Although she ran for forty minutes this morning, the exercise-induced endorphins failed to relieve her stress.
Laura closed her eyes, silently reciting a prayer for Yuri’s safety.
As she backed out of the garage a new thought flashed. Laura beamed. Maddy’s birthday was this coming Saturday.
My sweet daughter. One year old already! Thank you, Lord.
Laura drove along the tree-lined private driveway that led to the street. When she pulled on to the public roadway, her bliss dissolved into disenchantment.
Yuri won’t be there to celebrate with us!
Chapter 26
Day 11—Wednesday
“What happened to him, Kirov?”
“Heart attack, sir.”
Yuri was on an encrypted phone in the communications center of the Rybachiy submarine base. Captain Petrovich was on the opposite end of the satellite link in Vladivostok. Yuri briefed the submarine commander on the autopsy of Stephan Maranovich.
“He was only in his mid-thirties. How can that be?”
“The medical examiner said he had advanced heart disease—clogged arteries. He also had water in his lungs. The doctor thinks he might have had a heart attack during flooding of the wet chamber, which caused him to panic. Somehow in that chaos he lost his breathing regulator and ended up ingesting water. Drowning is what killed him.”
“With a condition like that, Maranovich should never have been assigned to field work.”
“The doctor said he reviewed Stephan’s medical records. His blood work during his last exam, which was…” Yuri paused to check his notes. “Four years ago, his blood chemistry was normal.”
“Why wasn’t he tested annually?”
“Don’t know, sir. That’s all that was in the file.”
Yuri stared out a nearby window at the water of Avacha Bay. It was mid-morning with tranquil skies and waters. Today a faint brownish haze shrouded Rybachiy and Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy. A forest fire 120 miles to the north polluted the otherwise pristine atmosphere.
“Well, Kirov,” Petrovich said, “without Maranovich, the mission is in trouble.”
Yuri had anticipated the captain’s reaction. “I understand, sir. And I have a suggestion regarding a new commander for the mission.”
“Go on.”
“Operational experience with the mini is critical. I took the liberty of reviewing the records for the midget squadron based here at Rybachiy. There are at least three excellent candidates for filling Stephan’s position.”
Yuri briefed Petrovich on the officers.
Captain Petrovich was thoughtful. “They all appear qualified. Of the three, who would you pick if this were your mission?”
Yuri did not hesitate. “Senior Lieutenant Tumanov, sir. He has more time in minis than any of the other candidates. Plus, he has considerable diving experience, even deep water.”
“Sounds like you.”
Yuri did not respond.
“Okay, Kirov. We’ll go with Tumanov.”
“Excellent, sir.” Yuri cleared his throat. “If I may, sir, I would like to recommend Junior Lieutenant Vassi Nevsky as Tumanov’s executive officer. He has experience that—”
Petrovich cut him off. “That won’t be necessary. Tumanov will be the XO.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Tumanov is going to be your deputy. You’re going to lead the mission.”
“But—”
“It’s final, Kirov,” Petrovich said. “The decision has been made. I talked with Admiral Belofsky after receiving the notification of Maranovich’s death. He concurred with my recommendation.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for your confidence in my skills.”
“I want you to continue preparing for the mission. Bring Tumanov on board and anyone else you think might be needed. The schedule remains the same. My XO is going to ferry Novosibirsk to Rybachiy. I’ll fly up when it arrives. And then we go.”
“Understood.”
Captain Petrovich terminated the satellite link without further discussion.
Yuri stood and walked to the window. The tide was out, preventing him from viewing the P-815 moored alongside the quay fronting the communications building.
Govnó!
His scheme to withdraw gracefully from the mission by promoting Stephan Maranovich and playing down his own capabilities was in ruins.
They’re never going to let me go.
* * * *
Elena Krestyanova selected the burnt orange side ruffle dress—one of her favorites. With a surplice neckline, ruched side ruffle, three-quarter sleeves, and a knee-level hem, the dress displayed her superb curves. A pair of nude four-inch heels with gold trimmed ankle straps adorned her pedicured feet. Elena scanned her mirror image in the hotel room. Satisfied, she slipped a gold bracelet onto her left wrist. Georgii will love this! She would meet him in the lobby in half an hour. Six months had passed since their last rendezvous. Elena wondered where they would dine tonight. She hoped for Italian food but suspected he had seafood in mind. It was a logical choice—like San Francisco, Vladivostok’s restaurants were known for fin and shellfish fare.
Elena tolerated Vladivostok. Her hotel accommodations were first class and the view of Golden Horn Bay from the room was exceptional, but the seaport city just didn’t click for her. Although its economy was robust and the city had a decent summer tourist crowd, Vladivostok’s subculture of stark Soviet Union realism, mixed with Imperial Russia’s extravagance, left her cold. Vladivostok was also a navy town, overflowing with horny young sailors and officers on the prowl, both single and married. Elena had frequently endured catcalls and wolf whistles during prior stays when she jogged along the waterfront or hiked on the trails in the nearby hills. When she visited drinking and eating establishments for a solo night out, she rarely ever bought her own drinks or meals. Sailors were sailors. Whether it was St. Petersburg or Kaliningrad or Sevastopol or Vladivostok, gorgeous women like Elena were targets. Trained to employ her femininity for specific purposes, Elena had put up with the unwanted advances during her earlier tenure in Vladivostok, waiting for the right opportunity.
