by Larry Bond
“I certainly hope this is important, Captain Lavrov.” Drugov’s voice was sharp as he threw his cover on the couch, clearly displeased with being called in on a Saturday evening.
Lavrov’s smile had a touch of irony to it. “I understand how you feel, Pavel Antonovich, I didn’t even make it to Nevsky Prospect before my mobile phone rang.” Then laying down a large photograph on the desk, he continued, “However, in this case the unfortunate inconvenience was entirely warranted.”
Drugov picked up the photo and stared at it for a moment. “This is an American submarine base, Vasiliy, did the missing submarine magically reappear?”
“You’re not entirely off, Pavel. A submarine did in fact recently appear, but it wasn’t Toledo, rather it was the Jimmy Carter.”
“And why should I be concerned with this particular submarine?” Drugov’s face showed his irritation.
Lavrov sighed. How typical, he thought. “The Carter should concern you greatly, Pavel, for you see she is the U.S. Navy’s premier spy submarine. Roughly akin to our Main Directorate of Deep-Sea Research submarines, only well armed, considerably faster, and far stealthier. Oh, and she is normally home ported in Washington State … on the Pacific coast.”
The rapid change in Drugov’s expression told Lavrov that he had the chief of staff’s complete attention. “Carter showed up in Groton within the last twenty-four hours. According to GRU reporting, she’s been at sea for the past three months; they estimated she was operating in the western Pacific Ocean, or possibly in the Barents Sea. But we really have no idea of where she has been; we would be hard-pressed to get a sniff of her, let alone track her. For this submarine to show up at an east coast base right now is very troubling, Pavel, very troubling.”
“If the Jimmy Carter is a reconnaissance submarine, then it would make complete sense for the Americans to bring her to the other side of the continent to help search for their missing boat,” Drugov concluded as he sat down. “Don’t you think you’re making up your own ghosts, Vasiliy?”
“Perhaps,” considered Lavrov. “But it all feels so wrong. The Americans haven’t lost a submarine due to a peacetime accident in over fifty years, why now? Right when we are at the most vulnerable stage of the Drakon’s lair construction project. Discovery right now would be catastrophic. Then add to this the sudden appearance of a very capable spy submarine that has the equipment necessary to not only detect, but also identify the deep-water launch facility. Furthermore, if the Carter had been sent to help in the search, why did she pass by the very location on her way to the Groton submarine base?
“Is this all just a highly improbable set of coincidences? My intuition is screaming it can’t be. So, no, Comrade Captain, I don’t think I’m creating my own ghosts. I believe the Jimmy Carter’s arrival at Groton is an ill omen.”
Drugov looked closely at his intelligence chief, there was no doubt the man was sincere in his beliefs. And he was correct; of course, Project Dragon was at an awkward phase in its development. Would it hurt to be just a little cautious? “What do you want from me, Vasiliy?” he asked.
“I request permission to brief Admiral Komeyev on these developments. Tonight if at all possible.”
The chief of staff got up and started walking, thinking. The Russian Navy commander-in-chief had little patience for exaggerated threat assessments; he wanted accurate estimates of an adversary’s capabilities and intents. Not some hyperbolic propaganda ploy for the masses, or a pitch to justify more funding. But Lavrov had a well-earned reputation as a levelheaded strategist. It didn’t take long for Drugov to reach a decision.
“Very well, Vasiliy. I’ll call the CINC and his deputy. You have thirty minutes to prepare your presentation.”
* * *
An enlisted mess steward brought in a carafe of hot tea and some shortbread biscuits; he served the two admirals first and then the captains. Admiral Vladimir Komeyev took a seat on his couch; his deputy, Vice Admiral Viktor Balakin, sat next to his boss. Komeyev seemed to be in good spirits despite being dragged back into the office late on a weekend, Balakin not so much. His demeanor was one of annoyance.
“So, Vasiliy, what disaster threatens Mother Russia so badly that I had to drop everything and come running back to the office?” Lavrov heard both the light-hearted tone as well as the message behind it—“This had better be good.”
