by Larry Bond
“Any identifying markings? A serial number?”
“None that I could see, but we only looked over the barge’s exterior. There could be markings, or maybe a nameplate, on the inside, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”
“How many containers?” Loktev asked.
“There are thirty-five storage cradles in the top layer. I can’t be sure how deep they go because the barge has settled some, but I’d guess two, perhaps as many as three layers. If the lower ones are the same, then we are looking at a potential total of seventy to one hundred and five canisters.”
“My God! That many? This is … this is inconceivable,” groaned a shaken Loktev.
Zhikin nodded slightly as he took another sip of tea. The admiral’s shock was completely understandable—the diver’s report had given the older man quite a jolt—but Zhikin had worse news to deliver. “Unfortunately, sir, that’s just the beginning. We found eight empty storage cradles in the top layer. If the Americans have been truthful to us, and they only took two, then someone has come back since then and retrieved six more. And judging by the small amount of silt in several of the cradles, this was done recently.”
Loktev’s face paled. Stunned, he leaned slowly against the bulkhead for support. He looked back at the diver, his mouth hanging open, speechless.
“One more thing, Comrade Admiral,” added Zhikin slowly. “There was a submarine communications cable near the barge. I followed it out and found an MGK-608 Sever module one hundred meters away, out toward deeper water.”
Loktev’s expression changed to one of confusion. “Is it the one the Americans said they found?”
Zhikin shook his head. “No, sir. According to their report, that one should be much farther away, and to the southwest. This is a different module.”
“Someone must have laid the Sever modules to guard the barge,” Loktev concluded. “But who?”
“I have no idea, sir. But I did get a good look at the module’s nameplate,” remarked Zhikin as he pulled an underwater writing slate from his suit’s breast pocket. “Here is the module’s serial number. With any luck you might be able to trace who authorized its installation, and when. I’m sorry, but that is the best I can do for now.”
The admiral smiled thinly and slapped Zhikin on the shoulder. “You have done well, Viktor Ivanovich. We’ll solve this mystery together. Now, what do you recommend we do next?”
“I have two dive teams ready to go down as we speak, one to retrieve one of the canisters, and the other to do an in-depth inspection of the barge; to gather basic dimensional data and ascertain how deep it sits in the silt. If we begin immediately, we can find out if the canisters hold reentry vehicles within the hour. Then we’ll have a better idea of the recovery effort.”
“Will you retrieve the canisters one at a time?”
Zhikin shook his head vehemently. “No, sir, it’s too risky and would take far too long. Besides, I’m not sure we can even get at the layers underneath without dismantling the upper structure. No, since this barge was designed to resurface, then that’s what I recommend we do. Victory should have the necessary hoses to hook up to the salvage connections; if not, they can be transported by helicopter in a matter of hours. If all goes well, we can blow the ballast tanks dry and have the barge on the surface by tomorrow.”
“Excellent, Captain!” Loktev exclaimed. “We’ll proceed as you suggest. Get your men in the water, and let me know the moment they have recovered one of the canisters. I’ll be on the bridge trying to figure out how I’m going to report this to Northern Fleet headquarters and Moscow. I must construct my message carefully. I’m not sure I would believe it myself if one of my aides were to place it in front of me. This is a political catastrophe of unimaginable proportions.”
Nodding slowly, Zhikin smiled and said, “Comrade Admiral, I do not envy you. I suspect I have the easier of the two tasks.”
28 March 2017
1130 Local Time
Naval Shipyard
Visakhapatnam, India
* * *
Petrov was in the graving dock when his cell phone buzzed. Irritated, he looked and saw he had received a text from his Russian supervisor summoning him to the liaison office immediately. “I don’t have time for such nonsense,” he mumbled to himself. But there was no point in arguing, Igor Osinov was as impatient as he was arrogant and Petrov would only lose more time if he tried to debate the matter with him. Signaling to one of his assistants, Petrov pointed to several deep scars on some of the anechoic coating tiles below the stern pod that would need replacing. Once confident that the man knew what had to be done next, Petrov walked to his car and drove over to the support office by the Russian hostel near the naval base’s main gate.
