“Soon. It’s assembling as we speak.”
POTUS pulled out a handkerchief from a coat pocket and blew his nose. An allergen in the air irritated his nostrils. “Pete, they can’t be caught. That would be a disaster, and it’ll play right into Chen’s hands.”
“I know, sir. The team will be so advised.”
The men traveled along the path for another quarter mile. They took up a new subject.
“Lebedev has been quiet lately,” commented Magnuson. “That worries me.”
“He’s gone through periods like this before, hanging out on the sidelines.”
“He’s up to no good. I just feel it.” POTUS continued to reel from the nuclear detonations offshore of Hawaii and in China.
“I share your concern but so far we’ve not detected any new threats in the Pacific theater. Their submarines appear to be following normal operating procedures. Same for their surface fleet. They do have military exercises scheduled for next month in the Far East. They’ve been moving ground forces and some air assets into Eastern Siberia for those wargames.”
“What about that Kanyon thing they touted—the nuclear-powered drone?” Magnuson referred to a new Russian weapon that supposedly could travel thousands of miles underwater autonomously, evading any subsea defenses before attacking a harbor or even an aircraft carrier underway.
Brindle said, “Well, sir, we still have no solid intel to judge the weapon as credible but the Navy is treating it as a possible serious threat.”
“It still sounds like a PR stunt to me. You know how the Russians are with propaganda.”
“Understood, sir.” NSA Brindle and the Pentagon were well aware of Russia’s history of inflating its technological achievements.
Magnuson and Brindle traveled along the trail for a couple more minutes before stopping beside a stream to rest. They drank from the water bottles carried in their knapsacks.
The president took a healthy swig. “Pete, I must confess that I’m having second thoughts on Project Takedown.”
Takedown was the codename for a cyber attack on the Russian Federation’s oil and gas infrastructure. Critical control systems across the entire nation were targeted for disruption. The scale of the pending digital hack ranged from disabling natural gas overpressure valves in transmission pipes while doubling flow pressures―resulting in burst pipelines, to sabotaging antifreeze temperature controls in Arctic and subarctic production zones, allowing crude oil to solidify and plug up the works.
Surprised, the National Security Advisor turned toward his boss. “What’s the concern?”
“I know our military cyber capabilities. I’m afraid we might be too successful.”
“Sir?”
“Exporting oil and gas is Russia’s lifeblood. If we go ahead and crash their system, it will take months, maybe even a year or more to recover.” POTUS took another swallow. “I’m afraid it might push Lebedev over the edge, similar to what happened with Japan when FDR cut off their oil supply. And we know how that turned out.”
Brindle scratched the earth with the toe of his left boot. “Do you want a scaled back plan?”
“No. Once we follow that path, we need to go full speed ahead.” Magnuson drained the bottle and slipped it into his knapsack. “I want Project Takedown held in reserve for possible future use after we see what happens with China.”
“But what about Pearl Harbor? The terrorist attack story is starting to fall apart. There’s lots of scuttlebutt on the web blaming both Russia and China for what happened.”
“I’m aware of that plus Congress is antsy about it too.” The President rubbed the back of his neck, responding to mounting strain. “Dammit, Pete, we’re innocent in this entire matter. Chen started the whole mess and Lebedev escalated it. And now, if I make the wrong decision, we could end up in World War III.”
Peter Brindle processed the President’s dilemma, sympathetic to his increasingly cold feet, especially on how to respond to China’s treachery. “I know you want to assess the threat from China’s new ASW system before retaliating but measures could be put in place now that will expedite the response should you decide to proceed.”
POTUS perked up. “What do you have in mind?”
* * * *
Seven time zones ahead, President Lebedev relaxed in Russia’s equivalent to Camp David. The forested compound was located forty miles north of Moscow. A dozen modern dachas, several support buildings, and a massive guest lodge with conference center were scattered across the 300 acre site. A lake near the center of the facility made up a third of the compound’s area. Reserved for the Kremlin elite, the retreat was surrounded by a ten-foot-high security fence and guarded around the clock by Army Special Forces.
Joining Lebedev in the regal library of his residence this late afternoon was a new arrival. The two men sat in plush chairs by the window wall, enjoying the twilight view of the lake and the stand of birch trees on the far shore.
“Do you enjoy trout fishing, Ivan?” asked President Lebedev.
