“All she wants is to be left alone.”
“And you would like to remain with her, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t blame you.” Belofsky returned Laura’s photo to the file.
Yuri perked up.
“Kirov, you’re still a commissioned officer in the Russian Navy with remaining obligations, the least of which is your unauthorized leave, regardless of your injuries.”
“Yes, sir,” Yuri said, now expecting reprimand.
“Before we discuss those issues, I have questions about your recent actions.” The admiral picked up another file and removed a color photograph. He passed it to Yuri. “Can you confirm this is the man you know as Kwan Chi?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
Belofsky extracted a second photo and handed it over. “Please identify this individual.”
Yuri scanned the image. “David Wang—at least that was his cover name.”
“Were you aware he was a PLAN officer with the grade of lieutenant-commander?” Belofsky referred to the China’s People’s Liberation Army-Navy.
“Yes, he so identified himself.” Yuri returned the photos to the desk.
The admiral retrieved Wang’s photo. “Are you certain the weapon Wang used was a Mark Twelve and not a knockoff?”
“No question about it, sir. The Viper used was legitimate.”
“How did they get their hands on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, thanks to your intervention, this prick was deep-sixed.” He tossed Wang’s photo aside and picked up another collection of photos from the file folder. “Unfortunately, Kirov, your surprise package was only partially successful.” He handed over the color prints.
The surveillance photos were grainy, shot from long distance with aid of a telephoto lens. The images focused on a man in a wheelchair on the ground floor of a high-rise building. “Govnó!”—shit—muttered Yuri as he stared at the image of Kwan Chi. Stunned, Yuri looked back at Belofsky. “The news report said there were no survivors.”
“That’s what we thought, too. But one of our agents in Hong Kong discovered otherwise. Apparently, Kwan was severely injured and spent a couple of months in a hospital. He returned to his apartment only recently. He was photographed in the lobby.”
A cascade of fears engulfed Yuri. He’d assumed that with both Kwan and Wang dead, he was safe. But with Kwan alive, everything changed. Somehow, Yuri needed to warn Laura.
“Kwan was behind everything,” Yuri said. “He’s exceedingly dangerous and powerful. I’m sure that he’s tied directly into the Politburo Standing Committee.”
“He is.”
Yuri fidgeted in his seat.
“We will deal with him in due time. Right now, more pressing matters require your assistance.”
Oh no—here it comes.
Chapter 13
After meeting with Admiral Belofsky and a quick lunch with Captain Zhilkin in the commissary, Yuri relocated to the Fleet Briefing Room two floors below the admiral’s office. Yuri was the lowest ranking officer of the six men present, and the youngest. Captain Zhilkin was in charge. A map of the People’s Republic of China filled the screen at the head of the darkened room.
Zhilkin used a laser pointer to highlight map features. “As you all know, China has three fleets: North Sea, East Sea, and South Sea. The North Sea Fleet is based at Qingdao. East Sea Fleet headquarters are at Ningbo and the South Sea Fleet operates out of Zhanjiang and Hainan Island. We’ll start first with Zhanjiang.”
Zhilkin advanced to a new sequence of slides, all high-resolution Russian spy satellite images. “Zhanjiang is a natural harbor along China’s southern coast. It’s one of their busiest ports.” He used a laser pointer to mark the slide. “Donghai Island protects the harbor from storm waves from the South China Sea. The principal shipping channel runs north-south in this estuary. The main fleet mooring area is along the east bank in this area. As you will note…”
Yuri half-listened to Zhilkin’s drone-like briefing on the navigational approach to the People’s Liberation Army-Navy’s largest installation. The warships moored along the wharves and piers of the estuary were for the most part modern and lethal. China’s program to update its navy was well underway.
Zhilkin continued, “Compared to the other PLAN bases, the Zhanjiang moorage is far from the ocean, which complicates our mission.”
“What’s the water depth in the channel leading to the fleet moorage?” asked a captain first rank. Yuri did not know the submarine officer or any of the others in attendance.
“The main navigation channel is around six to seven meters deep but there are shoals.”
“We cannot run a submerged boat up that far—too damn shallow.”
“That’s correct. The approach will need to be conducted remotely. That’s why we have brought in an expert on AUVs.” Zhilkin turned to face Yuri. “Captain-Lieutenant Yuri Kirov will be in charge of installing the recorders remotely.”
Yuri stiffened as others around the table turned his way.
“Operating from the deeper bay water north of Donghai, Kirov will use a state-of-the-art autonomous underwater vehicle to make the penetration and then—”
“What about those damn underwater sensors?” interrupted the same sub commander. “I’m sure the place is loaded with them. You know how the PLAN is—they’re paranoid about base security. And because their latest antics turned to shit, Beijing’s going to expect some kind of response.”
“Very true, Captain. Kirov has experience in those matters.” Zhilkin turned to Yuri. “Kirov, provide us with your approach to defeating the sensors.”
Yuri stood and walked to the head of the conference table. Zhilkin handed off the laser pointer and slide control.
