The Vigilant Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  At first, Smirnov didn’t believe Nick Orlov’s report on Kirov’s warning. But after making himself a cup of tea and sitting in the living room of his Moscow residence, he rehashed the events that started nearly two years earlier.

  China sabotaged our oil well in the Chukchi Sea and destroyed the Sakhalin oil port, all while playing us off against the Americans.

  Russia retaliated with the EMP attack on the Yulin Naval Base and escalated with the Qingdao bomb. Employing China’s deception tactic, Russia left evidence blaming the USA for the China attacks. To further obscure matters, Russia set up Beijing as the fall guy for the Pearl Harbor nuke.

  The bastards sank one of our subs, even murdering the men who had managed to escape.

  The sinking of the Novosibirsk traumatized the Russian military. The Navy was clueless as to the technology China had used to destroy Russia’s newest attack submarine.

  And now they’ve gone too far…a nuclear weapon sitting on the bottom in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy. If true, that cannot stand—will not stand.

  The plan had been in the making for several months—the definitive solution to the China problem. The asset was already in place, standing by for the president’s order.

  It’s time. That son of a bitch deserves it!

  The door to the study opened and the President of the Russian Federation strolled in. He wore a bathrobe and was still dressed in pajamas. Slippers covered his feet.

  “Well, Borya,” President Lebedev said as he took the chair behind his desk, “what’s so important for you to be here at this hour?”

  “It’s China, sir. More disturbing news.”

  Chapter 82

  Day 39—Saturday

  “Permission to enter?” Yuri Kirov asked.

  The single occupant nursing a coffee mug looked up from the mess table. “Come on in.”

  Yuri entered the Colorado’s Goat Locker. The compartment was reserved for chief petty officers only. Not even the captain could come in without requesting permission.

  Yuri claimed a chair opposite the master chief. Yuri and Jeff Chang had been aboard the submarine for thirty-four hours. “You look a whole lot better than the last time I saw you.”

  “Thanks,” Bill Halgren said. “Believe me, I feel a lot better, too.”

  Murphy and the other SEALs had already filled Yuri in on Wild Bill’s condition. Once he started hyperbaric oxygen therapy, the infection subsided. A sterile dressing covered his forearm but the limb was no longer grossly swollen.

  “Do you have much residual pain?”

  “Some but I manage…don’t need painkillers anymore, just ibuprofen.”

  “That’s great news, Master Chief.”

  Yuri and Halgren spent the next few minutes catching up on the mission. SEAL team leader Lieutenant Commander Andrews had briefed Halgren and his teammates about Yuri and Jeff ’s exploits.

  “Me and the boys are duly impressed with what you guys pulled off. A real coup!”

  “We were lucky.”

  “No doubt, but hijacking that ship and using the minisub to get away in. That was ballsy as hell man. My cover’s off to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Halgren pumped Yuri for mission details, especially the encounter with the Viperinas. Eventually the discussion focused on Meng Park.

  “I hear she’s the brains behind Serpent,” Halgren offered.

  “That’s my understanding, too.”

  “So, what’s going to happen to her?”

  “All I know is that Jeff’s in the process of debriefing her right now.”

  The CIA officer was with Dr. Meng Park in the makeshift brig. Located aft of the Engine Room, the compartment was used for storage. Because of Meng’s technical skills and her temperament, Colorado’s CO ordered the brig guarded around the clock.

  “What’s she like?” Halgren asked.

  “At first, she was mad as hell. But I think reality is starting to seep in.” Yuri had sat in on Jeff’s first interrogation session.

  “Well, if she doesn’t cooperate, they ought to send her to Gitmo. That place will change her attitude real quick.”

  “I suspect she already fears that possibility.”

  Halgren unconsciously ran his good hand over the bandage. “I hope she spills her guts. From the little I know about those snake things, we’ve got to figure out a way to get rid of them for good.”

