Fatal Thunder

by Larry Bond

  * * *

  They’d started again after lunch, this time using the information from Petrov and Samant to construct a timeline of their own actions, and what they could reconstruct of the plot. “This will help us in our interrogation of the suspects, as well as suggesting places and times to concentrate our efforts.”

  Petrov kept glancing at his watch and mentally adding two hours to it. Samant seemed mesmerized by the wall clock. Corporal Matthews used his cell phone to make periodic reports to the consulate. He stayed in the room with his two charges, but well in the background.

  Dinnertime came, and after another meal Goyal’s questions about the timeline continued, fueled by a stream of messages from New Delhi. How were the two able to evade shipyard security?

  Then they received a question from the captain leading the Garud detachment. How stable were the nuclear devices? Could the torpedoes be rigged with a suicide switch? After the bombs were secured, how should they be handled?

  Those were really the kind of questions Orlav was qualified to answer, but Petrov did his best. No Indian nuclear expert could be contacted, Goyal explained, until after they’d been cleared of involvement in the plot. That might not be in time for the raid tomorrow morning.

  Petrov began drawing up a checklist, based on what safety regulations he could remember from his own days in the navy. They were Russian weapons, after all. He still kept one eye on the clock. Earlier in the day, there had been talk of a nap for the still-fatigued pair before the flight to Vizag. That had been reduced to sleeping aboard the helicopter, and now that might have to be deferred if he couldn’t finish the procedures …

  * * *

  The door burst open, surprising them all. Matthews, half dozing in the corner, was suddenly on his feet, weapon out in a shooter’s stance. He quickly pointed the weapon up, though, when the first person through the door was a civilian, and unarmed.

  Goyal leapt to his feet. “Director Kumar!” Surprise filled his exclamation, and he started to ask a question, but stopped, frozen in shock when President Handa followed the director into the room. Others, including Chaudhari, followed Handa into the room.

  Matthews’s weapon was out of sight even more quickly than he’d drawn it, and the Marine had braced. Even Petrov had joined Samant in coming to attention. Handa nodded to them all, and motioned for them to relax.

  Ignoring Goyal, the president walked over to Samant and offered his hand. “Captain Girish Samant, I wish to thank you personally for your courage and loyalty. You’ve already done our country a great service, and may have saved India from a horrible fate.” After shaking hands with Samant, he turned to Petrov. “India is also grateful to you, Captain Petrov. How are your injuries?”

  The Russian shrugged automatically, then winced. “I’m sorry, sir, but they’re only a nuisance.”

  Shaking Petrov’s hand, the president answered, “You risked your life in the service of my country. There will always be a place for you here in India.” He looked over to Kumar and nodded.

  The director of the CBI faced Agent Goyal, still dumbstruck. “Report!”

  Almost stammering, the agent explained, “We have been drawing up safety procedures for the Garud force after they have secured the nuclear weapons…”

  Kumar held up a hand, stopping Goyal in midword. “Plans have changed. The Garud force is going to be too late.”

  “What?” Samant wasn’t sure if he’d said it first, or Goyal, or Petrov, but their exclamations were almost identical.

  Handa said, “We should go,” and turned to leave.

  Kumar said, “Captain Petrov and Captain Samant, please come with us now.” When Petrov gestured toward their escort, Kumar added, “And him, as well. Consul General Olson will join us at the airport.”

  They were already walking, with Handa in front and setting a fast pace. Workers in the corridors stopped, wide-eyed, and then got out of the way as the procession passed.

  Kumar explained, “The president’s jet is waiting for us. Luckily we were already en route here. Once airborne, we should be in Vizag in about forty-five minutes, say midnight. By then the reaction force will be ready to move, but they won’t wait for us.”

  Samant, keeping pace to one side of Kumar, was confused, and asked, “What about the Garud commandos? The raid tomorrow morning?”

