After a month or so of these on-line exchanges, he had worked out a plan to take his idea to the next stage. He asked for another meeting with his director and set out an operational proposal. “I think my contact in Britain is a real long-term prospect for us, if we handle it the right way,” he said. “My suggestion is that we find the next ship which could realistically have a reason to call into a British port. I could then join the ship’s company on some pretence and eventually arrange an opportunity to meet up with the woman to check her out face to face, as it were. I really think she is ready to meet me.”
“I’ll take further advice on this idea,” came the cautious response. “Just keep the contact warm for the time being, and I will see what is in the future plans for the Navy that might work.”
Nikolai Aldanov kept a low profile in the following days, but he became concerned when he received an inquiry from a senior intelligence officer based in the London embassy, asking for more information about his contact. He realised that his idea had leaked as a result of the further discussions between departments; because it involved the UK, someone had copied a memorandum about his plan to the London station of GRU. He stalled and decided not to reply to the London contact, insisting to his own director that if they decided to follow up in any way, the involvement by the agents there could put at risk the relationship he had been so carefully nurturing.
“If we are to get anywhere, I have to pursue this as a romantic attachment – or she will smell a rat,” he said. “This woman could be pure gold if we play our cards right. Can you please call London off until I need their support?” He got a nod of agreement.
A couple of weeks passed before he was summoned to another meeting upstairs, where he found his director with a very senior naval commander in uniform, who began by asking, “Does your uniform still fit, or have you put on weight in this office job?”
He then went on to explain that an opportunity had occurred to test the plan and he surprised Aldanov by saying that it had been decided that he would join a frigate at Sevastapol in two days’ time. This was the Admiral Essen, one of three ships due to sail in the next week for the Mediterranean on exercises. He would be appointed to the position of third Lieutenant in training, and neither the ship’s captain or anyone else would be told the reason for his move from the reserve back into full operational duties. And he should certainly not reveal what his job had been in recent years; if he needed to say anything, he should say he had wanted a change following the loss of his wife.
Nikolai tried to suppress his delight and excitement at the prospect of not only returning to serve at sea, which he loved, but also the opportunity to follow up his own plan as part of his new career with the intelligence service. He had also come to rather like Marina! He returned to his office and began the task of clearing his desk. He handed over all his files to his surprised supervisor with the minimum of explanation about “a new job” and went home to pack. He also sent a brief e-mail message to Marina to say he was on his way. Next morning, he took the train from Moscow to Sevastapol.
In the naval dockyard area, he soon found the Admiral Essen, and once on board, he soon felt “back at home”. He asked the sailor on gangway duty to take him to meet the First Officer, who gave him a warm welcome. They had been informed the previous day that a reserve officer would be joining them and he was shown to his designated cabin – small but comfortably equipped. There he met the steward who looked after the needs of the three Lieutenants on board – a luxury he had almost forgotten as the steward carefully unpacked and stowed his belongings. Close by were the slightly larger cabins of the Captain and First Officer and also two more cabins for the Electronics and Weapons Officer and the Chief Engineer. Between them, these officers led a crew of nearly 200, including some very experienced technical experts responsible for the latest armament and communications systems and for maintaining the ship’s helicopter. During his first hours on board, he found opportunities to introduce himself to his fellow officers and was briefed on his sea-going duties by the Captain. The others had all served on this new frigate since it had been commissioned for service nearly a year earlier, but they were welcoming to the “new boy”, and by the end of day one, he felt “ready to go” after nearly four years ashore in his new but secret career.
When they all gathered in the officers’ dining room that evening, the others were understandably curious about his “desk job at the Defence Ministry”, as he described it to them. But they seemed ready to accept his explanation that following the death of his wife, he had been able to pull a few strings and get back to active service again. His last sea-going job had been on a warship of an earlier generation, so he was particularly anxious to learn about all the more recent and sophisticated technical and electronic equipment he would find in his new ship, one of the latest class of frigates to join the Russian fleet.
Just three days later, the Admiral Essen sailed from Sebastapol into the Black Sea, together with the other two sister ships, and in the control centre behind the bridge, Nikolai studied the charts and their mission instructions, with guidance from one of his more experienced colleagues. He was ready to take over his first four-hour duty watch on the bridge that night.
From his more recent experience in Moscow, he knew that every movement of the ship and every message transmitted between the radio cabin and the naval base was being monitored – not only by his former colleagues in GRU but no doubt also by foreign agencies in Europe and the USA. There was no way that he could make contact with Marina now.