  “I agree, Master Chief. Anyway, Jeff’s got the next couple of days to convince her to see it our way.”

  “Good.”

  The Colorado was headed back to Yokosuka on orders from COMSUBPAC; transport of Dr. Meng and the Viperina hardware recovered from the Lian took priority.

  The USS Hawaii sailed into the South China Sea the prior day. Provided with the Meng’s acoustic signal to disable attacking Vipers, Hawaii was tasked with planting sea mines at the remaining Viper bottom stations in both the north and south basins of the SCS. When complete, a pair of P-8 Poseidons would discreetly drop disposable probes over each Viper station. The acoustic signal broadcast by the descending probes would trigger a countdown, leading to the simultaneous detonation of the mines at all Viper stations.

  Chapter 83

  Day 41—Monday

  The machine emerged from the placid sea and silently scampered up the sandy beach slope. It was half past three in the morning on the northern shore of the Bohai Sea. About the size of a fat laptop computer and shaped similar to the shell of a leatherback sea turtle, the crawlerbot propelled itself with two sets of articulated legs, five on each side of its six-inch high hull.

  An autonomous underwater vehicle delivered the crawlerbot to its launch point, a hundred yards offshore of the target beach. Two weeks earlier, a Russian freighter from Vladivostok had released the AUV prior to calling at the Nampo seaport on North Korea’s western coast. The ship’s cargo holds were filled with spare parts for Russian military equipment purchased by Pyongyang.

  After transiting the Yellow Sea, the AUV had parked itself on the bottom of the Bohai Sea fifteen miles from the target. At midnight of each day, the robotic submersible would ascend to the surface, extend its radio antenna and listen for orders. Tonight, those orders came—issued from the Kremlin.

  The crawlerbot crested the beach berm and stopped inside a patch of dune grass; it was a hundred feet from the water’s edge. For the next minute, its electronic sensors probed the still night air for threats. Detecting none, its onboard GPS unit took a fix on the overhead constellation of Russian navigation satellites. Verifying it was within the specified limits of the objective’s coordinates, the robotic amphibian commenced the next phase of its self-diagnostic testing program.

  The watertight seal over the cargo compartment opened, the lid on its outer shell rotating upward. A microdrone emerged from the opening. About the size of a golf ball, the drone hovered several feet over the crawlerbot. Its whirling propellers scarcely generated a whisper. For the next minute, the autonomous aerial machine with its payload of death verified that its onboard systems were functional.

  After completing the tests, the drone returned to its cradle. The cargo lid closed and the amphibian buried itself in the sand, using its legs to dig. Left behind on the surface was an acoustic monitor released from the hull; it mimicked a clump of dune grass. A wire connected the microphone to the crawlerbot’s AI brain. During daylight hours, the computer would listen for a particular sound—the bark of a golden retriever.

  Chapter 84

  Day 43—Wednesday

  Yuri Kirov was in the Alaska Airlines departure lounge at Honolulu International, sitting in a chair. It was late morning. He arrived at Joint Base Pearl-Hickam about two hours earlier aboard a C-17 Globemaster from Yokota Air Force Base. He could have delayed until the evening for another military flight bound for Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Washington State but punted instead.r />
  Yuri splurged, paying a premium for an upgrade to a first-class seat aboard the Boeing 737. Absent for nearly three weeks, all he wanted was to get home ASAP.

  The Colorado arrived at Yokosuka Naval Base 18 hours earlier. After a U.S. Navy helicopter flight to Yokota, Jeff Chang offered Yuri a seat aboard the CIA Gulfstream bound for Joint Base Andrews in Maryland. Yuri declined, deciding to take the C-17 flight.

  Having observed several interview sessions conducted by Jeff, Yuri was done with Dr. Meng Park and Serpent. Jeff along with a cadre of CIA, FBI and U.S. Navy technical experts could continue the debriefing without Yuri’s input.

