Operation Petrograd

by Nick Carter

  "A defection?"

  "Looks like it, but there's more. The Russian had brought over some technical data on one of their new subs. He hid it somewhere in Tokyo, and they're turning the town upside down trying to find it. Looks like a lot of people might get their fingers burned with this one."

  "Any line on the triggerman?"

  "KGB, that's obvious. But no, we've no line on them," Williams said. He glanced over at Carter. "Kazuka asked for you. Specifically."

  Carter sat back in his seat and let his mind wander back to Tokyo seven or eight years ago. The head of AXE's station in Tokyo in those days was Owen Nashima. He had been killed on his way back to the States to talk to Carter. That assignment had nearly cost Carter his own life, but it had brought him together with Kazuka Akiyama, a beautiful woman he'd almost married.

  Since then they had worked on a couple of other assignments together. Now she headed AXE's entire Far East operation.

  Williams ran the show from Washington, while Kazuka ran it from the field. It was going to be good, he decided, to see her again.

  AXE's headquarters was located on Dupont Circle where New Hampshire and Massachusetts avenues came together. Williams pulled into the underground garage, and he and Carter were passed through several security checks before they were allowed into Hawk's suite.

  Hawk was waiting for them. He was a short, stocky man with a full head of snow-white hair, and an ever-present, foul-smelling cheap cigar clenched in his teeth. He looked up.

  "How was the jump?"

  Carter knew better than to ask Hawk how he came by his knowledge. The man was incredible. Little if anything ever got past him.

  "Just fine, sir."

  Hawk looked at him critically for a long moment. "How do you feel?"

  "I'm fit, sir."

  "You have that nonsense out of your system now, I presume?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. I've got work for you. Sit down."

  Carter and Williams took seats across the desk from Hawk, who opened a thick file folder and passed across several satellite surveillance photographs to Carter.

  "I assume Williams has already told you about Paul Tibbet and Lieutenant Lavrov."

  "On the way in, sir," Carter said, looking down at the photos. They showed a section of rugged-looking coastline along which was some sort of an installation, perhaps a naval base. But it looked extremely well protected.

  "Svetlaya. North of Vladivostok," Hawk said. "A big submarine staging center and research facility. Lieutenant Lavrov was a lieutenant stationed there. But he also held the KGB rank of captain."

  Carter looked up. "Brad said he was defecting. And he was bringing something with him…?"

  Hawk handed over a sketch of a Soviet submarine. "Petrograd-class. Their latest."

  Carter studied the diagram for a moment. "No photos?"

  "No, and damned little else except the rumor that the boat is stealth-capable. No way of detecting her while she's submerged. I'm told she could come right up into New York Harbor anytime she wanted, and we wouldn't know she was there."

  "Nuclear weapons aboard?"

  "Hydrogen bombs and the systems to launch them. One of those ships could start, conduct, and finish World War Three without us being able to fire a shot in reply. We'd never know what hit us."

  "He was bringing information about the sub?"

  "A microchip from the sub's computer banks, from what I gather. Operations data, maintenance details, the entire ball game. He told Tibbet he had hidden the chip somewhere in Tokyo. Wanted plastic surgery, a new identity here in the States, and a million in cash."

  "But he never told Tibbet where?" Carter asked.

  "They were both killed before he had the chance. Now Tokyo is practically a war zone. The Russians want their computer chip back."

  "And we want to recover it."

  "In the worst way, Nick. The President has given this absolutely top priority. You've got a completely free hand."

  "What about the Japanese government?"

  Hawk sat back in his chair and took the cigar out of his mouth. "That's the one snag for the moment, Nick. The Japanese don't know what's going on. As far as they're concerned, Tibbet was working outside his charter; he was blown away when he tried to make contact with a Soviet embassy employee. Ambassador Zimmerman has been making all the right noises to try and calm their ruffled feathers, but they're no dummies. It's obvious to them that something is going on. The CIA is sending over a team to work with them… but only to find Tibbet's murderer. Nothing has been said about the computer chip."

