“That’s incredible!”
Guo continued, “Only the base was impacted. It’s being handled as a local power outage.”
Stunned, Kwan rubbed his forehead. “Hainan Island—what about all of those resorts they have down there? Someone is bound to notice something’s wrong.”
“The Air Force flew in portable power generators and floodlights. The docks and ships are illuminated at night. From the resorts, the base appears to be normal.”
“How long will it take to repair the ships?”
“We received the report this evening—I just returned from an emergency CMC briefing. The Navy estimates it will take at least six months, maybe even a year, to replace critical systems. Even then, the electronics and wiring not outright damaged by the attack will remain suspect. The only way to ensure one hundred percent operational security is to remove and replace every computer, electrically operated system, and all power and communications wiring.”
“That’s awful—almost like starting over.”
“Correct. The Navy may end up scrapping half or more of the ships because it might cost less to build new ones.”
“Who did this thing?”
“The investigation is underway. It appears the Americans are responsible.”
Kwan seethed. “It has to be Kirov. He defected to the United States. He must have told them about the Mark Twelve.”
“That’s my opinion too,” Guo said. “We also know that Kirov’s woman has been talking with the FBI.”
The reminder jolted Kwan. The MSS unit Guo dispatched to eliminate Laura Newman had failed—twice. “Will the Americans tell the Russians about the Mark Twelve?”
“It’s possible, but the fact that Kirov defected will taint anything the Americans offer.” Guo’s voice deepened. “Fortunately for us, relations between Moscow and Washington remain awful. That gives us time to prepare.”
“The Americans are bad enough,” Kwan said. “But we can’t trust anything about the Russians. They’ll cut our throats without hesitation if they figure out what happened.”
“I agree. Now’s the time to inoculate ourselves as best as we can.”
Guo’s medical analogy caught Kwan off guard. “What do you mean?”
“All elements of Sea Dragon are being disbanded. The key players involved in hostile operations are being interviewed.”
Kwan recognized the codeword “interviewed.” To ensure continued silence, security teams would visit all military and intelligence operatives involved in clandestine ops against Russia and the United States during Sea Dragon. Each person would be reminded that any “leaks” would be traced back to the leaker. Not only would that individual be liquidated, but also others in the leaker’s immediate and extended families.
Guo continued, “At this time, we believe sufficient confusion remains between the Americans and the Russians regarding our involvement. Should either make a claim against us in the UN or at the Hague, we will deny any involvement and redirect the accusations back to the accusers.”
“That sounds like a good plan, but I must reiterate that I do not trust the Russians. If they put it together—”
“I agree,” interrupted Guo. “We need to make sure they remain in the dark.” The MSS deputy director of operations hesitated. “That’s one of the reasons I’m calling you. Are you still in contact with your Russian contact—the female SVR officer you turned?”
“Yes, she’s in Vancouver.”
“What is she doing for you?”
“Checking to see if the SVR or FSB knows where the Americans might be holding Kirov.”
“And?”
“She reported the SVR has it narrowed down to several locations. I’m waiting for a follow-up report from her.”
“Could she be playing you?”
“She’s motivated by money only. Believe me, sir, if she comes up with actionable intel on Kirov, I will hear from her along with an immediate request for payment.”
“I want you to contact her.”
“Sir?” Kwan said, impatient for the punchline.
“Tell your agent we have a new assignment for her.”
* * * *
Nick Orlov walked into the hotel room. It was a few minutes before ten in the morning in San Diego.
Elena Krestyanova sat on the king-sized bed, her back propped up by pillows stacked against the backboard. The door to the balcony was open. The crystal waters of Coronado Bay sparkled in the background.
“How are you feeling?” Nick asked as he stepped closer.
“Better. The pain’s not so bad now.”
“Great.”
Under Elena’s blouse, the dressing over the left collarbone concealed the stitched two-inch-long incision. The pain had kicked in around ten the previous evening, after the local anesthesia that Dr. Aragón administered wore off. It took two doses of the post-op meds provided by Aragón before Elena obtained relief. But Elena didn’t mind—she was still alive!
