The Good Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  “She’s shopping for me—clothes. I’m tired of these rags.”

  “You should have said something; we can get whatever you need.”

  “I’m okay.”

  That provided a new opening for Nick. “Why don’t you come back with us to Vancouver? We can get your leg checked out by a doctor.”

  “Plus the restaurants there are fantastic,” added Elena.

  “I can’t leave here. The border.”

  “No problem.” Nick reached into a coat pocket and handed Yuri a Canadian passport.

  Yuri flipped it open. His photograph stared back, a copy from his military personnel file. The forger had deleted his uniform jacket, replacing it with a blue blazer. He had a new name: Peter Kirkinski—a Ukrainian immigrant to Canada.

  “Nice work, don’t you think?” Nick said.

  “It appears authentic.”

  “It was created from a real blank, not a fake. Elena and I use the same type. You’ll be able to come and go at will.”

  Yuri continued to thumb through the document.

  Nick leaned farther toward Yuri. “So, why don’t you come back with us to get your leg checked out. We’ll bring you back here later tonight.”

  The offer tempted Yuri. His leg remained numb. Perhaps a drug prescribed by a physician could help restore feeling. But he remembered just whom he was dealing with.

  “No, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave here until I know the crew is safe.”

  “Okay,” Nick said, “suit yourself.”

  “What’s the next step?”

  “We wait for an update from Moscow. Maybe we’ll hear something tonight.”

  “Phone me.”

  “I will, but you know I won’t be able to divulge any details over the telephone.”

  “Then we’ll have to meet here again.”

  “All right.”

  Yuri opened the door as Elena spoke, “Can we drive you back?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll walk. The exercise helps my leg.”

  “Okay,” Nick said. “We’ll call you when we hear something.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Yuri sat upright in the reclining chair in the darkened living room. It was eerily quiet this early evening. The hushed “tick tick” of the wall-mounted battery-powered clock dominated.

  For over a week there had been no feeling in his injured left leg. But twenty minutes earlier, his calf began to wake up: First, the skin smoldered like sunburn; then it had morphed into a sizzle. Over the past several minutes, he’d repeatedly reached down with his left hand to test himself, worried that his brain had invented the sensation as a weird derivative of the bends.

  He felt the bite when he pinched the skin with his thumb and forefinger.

  Maybe that miserable walk really helped after all!

  Yuri launched himself from the chair and took a couple of steps toward the kitchen. The limp remained unchanged but the calf pain persisted.

  Yuri poured himself a tall glass of water from the sink faucet and walked out onto the deck. He peered southward into the darkness. They’re still out there . . . on the bottom . . . waiting for me!

  He had never been more alone. His crewmates remained stranded, his homeland floundered in its attempt to rescue them, and he missed Laura.

  He carried her cell phone in a trouser pocket; Laura had left it for his use. She’d promised to call when she arrived in Redmond.

  Laura represented Yuri’s one remaining hope. Although she faced a daunting task, Yuri had confidence that she could do it—with a little luck.

  There was a downside to his optimism: Maybe Laura would come to her senses and stay away. He’d told her to do that very thing the previous day. But she wouldn’t think of that now.

  Or would she?

  * * *

  Laura made it to her home in the late afternoon. Weary from the long drive, she soaked for forty minutes in the bathtub and then made dinner: macaroni and cheese from a premixed package. She sat at the kitchen table sipping merlot while sorting her mail.

  There were the usual bills and a pile of junk mail along with a couple of magazines. But the correspondence from her divorce attorney caught her eye. She read the letter. The court had set the first hearing for early January.

  Good, Laura thought, anxious for closure. She made a mental note to call her attorney and advise him about Ken’s latest antics. He had made no additional trouble and left Point Roberts without further contact.

  Laura leaned back in the chair and thought of Yuri. She remained grateful for how he had stood up to Ken.

  Laura also remained conflicted about her own actions.

  He really needs my help or his shipmates might not make it.

  Laura reassured herself with another taste of wine. Besides, it’s stuck on the bottom in Canada, not the U.S., so I should be okay.

  * * *

  The Sea Ray arrived over the Neva after a calm late-evening voyage.

  Over the VLF buoy comms line, Yuri reported the news about the remotely operated vehicle—ROV—to the Neva’s CO.

  “I should have it tomorrow.”

  “Where’s it coming from?” asked Captain Borodin. He was in his cabin alone.

  “Seattle.”

  Yuri decided not to mention Laura’s role in procuring the underwater robotic craft, alluding to his SVR contacts as the source.

  “What good do you think that’s going to do?”

  “I’m hoping to get an assessment of the damage. That way we’ll be able to work on a repair.”

  “There’s too much damage to repair—two flooded compartments. This boat isn’t going anywhere.”

  “I understand, but remember I looked the area over when I locked out. The only damage I could see was tube five. The muzzle door and bow cap were missing but that’s it. The tube itself looked undamaged, as much as I could see inside.”

  And that wasn’t much. Rushed for time and forced to use a glow stick when his dive light flooded, Yuri had only been able to examine a couple meters of the torpedo tube’s interior.