The ship’s programme began with a series of practice manoeuvres and exercises during the 450-mile crossing of the Black Sea, which helped Nikolai and many of the ship’s company to become familiar with the various capabilities of the Admiral Essen, until they had their first sight of the spectacular skyline of the Bosphorus on their third morning at sea. The traditional minarets and modern skyscrapers of Istanbul and the two suspension bridges glistened in the sunrise – tending to distract attention away from the task of navigating gently through the increasingly busy shipping as they passed through into the Sea of Marmora. For this tricky passage, as the second of the three frigates in convoy, the Captain was on the bridge. Nikolai had not sailed through these waters for about five years, and he had time to see how construction on both sides of the waterway had continued to expand dramatically. He took a few photos for his personal collection before they reached rather quieter waters and the Captain handed over “the con” to his new Lieutenant.
Nikolai was in command as the ships covered the hundred-plus miles through the Sea of Marmora, which was quite busy with oil tankers, freighters and cruise ships plying the sea lanes between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. The three warships were a fairly unusual sight as they made their way southwards, in a line, at a steady 15 knots. Nikolai completed his watch, and eventually, they reached the Dardanelles, which meant another 100 miles of very busy shipping in the narrow channel between Europe and Asia, before sailing into the Aegean Sea.
And then the “cruise” was over. It was time for business in the Eastern Mediterranean. The three frigates were put on a battle-ready footing as they neared the Syrian coastline, and they began using their technology for the task of monitoring the American and European ships and submarines which were also operating in the area as a deterrent to President Assad’s relentless attacks on the “rebel” groups in his country, supported by Russia. Then came a special duty when, for two days, the three frigates acted as “dummy targets” for Russian aircraft operating out of their Syrian base. This activity was all monitored and controlled from the sophisticated operations centre on board each ship.
To Nikolai and his fellow sailors, it seemed like the Cold War again, with long periods on high-level alert, until, after completing three intensive weeks in the area, their instructions changed. The captain announced that they would be heading westwards through the Mediterranean to eventually meet up with ships from the Russian Baltic fleet for a fu
rther period of exercises in the Atlantic Ocean.
It came as a welcome relief when they were no longer at “action stations” as they cruised towards their first stop, the dockyard in Malta, for refuelling and a few welcome days ashore to relax and explore the island. For many years, Valetta was the favourite watering hole for generations of British sailors, but it was now a more cosmopolitan port, and Russian sailors were just as welcome at the local bars, shops and clubs. It was also an opportunity for Nikolai to find an internet café where he was able to sign on to the dating website. From there he sent an e-mail to update on his travels to Marina: “After a month at sea, we are now in Malta and heading your way.” Fortunately, she was on-line and was able to send an almost immediate reply:
“How lovely to hear from you again … It has been a long time, and I was becoming anxious. At last I know that you are really coming this way, and I look forward to seeing you. I have heard that Malta has a very interesting history, so bring some pictures. And let me know your date of arrival in Portsmouth.” Which, of course, she already knew.
The “rest and recreation” stop was all too short for the crews of the three frigates, and soon they were setting off again, through the Straits of Gibraltar and into the Atlantic Ocean, to carry out a six-day programme of exercises with submarines from the Russian Baltic fleet. This enabled them to test their underwater electronics systems which seek and track the movement of submarines. It also meant more days and nights at “action stations” again, until the time came when fuel supplies had diminished, exactly as planned. But they still had sufficient reserves to cruise through the Bay of Biscay’s winter storms and into the English Channel for their scheduled refuelling visit to Portsmouth Dockyard. This is a traditional courtesy provided by most navies in the world in times of peace – though not often used because ocean-going refuelling tankers are usually available to work with operational ships as needed. But this time, the request for a refuelling stop from the Russian naval command to the British Ministry of Defence had been approved, not least because it would provide an opportunity for an up-close look at three of Russia’s latest guided-missile warships.
As they sailed northwards, another few days ashore, this time in Portsmouth, were eagerly awaited by the Russian sailors – not least by Lieutenant Aldanov on board the Admiral Essen. Often, and especially on his long night watchkeeping duties, he found himself thinking about his first meeting with Marina.
3.
MARINA’S MOVE TO PORTSMOUTH
Marina’s early life as an only child and at school in South London had been largely uneventful and generally happy. Her parents were occupied with their fabrics business, but family life was always a priority for them, and they never missed a school meeting for parents or a prize-giving event.
She made friends easily at primary school and retained strong friendships with childhood friends throughout her teenage and secondary school years. She was a popular student with an ever-packed schedule of after-school activities, and she enjoyed taking part in music and acting classes and theatre shows alongside her studies. In school, she was a studious girl with a flair for history and mathematics. She achieved a top grade for her GCSE mathematics and was put forward for the country’s inter-school Senior Mathematics Challenge, where she achieved a gold certificate of excellence. Her teachers praised her natural mathematical abilities and suggested the prospect of her one day pursuing a career in accountancy or finance. These serious-sounding ideas felt a lifetime away for the teenage Marina, but she rather liked the idea of having a path laid out for her, and secretly enjoyed having something she was naturally rather good at. All in all, she was content to breeze through her A-Level examinations without too much stress.