  "I'm to find it."

  "At all costs, Nick. At all costs."

  * * *

  Carter's flight was scheduled to leave for San Francisco at a few minutes after seven. He left AXE headquarters at about two after exhausting what information Research had on the Petrograd-class submarines, as well as on the Svetlaya base itself. There wasn't much information, but one name kept popping up as source: Lieutenant Commander Howard Peyton, who now worked in the Bureau of Naval Intelligence in Washington. According to the records, he had until recently been stationed as naval attaché at the U.S. embassy in Moscow. If anyone would have more information on the sub and her capabilities it would be Peyton.

  Carter hurried to his brownstone in Georgetown where he packed his suitcase and installed his three weapons in their specially constructed radio-cassette player that allowed him to take them easily through any airport security in the world. First in was Wilhelmina, his 9mm Luger with an extra clip of ammunition and a silencer. Next came Hugo, a pencil-thin, razor-sharp stiletto that in the field he carried on his right forearm in a chamois sheath. Finally, Pierre — a tiny gas bomb that he wore attached high on his thigh — was fit in behind the pop-out circuit board. He brought two of them.

  When he was packed, he drove out to the North Arlington address he had found for Lieutenant Commander Peyton. It turned out to be an impressively large Colonial.

  A maid answered the door when he rang.

  "My name is Nick Carter, and I'd like to speak with Commander Peyton," Carter said.

  The maid let him in, told him to wait in the vestibule, and disappeared into the living room. The house was well furnished. Obviously Peyton was independently wealthy. Naval lieutenant commander's pay wasn't that good.

  Peyton turned out to be a tall, patrician-looking man in his mid to late forties. He was dressed in an open-neck shirt and cardigan sweater. He was smoking a pipe.

  "Mr. Carter," he said, shaking hands. "Should I know you?"

  "No, sir. I've come to talk to you about submarines. Soviet submarines. But first I'd like you to verify that you should talk to me." Carter gave him the telephone number for the White House chief of staff. "They are expecting your call."

  It was obvious that Peyton knew the number. He nodded. "Wait here." He turned and went down the broad stairhall and entered a room.

  He was back in less than two minutes and beckoned for Carter, who followed him into a book-lined study. Peyton closed and locked the door.

  "Care for a drink?" he asked.

  "A little brandy," Carter said. "But I don't have much time, sir. I have a plane to catch in a couple of hours."

  Peyton poured them both a drink, and they sat down across from each other in leather armchairs. "The White House gives you high marks, Mr. Carter, but they wouldn't tell me exactly who you are. Can you?"

  "No, sir. But I came to talk to you about the Soviet submarine base at Svetlaya and the Petrograd-class boats."

  Peyton thought a moment. "You've obviously had access to my reports."

  "Yes, sir, but there wasn't much there."

  "We don't have much information, Mr. Carter. And it's a damned shame. If something isn't done, and soon, we'll be in a real jam."

  "That's why I've come to see you." Carter put down his drink. "Whatever is said cannot leave this room. Under any circumstances."

  "I understand," Peyton said, nodding.

  "It
's possible that we may be able to recover a Petrograd computer chip."

  Peyton's eyes lit up. "Where, in God's name?"

  "I can't say. But a Soviet naval officer attempted to defect to the West. He and his contact officer were killed. Before that happened the Russian told us that he had brought the Petrograd's chip with him."

  "And you're to go after it?"

  "Yes, sir. But no one seems to be able to tell me exactly what I'll be looking for. How big is it? What does it look like? How will I be able to recognize it?"

  Peyton sighed deeply. "I'm afraid I can't help you, Carter. No one knows."

  "I understand that, but if anyone could guess, it would be you."

  Peyton nodded thoughtfully. "The chip itself will be small. Maybe twice the size of a postage stamp. But it will have to be kept in a pretty stable environment. My guess is that it might be contained in something the size of a small suitcase. Something in which temperature and humidity could be controlled. It might even need a small steady current flow for the memory circuits. But I'm only guessing."

