than half of that time spent offshore of North Korea, the Theodore Roosevelt and its twelve-ship strike group were headed to their homeport in San Diego. However, because the group had spent more than seventy consecutive days at sea, the ships would stop in Pearl Harbor for liberty. The sailors would have five days to enjoy Oahu before completing the voyage home.

  In two days, the strike force would sail into Pearl Harbor. As juicy a prize as the Roosevelt was, the carrier was not Yang’s target. Beijing wanted a measured response to the attack at Yulin. The Central Military Commission selected one of the Roosevelt’s escorts as the Heilong’s prey—an Arleigh-Burke-class guided missile destroyer. Captain Yang queued up the file of the USS Halsey (DDG-97). The ship was 510 feet long and displaced 9,300 tons. Powered by four gas turbines generating 100,000 horsepower, the Halsey carried an arsenal of missiles, guns, and torpedoes along with two helicopters.

  The Halsey had a crew of 260 but the normal complement would be supplemented when the destroyer departed Pearl Harbor. Sixty-seven friends and family members of the crew would embark with the ship for a Tiger Cruise back to San Diego.

  The CMC selected the Halsey because of its civilian passengers during the trip home. Yang worried, however, that as justified as China was for sinking the warship as retribution for the U.S. attack on Yulin, destroying the Halsey with innocents aboard would further enrage the Americans. Despite his reservations, Commander Yang would carry out his orders. Heilong would loiter offshore of Pearl Harbor, waiting for the Halsey to depart. It would then trail the destroyer. When the ship was halfway home, the Heilong would attack with an overwhelming assault of torpedoes and missiles.

  * * * *

  Captain First Rank Leonid Petrovich lay on his bunk. After nearly twenty-four hours on duty, he had retired to his cabin, handing off control of the Novosibirsk to his executive officer. The XO promised not to bother him for the next eight hours—unless a real emergency occurred.

  Sleep eluded Petrovich. Instead, he continued to process the latest news.

  What is that damn boat up to?

  Several days earlier, Novosibirsk received a new ELF bell ringer signal from Kamchatka. He ordered deployment of the VLF buoy antenna. The cipher from Pacific Fleet command was received and decoded. The message notified Petrovich that a Chinese Type 095 nuclear-powered fast attack sub might also be in route to Hawaii. To maintain mission security, Fleet ordered Petrovich to avoid the PLAN sub. The captain was thankful for the warning. The 095 boats were on par with the Novosibirsk, which meant he would take great care to avoid the Chinese submarine.

  Another issue troubled Petrovich—the Spetsnaz team. Shtyrov and Dobrynin remained aloof, offering no details on their pending assignment. The special operators continued to drill with the P-815’s crew, rehearsing the Pearl Harbor mission. Petrovich accepted the cold reality that Fleet had decided not to share mission details with him. What caused him anxiety were his orders to deliver the spies and the P-815 to the very doorstep of the United States Navy Pacific Fleet headquarters. It was equivalent to an American submarine passing under the Eastern Bosporus Strait Bridge and sailing into Vladivostok’s Golden Horn Bay.

  This operation is insane. What the devil are those idiots in command thinking?

  * * * *

  Nearly 2,500 miles to the west, the apparatus that Yuri left behind at Yulin on Hainan Island woke up. It was 3:12 A.M. local time. After sitting on the bottom listening and recording for a week, the Crawlerbot’s AI software algorithms decided it was time to conduct the next phase of its mission. The robot’s bladder expanded from a charge of compressed air. Now buoyant, the device ascended, reaching the water surface in fifty seconds. It floated inside the vast subterranean chamber. The water was still. The Crawlerbot’s acoustic sensors detected the faint hum from overhead fans used to ventilate the cavern. A recessed panel at the exposed crown of the Crawlerbot’s hull rotated open. Inside the cargo compartment, the miniature aerial drone pulsed to life. The Firefly took flight, propelled by twin counter-rotating blades. About the size of a dragonfly, it was virtually silent.

  The Firefly rose thirty feet, its bat-like echo-ranging sensors exploring the vast cavern and its contents. The survey took a couple of minutes to complete. Three candidate targets were identified. The drone approached the first candidate. The Firefly’s infrared sensors checked for the heat signature of humans. Detecting no guards, it approached the huge black hull of the ballistic missile submarine. Forty-five seconds later, it located the open hatch.