Nick placed a couple of paper bags on a table. He removed a paper cup from one and handed the caffè mocha to Elena.
“Oh, thank you!”
“My pleasure.”
Nick removed his caffè latte and opened the lid.
“Were you able to find it?” Elena asked, noting the other bag on the table.
“Yeah. Got it at the local electronics store.”
Nick removed the RF testing device from the bag, opened the packing box, and took out the instrument. After inserting the batteries he’d also purchased, he picked up the plastic bag containing the item Dr. Aragón had removed from Elena’s clavicle. The cylindrical device was about half the diameter of a pencil and an inch long. Nick held the radio frequency tester next to the metallic tube.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered in Russian.
“What?”
“Just as I thought. It has a micro transmitter inside.” Nick held up the plastic bag.
“So, that part of Smirnov’s story is true.”
“Yeah, it allows ’em to keep track of your whereabouts, but that’s it. The stuff about the poison capsule was pure bullshit.”
Elena turned away. “Get rid of that thing.”
Nick was about to drop the transmitter onto the floor to crush it with the heel of his shoe when Elena’s cell phone vibrated on the table. Nick glanced at the cell’s display. The incoming text displayed a number with an area code he did not recognize. He handed the phone to Elena.
She opened the text tab and read the message. “It’s from Kwan. I need my laptop.”
Elena read aloud the decrypted text from Kwan’s message in the draft folder of the anonymous Outlook email account they shared.
“That bastard,” Nick muttered.
“That he is—and more.”
Kwan wanted Elena to lure Nick Orlov to Vancouver for a meeting. The fee he proposed to pay Elena was astonishing. Nick’s mind raced.
“We’ll accommodate Mr. Kwan,” he announced, a wicked smile breaking out. “But not quite the way he’s expecting.”
Chapter 79
After a cautious approach, the Novosibirsk arrived offshore of Oahu in mid-morning. The submarine loitered 800 feet below the surface about twenty-five nautical miles south of the entrance channel to Pearl Harbor. Captain Petrovich ordered a pre-mission briefing in the officer’s wardroom. Attending were special operators Shtyrov and Dobrynin and the P-815’s commander, Lieutenant Tumanov. Yuri Kirov was also invited to sit in.
Petrovich stood beside the bulkhead-mounted video monitor that displayed an electronic chart of the Hawaiian Islands. “At twenty-one hundred hours local time Novosibirsk will proceed north twenty kilometers.” Petrovich pointed to a location in the ocean twelve miles south of Pearl Harbor. “The mini will decouple here and proceed to the target.”
“Captain,” Lieutenant Tuman
ov said, “it would be beneficial if we could get a little closer before launching.”
“I understand, but I have orders. Novosibirsk is to remain outside of American territorial limits at all times.”
“Even if we have trouble on the way back?” Tumanov asked.
“Affirmative.”
P-815’s commander masked his disappointment by picking up his mug and drinking the last of his tea.
Petrovich continued. “The mini will head north and enter the outer channel and then proceed…”
Yuri sat beside Tumanov with his hands clasped on top of the conference table. As the briefing continued, he kept an eye on the junior officer. It shouldn’t be much longer.
Yuri and Tumanov had arrived in the wardroom in advance of the other participants. While Tumanov took a seat, Yuri filled two clean mugs with tea from the kettle on a counter. He also spiked Tumanov’s mug.
Yuri had concocted the mixture from several items liberated from P-815’s first aid locker. The key ingredient was syrup of ipecac, a liquid used to induce vomiting in an effort to remove poisonous material ingested in the stomach. Although outdated and considered ineffective for countering poisons, ipecac remained an efficient substance to make a person puke.
Yuri spotted a bead of perspiration on the lieutenant’s brow. Tumanov squirmed in his seat.
Any moment now!
