by Tom Carroll
“Excuse me, Sara. Could I get a refill of hot water for my teabag?”
Sara realized the homeless man, “Mr. Trench,” had been standing in front of her all the while she was contemplating her GRU mission. She smiled at him pleasantly as she filled his paper cup with hot water.
Kitsap College, Poulsbo, Washington
Vicki Pitzer had just installed the last listening device in Colonel Petrov’s office when she heard footsteps coming from out in the hallway. She quickly sat down in the chair opposite the professor’s desk and had just opened her backpack when Petrov entered his office through the unlocked door. He was surprised to see anyone sitting in his office, and he showed it. The college had implemented a new policy months earlier requiring faculty to keep their office doors unlocked during working hours — a nod to creating a more open and inclusive environment.
“What are you doing in my office?” he asked guardedly.
“Hi, Professor Jordan,” said Vicky as she continued to remove her laptop from her backpack. “I’m here for our conference.”
Petrov sat down at his desktop computer and opened the calendar application. “Our conference is scheduled for 1:00 pm tomorrow afternoon,” he said, slightly annoyed. “You’re off by a day.”
Vicky looked embarrassed and began to put her laptop into her backpack.
“I’m so sorry, professor! I thought we were meeting today. But I don’t suppose you have time to talk about my paper now?”
The deep-cover Russian agent replied, “Not today, Ms. Pitzer. I have some lecture notes to prepare. Please just come back tomorrow, as we had previously scheduled.”
Vicky smiled and left him sitting alone in his office.
That was a bit odd, thought Petrov. He carefully scanned his office and checked to confirm that a few key items he intentionally left in specific locations had not been moved. Then, satisfied that the ditzy student had simply been confused about her conference day, he returned to thinking about the communication he had just received from Sara. The plan drafted by the Reagan operatives sounded intelligent but overly complex. He would have preferred a more direct and less complicated option. In his earlier days, when he was tasked by Moscow to eliminate someone, his usual approach was to simply place the barrel of a .22 caliber pistol against the temple of the target and pull the trigger. He would immediately drop the pistol, calmly walk away, and dispose of the pair of gloves he was wearing. It was difficult to prove guilt without a witness, motive or any physical evidence.
In contrast, the convoluted, draft plan depended on NIKITA’s ability to sufficiently alter the system software that would render the aircraft out of control and ultimately result in the destruction of the plane and its crew. Too many things could go wrong, and probably would, Petrov thought to himself. Regardless, it was his duty to forward the plan to GRU headquarters for their consideration, where he anticipated it would be either rejected or dramatically modified.
Petrov decided he would probably need to make use of his personal escape plan. He would, therefore, need to begin putting the plan’s essential elements into place immediately. By the time Moscow approved the final method to eliminate Garrett, he would need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.
Turning back to his desktop computer, the man known as Professor Robert Jordan initiated an Internet search for local aircraft charters. This would set in motion the first leg of his escape from America and his subsequent journey back home to Russia.
Carrier Intelligence Center (CVIC), the Reagan
After dinner, Colt and Lenny headed to CVIC with Special Agent Anna DeSantis in tow. Earlier in the day, Colt had been advised that the Joint Staff had provided the warhead recovery operational plan to the ship’s airwing, and a high-level briefing had been scheduled to provide senior officers with the roles and responsibilities the Reagan’s aircraft would fulfill during the operation. Now, Colt, Lenny, and Anna entered the secure spaces, and those present rose from their chairs when someone announced, “Attention on Deck!”
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Colt said, reaching for a chair. “Please take your seats. Go ahead, Commander Robinson.”
The Scorpion squadron commanding officer stepped forward. “Good evening, Mr. Secretary, Admiral Carlisle, Chief of Staff, and CAG. I’ve been assigned as mission commander for Operation SPELLBIND. This briefing is classified Top Secret.” Commander Robinson directed everyone’s attention to the video screen where his briefing slides were beginning.