  The Firefly hovered five feet over the opening. It switched on its onboard video camera and descended into the interior of the submarine.

  Chapter 75

  Day 43—Sunday

  “Good morning,” Nick Orlov said, admiring the sensuous form lying under a blanket on the bed. The beat of pounding surf rushed through the nearby open slider to the deck.

  Elena Krestyanova rolled onto her side and looked up. Nick stood beside the bed. Garbed in blue jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals, he held a pair of paper cups stenciled with a familiar logo.

  Elena sat up, pulling a sheet over her breasts. She caught a whiff of the intoxicating brew.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Woke up early and went for a walk on the beach. I found a Starbucks just down the road.” Nick sat on the side of the mattress and handed the caffè mocha to Elena.

  “Umm,” she said, savoring the sweet espresso. “This is wonderful. I’m glad you remembered. Thank you.”

  Nick beamed. “I still love tea but this isn’t bad.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Elena had arrived in San Francisco the previous afternoon. Nick picked her up at the airport. Instead of heading north toward downtown, they drove south in Nick’s rental—a spiffy VW Beetle convertible. Nick wanted to show Elena his favorite part of California.

  The two Russian intelligence officers arrived in Monterey Bay near sunset. Nick randomly selected a beach hotel north of the city, electing not to reserve a room in advance. If the FBI managed to follow the pair despite their combined evasion protocols, the chances that the hotel room might be bugged were sharply reduced. As they finished their coffees, Nick was tempted to shed his clothing and climb back into bed with Elena. Their love-making the previous evening remained fresh on his mind. But that could wait.

  “I need a shower,” Elena said as she placed her empty cup on a bedside table. She stood, her splendid form on full display. “Where are we going today?”

  “You’ve got to see the aquarium. It’s incredible.”

  “Cool,” she said, casting a seductive smile Nick’s way. “I’ll be ready soon.”

  While Elena showered, Nick walked onto the balcony and gazed at the bay. It was a cloudless morning. Several hardcore surfers were already riding the swells. He lit up a Winston. Within minutes of meeting Elena the previous afternoon, Nick had noticed the change in her. The new hairstyle was obvious, but her altered demeanor struck him. He’d sensed something was wrong.

  Nick couldn’t quite pin down the disparity, but he perceived she was troubled. And then there was her shoulder. While in their hurry to shed clothing in anticipation of sex, he had noticed the scar. To repair the shattered collarbone, the surgeon had opened up the left shoulder far beyond the pencil-diameter puncture caused by the nine-millimeter slug.

  Nick’s feelings for Elena were rekindling, yet he couldn’t trust her. Both he and Yuri were
certain that Kwan had turned her. Nick himself ordered her returned to Moscow for questioning by the SVR. But then headquarters sent her back to Vancouver as if nothing had happened.

  Why?

  And now she’d reached out to him. Again, why?

  Nick crushed the butt in an ashtray on the deck table. He promised himself that before he dropped Elena off for her return flight to Vancouver, he would find answers to his questions.

  * * * *

  SVR Director Borya Smirnov sat at an office desk in his country dacha north of Moscow. Although it was late Sunday evening, he was working. The following afternoon he would meet with President Lebedev and FSB General Golitsin to report on the status of Operation Fall Harvest. In anticipation of the briefing, he reviewed the latest communications and intelligence summaries for the mission. He was about to log off his computer when he remembered a minor item. Several days had passed since he had checked on Elena Krestyanova’s whereabouts.

  Smirnov typed the password that provided access to the special file. What’s this? he wondered as he scanned the tracking data. Expecting Vancouver, he was stunned to see her location.

  California! What’s she doing there?

  * * * *

  The sun kissed the ocean horizon in the cloudless sky. Endless swells expended their energy on the mile-long beach, churning sand and seawater into a turbulent vortex.

  Elena and Nick sat hip-to-hip midway up the broad pocket beach. Their shoeless toes probed the white grainy sand, savoring the delicious touch. They both relished the vestiges of the long, wonderful day.

  “This truly is a magic place,” Elena said. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  “My pleasure.” Nick cupped Elena’s face with his hands, and kissed her warm, moist lips.