The Forever Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  “Sure.”

  As Yuri stepped away, Bill picked up his cell and checked the text tab. Nothing. But it was still early. He peered through a nearby window, which faced the frozen sea. Other than a distant streetlight, it was ink-black outside. The occasional gust rattled the windowpane. It’s shitty out there all right, Bill thought. But she should be just fine, doing her thing.

  Bill Winters was a brilliant electrical engineer, and his coding skills were equally exceptional. Deep Explorer ’s brain was cutting edge; no other commercial autonomous underwater vehicle could match her performance. Maybe one or two military AUVs could come close.

  He believed in his creation. Deep Explorer’s current mission was straightforward: swim to the coordinates using the onboard inertial navigation system, run side-scan survey tracts, and take videos of the infrastructure. It had already conducted dozens of similar surveys.

  Piece of cake!

  But something else about Deep Explorer’s mission gave him angst—not that it wouldn’t work. No, he was confident of success. It was something that he had not told Yuri.

  He would never have approved it. I had no choice but to keep quiet.

  After completing the contractual obligations, Bill had programmed Deep Explorer to conduct another task, one that might take it farther offshore into the real unknown.

  Yuri walked back to the table and sat down. Bill sipped a fresh Redhook and Yuri started on his own. Bill’s cell phone chimed. He reached down and picked it up. He smiled and then turned the screen toward Yuri. “We got another sonar pulse. She’s just fine.”

  Yuri raised his bottle, tipping it toward Winters. “Nice going, Bill. I’m going to sleep well tonight.”

  “Me too.”

  CHAPTER 12

  DAY 5—FRIDAY

  The leggy blonde with the luscious curves mingled with the legions of shoppers that crowded the five-level shopping center. The largest mall in Hong Kong, Harbour City offered over seven hundred shops, fifty-plus food and drinking establishments, several movie theaters, and a couple of supermarkets. Complementing the retail outlets were three hotels and a world-class cruise ship terminal.

  Elena Krestyanova took her time, visiting Gucci, Chanel, Joyce, and Lane Crawford, where she purchased a pair of Stella McCartney sunglasses for $300 U.S. She didn’t need the shades, but she had to buy something to justify the visit. It was late afternoon. The rest of the trade delegation was happily parked in a bar at their hotel, slugging back vodka shots. She would join her team later for dinner.

  Elena surveyed her surroundings. So far, she had not detected a tail. But with so much activity around, she could be under surveillance and not know it.

  Hong Kong was China’s bright and shining face for the world’s eyes. The unapologetic capitalistic fever for wealth continued, but the rulers in Beijing had cunningly changed the rules. Big Brother now had its fingers deep into the pie, just taking tidbits at first, but every year a little more. The Internet was filtered and monitored, not as oppressive as in the mainland but certainly a notch down from what it been. And operatives from China’s Ministry of State Security were everywhere. Hong Kong remained China’s principal incubator for dissent, and the Beijing elite was determined to squash all troublemakers.

  The MSS did not concern Elena. It was her own security forces that she feared, the SVR and worse yet, the bastards from the FSB—Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti. The FSB served as Russia’s FBI and then some.

  Elena Krestyanova was not an official trade delegate but she played the role convincingly, having auditioned for the part during a previous assignment in Vancouver. Her current role as trade envoy was cover only. Elena’s real employer was the SVR. Moscow tasked her with wooing a wealthy Chinese businessman with the hope of turning him.

  They had met before, first in Sydney during an East Asian business conference and then again in Tokyo. Both times, the sex was terrific; he was an accomplished lover, not like the last target she’d seduced—an overweight, balding CEO who focused solely on his own release.

  Elena’s heart beat faster now as she neared the teashop, tucked away in a far corner of the mega shopping empire. Her longing was legitimate, but it was the money that truly turned her on.

  * * *

  He was waiting for her, seated at a discreet table in the quaint teahouse with few patrons. He stood as Elena approached. Tall for his race, just shy of six feet, his superbly tailored silk suit highlighted his athletic build.