“I do, sir. But it’s been years since I’ve had a pole in the water.” Although not in uniform today, the strapping silver haired visitor with a mottled complexion commanded all Russian military forces. Ivan Volkov had started his distinguished military career as an infantry junior lieutenant in the Red Army. Some forty years later, he ascended to its highest rank, Marshall of the Russian Federation. And then President Lebedev appointed Volkov Minister of Defense.
Lebedev said, “Well, our little lake here is chock-full of hungry trout. Perhaps you’d like to join me tomorrow morning.”
“That would be fun. Thank you.”
The two men discussed lake fishing techniques—bait vs. lures, which swiftly evolved to ‘fish’ stories. Both were ‘hooked’ in their teenage years. After ten minutes of trading ‘whoppers’ they moved onto the primary purpose of Volkov’s visit.
“So, tell me how you are progressing with the contingency plan,” President Lebedev asked.
“All elements of the plan are in play. Five divisions have been quietly transferred to the Far East. We’ve also added two hundred combat aircraft to the region.”
“The Chinese will no doubt notice.”
“They will, but the troop and equipment movements are consistent with the deteriorating relations with the United States—beefing up our Far Eastern defenses in response to Magnuson’s aggressive behavior. Besides, it’s all being orchestrated under the upcoming Home Guard wargames.” Volkov referred to a colossal military exercise in Eastern Siberia scheduled for late October.
“How do you expect Beijing to respond?”
“So far, they appear not to be concerned. No significant changes with their forces along our common border.”
Russia continued to play dumb. The Kremlin elite were aware that China’s Navy had sabotaged a Russian subsea oil well offshore of Siberia, generating a massive oil spill in the Arctic. Later, Chinese special forces leveled a colossal $5 billion oil and gas port on Sakhalin Island. Both attacks were staged to trigger a war between the Russian Federation and the United States.
Lebedev processed Volkov’s report. “What about the U.S. plan?”
“Our cyber group is close to being ready. I expect that everything will be in place within a week.”
“That’s excellent, sooner than I expected.”
“The Americans make it easy for us.” MOD Volkov smirked. “They ignore the threat. The defenses for their power grid are collectively a joke.”
“How much damage can you inflict?”
“Their eastern seaboard is particularly vulnerable. When ready, we’ll be able to turn out the lights from Boston to Miami. They’ll be lucky to get back to normal within six months.”
President Lebedev nodded his approval.
Volkov said, “I do have reservations on the extent of the attack. If we inflict too
much damage, that could push Magnuson over the edge.”
“Launch his own cyber attack on us?”
“Oh, you can count on that for sure.”
“But I thought General Bakhtin was going to use Iran for a scapegoat.” He referenced the Army general in charge of Russia’s cyber warfare unit.
“He will but that will only go so far. Believe me, sir, no matter how the attack is disguised the Americans will figure it out. They will counter, taking us on as well as Iran.”
“What kind of damage?”
“They have formidable skills. At least as good as ours and likely superior.”
Lebedev squirmed in his chair, uncomfortable with the news. “That’s not consistent with what Bakhtin has told me before.”
“I understand. However, my staff report that General Bakhtin has underestimated the Americans abilities and I believe them. Bakhtin based his analysis on the assumption that the U.S. Cybercommand would limit its response to military infrastructure only. We on the other hand expect the response to be broadscale, going after both military and civilian targets.”
“Power grid, communications?”
“Yes, plus financial…banks in particular, and our oil and gas infrastructure.”
The last item resonated with President Lebedev. “I thought our petroleum industry was protected.”
“For our newer installations, substantial safeguards are built into both software and firmware systems. But our older equipment has not been upgraded and it will be easy for the Americans to inflict major damage.”
“Just how much is vulnerable?”
Minister Volkov moped. “About sixty percent of our entire oil and gas infrastructure.”
President Lebedev looked away, stunned—and furious with the oversight by the commanding officer of the Cyberwarfare unit. After ten seconds, he faced Volkov, his anger checked. “General Bakhtin should have told me about that threat. We can’t afford to have that much of our operations shut down. I need to rethink our response to the Americans. Cyber may not be the way to respond.”
“I understand, sir.” Volkov shifted in his chair. “I’ve discussed this issue with General Bakhtin. He’s adamant that the American’s response would be timid.”
“I can’t rely on that assurance—not with the potential exposure.”
“I intend to replace Bakhtin but it will take time to find the right man. Should you decide to use cyber, he needs to stay in command.”
“Yes, fine. Whatever you think.”
“Very good, sir,”
President Lebedev decided to revisit his principal worry. “Please update me on the Chinese response.”