  “We can’t wait,” Kumar answered. “We have absolutely no idea what’s going on at the shipyard. If they’ve been tipped off…”

  They’d already hurried down two sets of stairs, and almost burst out of the front doors. A line of cars was waiting, an armored car at each end of the convoy. Kumar urged the three into one car, and followed them in.

  As he belted in, Samant asked Kumar, “How? Who would do that? What about the agents…”

  “You probably heard that Thapar had placed agents at the Vizag shipyard, that they had Dhankhar, Orlav, and the submarine under close surveillance.”

  “Yes.”

  Kumar scowled. He spat out, “Special Director Ijay Thapar is nowhere to be found.” He paused a moment, then explained, “It was by pure luck that we discovered the facade. While we were en route here, I asked our communications officer to pipe in the radio circuit the agents were using to coordinate surveillance of the shipyard. Easier than jogging Thapar’s elbow with constant demands for updates. Imagine our surprise when we couldn’t find the circuit, and even more when the Vizag office said they knew nothing about any surveillance of the shipyard.”

  “Thapar lied,” Petrov concluded.

  “And fooled us into thinking we had the plotters in a bottle, ready to be scooped up at our leisure,” Kumar continued. “Worse still, he’s undoubtedly warned Dhankhar, and if we find any of them, or Chakra, still at the shipyard, it will be a miracle.”

  Sirens howling, the convoy had made good progress through the streets of Hyderabad, and drove through the airport gates at nearly full speed.

  “But what about the Garud force?” Samant asked.

  Kumar held up his hand as the car came to a stop. Quickly unbuckling, they followed Handa and the others up the boarding ladder into the president’s aircraft, a Boeing 737, engines idling.

  They hurried up the stairs after the director, and saw Handa disappearing as he headed toward the front of the plane. “The president’s private office is forward. We can sit back here.” Kumar gestured toward a luxurious lounge, plush leather seats lining each side. A conference table farther aft was isolated by an etched-glass partition. Samant recognized the subject, depicting the three principal Hindu gods, Vishnu, Shiva, and Shakti, wielding celestial weapons against an army of demons.

  Once they were settled, Kumar explained, “Just before we landed here, I ordered, on President Handa’s authority, the Quick Reaction force from the Visakhapatnam Police to arrest Dhankhar and Orlav, and take control of Chakra. They’re preparing right now. They have no experience with naval vessels, but then again, neither does the Garud force.” Kumar made another face as he remembered Thapar’s deception.

  Samant glanced at his watch. It was 2250. Kumar said, “The team leader said they’d be ready to move a little after twenty-three forty-five. Our pilot’s using full throttle, but there’s no way we’ll get to Vizag before they are ready to move, and I won’t make them wait. We’ve lost too much time already.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Petrov said, gesturing to Samant and himself.

  “We will need you to identify the devices, as well as your experience with submarine systems. Captain Samant, it’s likely you will have to take command of Chakra again, since we will be taking Jain and his officers into custody.”

  Samant nodded sadly. He hadn’t really thought much about Jain’s role, but he must be deeply involved. And Chakra’s reactor was certainly critical. Even if the conspirators did not sabotage the boat, somebody had to keep the plant running smoothly.

  Together with Petrov, he began drawing up a new list.

  6 April 2017

  2230 Local
Time

  National Highway 39, Jeypore Road

  * * *

  There was a fair amount of traffic, but not enough to slow him down. Admiral Dhankhar checked his GPS. The next town was Chatuva, barely more than a cluster of buildings lining each side of the road. He didn’t need to stop.

  The old blue Outlander was running smoothly enough, and the weather was cooperating. His biggest worry wasn’t the authorities. He was already a hundred kilometers northwest of Vizag, and the chance of them stopping a car registered to someone who didn’t exist was virtually nil. What really concerned him was his fatigue. He’d planned to make it as far as Raipur tonight, but that would mean driving until about four in the morning.

