The receptionist on the other end of the line in Anchorage routed Yuri’s call to NSD’s most important customer.
“Good afternoon,” Jim Bauer said.
Bauer was the Alaska operations manager for Aurora Offshore Systems.
“Hi, Jim,” Yuri said. “I just wanted to let you know we’re on schedule down here. Barring weather issues, Deep Explorer and my crew will be in Barrow tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s great news.”
They had communicated numerous times by phone and e-mail but had not yet met in person.
“We’re really counting on you guys,” Bauer continued. “Houston is already getting bombarded by the media and attacked online by every environmental whack job out there.”
“How about you?”
“Nothing here yet, but it will come. The greens hate us.”
Houston-based AOS cut its teeth drilling in the Gulf of Mexico, having accumulated enormous cash reserves from over a dozen spectacularly successful well fields developed offshore of Texas and Louisiana. After Shell Oil retreated from its Chukchi Sea exploration program due to poor test well results, the federal government banned future Arctic offshore leases. But new trouble in the Middle East and Russia’s stranglehold over Western Europe’s natural gas supply prompted the White House to reverse policy. Alaska’s northern continental shelf was reopened for development. Aurora elected to expand into Alaska, submitting the winning bid for a lease of ten thousand acres east of the Shell site.
“Have you been able to get a crew out to the field to check for oil?” Yuri asked.
“No. Weather turned shitty. Too dangerous for a chopper that far offshore. Maybe tomorrow.”
In spite of fierce out-of-state environmental opposition, AOS won approval to drill four exploratory wells in the Chukchi Sea. The State of Alaska welcomed Aurora warmly and the feds were unusually cooperative; they played strictly by the rules, minimizing regulatory politics as directed by the president. All four bores hit commercial quantities of oil and gas—an unprecedented accomplishment. Aurora planned to drill additional test wells the coming summer in preparation for development of the field.
“Were there any problems cementing in the wells?” Yuri asked, referring to the safety measure of filling the test bores with cement to temporarily plug the drill casing.
“None. It was all textbook. The feds signed off on everything.”
“It must be coming from a seep or an abandoned well.”
“That’s our take on it, too.”
Northwest Subsea Dynamic’s original assignment for Aurora was for a second Chukchi Sea venture. AOS had recently leased an additional twenty thousand acres from the federal government. NSD was under contract to provide precision bathymetry for the new tract.
Preliminary geophysical surveys hinted that the Chukchi Plateau, located in deep waters near the limit of the United States’ Arctic Ocean continental shelf claim, held enormous hydrocarbon reserves—several times those of Prudhoe Bay. Deep Explorer’s innovative sonar and photographic systems coupled with its speed and extended under-ice endurance capability were all well suited for surveying the site. But that work was now on hold. Deep Explorer had a new mission.
“How long do you think the survey will take?” Bauer asked.
“At least forty-eight hours, maybe longer.”
“You’ll check the test wells first, correct?”
“Yes—that’ll be our first task.”
Fallout from BP’s Deepwater Horizon blowout in the Gulf required Aurora to prove its existing Chukchi Sea exploration wells were not the cause of the pollution.
Conventional survey and photographic surveillance of the seabed from ship-deployed remotely operated vehicles—ROVs—would not be possible until the summer, when the pack ice retreated. That left only one option—under-the-ice observation.
Deep Explorer’s new mission was to produce HD video recordings and photographs of the bottom-mounted equipment for Aurora’s Chukchi Sea wells. A companion mission was to survey and video-map the entire development field of its leasehold to search for natural oil seeps or seabed ruptures that might be the source of the oil.
“When will you be coming up?” Bauer asked.
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll know more once my crew is in Barrow.”
“Well, Matheson is flying in tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll want to meet you.”
“Okay, we’ll work something out.”
“Great, nice hearing from you.”
Yuri hung up and again leaned back in his chair. Northwest Subsea Dynamics had a terrific opportunity ahead. He had enormous confidence in his crew, especially Bill Winters.
Winters was one of the founding partners when the company was launched five years earlier. The four partners, all former NOAA engineers and scientists, created a remarkable underwater robot—Deep Explorer. But like so many start-ups, NSD burned through its cash reserves. After exhausting personal savings and repeatedly striking out with angel investors, NSD was about to fold when rescued.
Laura Newman purchased NSD—for Yuri. Bill Winters remained, keeping his 25 percent interest while his partners cashed out. Laura appointed Yuri as general manager and Winters kept his chief engineer position.
Yuri did not draw a salary or any form of compensation from the company; he functioned as Laura’s representative without pay. It was simpler that way, and it provided Laura with a layer of protection.
Yuri did not have a Social Security number, a must for employment, nor did he possess a Green Card or even an expired Visitor’s Visa. Yuri had entered the United States over a year earlier on a clandestine mission for the Russian government that had soured. He had been hiding in plain sight ever since, using an alias and supported by Laura. But he now worried that his ruse might be exposed.