  "It would be fragile?"

  "Yes."

  "A bullet through the suitcase would ruin it?"

  "Almost certainly," Peyton said. "But God in heaven, man, if you find the thing, don't let any harm come to it! The thing is vital, absolutely vital! If there were a chance…"

  "There's only a slim chance that I'll be able to find it, before… the competition does. But I have another question. What do you know about the security at Svetlaya?"

  "Nothing more than is in my reports. It's tough. Probably more closely guarded than any installation anywhere in the world."

  "You can't add anything else?"

  Peyton shook his head. "You're not planning on trying to get in there, are you?"

  "One last question, sir. Exactly where in the submarine would the chip be located?"

  Peyton sighed deeply. "Somewhere in the vicinity of the conning tower, in and amongst the boat's ECMs… electronic countermeasures equipment. You'd need to have the carrying case for it, though."

  "Could you design such a case?"

  Peyton nodded slowly. "You are planning on going after it."

  Carter got to his feet. "One way or the other, sir. Call that same number when you've finished. They'll know what to do with the case. And please, sir, no one must know that we have met, or what we have discussed."

  "Your life will depend on it, I know."

  "Thanks for your help."

  "Good luck," Peyton said, but Carter was already out the door and had not heard him.

  Two

  Tokyo was across the International Dateline, fourteen hours later than Washington, D.C. What should have been late morning for Carter was just past midnight when his 747 touched down. The weather was cool, and rain clouds threatened inland. The city smelled of exhaust; it was the same smell as New York, or London, or Paris, and yet there was a difference here. This was the Far East. The mysterious Orient.

  Kazuka Akiyama was waiting for him outside customs. She was a petite woman with delicate features. Tonight she was dressed in a tailored gray suit, an ivory silk blouse, and black pumps.

  They had not seen each other in a couple of years. When they had parted they had been lovers, and friends. Now, however, her reception seemed cool. It hurt a little, though Carter did not want to admit it to himself.

  "You had a good flight, Nicholas?" she asked formally.

  "Long," Carter replied tiredly.

  "I have a car just out front," she said, and she turned and led Carter across the busy terminal, down the broad escalator, and finally outside across to the pickup area where her red Datsun 300ZX was parked.

  He tossed his bags in back, then climbed in on the passenger side as she put on her seat belt and started the engine. The entire airport area was lit up like day and was very busy even at that hour.

  "Put on your seat belt, Nicholas," she said. "It's always much safer that way, especially in Tokyo traffic."

  Something in her manner, in the tone of her voice, the way she held herself, suddenly struck Carter. He cursed his own stupidity as he buckled up. The Russians were here in force. They knew Kazuka, or certainly were able to guess that she was more than she presented herself to be, and now they'd be on Carter. They were, doubtless, very close at that moment.

  Kazuka took off, pulling around a mini-bus and an airport limousine, and then pushed the pedal to the floor, the turbo-charged engine coming to life with a sudden, angry snarl.

  She just made the light at the far side of the Pan Am terminal, and several startled people had to jump back up on the sidewalk.

  Carter looked back in time to see a gray Mercedes pull away and come after them.

  "We've picked up a tail," he said.

  "A Mercedes?"

  "Right."

  They raced up the overpass that led south to Yokohama and north into Tokyo itself, tires squealing as she took the thirty-mile-per-hour curve at seventy-five.

  They shot out of the access ramp onto the six-lane superhighway that was dense with traffic despite the hour, Kazuka expertly handling the powerful car, cutting between trucks, sometimes crossing four lanes of traffic in a split second with a flick of her tiny wrists.

  Twice again Carter looked back. The first time he could see the Mercedes way back, but the second time the German car was no longer in sight.

  "We've lost them," he said, turning back.

  Kazuka's skirt had hiked up, exposing most of her shapely legs and thighs. She glanced over at him and smiled when she realized what he was looking at.