  Kwan Chi extended his right hand and Elena accepted; his touch electrified her.

  “You look fabulous,” he said with a smile that revealed his perfect teeth. His long, luminously thick black hair and tan skin tone completed the pleasing face.

  “Thank you, Chi.” They spoke in English, again the dialect they had in common.

  He stepped to the side of the table, pulled the chair back for Elena, and then gestured for her to sit, always the gentleman. Elena cherished the attention. Russian men were uncouth pigs when it came to chivalry.

  The green tea was served, a special house blend with a hint of cinnamon.

  “How long will you be here?” he asked, sipping the steaming brew.

  “We’re off to Singapore tomorrow.”

  “Too bad. I was hoping that we might be able to spend more time together.”

  Elena shared his disappointment. The schedule was too tight. She was due back at the hotel within an hour to accompany the delegation to a reception and dinner in their honor at Hong Kong’s equivalent of the Chamber of Commerce. There just was not enough time, even for a quickie. Skipping the event was an impossibility—she was one of the honorees.

  Kwan took another sip. “Your last contribution was most useful. Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, beaming. His word choice amused Elena. The current deployment of nuclear submarines at the Rybachiy Naval Base at Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy represented her latest “contribution.”

  She’d used her cell phone’s camera to photograph the report; she found the classified document buried under several file folders and magazines stacked on a desk in the apartment of a naval officer stationed in Vladivostok. She’d met the submarine squadron commander at a party; both single, they hooked up on occasion. That early morning several months earlier, Georgii was nonresponsive when Elena had opted for round four. Unable to perform any longer and still half-blitzed, the captain first rank rolled over and resumed snoring.

  Kwan wired five hundred thousand dollars U.S. to her anonymous account in the Cayman Islands. From there, Elena transferred the funds to another secret account she maintained in a Luxembourg bank. So far, the People’s Republic of China, through the MSS, had paid Elena just over four million dollars U.S.

  They exchanged small talk and then Kwan mentioned that he would be visiting Los Angeles soon and hoped they might meet again there.

  “LA,” Elena responded. “That does sound like fun. I might be able to swing that.”

  “Excellent. I will look forward to it.”

  Elena reached into her purse and removed a small gift-wrapped box; it had a ribbon on top.

  “For your birthday,” she said, sliding it across the table.

  “May I?”

  “Please.”

  He untied the ribbon, removed the wrapping paper, and opened the box. He withdrew the pair of gold, diamond-studded cuff links.

  “Thank you, Elena, these are wonderful.”

  “I hope you like them.”

  “I do,” he said, continuing to admire the craftsmanship.

  She’d paid a thousand dollars for the man jewelry at a shop in her hotel, but it wasn’t Kwan’s birthday. It was just part of the game. The real gift was under the setting at the bottom of the box. The thumb drive held complete dossiers on two dozen SVR agents working in East Asia.

  It was the final contribution for their initial agreement. The balance of one million would be waiting in her Caribbean account before she returned to Vladivostok.


  They were standing, about to depart, when Elena said, “I may have something new for you soon.”

  “Really—can you give me a hint?”

  “Something that you have wanted for a long time.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “I’ll know more by the time we meet in Los Angeles.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Neither can I.”

  * * *

  Elena headed back to the hotel in a taxi. Her mind raced at mach speed. She couldn’t help but think about the video she’d watched the previous day at the trade meeting.

  Yuri Kirov, if he’s really alive, that could be it!

  Elena’s goal was ten million. With the Kirov contribution, she’d be there and then some. Elena would then disappear. No one would ever find her.