“My apologies, Admiral, but I’m confident this won’t be a waste of your time or Admiral Balakin’s,” began Lavrov. “It is my belief that there is a considerable risk the Project Drakon facility could be discovered by an American spy submarine.”
Komeyev stopped drinking mid-slurp, his eyes focused on Lavrov. Balakin gasped and then coughed from the tea going down the wrong pipe. Putting his teacup down slowly, Komeyev said, “Please continue, Vasiliy.”
Lavrov advanced the electronic presentation to the next slide; the satellite imagery shot that had started the whole thing jumped up onto the screen. “This photograph is of the U.S. submarine base in Groton, Connecticut. Please take note of this boat, here.” The laser dot danced along the length of a large black hull alongside one of the many piers.
“It is the Seawolf-class submarine Jimmy Carter, America’s premier intelligence gathering submarine. It appeared, unexpectedly, sometime late on July ninth at this facility—the imagery was taken during the midafternoon local time today. The last time we saw this submarine was on April eighth at Naval Base Kitsap-Bangor, in Washington State. We have no definitive information on her whereabouts between these two dates, although the GRU assesses she was operating in the western Pacific or perhaps the Barents Sea.”
“Surely this submarine has been called in to help search for the Toledo,” interrupted Balakin.
Lavrov smiled slightly; Vice Admiral Balakin could be quite predictable at times. “Yes, sir, that is the current working hypothesis, however, if one looks at the geography of the situation it makes little sense for the Carter to be at this base, at this time, given the officially announced search area.”
“Go on,” Komeyev insisted, his interest piqued.
The captain pulled up a large-scale chart that showed the location of the announced search area, as well as the Groton submarine base and the Prima Polar Station.
“We know that the Jimmy Carter was on the west coast of the United States in early April. Regardless of her mission and location, she would have taken the Arctic route to the other side of the country.” Using the laser pointer, Lavrov highlighted the shortest possible route that Carter could have taken.
“If the Carter was sent to assist in the search for the Toledo, then why did she pass within a few hundred nautical miles of the announced search area and continue on sailing for an additional three thousand five hundred nautical miles to Groton? This is what makes little sense, and calls into question the validity of the hypothesis.”
“Perhaps this spy submarine required additional specialized equipment to effectively conduct the search. Wouldn’t that explain the long detour?” suggested Balakin.
“I’m afraid not, sir. The GRU’s assessment of the Carter’s location allows ample opportunities for her to pull into an Alaskan port to pick up any necessary equipment and supplies. And even if she were actually already operating in the Arctic Ocean, the Carter could have easily pulled into Svalbard, Norwegian territory, which is far closer to the search area. The port of Longyearbyen has a three-kilometer airfield that could support any American transport aircraft, and there is nothing that the Carter could deploy that can’t be moved by air.”
“Are you implying the Americans have intentionally lied about the search area?” grumbled Balakin; he disliked being made to look like a fool.
“I’m saying that I’m very suspicious, Admiral Balakin,” replied Lavrov tersely. Moving on to the next slide, he pointed to the announced search area. “The area where the Americans claim the Toledo was probably lost straddles one of the entrances to the Barents Sea. Their submarines have often used it in the past.
Thus, this location wouldn’t seem strange to us at all.”
“A diversion?” suggested Komeyev.
“A distinct possibility, sir. The Americans are very capable of a coordinated disinformation campaign to try and pull our attention away from another location, another target.”
“But the Prima Ice Station is…” began Komeyev.
“Some seven hundred fifty nautical miles to the southeast, yes, sir. But can you think of a more worthy target?”
“Captain Lavrov,” Balakin snarled, “all I’m hearing is conjecture. Do you have any concrete evidence to support this theory of yours?”