  Yuri pulled out his iPhone from a jacket pocket. He located the mobile number from his contact list—the same number he’d used while aboard the Colorado. He selected text mode and keyed in one word: NEVA. He fingered the send icon. “Delivered,” appeared nearly instantaneously on the screen.

  Yuri smiled as he thought about Nick Orlov’s reaction when he followed the trail. Yuri’s message was already in the draft folder of the Gmail account they shared.

  It was the concluding element of Yuri’s exit plan, one final concession to the homeland. The draft email contained the twenty-four digit passcode to the encrypted video file from Yuri’s last spy mission for Russia—China’s subterranean ballistic missile submarine base at Yulin.

  Yuri checked the time: 11:31 A.M. He had planned to hold off until he landed at Sea-Tac International but he couldn’t delay any longer. He hit the speed dial on his phone. Yuri called her cell, bypassing the receptionist.

  Laura Newman answered on the third ring. “Yuri!” she called out, reacting to her iPhone’s caller ID display.

  “Hi sweetie.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Honolulu, about to board an Alaska Air jet for home.”

  Yuri expected a cheerful response but heard weeping instead. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been so worried. It’s been two weeks and not a word. I just knew they had you doing something dangerous.”

  “I’m sorry but it was impossible for me to contact you.”

  “I know, but everything we’ve been through…I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I’m fine, honey. You can stop worrying.”

  “But they still have you under their thumb. What will they have you doing next?”

  “I’m working all that out. It’s going to be okay.”

  I don’t know.”

  Yuri changed subjects. “How’s Maddy?”

  “Great, she’s doing great. She’s missed you, too.”

  “I can’t wait to see her.”

  “When’s your flight get in? We’ll pick you up.”

  “Eight oh five. I’ll just take Uber home.”

  “No way, we’re coming!”

  “Okay, that would be wonderful.”

  Laura said, “I do have some good news, about the company.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The merger looks like it’s really going to happen. The closing is set for next Tuesday.”

  “Wow, that’s terrific. I’m so happy for you.” Yuri heard the boarding call for his flight over the gate intercom system. “It’s time for me to board now. I want to hear all the details when I see you this evening.”

  “Okay. Have a safe flight. I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  Yuri picked up his overnight bag and walked toward the jetway, grateful to be heading home. All he wanted was to live a long boring and happy life with Laura and Maddy.

  Yuri was done with his life as a spy but nothing yet had been settled with the FBI and CIA nor with Russia. And the China threat still loomed.

  As Yuri settled into the luxurious leather seat in the first-class cabin of the Boeing, he shoved the negative thoughts into a corner of his brain. He removed his wallet from a pocket and stared at the snapshot of his lover and her child.

  Yuri smiled. It’s going to be great to finally be home!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to Joe Scott for reviewing the manuscript. Joe’s insights and suggestions are greatly appreciated.

  I wish to express my continuing gratitude to Michaela Hamilton, executive editor at Kensington Books, for her expert advice and inspiration regarding the Yuri Kirov series. Michaela is a pleasure to work with.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank my family, friends, and fans for continuing to encourage me with my writing career.

  The Good Spy

  Did you miss the first book in the Yuri Kirov thriller series? Not to worry! Here’s a sample excerpt from The Good Spy to whet your appetite.

  All the Yuri Kirov thrillers by Jeffrey Layton are available from Kensington Publishing Corp., www.kensingtonbooks.com.

  Chapter 1

  Kirov plowed into the gloom. The firestorm deep inside his right shoulder raged but he hung on. He’d lost all sensation below the left knee—it was just dead meat. If the unfeeling crept into his other limbs he was doomed for sure.

  He focused on the captain’s orders: “Get to shore. Call for help and then coordinate the rescue. Don’t get caught!”

  He was the crew’s only hope. If he failed, they would all perish.

