“Peasse!”
“How’d it go with the FBI today?” Laura asked while opening the refrigerator door.
“Good,” Yuri said.
Laura grabbed a container of organic sugar-free apple sauce. “What about the asylum process?”
“They tell me it’s on track.”
“Great. I’ll call Tim Reveley tomorrow for an update.”
Yuri did not volunteer that he’d parked in the law firm’s parking garage as part of the FBI’s evasion tactics to thwart potential tails. After the meeting, Yuri almost took the elevator to Reveley’s office to seek advice. But he decided against it. He was now under Uncle Sam’s thumb.
Yuri picked up the TV remote and turned on the nearby Sony. It was tuned to a network news channel. Expecting the six o’clock news, two newsreaders sat side by side at a counter. The female said, “The president will be addressing the nation within the next few minutes and at that time we will switch to a live feed from the Oval Office in the White House.”
The male joined in. “The subject of the president’s address is listed as a national security matter but no details have been provided.”
“That’s odd,” the female said.
“It is. We’ve reached out to our contacts at the Pentagon. A source who requested anonymity indicated it concerns some type of event that occurred in Hawaii.”
“Govnó,” Yuri muttered.
Laura turned away from Maddy. “Oh my God—it’s going to be about you.”
While Laura fed Maddy, Yuri watched the television screen. The President of the United States stared back.
“Good evening my fellow Americans,” the president said peering into the camera while reading the carefully crafted script from the camera’s built-in teleprompter.
“Tonight, I need to inform you of a serious event that occurred a week and a half ago in the State of Hawaii.
“At that time, our military forces at Pearl Harbor discovered a . . .”
* * * *
“What a bunch of BS,” Laura said.
“I’m not surprised,” Yuri replied.
The president just concluded his address to the nation. Yuri and Laura were seated at the kitchen table. Maddy sat in a highchair playing with her food, diced chicken with a side dish of sliced strawberries. The television screen displayed the same two network talking heads that had preceded the White House speech but Yuri muted the sound. Laura poured herself a glass of 14 Hands merlot. Yuri had already cracked open a bottle of Redhook.
“You saved Pearl Harbor, not some Navy security detail.” Laura took her first taste of wine.
“It’s part of the cover story to protect me—us. Don’t fret about it.”
On orders from the Secretary of Defense, the U.S. Navy perpetuated the fabricated story that Pearl Harbor security forces discovered the bomb, which resulted in saving the naval base and the USS Roosevelt.
“Still, it’s not fair—you’re the hero.” Laura sulked, not done yet. “And he blamed it on terrorists. Russia was not mentioned once. That’s not right.”
“He couldn’t tell the truth, at least not for now.” Yuri took a swig of beer. “He was careful with his words, ‘suspected terrorists’ is what he called them. That covers a wide spectrum and is probably believable by most people.”
Still troubled, Laura said, “He said the bomb in China was not related to what happened in Hawaii. Just coincidence. More BS.”
“I’m sure it all has to do with national security. If he accused Russia of planting the bombs, especially the one at Pearl Harbor, that would be considered an act of war and would require immediate retaliation.”
“But they did it and they’re going to get away with it!”
Yuri took another taste of beer as he contemplated how best to calm Laura. “The president is in an impossible position right now, partially because of me.”
That statement captured Laura’s instant attention. “What do you mean?”
“During the debriefings, I told them my suspicions about China being the instigator of the trouble in Alaska. Russia’s oil well blowout, sinking of the tanker…sabotage of the pipeline.”
“What about that submarine from Hood Canal?”
“Yes, they know about that too…from both of us.”
Laura nodded, acknowledging her own interrogations by the FBI.
Yuri rubbed his chin. “At first I don’t think they believed me. But based on what I told them, I expect it won’t be long before they verify that both China and Russia have been scheming against the United States but for different reasons. China was the original initiator but Russia is now just as complicit. And that’s the problem.”
Laura squinted, not yet making the connection.
Yuri carried on, “If the president outright accused both China and Russia of attacking the United States, the pressure for retaliation would be enormous. Economic sanctions won’t cut it—especially with the Russian nuke in Hawaii and China’s attempt to sink the American sub here. Russia and/or China might not wait for an expected U.S. military strike.”
Laura set her wine glass down. “World War III.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what do you think is going to happen?”
“Behind the scenes diplomatic negotiations to defuse the current hair-trigger climate.” Yuri had another meeting scheduled with the FBI and Navy tomorrow where he suspected the latest turn of events would be on the agenda. He decided to delay telling Laura until the morning. He did not want to cause her further anxiety tonight.
Laura processed the news. “They’re going to bury it.”
“Probably.”
Chapter 13
Day 7—Tuesday
Guo Wing entered the spacious office, escorted by a PLA staff officer. “Good morning, sir,” Guo said, addressing the President of the People’s Republic of China. It was 11:10 A.M. in Beijing.
Chen Shen was seated behind his desk in an elegant building located in the heart of China’s government—the Zhongnanhai. He gestured for Guo to take a seat. President Chen had returned to Beijing three days earlier from his exile at the Central Military Commission’s emergency underground operations center in northeast China.