* * * *
Laura Newman made her way down a crowded sidewalk in downtown Bellevue. She had a lunch meeting with an acquaintance from a marketing firm. The restaurant was five minutes away. As she walked, she took the opportunity to call her attorney, Tim Reveley. “Have you heard anything from Diesen?” Laura asked, holding her cell phone to an ear.
“I’m sorry, but no. And nothing from my contact at the Department of Justice.”
“This waiting is awful.”
“I’ll try again with my DOJ contact, but don’t be surprised if the FBI continues to stonewall.” Tim hesitated. “Remember, Laura, you provided quite a story that will take the feds a while to verify. And who knows what they’ll find on those phones?”
“What should I do?”
“Nothing. Just try to relax.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Laura slipped the phone back into her purse. Relax—no way!
With a possible federal criminal indictment looming, Laura’s angst remained sky-high. But what really pegged out her worry quotient was Yuri’s fate. Weeks had passed since he left. Laura feared she would never see him again.
* * * *
It was late afternoon on the east coast. Ava Diesen sat in a Pentagon conference room. The briefing by analysts from the National Security Agency and the Defense Intelligence Agency had concluded five minutes earlier. The forensic computer experts departed along with senior DOD staff, including several flag officers. Ava and two others had the room to themselves.
“Well, I sure wasn’t expecting that outcome,” Ava announced, commencing the debrief.
“No kidding,” Bob Clark said. The U.S. Navy captain sat across the table from Ava. Clark turned to his right. “I take it you heard about this already.”
“Not everything,” CIA officer Steve Osberg said. “But enough to connect the dots.”
Osberg had arranged for two CIA technical staffers to assist the NSA-DIA forensic team. One was an expert in Mandarin and the other in Russian.
The two cell phones and the satphone Laura Newman and Tim Reveley turned over to the FBI yielded a diamond mine of data. After deciphering the password to Elena Krestyanova’s phone, the technicians discovered numerous contacts between Elena and Kwan Chi. Kwan’s cell and satphone required more horsepower to decrypt but proved even more valuable.
“What’s next with this Kwan Chi character?” Captain Clark asked Diesen.
“If he ever sets foot in the U.S. he will be arrested and charged with espionage.”
Osberg commented, “I don’t think that will be happening for some time. Our people in Hong Kong indicate he’s keeping a low profile.”
Captain Clark swiveled in his chair, looking Ava’s way. “What about the Laura Newman investigation? We were able to verify a lot of her story about the sub with the fieldwork we conducted…but this phone stuff really seems to vindicate her with Kwan.”
Ava pressed her lips. She still could not get over the photograph displayed on the conference room screen half an hour earlier. The image recovered from Elena Krestyanova’s phone was texted to Yuri Kirov. The photo was in color; Laura Newman sat on a bed, her legs bare but her torso covered in a pajama top. A strip of duct tape sealed her mouth and plastic cable ties bound her wrists. She cradled her infant daughter in her lap, wrapped in a baby blanket. The front-page headline of the Seattle Times was on display next to Madelyn.
Ava crossed her legs. “I agree that Newman’s story about being kidnapped by Kwan and his associates has merit. But until we come to a resolution on just what Captain-Lieutenant Kirov has been up to, she will remain under investigation.”
Clark turned toward Osberg. “Steve, did your people pick up anything on him?”
“Zero. We have nothing on his whereabouts.” The CIA officer recalled another item. “Regardless of what he was doing before, I think the Navy owes Kirov and Ms. Newman big time—remember, you said it yourself.”
Clark grinned. “The Trident sub—the Kentucky.”
“Exactly. All of the stuff recovered on the phones confirms her story that the Chinese were trying to sink it in order to start a war between us and Russia.”
Clark agreed with Osberg’s conclusion but was not yet authorized to confirm it. The data recovered from the phones, the photo of the Mark Twelve torpedo provided by Newman, and the hardware collected from the seabed of Puget Sound and the Strait of Georgia confirmed Laura’s allegations. After a briefing at the White House, the president authorized the U.S. Navy to prepare an appropriate response. Turning back the Heilong as it closed on Hawaii was just the beginning.