The drive did little to soothe his aggravation, and Petrov strode angrily into Osinov’s office demanding, “What is it this time, Igor? You know I don’t have the time…”
He stopped in midsentence. Osinov wasn’t alone; there were two men with him, one Indian and the other probably a Russian. There was a fearful expression on Osinov’s face.
“Please close the door, Aleksey,” ordered Osinov; his voice was shaky. Petrov did so, turned, and approached his boss as he gestured to the well-dressed Caucasian.
“Aleksey Igorevich Petrov, this is Foreign Intelligence Service Officer Leonid Nikolayevich Ruchkin from the embassy in New Delhi, he’s here to ask you a few questions.”
Petrov’s eyes darted to the SVR agent; the young man had a friendly demeanor and extended his hand. “I know how much of an inconvenience this is, Captain Petrov, so I will attempt to be brief.”
“It’s been a long time since I was addressed by my rank,” replied Petrov as he shook Ruchkin’s hand.
“But it’s still appropriate, is it not? You did retire honorably, despite the unfortunate incident. Please, be seated, Captain.”
Nodding politely, Petrov took his seat, while Ruchkin pointed toward the Indian. “This is my colleague, Field Agent Tungish Sharma of the Indian Intelligence Bureau. He’ll be observing our discussion.”
“Captain,” greeted Sharma. Petrov reciprocated, but his nerves were on edge. Something wasn’t quite right here; he felt something nagging at him.
Ruchkin wasted no time and launched into his interview. “Captain, in your opinion, is there anything unusual about the refit of INS Chakra?”
Petrov’s reaction was one of amazement. If he had been nervous before, there were now alarm bells going off. The presence of the Indian intelligence agent complicated the situation greatly, and with Samant’s warning ringing in Petrov’s mind, he decided to play it straight.
“Unusual, Agent Ruchkin? The whole damn refit is unusual!”
“How so?”
“The customer cut our time by two-thirds, completely rewrote the refit’s work schedule, and made a mess of it!” vented Petrov. He only hoped his anger would mask his nervousness. “The schedule is so disjointed that there have been times when I had multiple teams trying to make repairs on colocated systems at the same time. If you haven’t been in a submarine, space is at a premium. I don’t have the room for all those people to do their work safely. Especially if hot work is involved.”
The SVR agent’s eyes glanced toward the Indian, who was writing furiously. “Have you been given an explanation for these changes, Captain?”
“Of course not,” snapped Petrov. “I can only assume it has something to do with the Kashmiri incident, but I don’t see how. All I know is that my Indian Navy point of contact, Captain Mitra, has given me precious little time to get a lot of work done.”
“Do any of the repairs seem out of place to you?” asked Ruchkin pointedly.
Struggling to not show the growing anxiety he was feeling, Petrov paused to think the question over. He wanted to tell the SVR agent about his and Samant’s suspicions, but that would expose his friend to Sharma; and every fiber of his being screamed this would be a really bad idea. Petrov prayed to God his expression looked pensive. �
�No … No, not really,” he lied. “All the work items are valid. If anything there is an overemphasis on tactical systems that I believe is not prudent. There are a number of persistent, but not critical, engineering issues that could use more attention—in my opinion.”
Ruchkin momentarily stopped the interview as he wrote some notes. Petrov glanced over at Osinov, who was literally shielding his eyes to prevent contact with the SVR agent. There was no doubt in Petrov’s mind that his supervisor would have a piece of his rear end later.
“So, Captain,” resumed Ruchkin. “How did you become the lead engineer for this refit? The position is not in your contract.”
“You’re correct, Agent Ruchkin, my original assignment was as a submarine technology liaison with the Indian Navy to assist in planning modifications and upgrades for their Russian-produced submarines—which includes INS Chakra. I also provided some consulting to India’s design teams for their next nuclear submarine, mostly in the propulsion plant area. Captain Mitra essentially drafted me to be the lead engineer because I have the technical and tactical experience on Project 971 submarines. I was a starpom, ah, excuse me, first officer, on K-157 Vepr. My understanding was the radical reduction of the refit schedule required someone with more experience be assigned to oversee the refit. I just happened to be handy.”