  The diver propulsion vehicle surged against the aggressive tidal current. As he gripped the DPV’s control handles with both gloved hands, his body trailed prone on the sea surface. Hours earlier he’d exhausted the mixed gas supply, which forced him topside where he used a snorkel to breathe.

  The chilled seawater defeated his synthetic rubber armor. His teeth chattered against the snorkel’s mouthpiece. He clamped his jaws to maintain the watertight seal.

  Shore lights shimmered through his face mask but he remained miles from his destination. The DPV’s battery gauge kissed the warning range. When it eventually petered out, he would have to transit the passage on his own, somehow swimming the expanse in the dark while combating the current.

  Two grueling hours passed. He abandoned the spent DPV, opening the flood valve and allowing it to sink. He butted the tidal flow until it turned. The flooding current carried him northward.

  He swam facedown while still breathing through the snorkel. As he pumped his lower limbs, his good leg overpowered its anesthetized twin, forcing him off course. He soon learned to compensate with his left arm, synchronizing its strokes with his right leg.

  The joint pain expanded to include both shoulders and elbows. The frigid sea sapped his vigor to near exhaustion.

  While staring downward into the pitch-black abyss, he tried not to dwell on his injuries or his weariness—or the absolute isolation, knowing he could do nothing to mitigate them. Instead, his thoughts converged on the mission. They’re counting on me. Don’t give up. I can do this; just keep moving.

  He continued swimming, monitoring his course with the compass strapped to his right wrist. An evolving mantle of fog doused the shore lights he’d been using as a homing beacon. For all he knew, the current could be shoving him into deeper waters.

  Maybe at dawn he would be able to get his bearings. Until then, he would plod along.

  I wonder where the blackfish are now.

  During a rest with fins down and a fresh bubble of air in his buoyancy compensator, he heard dozens of watery eruptions breach the night air as a pod of Orcinus orcas made its approach. Sounding like a chorus of steam engines, the mammals cleared blowholes and sucked air into their mammoth lungs. The sea beasts ghosted by at ten knots. Their slick coal-black hulls spotted with white smears passed just a few meters away from his stationary position.

  The killer whales ignored him. They had a mission of their own: pursuing the plump inbound silver and chum salmon that loitered near the tip of the approaching peninsula. At first light, the orcas would gorge themselves.

 
There was no time to be afraid; instead, he marveled at the close encounter. Oddly, the whales’ brief presence calmed him. He was not alone in these alien waters after all.

  Time for another check.

  He stopped kicking and raised his head. He peered forward.

  Dammit!

  Still no lights and the fog bank oozed even closer.

  Where is it?

  He allowed his legs to sink as he mulled his options. His right fin struck something.

  He swam ahead for half a minute and repeated the sounding.

  I made it!

  Chapter 2

  Laura Newman sat on the tile floor with her long chocolate legs bent sharply at the knees and her spine propped against a cabinet. She wore only a plain white T-shirt.

  Laura cradled her abdomen with both hands; her stomach broiled. “Oh Lord,” she moaned. “What’s wrong with me?”

  It was 6:18 A.M. Jolted awake, she’d just made it to the bathroom before the first purge.

  Ten minutes elapsed. Feeling better, Laura stood and walked back into the bedroom. She slipped on a bathrobe. Knowing further sleep would be impossible, she decided to brew a cup of tea. If her stomach settled down, she’d jog along the beach after sunup.

  This was the third morning her unsettled tummy had roused her. She suspected stress. The demands from work never ceased, but she’d learned to live with it.

  Laura opened the bedroom door and walked down the second-floor hallway of the rented beach house. She flipped on a light switch, illuminating the stairway. When she reached the base of the stairs, her bare feet stepped into a pool of water that covered oak flooring. What’s this? Laura wondered.

  She took a few more steps on her way to the kitchen.

  Laura stood opposite a doorway that opened onto a concrete walkway; it led to the beach. Although the side door remained closed, the door frame’s splintered molding by the lock had not been that way when she went to bed.