Yuri advanced to a new slide titled “Evading Subsurface Sensors.” He turned to face his audience. “As you would expect, the key component to underwater security systems is acoustic.” He clicked to the next slide, which displayed a diagram of a hypothetical harbor protected by underwater devices. “The various sensors operate in either passive or active modes, just like ASW systems. The difference is…”
Yuri wrapped up his presentation fifteen minutes later. After covering similar intelligence operations against China’s North and East Sea Fleet homeports, Captain Zhilkin concluded the meeting. Yuri was about to leave when one of the officers approached him. “Excellent presentation, Kirov. I’m Petrovich.” He extended a hand.
Yuri accepted the offered hand. “Thank you, sir.”
Captain First Rank Leonid Petrovich had asked most of the questions during the ninety-minute briefing. He stood five-foot-ten with a solid, muscular build and close-cut graying auburn hair. The decorations on his uniform jacket included a submarine icon.
“Were you the Kirov assigned to the Neva under Captain Anatolii Tomich?”
“Captain Tomich was my CO.”
“I recognized your name,” Petrovich said. “Thank you for what you did—saving the crew and the boat. Absolutely amazing.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
“I heard about what happened to Tomich. We were classmates at Peter.” Petrovich referred to the Higher Naval Submarine School located on the St. Petersburg Naval Base. The school was similar to the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis but with a five-year curriculum directed toward training future submarine officers. Yuri also attended Peter after graduating from the Nakhimov secondary school in St. Petersburg.
Petrovich continued, “Anatolii was a great friend and an outstanding officer. Damn shame what happened to him—and to the rest of the crew.”
“Captain Tomich was a pleasure to serve under.”
“What have you been doing after you left the Neva?”
Yuri shifted his stance, not certain how much Petrovich knew about his recent past. “Working pri
marily with AUVs.”
“Good, we’re going to need your expertise to carry out this mission. I look forward to working with you.” Yuri was about to ask for clarification when Petrovich continued, “I have command of the Novosibirsk.”
The Novosibirsk was based on Russia’s newest class of nuclear attack submarine—Severodvinsk-class. Designed to challenge the U.S. Navy’s best subs, it contained a deadly arsenal of torpedoes and cruise missiles. A recent modification to the Novosibirsk also allowed the submarine to support underwater espionage operations. “Excellent, sir. I look forward to serving with you.”
“Captain Zhilkin and I are dining together tonight at the Sword & Shield. Please join us at nineteen hundred.” The restaurant that catered to senior navy staff was just a block away.
“Thank you, Captain. I look forward to it.”
“Excellent.”
Petrovich left. Yuri was now alone. He walked back to where he had been sitting and collected the briefing papers and other documents provided by Zhilkin. The last thing Yuri wanted this evening was to dine with two senior officers. Jetlagged and overwhelmed by his shockwave reentry to military life, he dreaded the shoptalk that would undoubtedly end up with resurrecting the Neva’s mission. Questions about how he worked behind enemy lines would likely be asked by Petrovich. Zhilkin knew most of the details, including Laura’s involvement. Yuri decided he would not mention Laura; he hoped Captain Zhilkin would do the same.
All Yuri had going for him was the hope that his recent actions on behalf of Russia—and the USA—had earned him respect from Russia’s president. If not, he would never see Laura again.
Chapter 14
Fourteen-time zones behind Vladivostok, FBI Supervisory Special Agent Ava Diesen sat at her desk on the sixth floor of the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, D.C. This morning she wore a white oxford blouse with a knee-length bell-shaped skirt and a pair of pumps.
She arrived at a quarter to eight. The commute from Fairfax took forty minutes longer than usual—another fender-bender on I-66 gummed up the eastbound lanes. Her husband, Arthur, ensured that their three children made it to their respective schools on time. His commute consisted of walking from the kitchen to his office in the basement. As an IT software consultant, he could work from just about anywhere. His flexible schedule complemented Ava’s career as a federal agent.
A fifteen-year veteran of the FBI, Ava had moved with her family four times since she graduated from the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia: Anaheim to Anchorage to Dallas to New York City to FBI Headquarters. She was on the fast-track in the Bureau for upper management, currently serving in the Counterintelligence Division. After receiving her law degree from Pepperdine University, Ava spent five years with the Orange County District Attorney’s Office in southern California, where she prosecuted drug and gang related cases. For as long as Ava could recall, her ultimate career goal was to work for the FBI. This morning, Ava scanned through overnight email traffic while enjoying her first cup of coffee. The sixteenth message caught her eye. It was from her counterpart at the Defense Intelligence Agency responding to the John Doe inquiry from the Houston Field Office.
“I’ll be darned,” she said as she scanned the message. The DIA had a possible ID on the John Doe. Ava opened the attachment included with the DIA email. The image of a young Russian naval officer in uniform filled the right screen on her desk. She next retrieved the John Doe photo taken at the George Bush Airport and opened it on her second monitor. Ava switched between the two images. The John Doe was older and had a trim beard. Nevertheless, she could see the similarities.
This is the guy!