  "It's nice to know that you haven't changed," she said.

  Carter laughed. "I was beginning to wonder about you back there."

  "They've been following me around like glue ever since Paul Tibbet got himself killed. They had a parabolic antenna on us back there, picking up every word we were saying to each other. I spotted them on the way in."

  She glanced in the rearview mirror.

  "They would have known I was here sooner or later," Carter said. "Have you been able to find out anything?"

  "Not a thing," Kazuka replied, shaking her head. Her long dark hair was pinned up in the back, exposing her delicate neck and tiny ears. "I've got most of the crew watching them. But I don't think the Russians themselves have any idea where the lieutenant hid the chip."

  "Did your office have any advance notice of the meeting?"

  "Not a word, Nick. Everyone at the embassy has been running around for the past two weeks getting ready for the President's visit. I hadn't seen Paul for at least a month. Evidently this came out of the blue."

  "Any idea how long Lavrov had been here in Tokyo?"

  "Just a couple of days," Kazuka said. "You have to admire his quick work spotting Tibbet."

  "They must have been on him from day one, then," Carter said.

  "Yet he was able to hide the chip."

  Carter had thought about that paradox. If Lieutenant Lavrov's coworkers at the Soviet embassy knew that he was getting set to defect — knew so that they could set him and Tibbet up for the kill at the zoo — why was it they did not know the location of the computer chip? What was he missing?

  "I have you booked at the Tamaka Hotel. It's quiet and out of the way."

  Carter looked at her. He smiled. "Sure to bring back some memories."

  She smiled too. "I was hoping it might, Nicholas. It's been a long time."

  "Too long," Carter said. "Far too long."

  * * *

  The rest of their drive into the city was uneventful, though Kazuka carefully circled the hotel area several times to make absolutely certain they had not been picked up.

  When she was satisfied, they parked in a ramp half a block behind the hotel and came in on foot. This section of Tokyo, called Kanda, was very near the Sumida River that divided the city in two. It was quiet at this time of night, and the back alleys and narrow side streets were hidden in darkness.

  The Tamaka, which in Japanese me
ant "jewel," was a sixteen-story cream-colored building. Inside, the obsequious desk clerk registered Carter and the bellman helped them upstairs.

  When they were alone, Kazuka came into his arms and he held her close. He had forgotten just how good she felt. After a moment or two she looked up into his eyes and they kissed deeply, the months and years of separation melting away as if they had never existed.

  "I haven't forgotten you, Nicholas," she said. "A day hasn't gone by that I haven't thought of you."

  Carter smiled tiredly. "I'd make a lousy husband."

  "I don't care. You're here now. Yesterday is gone forever, and tomorrow is an unknown."

  She helped Carter off with his jacket, then undid his tie, pulled it off, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  "There's nothing we can do tonight," she said. "Besides, you'll be suffering from jet lag."

  "Disorientation," he offered.

  She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and kissed his chest. "Lethargy."

  "No desire," he said.

  "No desire," she purred softly.

  Carter kicked off his shoes and picked her up off her feet. They kissed on the way into the bathroom where the tub had already been turned on and was steaming. She kicked off her shoes at the door. Just inside, Carter reached back with one foot and closed the door to keep in the heat.

  "I'm sorry Paul Tibbet was killed," she said. "And yet I don't care… it's brought you here."

  Carter put her down and they finished undressing one another. Kazuka's breasts were small and proud, and Carter took each of them in his mouth, running his tongue around the darker halo of her nipples. She arched her back, a small moan escaping her lips.

  He kissed the area between her breasts and then began to move down, Kazuka holding his head in her hands as he slipped off her skirt and panties.

  "Nicholas?" she sighed.

  He kissed her there, slowly, his tongue lingering, her entire body vibrating with pleasure as her hips began to move almost of their own volition.

  Carter was ready. With her, it had been a very long time. And her body was so sweet.