“I see. Well, Captain, I do appreciate the candor you provided in your answers. It’s not often I find someone willing to speak their mind so freely. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Osinov?”
“What? Oh, yes, absolutely, Agent Ruchkin.” Petrov tried hard not to smirk. He would still get an ass chewing over this, but nothing official would come of it.
“One last thing, Captain,” said Ruchkin as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Do you recognize this man?”
Petrov took the photo and studied it carefully. The picture was an official photograph of a middle-aged man in a Russian naval uniform. He looked a little old to be a captain third rank, but it was not uncommon in the Russian Navy for some officers to advance more slowly, particularly in the noncommand specialty fields. “No. I don’t believe I’ve seen this man before.”
Ruchkin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, Captain? He is a Russian national assigned to the refit project.”
Petrov saw the Indian agent’s eyes widen a bit. He began moving slowly, attempting to get a better view of the photograph. “I’m sorry, Agent Ruchkin. But if this man is working on Chakra, I haven’t seen him. But I must remind you I’ve only been in the job for about three weeks. I haven’t met every one of my countrymen working on this boat. In fact, I’ve intentionally limited myself to contact with my assistants, as there is just so much work to do.”
“Understandable. Well, then, perhaps you’ve heard his name: Evgeni Orlav?”
Petrov tried to keep his eyes on Ruchkin, but Sharma seemed visibly annoyed. Was the Russian SVR agent venturing off a previously agreed track? Or was Ruchkin trying to catch him in a well-laid trap? Again, Petrov’s instinct was to play it safe. “Oh, yes, I have heard the name. He’s a torpedo specialist, or so I’m told, but he doesn’t report to me. Mr. Orlav does most of his work off-hull, and his immediate supervisor is an Indian naval engineer, Commander Fali Gandhi, I believe.”
“Don’t you find that odd that you haven’t seen him?” pressed Ruchkin.
Petrov shook his head. “No, not particularly. According to the contract he’s to inspect and test the new UGST-M torpedoes that were recently purchased by India, and to run tests on Chakra’s combat system to ensure the system can pass tactical information to the new weapons. Most of his work would keep him off-hull and in one of the weapons repair shops.”
“Pardon me, Captain, but why isn’t something so important as a submarine’s main weaponry of more concern to you? Isn’t it one of the key requirements in the new refit schedule?”
The snide remarks angered Petrov, and he let it show. The SVR agent was intentionally goading him. “Agent Ruchkin, as I have said before, I have many things that need to be done before the sea trials in a little over a week. I must carefully pick the work elements that would benefit the most from my limited time. Mr. Orlav’s job is not overly complex, but it is very time-consuming. The contract specifications are especially strict, requiring each torpedo be stripped down and thoroughly checked, and then pass three complete diagnostic tests before the weapon will be accepted. This takes time, a lot of time, time I do not have. If the Indian engineer was not satisfied with Orlav’s work, I’d hear about it, and then I would get involved. I have heard nothing from the Indians about Orlav’s performance.”
Ruchkin nodded, a smile once again on his face. “Thank you, Captain. I won’t keep you from your duties any longer. I wish you good luck in completing the refit. It sounds like you’re a very busy man. But I would appreciate it if you would keep Mr. Orlav in mind as you go about your work. Here’s my card. Feel free to call me at any time.”
Petrov took the card and quickly bid Ruchkin and Sharma farewell; he wanted to get out of sight before he lost his composure. Fighting to walk at a casual pace, he made a beeline to his car, and calmly started to drive away. It was only after he was out of sight of the liaison office that his hands started to shake.
28 March 2017
1500 Local Time
INS Circars, Eastern Naval Command Headquarters
Visakhapatnam, India
* * *
The problem with taking even a short break was that the paperwork didn’t stop flowing while one was away. The pile had continued to build relentlessly, and a mass of correspondence and reports awaited Dhankhar when he returned. He’d breathed a heavy sigh at the sight of the imposing mound, hung up his jacket, and dug into the backlog. The admiral had managed to plow his way through most of the stack on his desk when an aide knocked on his door.
