Blackmail

by Rick Campbell

  “I overheard the end of your conversation. You said you’d consider his proposal to spend time together. That doesn’t sound like a lack of interest.”

  Christine’s anger smoldered as she met Gorev’s accusatory stare. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” She started moving down the hallway again.

  Gorev planted his hand against the wall, barring her path. She stopped abruptly, almost running into his arm. He said, “I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but let me make one thing clear. You are not interested in President Kalinin.”

  Christine bit down on her anger. “I didn’t realize that as director of the SVR, your duties included matchmaker.”

  “I have many responsibilities, Miss O’Connor. I do the…” Gorev paused, his eyes narrowing as he searched for better words. “I do what is best for Russia and for Yuri. He doesn’t always appreciate what I do, but I assure you, my actions are in his and our country’s best interest.

  “As far as your best interest goes,” Gorev said, “I suggest you maintain your relationship with Yuri completely professional. Your likeness to Natasha is a distraction, one he does not need.”

  Christine said, “I’ll take your recommendation under consideration.”

  “It is not a request.”

  There was something about Gorev that reminded Christine of Kevin Hardison: a domineering man who tried to force his will on others. But like Hardison, Gorev had no authority over her. As she stood in the hallway in front of the two-hundred-pound man barring her path, she could have walked around him; the hallway was wide enough. However, she would not be intimidated, not even by the head of the SVR.

  She placed a hand on Gorev’s shoulder. “You’re in incredible shape,” she said as she felt the muscles beneath his suit jacket. “You must work out.” Gorev stared at her as she continued. “I was a gymnast for seventeen years. A national champion on the beam.”

  “And your point?” Gorev asked.

  “My point,” Christine said as she ran her hand slowly down his arm, “is that elite gymnasts require three essential elements. Most people think flexibility is key, and it is, but strength is just as important. There are some moves many gymnasts can’t do because they aren’t strong enough. The third element is alignment,” Christine said as she stopped with her hand resting on Gorev’s wrist.

  “If you begin a move even a degree or two out of alignment, it can spell disaster, especially when performing on a four-inch-wide beam. Alignment is also key for strength. If your muscles aren’t properly aligned, you won’t have the strength to power yourself through some of the moves.”

  Christine clamped her hand around Gorev’s wrist.

  “For example, if I were to rotate your hand ninety degrees”—she twisted firmly, rotating Gorev’s hand inward—“a small woman like myself could overpower a strong man.”

  A grin creased Gorev’s face. “Care to try?”

  “If I succeed,” Christine asked, “will you keep your nose out of my business?”

  “If you succeed,” Gorev replied, “you’ll have the satisfaction of winning this little game of yours. Nothing more.”

  “Fair enough,” Christine said.

  She pushed down on Gorev’s wrist and he resisted. She pushed even harder, and his hand inched down the wall. He strained against her, halting the downward movement.

  Gorev’s grin widened. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  Christine pushed down suddenly with all her strength and Gorev reacted, countering her move with an upward thrust. Christine released his wrist and Gorev’s arm swung upward. Twisting to the side, she slipped past him before he could recover and bar her path again.

  She turned around, facing him. “I was wrong. You’re too strong for me.”

  The muscles in Gorev’s jaw flexed as Christine walked backward down the hallway, still facing him. Gorev replied, “We shall play another game soon, yes?”

  “Perhaps,” Christine said in a much chillier tone than she’d used with Kalinin. “In the meantime”—she blew Gorev a kiss—“give my love to Yuri.”

  Gorev gritted his teeth.

  Christine turned and headed down the hallway, passing the two Security Service agents as she entered the ballroom. Gorev followed closely behind, then monitored her from the ballroom’s perimeter as she mingled among the crowd. It wasn’t long before President Kalinin returned from his meeting with Chernov. Undeterred by Gorev’s surveillance, Christine approached Kalinin as the band prepared to play another waltz.

  “Care to dance?” she asked.

  “It would be my pleasure,” he replied, then escorted her onto the dance floor.

  With Gorev glaring in her direction, Christine embraced Kalinin in a closed instead of semi-closed position, pulling him close so he could feel the curves of her body during the changes and turns. The music began, and during a spin turn, she caught fury on Gorev’s face.