That opportunity came; the first payout netted Elena half a million USD. After an unscheduled transpacific crossing delivered Elena to Vladivostok, she hooked up with a submarine officer stationed at the port’s naval base. The squadron commander was careless, and Elena exploited his lapses. Captain First Class Georgii Seriyev inadvertently left a classified report on a desk buried under a stack of magazines in his apartment. After rendering the senior naval officer into a near-comatose state from three couplings in his bed, Elena took her time searching the rest of his quarters. She used her cell to photograph the treasure. Kwan Chi and his confederates in Beijing were ecstatic with the report that detailed the Russian Navy’s Pacific Fleet submarine operations. That had been the start of their mutually beneficial relationship.
As Elena touched up her makeup, she planned her next coup. After dinner, Georgii would certainly pick a bar to continue the evening’s festivities. She hoped he would avoid the officers’ club at the base; the drab establishment with its cigar stench and cadre of drunks lining the mahogany bar counter was not her first choice. But then again, if Georgii wanted to show off his catch to his colleagues, Elena would play along—something she accepted as part of her career with the SVR.
Once Georgii reached vodka bliss, she would take him home in a cab. After finishing him off with multiple rounds of the best sex he ever had, she would again commence a treasure hunt.
Back on the payroll with Kwan, she would pocket what she could. SVR director Borya Smirnov would never know.
When Elena had returned to Vancouver from her Moscow internment, the first item she purchased was a new cell phone. While on a walk along the shores of English Bay, she used the smartphone to check her Luxembourg bank account.
She feared the SVR might have discovered and drained it. The $5 million and change she’d earned from the MSS remained untouched.
The nest egg was Elena’s only hope. Maybe she could buy her way out of Smirnov’s bondage.
Chapter 27
Day 12—Thursday
A crew-cut blond in his mid-thirties opened the car door. He slid into the passenger seat, holding a pair of paper cups filled with hot tea.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“They’re up, having breakfast.”
The occupant behind the steering wheel removed his headphones, parking them on his shoulders. He accepted a cup and inhaled the steam before taking a drink. A few years older than his companion, the driver had shaggy auburn hair that brushed his ears and hung over the shirt collar behind his neck.
“He must have had a great time.”
“No doubt—the lucky bastard.”
The two SVR officers stationed in Vladivostok traded barbs as they contemplated imagined sex with Elena Krestyanova. Their Toyota Land Cruiser was parked half a block away from Captain First Class Georgii Seriyev’s apartment building. It was a few minutes before ten in the morning.
“What do you think is going on?” asked the arrival. “Why would someone like her be working a naval officer?”
“Maybe she’s not. They could just be bed buddies.”
Both officers were aware that Elena also worked for the SVR.
The driver set his tea in a console cup holder. He retrieved a compact notebook from the dash.
After turning to the fourth page he reported, “Says here they have a history together. She’s spent time with him before. Their last rendezvous was in January.”
“Interesting. Maybe it’s a budding romance.”
“That might explain it.”
“Too bad. I would have liked to have had a shot at her.”
“She’d eat you alive, man—and me too. Neither one of us is in her class.”
They laughed in unison.
* * * *
Elena and Georgii sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. They just finished breakfast—a thick cheese omelet garnished with onions and peppers. Elena cobbled it together. White cotton robes covered their nude bodies.
“That was fabulous, Elena. You’re a terrific cook.”
An inch under six feet tall, Captain First Rank Georgii Seriyev had a barrel chest, muscled arms and legs, and thick mat of auburn hair that conveyed the vigor of a man twenty years younger.
“Thanks. Eggs are easy.”
“Better than I could ever do.”
After a final romp, the pair had climbed out of the bed forty minutes earlier. They showered and relocated to the kitchen. Georgii was in fine form this morning. He’d managed to capture seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, unaware that Elena had slipped a sedative into his final vodka shot.
Elena, on the other hand, was exhausted. Once Georgii passed out, she slid from the bed and conducted a careful and methodical search of the apartment. She left the lights off, using the flashlight app on her cell for illumination when needed. But there was no joy. Other than non-classified technical naval journals stacked on the living room coffee table, she found no secret materials.
Frustrated, she returned to the bed before sunrise. She slept about three hours before Georgii rolled onto her side of the bed.
Georgii cleared the dishes from the table while Elena finished the last of her coffee.
“When are you heading back to Vancouver?” he asked.
“Tomorrow. I have a morning flight to Seoul and then on to Vancouver.”
“That’s a long flight.”
“You should come visit me. Vancouver’s a terrific city.”
Georgii returned to the table, refilling their mugs from the Mr. Coffee pot. “I’d like that very much, maybe later in the year.”
Elena was about to suggest a date when Georgii’s landline phone announced its presence.
“Excuse me.”