“Begging your pardon, sir. I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but a Mr. Bapat from the United Services Club is on the phone. He insists that he needs to speak to you. It concerns your last visit.”
Dhankhar’s initial irritation at the intrusion was replaced by curiosity. The combination of the man’s name and the club was a prearranged code that a member of the Vajra group wanted to speak with him. “Very well, please forward the call.”
As soon as the phone rang, Dhankhar grabbed it. “Vice Admiral Dhankhar here; how may I help you, Mr. Bapat?”
“Good afternoon, Admiral, this is Shiv Singh. I need to speak to you on a secure line.” Dhankhar immediately recognized the voice of the assistant deputy director in the Indian Intelligence Bureau.
“One moment please,” replied Dhankhar as he opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a smart card with an embedded microprocessor. He inserted the card into his phone and punched in his ID number. Moments later the phone’s display read SECURE.
“Shiv, the call is now secure. What’s the problem?”
“Admiral, one of our agents just reported in that he accompanied a Russian Foreign Intelligence Service officer this morning as he interrogated a Russian engineer involved with Chakra’s refit. The SVR agent was most interested in knowing if there was anything unusual or odd about it.”
Dhankhar sat up straight. Singh now had his undivided attention. “Go on.”
“The engineer is a retired Russian naval officer, his name is Aleksey Petrov. According to the report he’s a former submariner, my agent said the SVR officer addressed him as ‘captain.’ I looked up his visa information; he’s an engineering consultant here to facilitate planning future upgrades to Russian-built submarines. Apparently, Captain Mitra of the naval dockyard brought this Russian on to expedite Chakra’s refit.”
“That was a most unfortunate decision by Mitra,” growled Dhankhar quietly. “A senior Russian naval officer with submarine experience could be a significant risk to our plan. What did this Petrov tell the SVR agent?”
Singh ran down the list of questions and responses about Chakra’s refit during the meeting. It was clear that Petrov
thought that the refit’s priorities were skewed and there was a lot of work to do in very little time. Singh then concluded with some of the agent’s personal observations. “He noted that Mr. Petrov seemed particularly whiny about conflicting work requirements and safety issues, and that he was visibly angry about those aspects of the refit.”
“All that means is that Petrov is a competent engineer and manager. His concerns about the refit have been echoed by many of my own people,” remarked Dhankhar. “They aren’t pleased with the changes I’ve made as well. Any indication Petrov is aware of the true nature of Chakra’s modifications?”
“No, sir. Nothing leaps out from the report; he seems to be mostly concerned with managing the entire confused effort—very much a big-picture man. Although, our agent was not happy with the SVR officer when he went beyond the prearranged plan. He showed Petrov a picture of a Russian national, who apparently is supporting the refit. Petrov didn’t recognize the photo, but he was familiar with the name: Evgeni Orlav.”
At the mention of Orlav’s name, Dhankhar’s blood ran cold. The SVR agent’s presence demonstrated that the Russians suspected something, but what? Did they know about their plan? Had they somehow managed to track down Kirichenko or one of his minions? For the first time, Dhankhar felt fear. This couldn’t be just a coincidence, could it? The Indian admiral struggled to keep his cool as he asked, “What did Petrov say?”
“That he hadn’t seen Orlav, nor was it likely he would given his duties. Petrov didn’t seem concerned about the man because he hadn’t heard any complaints from Orlav’s Indian supervisor. Petrov claimed he didn’t have the time to deal with issues that didn’t require his attention. However, the SVR officer did ask Petrov to keep his eyes open. There was an implicit request by the SVR agent to contact him if he came upon anything.”
“I see,” replied Dhankhar quietly. “Thank you, Shiv, for this information. I’d appreciate a copy of the official report as soon as it is completed. Oh, and please alert the four councilmen of this incident. They should be aware as well.”