Guo settled into the chair, facing his boss across the spacious black marble desk. Guo’s squat thick frame, double chin, corn-kernel teeth and balding scalp contrasted sharply with the president’s trim six foot plus height, sparkling veneered smile and luxuriously thick mane. Guo was fifty-two and looked it. Although the president was several years older and smoked like a chimney, his face retained its youthful look. Guo had long suspected that Chen relied on dentures and cosmetic surgery but he could never verify it.
“What’s going on?” asked President Chen, annoyed at the request for the unscheduled meeting.
“I have new information on the Qingdao event.” Guo Wing served as the deputy minister of operations for China’s Ministry of State Security. The MSS was responsible for foreign intelligence, counterintelligence and domestic political security. It functioned similar to a merger of the FBI and CIA.
Guo reached into the file folder he carried and took out a photograph. “There’s a remote possibility that internal dissidents were responsible for the bomb.”
The news hit President Chen with the impact of a tsunami. “What—how’s that possible?”
Guo slid the color print across the desk. Chen picked up the blowup of the resident ID card. Guo recited the data listed on the card. “His name is Ismail Sabir. Thirty-six years old. He’s a Uyghur. Born and raised in Xinjiang. Migrated to Qingdao about ten years ago. Employed as a technician at a boat manufacturing and repair company in Qingdao.”
“Muslim?”
“Yes.”
“So how did he get on your radar?”
“The MPS made the initial discovery. One of the survei
llance cameras on the Jiaozhou Bay Bridge picked up a small boat in the vicinity of the detonation. It was traced back to a yacht club marina in Qingdao, which led to this guy being eventually ID’d. That’s when we took control of the investigation from the MPS. Sabir has an older brother in Ürümqi. He was easy to locate; he was already interned in a reeducation facility.”
Guo made reference to China’s network of camps that detained over a million residents of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region—most of whom were Muslim. Beijing propaganda touted the camps as providing job training to escape the poverty of the region and to mitigate radical Islamic enticements. In reality, the camps functioned as a cheap labor source.
Guo said, “The brother owned a restaurant but our local people believe he’s tied in with one of the local troublemaker groups.” Guo removed a second photo and gave it to the president.
Chen compared the photos, the likeness between the two men was obvious. “So, what are you doing about this?”
“Ismail Sabir is likely dead. We believe he was aboard the boat when the bomb exploded. The brother is currently under interrogation. Up to now, he maintains his innocence and claims he has nothing to do with Ismail since he left Xinjiang.”
“Dragon shit.”
“I agree, sir. I expect we’ll know more soon.”
President Chen set the photos on his desk. He reached into a drawer for his pack of cigarettes. After lighting up a Marlboro, he glanced at Guo and said, “If the Uyghurs are responsible for Qingdao, where did they get the device?”
“That remains a puzzle. One possibility we’re exploring is that some fissile materials could have been left behind from past testing at Lop Nor.” China’s nuclear testing program took place in the Lop Nor salt flats of Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region from the 1960s to the 1990s. Dozens of nuclear weapons were detonated above and below ground.
“That’s hard to believe, Guo.”
“I understand, but we still need to check.” Guo collected the photos of Sabir and his brother from the desk and returned them to his file. “The other possibility is that the Uyghurs were supplied with a weapon.”
“By whom?”
Guo raised his hands. “We’re exploring that now. Maybe the Indians. But that doesn’t really fit with the way they operate, which makes me believe the Uyghur angle, if it’s real, is a clever ploy concocted by the Americans to deceive us.”
That comment recharged Chen. “Did you listen to the speech by that dog Magnuson?” Prior to leaving his residence this morning, Chen listened to President Magnuson’s live broadcast.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He’s lying to buy time to intimidate us. Blaming the Hawaii attack on Middle East terrorists is an easy out. The American public will buy it, another 9/11 but this time stopped just in time.”
“But what does that accomplish for them?” Chen asked.
“We know from our Washington source that the U.S. government suspects we were behind the Pearl Harbor attack as revenge for sabotaging the Yulin base. Blowing up a similar weapon in Qingdao is their payback.”
The source Guo mentioned was a high-level employee in the U.S. State Department compromised by the MSS. Unknown to President Chen and spymaster Guo, the Foggy Bottom employee was a deep cover mole planted two decades earlier by the Kremlin.
Confused, Chen cast a frown and said, “So what happened in Hawaii—who the devil lit off that bomb?”
“There could have been a terrorist attack like Magnuson claimed but I think the Americans did it themselves. Detonated a small nuke in deep water. No one hurt. No shore side damage.” Guo locked eyes with his boss. “The Heilong actually picked up the detonation. Classified it as a nuclear depth charge.”
Still not sold, President Chen said, “They detonate two nukes…to what end?”
“To intimidate us from responding to the Yulin attack should we be able to prove their involvement…but more importantly, retaliation for what happened in Alaska.” Guo referred to China’s sabotage of crude oil facilities in the forty-ninth state. “We know a U.S. submarine was in the Qingdao harbor last month. It could have easily planted the bomb at that time.”