“SPELLBIND is an operation intended to provide electronic warfare support for an even more highly classified U.S. Special Operations Command mission taking place in theater. The cover story for SPELLBIND, however, is a simulated, war-at-sea exercise against Chinese naval forces in the Sea of Japan. As far as every person in the battlegroup who is not in this room is concerned, that is Operation SPELLBIND. Are there any questions before I proceed?”
Admiral Carlisle was the first to speak up, “Yes, Commander. Exactly what is SOCOM doing in this area, and why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”
“Sir, the JCS tasking order was very clear on this point,” replied Commander Robinson. “Only those with the need to know have been read into the specifics of the SOCOM operation. If you are first hearing about it now, Admiral, it means your name was not on that list.”
Admiral Carlisle was about to take it further when he felt his chief of staff grabbing his left thigh under the table. Instead, he said simply, “Please continue.”
“Thank you, sir. The airwing’s responsibilities during SPELLBIND will be to provide an electromagnetic blanket over Ulleungdo Island, which is a small South Korean island off the eastern coast of the Korean peninsula. We will shut down the entire electromagnetic spectrum, radars, and communications for about an hour after midnight, allowing the “snake eaters” to execute their mission.”
The commander next displayed a slide that showed Ulleungdo Island in great detail, as he provided a summary of the island’s features, population centers, and most importantly, their sources of electronic emissions. “I’d now ask Lieutenant Pierce to brief you on our mission package and it’s tasking. Pierce, you’re up!”
Katrina picked up the computer remote and continued where her squadron skipper had left off. “The next slide lists the mission package. Two Growlers with the jamming mission, two Hornets providing barrier combat air patrol duties, and a Hawkeye for early warning. Five total aircraft with spares ready and briefed.” Katrina continued the detailed mission briefing and then concluded by saying, “Any questions?”
“Are you saying we’re going to send my aircraft up to actively jam South Korean communications and radar systems?” Carlisle asked defiantly. “What about their reactions?”
“Admiral,” Katrina said, “we anticipate no reaction from the South Koreans. They have very few military forces on Ulleungdo Island, and power outages are common. Any complaints can be managed by providing our cover story and apologizing for our mistake in not notifying South Korea before the exercise.”
“I’m not buying it, Lieutenant,” Carlisle challenged her again. “I’ve worked with the South Korean military for the past two years, and there will be hell to pay if we jam their systems. I’m going to task my intel staff to take another look at this before we move forward.”
“Actually, Admiral, the lieutenant is correct,” came a voice from the back of the room. “The South Koreans will not react, and the cover story will hold.”
Admiral Carlisle turned around to see who had contradicted him like that. His gaze fell on a lieutenant commander standing in the rear who had been observing the briefing.
“Who the hell are you,” he bellowed, “and why are you in this briefing?”
The young officer took a few steps forward and replied, “I’m Lieutenant Commander Jason Baker, a reserve intel officer on my annual two weeks active duty. As I just said, the lieutenant is correct, and I’m confident the South Korean military will not react.”
&nb
sp; The room was silent for a moment until Admiral Carlisle argued, “I don’t really think I need a weekend warrior to tell me my business. How about you go find someplace to be useful and let the professionals do the thinking?”
The admiral turned back around. “Okay, I think we’re through here,” he said. “I need to know a lot more before I agree to support this mission!”
Colt Garrett said, “Hold on there, Joe. This briefing isn’t over yet.”
Garrett turned to the back of the room to face the reserve officer. “Mr. Baker, you sound very sure of yourself. I find myself wondering what you do in your day job, that is, when you’re not performing your Navy Reserve duties?”
“Mr. Secretary, I usually spend my time at Langley, where I run the CIA’s Indochina desk. This part of the world has been my daily focus for over a decade, and in fact, I assisted Lieutenant Pierce with today’s analysis and presentation. You have my word her assessment is accurate and reflects the intelligence communities’ best thinking — with all due respect to Admiral Carlisle.”
Joe Carlisle remained looking toward the front of the room, thinking to himself, Crap.