  CHAPTER 13

  After methodically inspecting Aurora’s four subsea wells, Deep Explorer had just completed the last transect of its survey of the ten-thousand-acre leased tract. While the side-scan sonar probed the seabed for surface anomalies, acoustic sensors listened for any venting, hissing, or surging that might reveal a bottom rupture. No fluid plumes were detected by sonar, and the sound sensors found nothing suspicious, just biologics and colliding ice sheets. During the grid search, aka mowing the lawn, the sniffer unit probed for waterborne hydrocarbons but likewise detected nothing. These arctic waters were as pure as it gets. But that was not the case earlier in the AUV’s voyage.

  As the vessel tracked westward along the descending seabed, Deep Explorer’s sniffer detected oil. It wasn’t much, just slightly above background. It lost the scent two hours later but duly recorded the finding.

  Deep Explorer’s primary mission was complete, but it was not yet ready to return to Barrow. The underwater robot had a second task, coded by Bill Winters. If oil was not discovered inside Aurora’s lease boundaries but was detected elsewhere, Deep Explorer was to proceed to the coordinates of the original spill sighting logged by the UA-Fairbanks current meter team where it would start a new search. Before executing the secondary mission, however, Winters had pre-instructed Deep Explorer to conduct a provisioning duty.

  After probing the overhead ice cover for twenty minutes, the AUV’s upward ranging sonar found a suitable opening in the five-foot-thick floe. The diameter of the breathing hole was about fifteen inches, just enough for a ringed seal to slither into and out of the water.

  Deep Explorer hovered under the fissure and extended its telescopic mast upward from inside its hull until the snorkel projected a foot above the water surface. The mini–diesel generator inside the pressure casing ignited, powering the generator. Exhaust vented to the sea from a hull port.

  While the batteries charged, Deep Explorer broadcast a “Here I Am” radio signal heavenward via a UHF radio antenna cabled to the snorkel. It also verified its earth coordinates with a GPS fix.

  It took just over an hour to top off the batteries. After retracting the mast, Deep Explorer calculated the parameters for its second mission. It then turned to the southwest and accelerated to ten knots.

  CHAPTER 14

  DAY 6—SATURDAY

  Elena Krestyanova sat on the bed, her back supported by a stack of pillows. It was late evening in Singapore. She keyed her laptop, working through websites. She accessed the Web through the hotel’s Wi-Fi network, paying an excessive daily surcharge. But it was worth it.

  She tried to research U.S. sites from Hong Kong. However, the crackdown by Beijing on dissident student bloggers, who during her visit had again lambasted the PRC’s aggressive policy of cutting back on Hong Kong’s autonomy, bogged down the Web and even blocked access to many outside news outlets. Frustrated, she’d given up.

  Singapore also censored the Internet, but at least Elena could access American business sites without interruption.

  Elena was hot on the trail, closing in fast.

  The first lead came from an Anchorage newspaper article about the sneak attack on the chief executive officer of Aurora Offshore. A screenshot from the infamous YouTube video was featured; it showed Charles Matheson, splattered with oil, reacting in complete shock. His two table companions were visible and identified.

  John Kirkwood, so that’s what he’s using, Elena had thought after reading the article. Still, she wasn’t certain that it was really Yuri.

  Next she researched Northwest Subsea Dynamics. The company’s website was no help. John Kirkwood was listed as the general manager, with no background, photo, or experience record provided. The NSD person featured was someone named Bill Winters.

  When Elena ran a Web search on John Kirkwood, none of the individuals with that name remotely fitted the profile she was expecting.

  Suspicious, Elena kept mining. Following threads from Bill Winters, she found a six-month-old article in a Puget Sound business journal that featured Northwest Subsea Dynamics. The article noted that LLWN Investments LLC, another Washington State corporation, had acquired controlling interest in the company. The article noted that Bill Winters remained as chief engineer.

  Further digging through the Washington Secretary of State website revealed that a Bellevue, Washington, law firm represented LLWN Investments. Expecting a brick wall of client confidentiality, Elena opted out from calling the registered agent.

  Elena again tackled the Washington State website, this time accessing a statewide public data extract that she downloaded. And now, after acquiring and downloading database software, she’d just opened the corporation file. It didn’t take long to find the real owner of LLWN. Laura Lynn Wilson Newman was listed as owning 100 percent of the limited liability company.