  Christine smiled and pulled Kalinin even closer.

  24

  USS MICHIGAN

  Lieutenant Chris Shroyer kept his eye pressed to the periscope as Israel’s coast slid by to starboard, searching for surface ships on the horizon or for approaching air contacts. Shroyer, as well as Murray Wilson, who was seated in the Captain’s chair on the Conn, listened intently to the speaker connected to the sensor atop the periscope as it emitted a constant buzz of activity, the beeps and chirps reporting a plethora of radar transmissions. Fortunately, none had threat parameters; all were navigation radars from merchant ships transiting the Eastern Mediterranean Sea.

  Yesterday afternoon, Michigan completed an uneventful journey through the Suez Canal and headed toward the northeast corner of the Mediterranean, submerging as soon as the water was deep enough. Before submerging, the last intelligence message they’d received reported that several Russian surface combatants and diesel submarines had pulled into Latakia, Syria, to replenish food and fuel, while the battle cruiser Pyotr Velikiy and the Northern Fleet’s nuclear-powered submarines remained at sea with their aircraft carrier, Admiral Kuznetsov. The Russian carrier and battle cruiser were to the west of Michigan’s assigned waterspace, although there was no telling where the Russian submarines were.

  A satellite navigation position for Michigan’s inertial navigators had already been received, and the radioman’s report indicated their objectives at periscope depth had been achieved.

  “Conn, Radio. Download complete.”

  Lieutenant Shroyer acknowledged and after the requisite orders, Michigan tilted downward. As the submarine leveled off at two hundred feet, a radioman delivered the message board to the submarine’s Captain. Wilson flipped through the messages, reading the latest intel report on the Russian Northern Fleet, followed by a new operational order for Michigan. As he read through the OPORD, he noted the unusual nature of the mission, as well as the target: Marshal Ustinov, the newest cruiser in the Russian Northern Fleet.

  Wilson called the Messenger. “Have Commander McNeil and the XO report to Control.”

  The Messenger departed and a moment later, Michigan’s Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Dave Beasley, arrived. Wilson handed Beasley the message board, with the OPORD on top. After he read the message, Beasley looked up. “Marshal Ustinov? In port?”

  Wilson nodded and was about to expound when Commander John McNeil, head of the SEAL detachment aboard, arrived. Beasley handed him the message, which McNeil quickly read.

  “When can you be in position?” McNeil asked. “We’ll need to be in range of our SDV.”

  Wilson evaluated the time required to transit within range of the SEALs’ mini-sub. “We’ll arrive shortly after midnight. When will you be ready to brief?”

  McNeil replied, “It’s a pretty standard mission. Give me two hours to have the plan tweaked for this scenario and personnel selected for the mission.”

  “Let’s brief at zero-nine-hundred,” Wilson said, “in the Battle Management Center.”

  Turning to his XO
, he directed, “Have one of the officers prepare a pro report on Marshal Ustinov.”

  25

  USS MICHIGAN

  Two hours later, Wilson entered Michigan’s Battle Management Center, located aft of the Control Room. The former Navigation Center had been transformed during Michigan’s conversion from ballistic to guided missile submarine, and was now crammed with twenty-five consoles, each with two color displays, one atop the other. Thirteen consoles were on the port side of the ship, running fore to aft with an aisle between them, while the other twelve consoles were on the starboard side, arranged in four rows facing aft. Mounted on the aft bulkhead were two sixty-inch plasma screens, with a third sixty-inch display on the forward bulkhead.

  Six Michigan crew members and five SEALs were already present, occupying consoles on the starboard side: Michigan’s Executive Officer, four department heads, and Lieutenant Jayne Stucker, along with Commander McNeil and four other SEALs. At the front of the Battle Management Center, Lieutenant Jake Harrison stood beside one of the sixty-inch plasma displays hanging on the bulkhead. Wilson settled into the lone vacant console, beside McNeil, and the senior SEAL nodded in Harrison’s direction.

  Lieutenant Harrison kicked off the mission brief, beginning with a summary of the information provided in Michigan’s message.