Georgii walked to the counter where he retrieved the handset. “Captain Seriyev.”
Elena turned toward the nearby window. The apartment had a partial view of Golden Horn Bay, but she ignored it. Instead she listened to the one-sided call.
“That’s correct, sir. Petrovich will be in command.... It’s scheduled to arrive in Petro next week.... Kirov is already there, prepping the mini.... Yes, sir, I’ll let them know.”
Georgii returned the handset to its cradle and walked back to the table. He reclaimed his chair and toyed with his cup.
“Everything okay?” Elena asked.
“Fine. Just routine stuff.”
Elena glanced at the wall clock: 10:19 A.M. “Am I keeping you from your work?”
“No problem. That was my boss. He’s a worrier. The chief called him and then he called me. You know, shit runs downhill.”
“Chief?” Elena said.
“Admiral Belofsky. He’s in charge of the Pacific Fleet.”
“Ah, the top dog!”
Georgii’s brow wrinkled, not catching the idiom.
“Sorry. I’ve spent too much time in North America. Top dog—the number one.”
“Ah, yes, the admiral is number one around here.”
Elena was about to return to the bathroom when Georgii said, “Dinner with me tonight—please. I won’t keep you up late. I know you need to leave early tomorrow.”
Prior to the call, Elena would have declined. “I would like that.”
“Officers’ club okay?”
“Sure, that’ll be fun.”
Elena relocated to the bathroom. As she combed her hair, using a brush from the counter, one thought dominated. Kirov—could it be him!
Chapter 28
Yuri Kirov was aboard the P-815 with another officer. The minisub remained moored to a floating pier at the Rybachiy submarine base. It was half past one in the afternoon.
“How will we install the recording devices if we can’t penetrate all the way into the harbor?” asked the twenty-four-year-old Russian naval officer.
“I’ll lockout and tow it in with the DPV,” Yuri said.
Senior Lieutenant Yakov Tumanov was a couple of inches shorter than Yuri was but weighed a dozen pounds more. Prematurely balding, he shaved his dome daily to achieve cue-ball smoothness. Tumanov glanced down at the diver propulsion vehicle resting on the deck beside Yuri. The two men were standing in a compartment next to the P-815’s lockin-lockout chamber. The DPV consisted of an aluminum cylinder about a foot in diameter and nearly four feet long. A ducted propeller occupied one end of the cylinder. A metal bar with a handgrip projected just over a foot above the propeller housing.
“Won’t the bottom sensors detect the DPV?” Tumanov asked.
“This unit has been modified. The electric motor is virtually silent. The propeller blades are designed to minimize cavitation.”
Captain-Lieutenant Maranovich had ordered the special gear from the St. Petersburg naval base. It arrived the previous day aboard a scheduled military air cargo flight. “Okay. That should work,” Tumanov said.
Lieutenant Tumanov pulled open the inner hatch to the lockout chamber. He squatted and peered inside the cavity. “Poor Stephan. It must have been awful for him.”
“Did you know him long?” Yuri asked.
“Just a couple of months. Good man. We all liked him.”
“I was just getting to know him. I liked him, too.”
Yuri and Tumanov relocated to the control room. Tumanov sat at the pilot’s console. Yuri stood at his side.
“The integrated sonar system is just outstanding, sir.” Tumanov handed Yuri a headset with a visor and then slipped on his own unit. “I’m going to run a simulation so you can get a feel for the three-D virtual reality features of the system.”
The mini video scr
een covering Yuri’s eyes flashed on, revealing the image of a sandy silt bottom with blades of eelgrass waving in the current. “This is from the video camera mounted on the bow. The test was inside the bay here, running from the shallows to the deepest part of the harbor.”
“That must be a high-def camera,” Yuri commented, impressed with the clarity of the images.
“It is. It also has special optics for low light conditions.”
Tumanov advanced to the next phase of the test. “This is in about twenty meters of water now.” The bottom was still visible in Yuri’s visor screen but was devoid of vegetation other than sporadic clusters of macroalgae. “Sir, this next segment shows how the sonar system views the same conditions.”
Yuri’s visor screen blinked from the video to a computer-generated image.
“Wow,” Yuri muttered, stunned at the clarity of the artificial view of the harbor bottom. The digital image had an azure background with bottom features that included a textured tan bottom and green splotches of vegetation.
Lieutenant Tumanov continued with the demonstration. “This next segment shows how the sonar system found the target that was pre-positioned on the bottom.”
“But you didn’t know its position ahead of time?”
“Correct, only the general area. Our mission was to run a grid search in an attempt to find it.”
“How long did it take?”
“Just under an hour. Here’s the target.”
The virtual image of the telecommunication cable filled Yuri’s visor screen. The three-inch-diameter cable was half-buried in the bottom muck.
“Here’s the confirming video of the target,” Tumanov said.
The screen again changed. The black cable snaked along the bottom.
“Impressive,” Yuri commented, handing the VR visor back to Tumanov. “My only concern is the acoustic output. Remember, the Chinese will have the best sensors they can find.”
The Faithful Spy Page 10