  Elena was ecstatic.

  * * *

  No one knew what had happened to Yuri, least of all Elena. She’d endured almost two weeks of the submerged transpacific crossing, completely out of the loop. When she returned to Vancouver, Moscow had already closed the mission file.

  The briefing report from the two FSB operators sent to find Yuri and his accomplice tracked the workboat to a dock in Seattle, but then the trail turned to ice. The vessel was vacant and the owner absent. The photographs in the file revealed that Laura was aboard the Hercules when it headed back to Seattle. But where did she go . . . and where was Kirov?

  Why didn’t he return to Russia? Elena wondered. He’s a hero.

  Yuri’s actions had earned him untold praise from the Russian military. Although officially still listed as Away without Leave, he was not pursued. It was unthinkable that he would desert after attaining legendary heroic status. Instead, it was widely feared that Yuri had succumbed to his injuries and was buried somewhere in the Seattle area under an assumed alias.

  He must be living with her—yes, that’s got to be it!

  Elena’s mind raced with the possibilities.

  This could be the key to everything.

  CHAPTER 15

  “I don’t hear it,” Yuri announced. He knelt next to the ice pit, headphones covering his ears. The hydrophone dangled ten feet below the underside of the ice sheet.

  Bill Winters stood at his right side. “It’s early. Give it a while longer.”

  Yuri stood and removed the headgear, handing it to Winters. “I thought we might hear something by now.”

  “There’s a lot of background racket today.”

  “There sure is.”

  “Pack ice farther offshore is moving around. It’s like a demolition derby out there.”

  Bill’s idiom was unknown to Yuri, but he got the gist.

  Yuri scanned the sky. The sun tracked low across the horizon. It was half past two o’clock. The storm had moved on. Tranquil air with crystal skies followed in its wake. Even the air temperature had improved—a mild minus ten.

  Yuri and crew arrived at “Ice Station Laura” an hour earlier. Bill had so designated the site in honor of NSD’s savior. Yuri let it go, not certain if Bill’s intention was legitimate or a subtle jab in Yuri’s back. Although Yuri was the boss, he also slept with the compan
y’s real owner.

  Deep Explorer was due to return in forty minutes. Yuri expected to hear the hum of its propeller as it retraced its path to the launch site. The homing beacon, cabled to another hydrophone suspended below the ice, broadcast a low-frequency signal. A receiver in Deep Explorer’s nose cone and linked to its CPU would seek the homing signal during the last leg of the voyage. The AUV’s computer would also compare digital bottom soundings recorded during the outbound voyage to current sonar readings to help guide itself home.

  Yuri had heard not a chirp from the robotic sub for nearly two days. As the range steadily increased, the every-hour “Here I Am” sonar pulses faded into the background noise after the first day. As far as the NSD team knew, their showpiece was gone for good. The risks were legion, from springing a leak and sinking to simply losing its way and running default search tracts until the juice ran out.

  Despite loss of contact, Bill Winters continued to profess his faith in Deep Explorer.

  But that trust would soon be tested.

  An hour later, Yuri again listened with headphones. His frown said everything.

  “Nothing?” Bill asked.

  Yuri shook his head.

  “Hmm.”

  Yuri walked away with his back to Winters, reached into a pocket of his parka, and removed a portable satphone. He keyed the dial pad.

  “What are you doing?” Bill asked.

  “Calling the office. I’m having them ship the backup unit.”

  “But it’s not ready.”

  “I know. We’ll have to cobble it together here.”

  “It’s too early for that. We should wait another day.”

  “Another day! It was supposed to pop up in this ice hole half an hour ago, and there’s nothing to indicate it’s anywhere nearby.”

  “I think she’s busy elsewhere.”

  “What?”

  Bill dreaded the next few minutes. “I programmed in a second mission, if certain criteria were met.”