“Thank you for helping us out and for serving your country as a citizen-sailor,” said the defense secretary. “I seem to recall that presidents Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, and Ford were also Navy Reservists. You are in very good company, Commander Baker.”
As the men and women in the room murmured their agreement with what Garrett had just said, Commander Robinson stood up. “That concludes this portion of the briefing. I’d like to ask the aircrew to remain for a bit so we can go over mission tactics.”
With that, the officers in the room began to either leave CVIC or move closer to the front for the tactics briefing. Colt spotted Admiral Carlisle as he started to exit the room. “Joe,” he said, “I wonder if you could drop by my cabin for a few minutes?”
Seattle Field Office, The Federal Bureau of Investigation
FBI Special Agent in Charge Clay Taylor read the surveillance report carefully, then placed it on the desk in front of him. It was getting late in the day, but looking on the bright side, he was pretty sure his commute home would be a breeze, as most of the Seattle traffic would have subsided when he eventually left his office. He removed his glasses, sat back in his chair, and said, “Okay, I’ve read it. Now give me your take on what this all means.”
Clay’s NCIS counterpart, Greg Cassidy, took a deep breath. “It looks like we have identified a very senior GRU officer operating a network, or more likely a number of networks, in the Pacific Northwest. He’s here illegally, posing as Kitsap College professor Dr. Robert Jordan, but he’s really Colonel Dimitri Petrov of the Russian GRU. He appears to be directly controlled by the GRU in Moscow with at least five junior GRU officers in this geographic area reporting to him and working their respective networks of agents. Our file on Petrov is remarkably complete. Prior to coming to the U.S., we have him active in both Canada and Latin America, and personally responsible for several assassinations in Venezuela. He’s a very dangerous dude, Clay. And although most of the espionage activity here appears to be targeted against our research and software engineering industry base, at least one of the networks is definitely focused on Navy afloat units, the Reagan in particular.”
Cassidy opened a folder and placed a photograph on the FBI agent’s desk. “Our friend Sara Olson in Bremerton happens to be one of Petrov’s GRU officers, and she has at least one and possibly two agents onboard the Reagan. She communicates with them via messages embedded in an online game called Channel Defence, and defence is spelled with a C. We believe a person with the screen name of Geoffrey is one of Sara Olson’s agents.” Cassidy pulled out a transcript of messages between Sara and Geoffrey and handed it to Clay.
“Looking back through the game’s message logs, it appears that Sara requests items and asks Geoffrey to deliver. Our analysts think these are tasking requests, probably for specific information. It’s impossible to determine what she’s asking him to do because they appear to be using a one-time pad technique, using pre-determined words or phrases.”
“Does the name Geoffrey mean anything?”
“The only aviation reference we could find is to a British pilot during World War Two. Some guy named Geoffrey Wellum.”
Clay got up from his desk and walked to his window where he could look down at the busy harbor below. The ferry to Bremerton was just leaving Coleman Dock, packed full of cars and pedestrians heading home from work.
“I have a call scheduled with FBI headquarters tomorrow morning to talk about this,” Clay said to Greg. “They’ve already agreed to provide anything we need. Anything else I need to know before I speak with them?”
“Just one thing more,” Greg said. “We discovered that Colonel Petrov has been searching on the Web lately for charter flights to Vancouver, Canada. It may be nothing, but a charter flight sounds like a pretty high-profile way to leave the country. I mean, he could just take a ferry to Seattle and then drive a few hours north to Vancouver. Or he could drive to Port Angeles and take a ferry to Victoria B.C. and then catch another ferry to Vancouver. Anyway, we’ll continue to watch this and let you know of any developments.”
As the FBI agent started to pack up his briefcase, he asked, “Who do you have on the Reagan? Someone dependable, I hope?”
Greg smiled with confidence and replied, “All our agents are dependable, Clay. But to answer your question, we do have a good guy on the Reagan. Kevin Orr is very squared away. I’ll reach out to him and get him working on finding out who Geoffrey is.”