  “As you’re aware, Michigan has been tasked with sinking the Russian cruiser Marshal Ustinov, which is docked in Latakia. The Navigator will brief the submarine’s transit to within range of our SDV, Lieutenant Stucker will brief us on the target, and I’ll add the pertinent mission details.”

  First up was the submarine’s Navigator, Lieutenant Charlie Eaton, with Lieutenant Stucker controlling the bulkhead display from her console. A nautical chart of the Eastern Mediterranean appeared, zooming in on Latakia. Lieutenant Eaton’s brief was short and uneventful: Latakia jutted slightly into the Mediterranean Sea, with no geographic issues posing a problem during the submarine’s transit to within launch range of the SDV. Eaton shifted to a satellite image of Latakia, showing the arrangement of the piers and wharves at the seaport, as well as the location of Marshal Ustinov.

  Next up was Lieutenant Jayne Stucker, who had been assigned the pro report on Marshal Ustinov. A schematic of the Russian ship appeared on the bulkhead display beside her.

  “The target is Marshal Ustinov, a Slava class cruiser. Three have been completed, with one assigned to each Russian fleet except the Baltic. She’s heavily armed, carrying sixteen surface-to-surface and one hundred four surface-to-air missiles, along with six close-in weapon systems like our Navy’s Phalanx Gatling gun. The cruiser also has significant anti-submarine warfare capabilities, with one hundred ninety-two depth charges, an anti-submarine helicopter, and ten torpedo tubes capable of launching Type 53 torpedoes.

  “Marshal Ustinov should be easy to distinguish underwater. She’s six hundred eleven feet long at the waterline, with a twin shaft/single rudder design, and the bulbous sonar dome on the bow will easily distinguish it as a combatant as opposed to a merchant ship. Additionally, she’ll have her hull number painted on the side.

  “Any questions, sir?” Stucker aimed her question at Captain Wilson and Commander McNeil. None were forthcoming, and Stucker took her seat while Lieutenant Harrison continued the brief.

  “Michigan is configured differently for this deployment, carrying only one SDV. However, one SDV is sufficient for this mission. Once within launch range, Petty Officer Maydwell and I will transport a limpet mine in the back seat of the SDV, then attach it to the hull of Marshal Ustinov behind the sonar array. The explosion should damage the sonar dome and flood the forward compartments.”

  After a few questions and a short discussion, the mission brief concluded.

  McNeil asked, “When will Michigan be in position?”

  Wilson turned to the Nav, who replied, “We’ll be in launch range by zero-two-hundred.”

  26

  MEDITERRANEAN SEA

  Lieutenant Jake Harrison, outfitted in a dive suit and accompanied by Petty Officer First Class Rob Maydwell, stepped through the circular hatch in the side of Missile Tube One. Maydwell shut the hatch with a faint clank and spun the handle, engaging the hatch lugs, sealing the two men inside the seven-foot-diameter missile tube. Harrison climbed a steel ladder up two levels as Maydwell followed, entering the Dry Deck Shelter, bathed in diffuse red light.

  The Dry Deck Shelter was a conglomeration of three separate chambers: a spherical hyperbaric chamber at the forward end to treat injured divers, a spherical transfer trunk in the middle, which Harrison and Maydwell had entered, and a long cylindrical hangar section containing the SEAL Delivery Vehicle, a black mini-sub resembling a fat torpedo—twenty-two feet long by six feet in diameter. The hangar was divided into two sections by a Plexiglas shield dropping halfway down from the top of the hangar, with the SDV on one side and controls for operating the hangar on the other side.

  Harrison stepped into the hangar, which was manned by five Navy divers: one on the forward side of the Plexiglas shield to operate the controls, and the other four divers in scuba gear on the other side. Maydwell sealed the hatch behind him, then the two SEALs ducked under the Plexiglas shield, stopping at the forward end of the SDV, which was loaded nose first into the Dry Deck Shelter. The SDV had two seating areas, one in front of the other, each capable of carrying two persons, with the back seat containing a limpet mine.