Sighing, the captain replied, “I do not have what the Americans would call a ‘smoking gun,’ Admiral. However, let me put all the facts before you. First, the U.S. Navy last lost a submarine to a peacetime casualty fifty-three years ago. Their safety record is exemplary. Second, a well-equipped spy submarine that is normally part of the Pacific fleet mysteriously shows up at an Atlantic fleet base. Third, said submarine traveled thousands of miles farther to reach this base than would be required to reach the search area.
“Fourth, the area where the Americans claim Toledo was lost is a known approach to our waters, just on the edge of the Arctic Ocean. Fifth, if the Jimmy Carter is deployed to the search area, it is less than two days travel at moderate speeds to the Prima Polar Station. Furthermore, this route can take advantage of the unfriendly environment that will negate the use of surface and airborne antisubmarine forces. And finally, the absolute best reconnaissance asset to employ against the Prima station is a submarine because of the station’s high latitude and typically overcast skies. If these factors are entered into our standard risk assessment algorithm, even with conservative values, then there is sixty-five percent probability that the Drakon launch facility will be discovered and identified for what it is.”
Lavrov fell silent and awaited the judgment of his superiors. Balakin had an unconvinced smirk on his face, but Komeyev was more sober, clearly weighing the implications.
“You paint an ugly picture, Vasiliy,” remarked the Russian Navy CINC. “And I appreciate your candor concerning what you know, and what you don’t know. But I have some questions for you.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Do you believe that USS Toledo was indeed lost? Could all this noise be just part of the deception?”
“We have numerous and varied sources all telling us that a U.S. submarine by the name of Toledo is overdue and presumed lost.”
Komeyev nodded, then pressed on. “And yet, you acknowledge the Americans have a stellar safety history during peacetime, how do you reconcile these two facts?”
“There is always a slight probability for a fatal accident, sir.”
“How slight?”
“If one only looks at just historical occurrences over time, there is a five percent probability. However, this is likely on the high side. Without looking at the submarine’s operational and maintenance history, it is impossible to give a precise answer, but I suspect the probability is less than three percent.”
“And are you comfortable with that value, Captain?” Komeyev leaned forward, his voice harder.
Lavrov swallowed hard, before answering. “No, sir, I am not. I have difficulty accepting the sinking of USS Toledo as just an unfortunate circumstance independent of our activities in the Arctic Ocean. Simply put, I do not believe this is an amazing collection of highly improbable, independent events—the odds are enormously against it. They must be related!
“That is why I have been considering other scenarios that assume a relationship between the events. Scenarios that require a different explanation for the loss of the U.S. submarine.”
“Such as?”
Lavrov paused, and then licked his lips. “This is pure conjecture, Admiral Komeyev, I have nothing to substantiate this theory.”
“So noted, Captain, continue.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Lavrov. His uneasiness growing, he swallowed again before he spoke. “The theory I’ve been contemplating is the possibility that USS Toledo was engaged and sunk.”
“Engaged? Sunk?” shouted Balakin. “By whom? We haven’t had any contact reports on a foreign submarine sighting in weeks, let alone a report of an actual attack!”
“That is correct, Admiral Balakin. However, a minefield does not normally report back that it has conducted an attack.”
Komeyev rose quickly from the couch, his face tense. “That’s an alarming theory, Captain. Do you realize what you’re saying?”
“As I said, Admiral, this theory is pure conjecture using what facts we have at the moment and the assumption of a worst-case outcome to our current military strategy.”
“If we accept the ‘worst case,’ then it’s entirely possible the Americans already know about Project Drakon!” replied Komeyev brusquely.
“Not necessarily, sir,” Lavrov countered firmly. “We know the Americans are suspicious about something going on up north—it had to pique their interest when we closed the station to tourists and visiting scientists. The location is, at most, three days away from their routine Barents Sea deployment areas, so a submarine could have been sent up to the Prima base just to have a look around. If Toledo did investigate, and was engaged by our minefield and sunk, then whatever information they gathered likely died with them. In contrast to our practice, the U.S. Navy strongly discourages its submarines from communicating while on station … especially while off a hostile coast. Furthermore, the ice cover would be too dense, even if were broken, to use a communications buoy. The ice floes have been a major nuisance to our construction crews for the last couple of weeks.”
