by Tom Carroll
“What is it, Mike?” sneered Carlisle, clearly irritated at the interruption.
“Admiral, we just received a PERSONAL FOR from the president.”
Pleased with the prospect of a private communication directly from his commander in chief, Carlisle abruptly ordered, “Good. Hand it over!”
But the aide’s face told a different story. “Admiral,” he answered haltingly, “the PERSONAL FOR is addressed to Mr. Garrett, for his eyes only.”
The room went silent as the officer handed Colt a sealed envelope. As the others at the table looked on, Colt opened the envelope with a small silver butter knife from the table and read the message silently to himself.
Dan watched as his father read the note for a second time and then carefully folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope. He saw a strange but pained look grow on his father’s face. “Dad, are you alright? Is everything okay? What is it?”
After another knock on the cabin door, the admiral’s admin chief walked in.
“Admiral,” said the chief petty officer, “you’re going to want to see this. The president has just made an announcement, and all the networks are replaying it.” He then crossed the cabin past the dining table where everyone was still seated and turned on the television mounted on the bulkhead. All eyes in the room shifted to the TV as the President of the United States addressed the nation.
“My fellow Americans,” he began. “I am sorry to have to report that Monday morning, Secretary of Defense Patrick O’Kane suffered a massive stroke and sadly passed away. Secretary O’Kane had a long and distinguished career as a fighter pilot, astronaut, senator, and finally as defense secretary. I personally will miss him, and our warmest thoughts and prayers go out to his family and friends. But,” he paused briefly, “in our sorrow at the passing of this great man, we cannot allow our grief to distract us from the defense of our nation. Effective immediately, I am appointing current Undersecretary of Defense Colton S. Garrett as acting Secretary of Defense. I will announce my nomination for Secretary O’Kane’s permanent successor at a later date. Mr. Garrett has been notified of his appointment, and I look forward to closely working with him as we further develop our defense strategies. May God bless you, and may God bless these United States of America.”
Immediately, all pairs of eyes in the room focused on Colt Garrett. The newly appointed cabinet member smiled quietly and looked over at his son. Dan beamed with pride at the thought that the person who taught him everything he knew about being a man was now the secretary of defense and responsible for the most powerful force the world had ever known. The unexpected but auspicious moment was suddenly interrupted when Captain Winters solomnly stood up from his chair to the position of attention, and loudly proclaimed, “Attention on Deck!”
Washington State Route 3, Southbound near Poulsbo
Professor Robert Jordan had led a full and exciting life. He had traveled extensively and lived and worked in many countries. Extremely fit for a man in his early sixties, Jordan took full advantage of living in the Pacific Northwest, where one could sail, fish, waterski, and snow ski all in the same day. But his favorite hobby was rock climbing, a sport that tested his skill, strength, endurance, and daring. It was only on one of the many peaks in the nearby Olympic or Cascade mountains that Jordan could truly test himself and be the person very few knew him to be.
Although this morning’s activity was much less adventurous, Professor Robert Jordan thoroughly enjoyed driving his Honda Accord on the highway that ran north and south through Washington State’s Kitsap Peninsula. At nearly 20 years old, the silver two-door coupe was surprisingly quick, with its three-liter, inline V6 engine. And the car seemed to fly this cold, clear morning. Jordan needed to remind himself to keep the car near the speed limit to avoid any uncomfortable conversations with state troopers.
Robert Jordan chaired the computer information security program at Kitsap College and the associated cyber range, which supported its training and testing programs in cybersecurity systems, cyber defense, and cyber technology development. Jordan’s programs were particularly attractive to active-duty personnel who were stationed at one of several nearby military installations and were planning to pursue high tech careers after leaving the service. There was no shortage of potential candidates for the program.
State Route 3 was also designated as a Strategic Highway Network corridor under the National Highway System as the main road connecting the many commands of Naval Base Kitsap — the host command for installations located in the cities of Bangor, Bremerton, Jackson Park, Keyport, and Manchester. Naval Base Kitsap also hosted 70 tenant commands, including Submarine Group Nine and its eight nuclear-powered submarines, as well as the Naval Undersea Warfare Center, the Naval Facilities and Engineering Command, Fleet Logistics Center Puget Sound, a Naval shipyard, a submarine repair facility, and a naval hospital.