Jim Bauer’s strong hint about the need to meet with Aurora’s CEO weighed heavily on Yuri. His plan all along was for Bill Winters to take the limelight while he remained in the shadows. But with Bill on his way to Barrow, Yuri had no choice but to represent NSD in Anchorage.
The press would soon be hounding Aurora’s Alaska operations office. Somehow Yuri needed to avoid being photographed or videoed.
* * *
Nearly halfway around the globe from Washington State and sixteen time zones ahead, the two men met in a luxurious suite on the twenty-eighth floor of the hotel. The brownish stain of smog marred the otherwise spectacular view of the sprawling cityscape this morning.
The subject matter called for a face-to-face, but secrecy dictated that they meet at a neutral venue. Both in their early fifties, the deputy directors of the brother intelligence agencies sat across from each other at a teak conference table. The waiter had just departed, leaving a pot of steaming green tea. They were now alone; their aides waited below in the lobby.
“I thought we would have more time,” the taller of the pair said as he picked up his cup from the tabletop. He was a major general in the Army but today he wore a plain gray suit.
“We were supposed to have another month before it was discovered—when the ice starts to break up,” the civilian said. He wore a custom-tailored Savile Row wool suit over his squat, thick frame.
The general took a sip and said, “Should we advance the schedule?”
The foreign operations spy chief nursed his teacup and took his time responding. “I don’t think that is warranted—yet. All they know is there’s a leak. My people estimate it will be months before it is plugged. The oil will continue to spread during that time.”
“Just the same, I think it would be prudent to plan ahead in case we need to advance the schedule.”
“What do you have in mind?”
The military spymaster reached into the chest pocket of his suit jacket and removed a folded document. He unfolded the single sheet of paper and placed it on the table. “This is our most current estimate of the American Navy’s deployment timetable.”
The intelligence chief studied the document before glancin
g back at his counterpart. “The next one departs in six weeks—that’s not much time. Can you be ready that soon?”
“I’ve already dispatched a team. They’re on-site now. I’ll know in a few days.”
CHAPTER 4
DAY 2—TUESDAY
Laura Newman was in the middle of composing an e-mail when the intercom on her office phone handset came to life. It was the receptionist. “Laura, you have a visitor.”
Laura glanced at the open Outlook calendar on her PC; she had nothing scheduled for the afternoon. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Ah, Mr. Hamilton. He says you don’t know him but it’s about your former husband. He’s working for Mr. Newman’s mother and says he only needs a few minutes of your time.”
Lawyer, was Laura’s instant thought. “Okay. Please show him to conference room C. I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay.”
Tom Hamilton was in his late fifties, slim with almost skeletal features. His blue blazer, starched white shirt, and silk tie fit the mold of an attorney’s attire, but Laura’s intuition was wrong.
Laura and the visitor sat at a circular table in an interior conference room.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Hamilton said.
“The receptionist said this is about Ken.”
“Yes, I’m a private investigator. Mr. Newman’s mother, Deborah, hired me to look into his disappearance.”
“I assume you’ve talked with the police.”
“Oh yes. I’ve read the reports from Redmond, Bellevue, and Whatcom County.”
“Then you know there’s been no hint as to where he might be now.”
“That’s right. The official files have gone cold. That’s why Mrs. Newman hired me. You know, give everything a fresh look.” Hamilton retrieved a file from his briefcase and thumbed through the contents. He pulled out an eight-by-ten color photograph and slid it across the tabletop.
Laura picked up the photo of a waterfront home. The image released an instant blizzard of memories.
“That was the place you were staying at in Point Roberts, correct?”
“Yes.” She looked away from the photo, meeting Hamilton’s eye. “On the advice of my attorney, I rented it to get away from Ken because he was going to be served with divorce papers. I assume you know about why I filed for divorce.”
“I do.” Hamilton’s brow narrowed. “Still, he ended up following you there . . . to Point Roberts.”
“That’s right.”
“And then he had the trouble with the DUI.”
“I don’t know what happened. We met briefly at the house I was renting and then he left.”
“And you didn’t see him after that time?”
“I had a restraining order against him. I told him if he contacted me again I’d call the police and have him arrested.”
The PI nodded. “Do you know what happened to his car?”
“What?”
“His Corvette. It was impounded in Point Roberts but disappeared.”
Hamilton removed another photo—Ken with his shaggy blond hair standing next to his cherry red sports car. “Deborah let me borrow this photo of the car.” Hamilton placed the print on the tabletop.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Do you know if he came back to Point Roberts after his release in Bellingham?”
“I suppose he could have . . . but I didn’t see the car.”
As Hamilton again glanced at his file folder, Laura launched her own inquiry. “What have you found out so far?”
“Very little. Mrs. Newman hasn’t heard anything from Ken—it’s been well over a year now. Nor has anyone at the real estate company he worked at or any of his friends. And you, I assume you haven’t heard from him.”
“You know I haven’t.”
Hamilton removed a multipage document from the folder. “Were you aware that Mrs. Newman pledged a certificate of deposit as security for Ken’s bail—a hundred thousand?” He displayed the first sheet of the bail bond form.