“You continue to believe the Americans took out Yulin to defuse Operation Sea Dragon?” Chen asked. Sea Dragon was the invasion of Taiwan. With the Yulin fleet disabled, the attack on the rebel province could not proceed.
“I do, Comrade President.”
“But how would they have known about Sea Dragon, and our Alaska operations?”
“We’re still investigating.”
“Kwan?”
“Yes. It’s possible he was compromised before his death. If he talked, that would explain much.”
President Chen had befriended the Hong Kong billionaire, having vacationed aboard Kwan Chi’s megayacht, the Yangzi. Kwan Chi had worked for the Ministry of State Security, reporting directly to Guo. Ten days earlier, Kwan was murdered in his Kowloon high-rise penthouse. The MSS suspected the CIA.
President Chen rolled his chair away from the desk, the half spent Marlboro hanging from his right hand. “I’m still having a hard time believing the Americans would do such a thing, even as retaliation for what happened in Hawaii or Alaska. That’s not how they work.” Chen spent six years in the United States, earning a BA from Cornell and an MBA from Stanford University. Chen took another drag. “What about the Russians?”
Guo stroked his balding scalp. “Nothing to report. Our relations are strong.”
“My gut tells me the Russians are somehow behind all of this. The Uyghur thing is a smokescreen.” Chen glanced out a window. The smog was especially dense today. “Besides, where the bomb went off still makes no sense to me.”
“As I mentioned, it could have been done to intimidate us with future demands from the Americans to come.”
“Where are the demands?”
“It’s still early, sir. We need to—”
“You’re missing something, Guo,” Chen interrupted. “Continue with the Uyghur connection but I want you to go back to the source and look again. Blowing up that weapon in a mudflat bothers me—something’s wrong.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll personally look into the matter to see if something was missed. In the meantime, should we continue the preparations with the PLA for our response?”
“Yes, by all means.” The president crushed out the butt in an ashtray. “One way or the other, whoever did this to us is going to pay.”
* * * *
Nicolai Orlov was alone in the secure room of the Consulate-General of Russia in Houston, Texas. Located on the thirteenth floor of a polished high-rise near the downtown business district, the windowless interior room was about twenty feet square. To defeat electronic snooping by the FBI and other U.S. intelligence units, the room’s perimeter walls, ceiling, and floor were lined with special copper wiring.
Tall and trim with fashionable dark hair and a wolfishly attractive face, Nick Orlov was a few months shy of forty. His appealing looks were coveted by women and begrudged by men.
Recruited by the SVR after he completed his university studies in Moscow, Orlov rarely spent time in Russia. He served in several foreign posts before he was assigned to the Main Enemy. His last duty assignment had been at the San Francisco Consulate until Washington forced its closure as part of an ongoing diplomatic dispute between the Russian Federation and the United States. He transferred to Houston, where he was promoted to SVR rezident of the consulate. Single with no strong family ties to the homeland, Nick found that his nomadic lifestyle suited him.
Nick focused on the monitor positioned at the end of the conference table. It was a few minutes past midnight in Houston. His boss was eight time zones ahead. The encrypted video teleconference was prearranged.
SVR chief Borya Smirnov was alone in his office at Russia’s foreign intelligence headquar
ters in Moscow. “So, what do you make of Magnuson’s speech?” Smirnov asked. He had watched a rerun of presidential address from his home before his security detail transported him to his office.
“Very strange, sir.” Nick said. “Why would terrorists try to knock out a highly secure military installation like the Pearl Harbor base when they could have put the damn bomb in the trunk of a car, driven to downtown Honolulu and let it rip?”
“I had the same reaction.”
Nick planted his elbows on the conference table. “And this business about what happened in China. Two nukes going off in metropolitan areas half a world apart within a week of each other and with virtually no casualties, in my mind that is not a coincidence. They’re related somehow.”
“I share your conclusion. Something’s off. Anyway, Washington Station is investigating. Any feedback from your China sources would also be welcome.” As part of Nick’s duties at the San Francisco Consulate he had developed contacts with Chinese nationals working in Silicon Valley.
“I can make a few calls but doubt that I’ll get anything meaningful.”
“Understand.” The SVR director moved on to the primary purpose of the call. “There’s something else I need your assistance with.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to contact your asset in Seattle.”
“Kirov’s back?”
“Yes, our people in Seattle spotted him at his place of work.”
Nearly two months earlier, Nick had helped launch Yuri’s return to Russia. Nick was also privy to Yuri’s mission: spying on China’s naval installations.
“How long has he been home?” Nick asked.
“A couple of days. We need to know what he’s doing back in Seattle.”
“I thought he was going to be permitted to retire from the Navy and return to the States when he completed the China mission.”
“He’s AWOL—again. He returned to the U.S. without permission from the Navy and without providing a mission debrief. There also are questions about the status of the intelligence data that he was supposed to generate from the China op.”
The Vigilant Spy Page 6