A short ferry ride across Puget Sound was Naval Air Station Whidbey Island with its P-8A Poseidons and EA-18G Growlers, and Naval Base Everett, where aircraft carriers and guided-missile destroyers were homeported. That same ferry ride also took passengers to one of the world’s meccas of technology, Seattle, hosting the likes of Microsoft, Amazon, Boeing Aerospace, Twitter, and Groupon. Seattle was also home to the University of Washington and its Paul Allen School of Computer Science, a program well-known for its close association with the local tech giants and the source of many notable IT breakthroughs. The dense concentration of military, IT, and defense research installations combined to establish a large and well-qualified pool of potential students for Professor Jordan’s information security program.
More importantly, the much-acclaimed technical program provided Robert Jordan with close, personal contact with people who had access to some of the country’s most vital defense secrets and technologies, those individuals who might somehow be encouraged to conduct espionage against their country and share its intelligence. That, of course, was essential, because Professor Robert Jordan was actually a Russian spy.
His real name was Dimitri Petrov, and he held the rank of colonel in Russia’s GRU. Colonel Petrov was more than a spy. He was a spymaster, controlling a total of eight GRU operatives who were deeply embedded into American life in the Pacific Northwest, all posing as natural-born U.S. citizens. These eight individuals were tasked with developing sources of intelligence within the military and technology communities, and then collecting and forwarding that information to GRU headquarters in Moscow. In addition to Petrov’s supervisory responsibilities, he also personally recruited select Americans to provide him with highly classified defense information, and his teaching position gave him unfettered access to prospective recruits. Colonel Petrov chuckled to himself as he passed exit signs for Submarine Base Bangor and Naval Undersea Warfare Center, Keyport, where the Navy tested torpedoes. This, in fact, was Petrov’s prime hunting ground, and he was hoping Moscow would provide for more GRU agents to sufficiently cover the targeted area.
The Russian Consulate in Seattle had been closed by the United States in early 2018 in response to what many believed was a chemical weapon attack on a former Russian officer and his daughter in England. The Russians had countered by closing the American Consulate in St. Petersburg and expelling more than 50 U.S. diplomats. While most Americans saw the Seattle Consulate as a place to obtain travel visas and arrange for doing business with Russia, the diplomatic station was also used for many years as a base for Russian intelligence officers posing under diplomatic cover. These legal operatives would control vast networks of deep-cover illegal operatives, like Colonel Petrov, who in turn, ran their own networks. With the closure of the Seattle Consulate, Petrov lost his local support. He now reported directly to GRU headquarters in Moscow.
The urgent communication from his GRU superior was quite out of the ordinary and was the reason for today’s drive south. Personal contact between Petrov and his assigned operatives was considered dangerously risky and was to be avoided at all costs. Neverth
eless, he had been ordered to personally deliver the new mission tasking so that there could be no misunderstanding or confusion.
Petrov pulled his small Honda into a parking lot, got out, and walked to the door of a small coffee shop. He stepped up to the counter and said, “Good morning, Sara,” as he looked at her name tag. “Are you ready for my order?” Sara Olson stared at Colonel Petrov for a brief moment, and then returned his smile, saying, “Yes, what can I make for you?”
Neptune’s Grounds Café, Bremerton, Washington
Sara let Derwin know she was going to take her break, then grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and joined Petrov at a table near the restroom. She noticed Petrov silently assessing the risk of sitting relatively near another customer, but Sara quietly assured him, “Not to worry, the Cat Lady is a regular. She’s only interested in that poor animal and her crossword puzzles.” But the homeless woman wearing an old, tattered coat could sense that she was intruding and abruptly moved two tables away. Neptune’s was the only place in town that still tolerated her, and winter was no time to start looking for a new mid-day hang-out.