Komeyev’s expression eased as Lavrov explained. Still, the Russian Navy CINC wasn’t thrilled. “The minefield was positioned inside our territorial waters. It was a purely defensive measure to protect the construction site. If the Toledo violated our borders, then she got only what she deserved.”
“What about the Carter? Isn’t it possible that she could have already been to the Prima area?” interrupted Balakin, his voice anxious.
“I seriously doubt it, Admiral. If the American spy submarine were where the GRU thought she was, it would take about a week just to get to the station at a high average cruising speed. Anything faster has too great a detection risk, they are well aware of the location of our Arctic hydroacoustic arrays. Even if the Carter were closer than estimated, she’d still need about four days. When you add in the ten to eleven days to make the journey to Groton, this leaves only two, perhaps three days at most to conduct a search. While the Americans are good, they are not that good.”
“But that assumes you accept the Americans’ timeline, when they claim they started searching, doesn’t it?” Komeyev inquired.
“Yes, sir, it does. However, message traffic analysis and communications intercepts strongly suggest that the earliest the order went out was late on twenty-one June. This is consistent with the U.S. Navy’s announcement, albeit a little misleading, as the first units didn’t sortie until early on the twenty-second.
“But even if we take a more generous view and spot the Americans a couple of days more, it is still highly unlikely they would find the downed submarine in less than a week. I’ve been working with our own rescue service; they estimate at least two weeks would be necessary to find the sunken boat. The Americans simply don’t have enough time to do all that has to be done and pull into the Groton submarine base yesterday.”
Komeyev nodded his agreement. “When the Gepard was lost in May 2005, the wrecked hull was found twelve days after she was declared missing. But wasn’t the search area also much larger in that case?”
“Quite so, Admiral. But also recall there were three oceanographic research ships with towed side-scan sonars involved in looking for Gepard. Their combined search rate would be two orders of magnitude higher than a single submarine attempting to remain covert.”
The Russian Navy CINC began pacing, mulling over what he had heard.
He shook his head as he walked. If Lavrov’s analysis was correct, and the Americans were to learn of the deep-sea launch facility, it would unhinge President Fedorin’s plan to recapture the former Soviet Union’s lost territory. It could also move the Russian Federation and the United States closer to a full-blown nuclear exchange.
Lavrov watched as Komeyev paced. Seeing that the questioning had ceased, the captain wrapped up his presentation.
“The appearance of the Jimmy Carter is an alarming development, sir. She may, in fact, be sent out to search for Toledo, but it’s unlikely Carter will be looking in the same place as the surface units we currently see running around off Franz Josef Land. If my theory is correct, Carter will go much further afield to search for their missing submarine.
“My greatest concern is that while they’re looking for the Toledo, they will hear, and see, the Project Drakon construction effort, which is barely five nautical miles inside our territorial waters.”
The room suddenly went quiet as Komeyev continued pacing; the three other officers looked on. Lavrov caught Drugov nodding his approval; the intelligence chief felt his stomach loosen up a bit. After half a minute of awkward silence, Komeyev stopped pacing, looked at Lavrov, and chuckled. “You think very darkly, Vasiliy Vasil’evich, but I find myself agreeing with your premise. What do you recommend?”
Relieved, Lavrov began running down his prepared list. “First, sir, we need to increase our intelligence collection on the Jimmy Carter. We have a limited inventory of imagery satellites, so we’ll need to get an operative to the Groton submarine base to keep an eye on that boat. Second, we need to have the deep-sea research submarines Belgorod and Losharik search for Toledo. Those submarines are scheduled to assist with the loading of the Drakon launch tubes, but if we can get them up to the Prima Polar Station sooner, that would be ideal. Finally, we need to have a nuclear-powered attack submarine patrolling the area. Should the Jimmy Carter head north as I suspect, we need to keep her away from the launch facility.”