  “Why do you want to look at it again?” Borodin said. “With the muzzle door gone the tube’s open to the sea. Either the breech was blown off or the tube itself was holed. No way can we fix that.”

  “If we can find out what happened we might figure out a way to repair it from the outside.”

  Yuri described his plan while Borodin listened without enthusiasm. “I suppose it’s worth a try, but what we really need is a rescue chamber.”

  “I know and I’m working on that. I just need more time to set it up.”

  “Dammit to hell! We don’t have much time left. The increased power helps and the boat’s warmer, but we’re barely keeping up with the leaks. We’ve been maxing out the pumps for days now. If we lose just one more . . .”

  Yuri knew the rest. The leaks would fill the boat, sinking it farther into the muck. The reactor would overheat and shut down. As incoming seawater steadily increased pressure, it would be a race between hypothermia and oxygen toxicity as to which would kill the crew first.

  Borodin continued his rant. “The men are barely holding it together. Many are convinced that our government has left us here to rot. And I agree with them.”

  “But we just need more time.”

  “Yuri, I know you’re trying but that’s not going to wash with the crew.”

  “Tell them that the ROV is the first phase of the rescue. Anything to boost their spirits.”

  His heart racing, Yuri waited.

  Finally, Borodin responded. “All right, Yuri. I will try that, but neither of us has much goodwill left.”

  “I’ll figure it out. Don’t give up on me—please.”

  CHAPTER 36

  DAY 11—THURSDAY

  “Good morning,” Nicolai Orlov said. He stood in the open door of Elena Krestyanova’s office at the Vancouver Trade Mission.

  Located on the four-story building’s most desirable perimeter w
all, the window had a lovely view of a nearby park. The furniture was upscale, fitting for Elena’s role as an envoy. The display shelf next to her desk contained assorted decorations—a crystal figurine of a ballet dancer the most prominent—but not one photograph of family, friends, or loved ones.

  Elena looked up from her laptop. “Hi, Nick. Come on in.”

  She gestured to the teapot on a nearby table.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.” He sat in one of two chairs that fronted her desk.

  “Sleep well?” she asked.

  “Great.”

  They slept in separate beds last night—Nick’s doing; he’d complained of being tired and in need of a good night’s sleep. Elena had not been sympathetic.

  “I got your message,” Nick said. “What’s up?”

  “All I know is that we’re supposed to be in the code room at ten for a conference call.”

  “The chief?”

  “Who else?”

  Nick checked his watch. “He’s working late again. What do you think he wants?”

  “I expect that he’s going to want a progress report on Kirov.”

  “Yeah, probably.” Nick cracked his knuckles. “He’s going to be pissed that we haven’t been able to get him out of there.”

  “I know.”

  The SVR officers discussed how best to respond to their boss’s expected demands, and Nick departed for another unoccupied office to call the consulate.

  Elena returned to the laptop and clicked on another link. A two-month-old article from the Vancouver Sun flashed onto her screen.

  “Incredible—right in our own backyard,” she muttered as she raced through the story.

  * * *

  Nick and Elena sat at a conference table in the code room alone. The tabletop speakerphone linked the operatives via secure military satellite to their boss.

  After camping out at his office over a week monitoring Deep Blue, SVR director Borya Smirnov had retreated to his dacha in a guarded forest compound on the outskirts of Moscow. The American and Japanese naval war game offshore of the Southern Kuril Islands had concluded. The carrier strike groups dispersed. If an invasion were to occur, it would have happened by now. All remained quiet on the East Asian front.

  Still, the other annoying problem demanded his attention.

  After listening to Nick’s briefing, the SVR general responded, “Major, I don’t care how you do it, but you are to get him to the mission today.”

  “He won’t come voluntarily.”

  “I wanted him brought in yesterday!”

  “I know, but he wouldn’t come. We had a passport for him and doctor lined up, but he wasn’t interested.”

  “I’m not going to say this again. I want him out of Point Roberts today. He’s too much of a liability. Involving that woman and stealing boats, he could be picked up at any time.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, General,” added Elena. “Kirov’s careful and cunning.”

  Nick rejoined, “Sir, Kirov’s American friend is actually helping him. She believes he’s searching for sunken treasure offshore of Point Roberts.”

  “Are they lovers?”

  “Probably. She’s quite attractive.”

  “Then it’s even more important that we bring him in, plus the woman, too.”

  “And if we can’t coax them to come?”

  “You both know what has to be done.”

  “Sir?” Nick responded.

  “Dispose of them.”

  Elena and Nicolai were silent as the director’s words sank in.

  “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” echoed Elena and Nicolai.

  “Report back to me as soon as you’ve completed your mission.”

  The circuit disconnected and the speakerphone broadcast static.

  Nick muttered, “Kakógo chërta?” What the hell?

  Elena rolled her eyes.

  Nick leaned back in his chair. He said, “So what are we supposed to do now? I’ve never been involved in an assassination before.”

  Elena had but did not let on; part of her undercover training included “wet affairs.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to resort to such extremes,” Elena offered.