“I just moved here, and I’m looking for part-time work. Are you hiring?” asked Petrov as he looked intently at Sara and carefully sipped from a steaming cup of coffee.
“I really don’t know,” Sara replied. “You’ll have to ask the assistant manager,” and she pointed in Derwin’s direction. Petrov stood and walked over to speak with Derwin as Sara quietly stared out the window. Since “part-time” was prearranged code for an emergency meeting, Sara’s next task would be to check a series of dead drops for information regarding the meeting’s time and place.
Flag Cabin, USS Ronald Reagan
The newly appointed acting secretary of defense, Colton Garrett, was momentarily stunned when Captain Winters called the room to attention. It took a few seconds for him to realize the honor was for him. He looked up and said, “Please, be seated. And thank you, Captain Winters, that was quite unexpected but very much appreciated.”
Admiral Carlisle remained standing and offered his hand. “Mr. Secretary, let me be the first to offer my congratulations on your appointment. I imagine you’ll be heading back to Washington right away, so let me or my staff know if we can be helpful in any way.”
“Thank you, Admiral, I appreciate the offer,” Colt replied, knowing Carlisle would gladly help if it meant he’d be rid of the new secretary of defense. “But I’ll need to contact the new deputy secretary to understand what’s next and exactly when I’ll be heading home.” The brief message from the president indicated that Undersecretary Steve Holmes would immediately be appointed deputy secretary of defense, and Colt wanted to talk with his friend Steve as soon as possible to get a sense of what had just happened and how they’d be moving forward. In the last few minutes, Colt Garrett had become the second most senior person in the U.S. military; he, therefore, needed to be briefed immediately on current operational force status.
“Sir, can my staff help with that communications set up?” Carlisle asked, still standing.
Ignoring Admiral Carlisle for the moment, Colt turned to Lenny. “Mr. Wilson, effective immediately, you are appointed special assistant to the secretary of defense. You’re going to have to cobble together a local support component from ship, airwing, and flag staff. We’ll need people with top-secret clearance; you can read them into any required programs.”
“Flag staff?” Carlisle interrupted.
Colt put his right hand up, palm facing out. “Excuse me, Joe. I’m speaking now to Mr. Wilson.”
Admiral Joe Carlisle was about to protest but thought better of it and closed his mouth when he saw the stern look on Garrett’s face. Powerless, he stepped away from the table and sat down in a chair on the far side of the cabin. Garrett continued, “We’ll need to build a full communications and admin staff — about 20 people. Work with the ship’s commanding officer and Captain Winters here to configure a dedicated and suitable working space for the team. We’ll call it the Office of the Secretary of Defense – Reagan Detachment, or OSD Reagan.” Colt caught his breath and went on with his orders.
“Right away, I’m going to need a secure video link with Steve Holmes at the Pentagon, and other links ready to go with the joint chiefs and the White House Situation Room. I’ll need to talk with the president’s chief of staff as soon as you can arrange it.” Lenny was getting it all down, writing as fast as possible, with his pen on the white linen tablecloth. He hadn’t had a chance to find a notebook or tablet when Garrett started listing tasks.
Dan Garrett sat, watching his father. Since the moment the president had announced the appointment, he had been mesmerized by how quickly the man he’d known his entire life transformed from a polished policy specialist into a confident and competent leader in command. He knew his dad had served in the Navy — in fact, he was present at his retirement ceremony. But that was 15 years ago and long before Dan knew anything about the Navy. Now, he was impressed with the precision and effortlessness with which his father pushed the ineffective admiral aside, and he wondered where this all was heading.
Garrett began writing a series of notes on a paper tablet when he suddenly remembered, “I believe we’ll need to make some berthing changes. Joe, you and Captain Winters will have to make arrangements to find other quarters, immediately. I’ll have my luggage shifted into the Flag cabin, and Mr. Wilson, you will move into Captain Winters’ stateroom.”
When Carlisle stood up, it appeared to the others as though he might be experiencing a stroke. “Other quarters?” he bellowed. “Where do you expect me to move?” Without looking up or skipping a beat, Colt hinted wryly, “Well Joe, perhaps you and Captain Winters can take the stateroom that Lenny and I have been sharing.”