With a strong set of results and a glowing academic reference from her tutors, Marina landed a place at Royal Holloway University in London to study accountancy. Her carefree school days were about to come to a sudden end as she moved into student halls of residence and embraced a round-the-clock timetable of seminars, lectures, all-night library sessions and endless essays and assignments. She took on a part-time job at the Student Union bar to help fund the ever-growing expenses of living in London and found herself enjoying the plunge into adulthood.
Whilst some of her peers and housemates frivolously ploughed through their student loan allowances within days of receiving them, Marina’s mathematical mindset encouraged her to adopt strict budgeting and saving. She lived within her means during her University years, enjoying cheap Interrailing trips around Europe with friends during the summer holidays, and her horizons widened. She carefully put money aside for these adventures each month. She also longed to travel further afield – perhaps to Russia to bring to life some of her grandparents’ fond memories – but for now, she was content to work, save and plan for a comfortable future.
She graduated with a 2:1 and was advised by the university to consider a career in the civil service. But jobs were not plentiful, and she was pleased to be offered a position in the finance department of a local London district council, which would make some use of her university training. It was a start, and her task was to maintain records of failures to pay council tax and start legal proceedings against miscreants. It was interesting, at least at first, and it paid the rent for the small flat which she shared with a former classmate in Dalston and left a little disposable income for general London life. Her long working weeks were punctuated by joining friends for a few drinks or the occasional date; although her social calendar was far from lavish, she was a social person by nature and really enjoyed her free time away from the office.
Her job at the council soon became routine and laborious, and although she was promoted to a supervisory role, she wished she had more room to develop and progress in the public sector. Some friends from her degree course had found accountancy jobs at big firms such as Goldman Sachs, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of their excessive pay cheques, exciting lifestyles and holidays. But she also saw these jobs in “the City” as somewhat insecure and risky.
She was always on the lookout for the right new opportunity and was scouring the recruitment websites when she spotted an advertisement from the Royal Navy. She had often pondered the excitement of working in the armed services, but truthfully, the prospect of long absences overseas did not appeal. However, this advertisement was for a civilian job, as an administrative assistant in the offices of the Commodore and based in Portsmouth Dockyard. It certainly ticked many of the right boxes for the next stage in her career. It was not too far from London, and the higher salary would mean an extra few hundred pounds each month to put away in her savings. Perhaps she would be able to upsize her flat or buy that new laptop she’d had her eye on? Her attention was most certainly caught. She was a quietly ambitious girl and not content to stay put in the same mediocre job for years on end, and so she bit the bullet and sent in an application. Somewhat to her surprise, she received a reply ten days later, inviting her to an interview in Portsmouth.
She did some online research and discovered that the Royal Naval Base in Portsmouth included the historic Portsmouth Dockyard, which was a tourist attraction, especially because it included Nelson’s flagship, HMS Victory, from the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Also, there were the Mary Rose from Henry VIII’s days, painstakingly salvaged from the Solent in recent years and now lovingly restored and on view to visitors, and HMS Warrior, one of the first ironclad ships from the 1860s, plus a naval museum. An exciting new life was beckoning … if all went well.
The day of the interview arrived, and Marina was feeling nervous as she followed the directions in her letter. From the Portsmouth railway station, she walked through the sights and sounds of a new environment, preparing to make her first acquaintance with the enticing world of the Royal Navy. After about 20 minutes, she walked through the historic Victory Gate into the Dockyard, showed her letter to a security guard and was directed to the offices of the Commodore. This was clearly visible from the gate, t
he tallest building in sight, topped by the new Semaphore Tower. The guard told her that this was where she would find the administrative functions of the Portsmouth naval command.
Once there, in good time for her appointment, she found an enquiries desk and absorbed her surroundings until, after a short wait, she was taken upstairs to the office of a female Navy officer, smartly uniformed and with two stripes on her arm. “Must be someone important,” thought Marina as she took her seat across the desk as elegantly as she could. Although she was somewhat distracted by the view from the window of HMS Victory, the interview was relaxed and friendly and seemed to go smoothly. Afterwards, she was shown around the offices and, in particular, the Communications Department, where half-a-dozen desks were manned by civilian women staff, busy at their computers and wearing headsets. She was told that this was the hub of all the communications to and from the ships of the Royal Navy’s Portsmouth Base – currently over 40 surface ships in various parts of the world; the exception, it was explained, was the nuclear submarine fleet, which was a separate operation with communications handled elsewhere.
It was certainly something quite different for Marina and gave her much to think about on her train journey back to London. She had apparently made a good impression because early one morning a week later, she received a brown envelope bearing the initials OHMS – On Her Majesty’s Service. She opened it carefully and pensively, and her heart leapt when she read the letter inside, offering her the job and at a salary well above her current earnings in London.
The Russian Lieutenant Page 2