“No. And why so much for a DUI? That doesn’t sound right.”
“He resisted arrest. He clobbered a deputy sheriff, broke his jaw.”
Laura glanced away, shaking her head. This she believed, having also been on the receiving end of Ken’s rage when he was plastered.
“When Ken failed to show up for his trial, the bond was forfeited and Mrs. Newman lost her money,” said Hamilton. “It was part of her retirement portfolio.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but what has it to do with me?”
“Mrs. Newman is convinced that Ken is dead. She would have heard from him by now if he were alive. They were close.”
“This is about the divorce, isn’t it?”
“I understand that you went ahead and since Ken did not make an appearance, the divorce was eventually granted.”
“That’s all in the record.”
“Right. And since Mr. Newman did not contest the divorce he came out of it with just a pittance.”
Laura’s annoyance surged. “The court awarded him what he was due based on the prenup.”
“But just half a million? That seems like nothing in comparison to your resources.”
“I purchased that home before we married—for cash. He never contributed a dime toward it. And my stock ownership in the company, most of those awards were made before we got married. The court took all of that into consideration.”
“Yes it did. But since Ken wasn’t there to argue otherwise, you certainly benefited.”
Laura had had enough. “What do you want, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Mrs. Newman plans to petition the state to have her son declared dead. As his only remaining family, she would then receive the divorce proceeds that were placed in trust for Ken.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.”
“There is still the question of life insurance.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It was through Ken’s work. He had a quarter million term policy; his mother was named as the primary beneficiary.”
This was news to Laura. “Okay, but what does this have to do with me?”
“The problem is the policy expired last December—before she found out it existed. He’d paid his premium annually.”
“So it’s no longer in effect?”
“Correct, but if it can be proved that Ken died before the policy lapsed, Mrs. Newman would receive the benefit.” He met Laura’s eyes. “My job is to make the case to the court that Ken died and that his death most likely occurred before the policy expired. And I need your help to do that.”
“How?”
“From my research, I’m convinced that something happened to Ken at Point Roberts.”
“You think I was involved?” Laura said, raising her voice an octave.
“No, of course not. But Ken had that run-in with a deputy sheriff, and I know he has a problem with alcohol. If he returned to Point Roberts to get his car and ended up in a bar again, just about anything could have happened to him.”
Laura remained mute, not sure where Hamilton was headed.
“What would really help me—and Deborah—is that once we make our case to the court you would support it.”
“You want me to testify?”
“I think just an affidavit would work. I’ll have to check with Mrs. Newman’s attorney to make sure.”
“When do you need it?”
“It’ll be a month or so. I’m heading back to Point Roberts next week. I’m planning on staying there for several days, really hitting it hard—interviewing anyone I can find that remembers Ken.”
“You can tell Deborah that I will help.”
“Thank you.”
* * *
Laura returned to her office. With the door locked, she sat at her desk nursing Madelyn.
After meeting with Hamilton, she’d picked up Maddy from her company’s day care center, four levels below Laura’s penthouse office. Not yet ready to hire a na
nny, Laura preferred to keep her daughter close by while at work.
Located near the center of Bellevue’s downtown core, Cognition Consultants occupied most of the twenty-five-story tower. As senior vice president of operations, Laura owned 35 percent of the closely held company.
While Madelyn suckled, Laura turned away from the window wall, ignoring the twilight view of Lake Washington and the distant Seattle skyline. She leaned back in the chair, and with her eyes closed, rehashed the trauma from a year earlier. The nightmares had finally abated, but she would never forget the revulsion of that night.
Laura knew exactly what had happened to her husband.
CHAPTER 5
“How long will you be gone?” Laura asked. “At least a couple of days, maybe as long as a week.”
Laura and Yuri were home, sitting at the kitchen table. Four months earlier, they had moved into the new custom-built tri-level contemporary that overlooked the eastern shore of Lake Sammamish. Laura purchased the City of Sammamish hillside spec home after vacating her Redmond residence. The haunting memories of Ken at her former home were unbearable.
Yuri sipped a glass of merlot while Laura drank chilled apple juice. Their dinner was simmering on the gas range, a pot roast Yuri had prepared. Laura had just arrived; he’d been home for two hours. Maddy was in the adjacent living room, still asleep inside the detachable car seat.
“Are Bill and his team okay?” Laura asked.
“Yes. I talked to Bill this afternoon. The crew arrived without incident. They plan to get everything set up tomorrow and then head out on the ice the next day.”
Laura smiled. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”
Yuri returned the smile and took another sip of Fourteen Hands. “Aurora already wired us the mobilization fee—a hundred fifty thousand.”
“Great. That certainly helps with cash flow.”
He offered nothing additional.
Laura sensed something was off. “You seem a little down, honey. What’s the matter?”
“The oil spill is a huge story. It was all over the TV news again tonight.”
Laura tensed up, recognizing Yuri’s concern. “Maybe you shouldn’t go. Let Bill Winters take the lead on everything.”
The Forever Spy Page 2