Ava reread the email text. She transcribed the key facts on the yellow legal-size notepad she kept on her desktop—a habit from her days as a prosecutor:
93% probability John Doe in photo is Yuri Ivanovich Kirov
Captain-lieutenant in the Russian Navy
Trained as a submarine officer–St. Petersburg
Specialty: underwater intel—dive training at Sevastopol—Black Sea
Assigned to Pacific Fleet Intelligence—likely GRU
Last known duty station—Rybachiy Submarine Base at Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy
31 years old
Single
Father: Ivan Kirov—retired Army colonel. Lives in Moscow
Mother: Irina Kirov (deceased)
Grandson of Vice Admiral Semyon Nikolayevich Fedorov (deceased)
Ava ran a hand through her hair as she mulled over the DIA info. There’s been no sign of him for over year. So, just what has he been doing and where has he been? And why did he all of a sudden show up at the Russian consulate in Houston?
Ava checked her watch: 8:17 A.M. D.C. time, 7:17 A.M. in Texas. She decided to call her contact at the Houston Field Office in an hour.
Ava gazed again at the side by side photos. What’s this guy up to?
She decided to keep mining. His maternal grandfather was a hot-shot in the Navy. Let’s start there.
Chapter 15
Day 6—Friday
Kwan Chi refused to use his cane, knowing his superior would view it as a weakness. He walked into the office and took a seat as offered. “You look better than I expected,” said the balding fifty-two-year-old man sitting behind the elegant table desk—a replica from mid-Qing Dynasty. Guo Wing served as the deputy minister of operations for the Ministry of State Security. The MSS was responsible for foreign intelligence, counterintelligence, and political security. Guo wore a Hong Kong summer suit over his squat, thick frame.
“The recovery is going well.” Kwan changed position in the chair, attempting to relieve the pain in his right leg.
Guo said, “You certainly captured our interest with your Russian contact. We all thought she would have been terminated by now.”
“I also thought I’d never hear from her again.” Kwan remained bewildered by Elena Krestyanova’s call from the grave.
“So, what’s your take on the situation?” Guo asked.
Kwan had duly reported the contact by the Russian agent and was subsequently ordered to report to Beijing for a meeting with Guo.
“I don’t have an opinion yet. She provided no details when she called, just that she had returned to the trade mission in Vancouver and was hoping to get together soon.”
“You’re certain it was her?”
Kwan clasped his hands. “I believe so. Her voice was as I remembered and I found nothing out of the ordinary in our conversation. She was careful not to mention any operational matters.”
Guo opened a file folder and slid a stack of enlarged photographs across the desk. “Is that her?”
Kwan picked up the photos and took his time thumbing through the half dozen color images. He tilted his head. “Her hair is much shorter but yes, this does appear to be Elena Krestyanova.”
“Our people in Vancouver recorded these yesterday. She drives the same vehicle, resides in the same apartment, and spent the day inside the Russian trade mission.”
Kwan looked across the desk. “It really must be her.”
“It does appear so.”
Kwan rubbed his forehead. The headache that had plagued him all morning intensified. “Sir, have you been able to do any back checking?”
“All we know so far is that she took a commercial flight from Moscow to Vancouver. She arrived last weekend.”
“She didn’t wait long to contact me.”
“Yes, why do you suppose she did that?”
“I don’t know… maybe she’s trying to reestablish our business arrangement. She earned around five million U.S. from our prior arrangement.”
“But she was forcibly returned to Russia by the SVR—you said so in your mission debrief. How could she have been cleared from what happened?”
“She was never privy to the operation. We only used her on t
he perimeter. Plus, she was wounded.”
Guo scowled. “What are you getting at?”
“Her original assignment was to recruit me. Perhaps she managed to keep that charade going.” Kwan wavered as a new thought developed. “She could argue that she was continuing to work me as a potential asset when our operation soured.”
Guo was not convinced. “What about the computer hard drive the SVR took from the Yangzi?”
“If the security measures worked, perhaps the Russians were not able to access it.”
“That’s a big assumption.”
“It is, sir. But if that’s what happened, Moscow would have no concrete proof regarding Sea Dragon.” Kwan met Guo’s eyes. “Has there been any hint that Moscow knows?”
Guo rubbed his chin “None. It’s been four months and nothing has changed. Actually, our relations continue to improve.”
Kwan cheered up. “If the drive self-destructed and she stuck to her original assignment to recruit me, she might still be in play. As far as the Russians would know, the operation was directed only against the Americans.” He pursed his lips. “Sir, Elena Krestyanova is cunning and clearly motivated by money.”
“So, you think she wants to work for us again?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
“But she could also now be playing us as triple,” Guo said.
“True.”
Guo swiveled in his chair, glancing out the window wall. It was over ninety degrees Fahrenheit with no wind. Beijing remained shrouded in an awful veil of smog. He turned back to face Kwan.
“We need to know what Krestyanova is really up to. You are authorized to reestablish your arrangement with her.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * *
Yuri Kirov occupied a chair in a small conference room in the Naval Headquarters Building. Across the table from where he sat this morning was an officer equal to his own rank but three years his senior. Captain-Lieutenant Stephan Maranovich kept his ash-blond hair cut short. At six feet two and a solid 220 pounds, Maranovich’s physique telegraphed athlete.
The Faithful Spy Page 5