Chapter 80
Day 47—Thursday
Yuri’s heart raced. He clenched his teeth. His lower spine ached. Concentrate. You can do this! Yuri had repeated the mantra to himself half a dozen times. It helped manage the stress.
He was in the P-815’s pilot station as the submerged minisub travelled northward at seven knots. The virtual reality headgear made him uneasy. The goggle’s computer-generated image of the dredged channel illustrated the route ahead. Superimposed on Yuri’s artificial 3-D view of the waterway was the icon of a whirling propeller. The minisub’s proximity to the harbor tug required Yuri to constantly adjust the controls.
Wake turbulence from the tractor tug’s dual Z-drive thrusters buffeted the P-815, causing it to porpoise. If the sail broke the water surface, the submarine might be spotted. Although it was a few minutes after one in the morning, a nearly full moon and residual lighting from both sides of the channel illuminated the waterway.
After detaching from the Novosibirsk, the P-815 stealthily approached the outer buoys marking the entrance channel to Pearl Harbor. The minisub loitered at the entrance, waiting for an inbound vessel. Propeller cavitation and engine noises radiating into the water column from an inbound vessel would mask the P-815’s already miniscule acoustic output.
Yuri would have preferred to shadow a conventionally powered craft whose propellers were not as deep as the tractor’s. Nonetheless, the tractor tug was the only arriving vessel during the mission’s allotted time, so he reluctantly followed it.
Tumanov remained aboard the Novosibirsk, confined to the sick bay for twenty-four hours of observation. The P-815’s pilot protested, claiming he was fine. But Tumanov was overruled. Captain Petrovich could not take a chance that whatever “bug” afflicted Tumanov might infect the Novosibirsk’s crew and/or the minisub’s staff.
Yuri regretted making Tumanov ill, but it was the only way he co
uld interject himself into the mission. He feared the two Spetsnaz operators preparing for deployment in an aft compartment were not on an ordinary espionage mission but something truly sinister.
With Tumanov out of commission, Yuri was the natural replacement. Tumanov’s co-pilot was too junior to command the vessel. Petrovich ordered Yuri to take over—just as Yuri had planned.
“How close are we to the next sensor?” Yuri said, directing his question to P-815’s co-pilot.
“On the starboard about 200 meters away,” reported Junior Lieutenant Vassily Nevsky aka “Hollywood”.
The handsome twenty-three-year-old occupied a console on the port side of the control station two meters from Yuri. Nevsky had piloted the mini for the first hour but nearly collided with the tugboat, forcing Yuri to take the controls.
“Got it,” Yuri said as he advanced the throttle.
The minisub closed on the tugboat until its bow was just five meters away from the tug’s stern. The buffeting increased but Yuri had no choice. To help defeat the approaching underwater sensor, Yuri needed to immerse as much of the mini’s hull into the tractor tug’s wake zone as possible. To protect the naval base from underwater intruders—like the P-815—the U.S. Navy had installed a network of acoustic sensors along the Pearl Harbor entrance channel and the interior basins—lochs—that composed the principal moorage areas for the U.S. Pacific Fleet. The hydrophones listened for unauthorized submerged sounds from submersibles and divers.
A civilian contractor working for the U.S. Navy unknowingly supplied the GRU with the complete plan for Pearl Harbor’s underwater defense. The California-based company won the low bid for maintenance and testing of the system. Although certified for Top Secret work, the contractor had inferior in-house computer security measures. GRU cyberhackers broke into the company’s server and downloaded the plan without triggering a single alarm.
The P-815 approached a slight bend in the channel. Bishop Point was to the right; Iroquois Point was 2,000 feet ahead on the left.
“Sir, we’re abeam of the sensor now.”
The Faithful Spy Page 33