  Lieutenant Harrison helped Maydwell into a rebreather, a closed-circuit breathing apparatus that produced no bubbles, reducing the probability their presence in the Syrian port would be detected, and Maydwell returned the favor. After donning their fins, the two men climbed into the front seat of the SDV. Harrison manipulated the controls and a contour of the Syrian coast appeared on the navigation display. They were ten miles from shore.

  Harrison put his face mask on, as did Maydwell, then rendered the okay hand signal to the diver on the other side of the Plexiglas shield. Water surged into the hangar, gushing up from vents beneath them. The DDS was soon flooded except for a pocket of air on the other side of the Plexiglas shield, where the Navy diver operated the Dry Deck Shelter. There was a faint rumbling as the circular hatch at the end of the shelter opened, and two divers on each side of the SDV glided toward the chamber opening with a kick of their fins.

  The divers pulled rails out onto the submarine’s missile deck, and the SDV was extracted from the hangar. Harrison manipulated the controls and the SDV’s propeller started spinning. The submersible rose slowly, then moved forward, passing above the Dry Deck Shelter and along the starboard side of Michigan’s sail, cruising over the submarine’s bow into the dark water ahead.

  * * *

  An hour later, Harrison eased back on the throttles and the mini-sub slowed. In the distance, faint white lights appeared, wavering on the water’s surface. As the SDV continued onward, the ghostly images of barnacle-encrusted ship hulls drifted toward them.

  Harrison angled the SDV to the right, reaching the end of the wharves at Latakia, then turned left and traveled slowly past each ship, searching for the target of interest. Marshal Ustinov should be the thirteenth ship along the wharf. Per Stucker’s pro report, Harrison kept an eye out for a ship with a twin shaft/single rudder design and a sonar dome on the bow.

  The thirteenth ship fit the description as expected, but Harrison required one additional piece of information. He adjusted the SDV controls and the mini-sub descended toward the seafloor, coming to rest on the sandy bottom. After pulling himself from the SDV, he surged upward, heading toward the ship’s bow. Upon reaching the surface, he read the hull number painted on the side of the ship.

  Marshal Ustinov.

  Harrison descended to the SDV, where he helped Petty Officer Maydwell lift the limpet mine from the back seat. The explosive device was designed with buoyancy chambers so it was only slightly negatively buoyant, but they had selected the largest limpet mine for this mission, which was awkward to carry alone. The two men swam
toward the bow of Marshal Ustinov, slowing as they approached the cruiser’s sonar dome. The SEALs placed the mine gently against the hull, where its magnetic base attached suddenly with a faint clank.

  Maydwell set the fuse timer for two hours, allowing enough time for the two SEALs to return to Michigan. Harrison checked his watch, then activated the timer, and the two men returned to their mini-sub on the seafloor. A minute later, the SDV was headed away from the Syrian seaport. Behind them, the shadowy hull of Marshal Ustinov faded into the murky water.

  * * *

  An hour later, as Harrison headed toward the rendezvous coordinates, Michigan materialized from the darkness. Harrison slowed the SDV and adjusted its course to approach from astern, coasting toward the two Dry Deck Shelters. The SDV slowed to a hover behind the starboard chamber, sinking until it came to rest with a gentle bump on the rails extended onto the missile deck. Two divers appeared on each side of the submersible, latching it to the rails as Harrison and Maydwell pulled themselves from the vehicle. A minute later, with the SDV retracted inside the Dry Deck Shelter, the chamber door shut with a gentle thud.

  It wasn’t long before the water was drained into one of Michigan’s variable ballast tanks and the two SEALs exited the Dry Deck Shelter, descending into Missile Tube One. After stripping their gear and warming up under the hot showers inside the tube, they dressed and headed to the submarine’s Battle Management Center, where Harrison debriefed Commander McNeil. Everything had gone according to plan.

  Lieutenant Harrison stepped into the Control Room, which was rigged for black. The submarine was at periscope depth at night, with Control illuminated only by the faint indications on the Ballast and Ship Control Panels. Lieutenant Chris Shroyer was the Officer of the Deck again, circling on the periscope, his face pressed to the eyepiece. On the Perivis display, Harrison watched as the scope turned; there was nothing but darkness except for a few tiny white lights in the distance moving from right to left as the periscope rotated.