Admiral Carlisle stared at the new secretary of defense, realizing now that his earlier disrespect of the former undersecretary had not gone unnoticed.
Lenny turned to face Gary Winters. “Captain, any possibility the ship has a secretary of defense flag onboard?”
Captain Winters smiled and replied, “Yes, sir, I bet they do. If not, I’m certain we can get one of the squadron riggers to make one up.” Turning to the admiral, Winters asked, “Sir, shall I ask the ship’s captain to have it hoisted?”
Before Rear Admiral Lower Half Carlisle could respond, the new Secretary of Defense looked up from the table and ordered, “Make it so! And one other thing: Have someone tear that ridiculous portrait off the bulkhead and hang a picture of Ronald Reagan in its place. This ship is named for the man!”
Harborside Fountain Park, Bremerton, Washington
Sara Olson walked to the supermarket on the block next to Neptune’s Grounds and examined the assortment of business cards and “for sale” notices thumbtacked to the store’s crowded community information board near the entrance. She scanned the ads offering piano lessons, lawn maintenance, yoga instruction, and several people seeking roommates, until she found what she was searching for — a small piece of paper offering tennis lessons at $20 per hour. The local phone number printed on the paper ended in the digits “2-5”. By subtracting the 2 from the 5, she knew that she was to rendezvous with her GRU control officer precisely at 3:00 pm at the pre-arranged meeting location. She removed the small piece of paper from the board and casually dropped it in the trash bin as she exited the grocery store.
GRU Captain Yelena Denisovna Ivanova, or Sara Olson as her name read on her Social Security card, had been trained in the specialized tradecraft required of a deep-cover Russian operative. She was well aware of the dangers inherent in most face-to-face meetings. After 30 minutes spent watching the reflections in the windows of the downtown stores to make sure she wasn’t being followed, Sara walked the few blocks to Bremerton’s Harborside Fountain Park. As she crossed the busy street to enter the park, she brushed by a rusty iron lamppost and placed a small white mark on the post with a piece of chalk she held tightly in her right hand, indicating she was not under surveillance. Fina
lly, she walked to the far end of the park, sat on a bench facing the waterfront and plugged in her earphones. Then she waited. The park was adjacent to the terminal, where the state-run ferries deposited vehicles and walk-on passengers before reloading for another trip back across Puget Sound to Seattle. Several children in the park were playing at the base of the water fountain, even though the water had been turned off many months earlier when the warm weather had given way to cooler temperatures. Mothers kept their eyes on their children while talking to one another about the arrival of flu season and plans for the weekend.
A few moments later, Colonel Dimitri Petrov, Sara’s GRU controller, sat down on the bench behind and slightly to the left of her and removed a mobile phone from his pocket. He pressed some buttons, waited a few seconds, and said, “Hello, Sara, it’s Robert.” By looking in the reflection of her own phone, Sara could see the colonel sitting behind her. The green woolen coat and grey herringbone cap he now wore altered his appearance dramatically from when she had last seen him, just a few hours earlier in the cafe. Now, Colonel Petrov watched as the children played in the fountain. “Only in America could one watch children play on fountains in the shape of submarine sails,” he commented into his phone.
“Not so strange,” came Sara’s reply from behind him, “If you consider that the building next to this park is the Puget Sound Naval Museum. Bremerton has been a Navy town since before the Great Patriotic War, and the people who live here are proud of that heritage. But you didn’t call this meeting to discuss U.S. Navy history.”
“You are right, Sara,” said Petrov into his phone, as though he were actually talking to someone via the device. “You will receive your orders in the usual way, but I have been instructed to stress to you personally the significance of this new assignment. Its success is vital to our overall mission, and we have great confidence in your abilities and the abilities of those you control. You will need to ask a great deal of your network, and it likely will prove challenging to get NIKITA and VADIM to do what needs to be done. We are prepared to help motivate them should it be needed, and you should know that if we are successful with this mission, your promotion to the rank of major will be assured.”