Defense Secretary Cabin, the Reagan
Rear Admiral Carlisle knocked on the door of his former cabin and entered to find the defense secretary seated at what had been the admiral’s former desk. He started to take a seat when Colt Garrett stopped him. “Admiral,” he ordered, “please remain standing, and at attention, if you don’t mind.”
The one-star admiral glared at Colt, then straightened his back and placed his hands at his sides.
“Admiral, this is going to be a one-way conversation. I’ll do the talking, and your responses will be limited to ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir,’ ‘Aye aye, sir,’ ‘No excuse, sir,’ and ‘I’ll find out, sir.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Since I’ve arrived onboard, you’ve made it clear that you do not respect civilian authority, which as you know is in direct conflict with the oath both of us have taken numerous times in our respective careers — an oath that requires us to defend the Constitution of the United States. What is your response to that, Admiral?”
“No excuse, sir.”
“That is correct, you have no excuse. I get that you don’t respect me, and I don’t really give a damn. But you will respect the office I hold, and that of our president. If you want to remain in command of this battle group, you will recalibrate your attitude, Admiral, and I mean immediately. Do you read me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Colt Garrett got up from his chair, stepped around his desk, and stood directly in front of Carlisle. “Admiral, you will leave this cabin a changed man. You will immediately issue orders that this battle group will fully support Operation SPELLBIND.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Colt walked back to his desk and poured himself a glass of water. After taking a long sip, he looked back at the visibly perturbed admiral. “This meeting is over,” he said. “If I get any indication you aren’t following my direct orders, you will find yourself leaving this ship with your tail between your legs and a fitness report that will end your career forever. Your next tour of duty will be as assistant barracks officer at Naval Air Station, Lemoore. You are dismissed!”
Stunned and seething, Admiral Carlisle left the cabin and stormed down the passageway to his stateroom. He was now convinced more than ever that he must get rid of Colt Garrett, and the sooner, the better.
The Flight Deck, the Reagan
It was after midnight when Dan cycle
d the flight controls, then pushed the Growler’s throttles fully forward and waited for the sudden but reassuring kick from the bow catapult, propelling the jet forward and into the air. He raised the gear and reduced the flaps as the plane climbed to reach the rendezvous altitude. Seated directly behind him, electronic warfare officer Katrina Pierce checked in with the Hawkeye controller while Dan scanned for the other Growler that had launched a few seconds earlier. He keyed his intercom and asked, “HURRICANE, do you have the XO yet?”
Katrina scanned the moonless sky looking for the other Growler. “He’s about ten degrees above us at eleven o’clock, and we just got directed to go to Texaco to top off our fuel.” Texaco was Navy slang for a Super Hornet that was equipped with an auxiliary tanking module to provide airborne refueling for the airwing’s planes. The Navy was experimenting with drones to assume the tanker mission, but control issues had delayed the program.
The XO, the squadron’s executive officer, Commander Fred Armstrong, was flying the other Growler, with Commander Tom Robinson as his electronic warfare officer in the back seat. Dan held a position on the XO’s starboard — or right — wing and watched as the more experienced pilot expertly eased his aircraft’s refueling probe into the tanker’s trailing fuel basket. After receiving several thousand pounds of JP-5, the standard Navy jet fuel, the XO disconnected from the tanker and swapped positions with Dan. Airborne refueling was a critical skill for Naval aviators to master. If they had any trouble getting aboard the carrier after a mission, the ability to refuel in the air could mean the difference between having another chance to land or having to eject at sea.
Dan eased the Growler forward and then made contact with the tanker’s refueling basket. “Check sweet, taking gas,” said Dan into the radio. Katrina used the tanking time to perform inflight configurations of the Growler’s jamming systems to ensure that they would be ready when she turned them on. After topping off his fuel tanks, Dan backed off the throttles and eased the jet into position on the XO’s starboard wing. The two Growlers departed the tanker pattern to also allow the two Super Hornets to refuel. Once the refueling was all complete, the Growlers and Super Hornets proceeded to their assigned stations to await the signal to commence the mission.