  “Why?”

  Reaching into a file folder, she pulled out a hard copy of a downloaded newspaper article and handed it to Nick. He read the headline from the Vancouver Sun: “Local Company Sets Record Dive.”

  “Fantastíeskij!” Fantastic.

  * * *

  Ken Newman eyed the check for ten thousand dollars. “This is really generous, Mom. Thanks very much.”

  “If the attorney needs more, let me know.”

  “Okay.”

  Ken Newman and his mother sat inside her Lexus four-door in the parking lot of Ken’s employer. It was a few minutes before noon. Deborah was in her early sixties with luscious shoulder-length jet-black hair, a dark tan complexion with sparse facial wrinkles, and a slim curvy figure. A widow for three years, she had a flock of suitors, attracted to her fine looks—and her money. Deborah’s husband, Ken’s late father, owned a chain of furniture stores, which she continued to manage.

  With no one else to turn to, Ken had called home. Deborah Newman paid his bail in Bellingham earlier in the morning, pledging a CD for security. After stopping at Ken’s apartment for a change of clothing, she drove him to his workplace.

  “Let me know if you need a ride to pick up your car.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  The Corvette remained in Point Roberts, towed to an impound lot. He told Deborah he was on business in Vancouver and decided to visit the Point out of curiosity. He had yet to mention the divorce papers.

  “How is Laura?”

  “Good.”

  “Are you making progress?”

  “Slowly.”

  “I know it’s hard, honey, but keep trying—she’s really worth it.”

  “I will.”

  Ken climbed out the car and Deborah headed back to her Mercer Island home.

  As he walked toward the building entrance, his thoughts raced.

  It’s all Laura’s fault! She’s the cheat. And who’s the cripple she’s sleeping with? What’s so great about him?

  And what about the company stock?

  Laura had already received hefty stock bonuses and would be in line for huge future payouts—potentially tens of millions.

  Ken wasn’t about to walk away from his share of that gold mine.

  * * *

  Yuri stood beside a pay phone at the marina’s fuel dock; his lower left leg throbbed. He’d just called Nick Orlov’s cell.

  “I’ll get you another phone,” Nick said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  When he was docking the Sea Ray after the late evening’s contact with Borodin, Laura’s smartphone had slipped out of his coat pocket when he’d reached over the side for a mooring line. It plopped into the water.

  Nick said, “Anyway, I’m just glad you called. I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”

  “The rescue—it’s on?”

  “I don’t have news on that but I wanted to let you know that we found something real interesting right here in Vancouver.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a deep-water diving company based in North Vancouver. It has all kinds of equipment and works all over the world.” He named the company.

  Nick continued, “I just talked to them. I think they have everything you could want: diving bell, recompression chamber, and a one-atmosphere suit—whatever that is. They even have access to U.S. and NATO military submarine rescue equipment. Apparently, some of it is manufactured right here in the Vancouver area.”

  “What do they know of our needs?” Yuri said with a raised voice while turning away from the main dock and pressing the handset hard onto his right ear. After fueling, a fifty-eight-foot-long commercial fishing boat had just started its diesel; the purse seiner needed a new muffler.

  “Nothing other than I t
old them we had possible salvage work at a depth of two hundred plus meters. They think I’m after some valuable sunken cargo.”

  “It’ll only work if we have our own people operate it. It can’t be a charter with outsiders.”

  “That’s what I told them. They said they’d consider it as long as we’re creditworthy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That we have the money to pay them and that we can guarantee return of the equipment.”

  “I see. It’s all about money.”

  “Da!”

  “Do we have enough?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Then let’s proceed.”

  “I don’t know what to get. I was hoping you could help.”

  “Of course, how?”

  “They said they’d meet with us this afternoon in their yard. If you’ll come, you can look over their stuff and if it’ll work, we’ll make a deal.”

  “You want me in Vancouver?”

  “I know you don’t want to leave, but it’s the only way to get what you really need.”

  “Yes, but the border . . . I’ll have to cross it—twice. I can’t be detained.”

  “You have the passport we gave you yesterday, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That should be all you need. You can come and go at will.”

  “I guess so,” Yuri said, but not convinced.

  “I suppose I could try to broker this deal over the phone, but I don’t . . .”

  “No, no, you’re right. I must be there. We have little time left.”

  “Klassno.” Cool. Nick continued, “Can you have your friend drive you to Vancouver? We could meet at Elena’s office and then all of us drive to the yard. It’s only twenty minutes away.”

  “She’s not here and won’t be back for several hours.”

  “I have some business to take care of but Elena could pick you up within an hour. I’ll meet you both at the diving company.”

  “Yes, please have her come.”

  Yuri hung up the phone, energized.

  This could be the answer to everything.

  * * *

  The plump balding middle-aged man stared at the sedan parked on the pier next to the Hercules, his ninety-six-foot workboat and home. Captain Dan Miller turned to face Laura. “Mrs. Newman, I don’t think we’re going to be able to get the gear into that fancy car of yours.”