  * * *

  He’d gotten a late start. Jain had shaken the admiral’s hand for the last time at 2110, according to Dhankhar’s watch, then hurried aboard Chakra as the shipyard workers waited to pull in the brow and take in the mooring lines. It had taken every bit of control Dhankhar possessed to appear calm and pleased to see the captain off. The authorities could show up at any second, but Jain could not know that this wasn’t an officially sanctioned mission, approved by “the highest levels of the government,” as Dhankhar had assured him.

  The appearance of the authorities would not only end Vajra, but destroy Jain’s trust in him, and that was suddenly a very important thing. He would somehow explain the deception when Jain returned. By then, the government would be celebrating the victory over Pakistan and it would all be moot.

  He didn’t have any special words for Jain, just the traditional “Good luck and good hunting.” He hardly remembered what Jain had said in return, probably something about not letting him down.

  Dhankhar had watched the sub leave the pier and fade into the darkness. In accordance with his orders, Jain would submerge the instant there was enough water under his keel and head off at high speed, about forty-five minutes from now, but that was out of the admiral’s hands.

  Leaving the pier, the admiral had walked a few blocks to where he’d left the car. He found it earlier, right where it was supposed to be, and put a few personal items inside.

  Once inside the car, he changed into civilian clothes and packed his uniform and identification into a duffel bag. His new documents and driver’s license described him as a retired army officer. The car was, of course, registered in the new name.

  He drove out of the shipyard without incident, and headed northwest. It was a three-day drive to Amritsar, on the northwest border, but there was a bungalow reserved for him under another false name, and for the next three days, he’d be on the road.

  As he drove, Dhankhar could feel the tension draining away. He’d done it—Vajra was under way. There was more than two weeks of waiting before it would be completed, but Chakra was on her way. He suddenly yawned, and realized how much he’d been depending on adrenaline to keep going. Fatigue was going to be an issue, but he’d brought a thermos of tea. He’d be fine.

  14

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS

  7 April 2017

  0000 Local Time

  INS Circars, Eastern Naval Command Headquarters

  Visakhapatnam, India

  * * *

  The door burst open as six men in SWAT gear poured into the room, weapons at the ready. Their forced entry was unnecessary; the room was empty. The squad leader signaled for his men to disperse and make a thorough search. After the all-clear was given, a CBI agent entered, turned on the lights, and made his own inspection. The desk light was still on, as if the occupant had only stepped away for a moment. The desktop itself was immaculate, and the admiral’s in-box was empty. All the paperwork had been moved neatly into the out-box. Disappointed, he sighed. The agent wasn’t surprised that Dhankhar was gone; by all accounts the admiral was a very smart man. It just meant that his job was going to be a whole lot harder.

  “This is Agent Devan,” he said into his radio. “The suspect is not here. The office is empty. I’m about to begin an investigation of the office and will check the computer hard drive as well, but I’m not confident I’ll find much. Please inform Director Kumar.”

  Devan turned to the SWAT team squad leader. “Begin a methodical search of the building. I doubt Admiral Dhankhar is here, but we must know for certain. Check in every half hour.”

  The SWAT team departed, joining the rest of the law enforcement and military police personnel in securing and searching the Eastern Naval Command headquarters. The CBI agent knelt down next to the admiral’s chair and examined the desk. All the drawers were unlocked. They contained nothing unusual, just mundane office supplies and documents that would be collected in due course. No thumb drives or external hard drives were present, nor were there any cell phones or other electronic devices. A check of the desk’s structure showed there weren’t any hidden compartments. The two filing cabinets were just like the desk: impeccably kept and full of routine paperwork and reports. There was nothing in the trash can.

  Returning to the desk, Devan started up Dhankhar’s computer and inserted a thumb drive in one of the USB ports. Moments later he had recovered the network access password and logged in. Checking the e-mail folder, he found it empty, no surprises there. But there weren’t any files stored on Dhankhar’s virtual drive or the hard drive either. Everything was gone. He used a quick recovery application to see if any files had been recently deleted, still nothing. Annoyed and frustrated, Devan removed the thumb drive and shut down the machine. The computer forensics team would have to tackle this one. The squawk of his radio pulled his attention away from his futile investigation; the SWAT team reported in that the perimeter was secure and that a room-to-room search of the building had begun.

  The CBI agent acknowledged the report and left to supervise the search of the building. He was certain they’d find no trace of the admiral here. Silently, he hoped the other teams would have better luck. If not, India was a big country; it would take a long time to search just the cities and larger villages. And then there were the countless smaller villages near the borders, particularly with Pakistan, that national law enforcement rarely visited. If Dhankhar had decided to go to ground, they might never find him.

  7 April 2017

  0030 Local Time

  Torpedo Shop 2

  Naval Shipyard

  Visakhapatnam, India

  * * *

  Samant and Petrov waited impatiently for the military police and explosive ordnance people to finish their detailed inspection of the torpedo shop. No one expected any booby traps, but Director Kumar wasn’t taking any chances. None of them would be allowed into the workshop until the security detachment said it was safe. Exasperated by his forced inactivity, Samant wandered about the parking lot. His thoughts were racing, as he desperately tried to think of a way to save his former shipmates; his chest still ached from seeing the empty pier as they drove in. Now the whole world would be looking for Chakra, undoubtedly with orders to shoot to kill, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to help them. Samant couldn’t recall a time when he felt more helpless.

  “Gentlemen,” shouted Kumar. “The workshop has been cleared for us to enter.”

  “Finally,” Petrov grumbled, and headed quickly into the building. Samant followed close behind.

  Petrov found it a little bizarre being back in the torpedo workshop, this time surrounded by civilian and military police officials. It looked much as it did the night he and Samant snuck in. Only this time, the secure vault doors were open and there wasn’t a torpedo in sight. The disappointment felt by all was palpable.

  “It would appear they left in good order,” remarked Kumar scathingly. The worktables were littered with tools, but no documents were visible. The wooden shipping crates had been removed; even Orlav’s makeshift bed was gone. “They obviously had sufficient opportunity to get rid of anything with forensic value. All that time we had, wasted! I’ll personally make Thapar pay for his treachery!”

  Turning to his agents, he ordered, “I want thi
s building thoroughly searched! Every square centimeter is to be gone over—twice! Bring anything, however trivial, to the forensics team for examination.”

  Samant walked inside the vault. It was big enough to hold six torpedo trolleys and their payloads. Inspecting the floor, he saw nothing to indicate just how many weapons had been stored in the vault. They’d have to assume that five weapons had been moved to Chakra.

  Wait! Naval personnel would have had to load the weapons onto the boat. Rushing over to Kumar, Samant exclaimed, “Director, have any of your people spoken to Captain Narahari Mitra? He’s the shipyard commanding officer, he should be able to tell us how many weapons were loaded and when Chakra left port.”

  Kumar quickly raised his radio and passed on to the investigation team at the pier Samant’s questions. While he waited for their response, the director ordered all teams to report in. The news was not encouraging. Dhankhar was nowhere to be found. His office and quarters were empty. The CBI agent in charge of each team said the same thing: Everything was neat and tidy. There was no indication that the admiral had been in any hurry when he departed. After several minutes, the pier team reported in.

  “Captain Mitra has been questioned,” Kumar told Samant and Petrov. “He confirms that five weapons were loaded early yesterday evening, and that Chakra set sail at about 2115—over three hours ago. He also said the deployment orders were delivered by Vice Admiral Dhankhar personally.”

  Samant shook his head. “Jain’s undoubtedly gone deep and ordered a flank bell by now, putting as much distance between Chakra and Vizag as possible. At least, that’s what I would do. Even if we alerted the patrol squadron at INS Rajali immediately, it would be another hour, maybe two, before they could even hope to have a maritime patrol aircraft in the rough vicinity. That puts her about two hundred miles out into the Bay of Bengal.”