“Good news on that front. The Navy is ready to proceed with Vortex.”
“Excellent. How long will it take to have our asset in place?”
“Once authorized, it will take about eight days for the submarine to reach the target zone.”
“Consider this your authorization.”
Chapter 36
Yuri was beat. Meaningful sleep eluded him during the eight hour flight from Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam to Yokota Air Base. The C-17 Globemaster III touched down at the U.S. Air Force and Japan Air Self-Defense Force base near Tokyo at eight o’clock the previous evening.
After deplaning at Yokota, Yuri climbed aboard a bus with two dozen other passengers from the C-17—a mix of sailors, Marines and civilians. After a two hour bus ride, he arrived at the Yokosuka Naval Base. Yuri was assigned a room at the base guest quarters. He managed to sleep six hours but it wasn’t enough.
Yuri was seated in a well-worn chair in the lobby of an unremarkable two story building that could have been located on just about any U.S. military base worldwide. The receptionist—a brawny Marine with a sidearm—offered Yuri coffee, which he happily accepted. He needed the caffeine.
Yuri was on his last sip when a familiar face appeared. “Good morning,” Jeff Chang said.
“Hi Jeff,” Yuri said, addressing the CIA officer.
Jeff was on the same flight as Yuri. Jeff’s boss, Steve Osberg, along with Captain Clark returned to the East Coast. Commander Arnold spent a couple of days with his family in Honolulu before flying back to Guam to oversee the repairs to the Tucson.
“Sleep okay?” Chang asked.
“So so.”
“Jet lag sucks.”
“For sure.”
Chang gestured to a nearby door. “Well, the team’s here and they’re all eager to meet you.”
Here it comes! Yuri thought.
* * * *
The conference room turned out to be a windowless twenty-foot by thirty-foot room with a couple of folding tables pushed together in the center surrounded by a dozen empty chairs. The room’s occupants were clustered in a far corner standing beside another waist high table. They were all dressed in civilian attire, blue jeans and T-shirts and short sleeved Hawaiian shirts.
Yuri and Chang approached the U.S. Navy SEALs.
“Gentlemen,” Jeff Chang said, “I’d like to introduce you to our consultant, John Kirkwood.”
The five man unit with the codename Ghost Riders turned away from the table. Yuri caught a glimpse of the scale model on top of the table.
The closest man approached Yuri. “Brent Andrews,” he said. The officer was about Yuri’s age. Beefy, he was clean shaven and his black hair cut to regulation length.
As Yuri shook Andrews’s offered hand, Jeff Chang chimed in. “Lieutenant Commander Andrews is the team leader.” Andrews graduated in the top ten percent of his class at Annapolis, which allowed him to select his career path—U.S. Navy Special Operations.
“Nice to meet you Commander,” Yuri offered.
“Likewise.”
Yuri exchanged greetings with the other team members, each man only offering his first name or handle. They were a motley crew ranging from a Texan who followed the rodeo circuit before enlisting to a rich kid Malibu surfer who managed to “hang ten” whenever he could. All were at minimum chief petty officers (E-7). As special operators, the Ghost Riders were not subject to normal U.S. Navy grooming standards. Facial hair and extended manes were tolerated. Their age ranged from late twenties to early forties. Each man appeared exceedingly fit; their well muscled shoulders, biceps, thighs and calves reflected a rigorous regime of weight lifting and running.
The group reassembled at the tables. Jeff Chang dimmed the room lights and commenced the briefing, standing beside a slide projector. “Well, gentlemen,” Chang said, “I know you’re all curious about the mission.” Other than Lieutenant Commander Andrews, all the team knew was the mission would take place in Southeast Asia. Chang glanced at those assembled and dropped the nuke. “We’ll be operating in China.”
A rush of suppressed mutterings issued from the SEALs; the men clearly taken aback at the news. None had operated inside Chinese territory.
The first PowerPoint slide appeared on the wall-mounted screen. Yuri instantly recognized the image: a bird’s eye view of the southern shoreline of Hainan Island.
“This is an overview of the area where our objective is located.” Chang used a handheld laser pointer to highlight the slide. “This is the city of Sanya on China’s Hainan Island. It borders the South China Sea.”
Chang clicked a new slide: a blowup view of the southern section of the previous photo, highlighting the shoreline. “This is the objective area. It’s called Shendao.”
“That’s a huge pier! What’s it for?” asked CPO Don Dillon aka Driller. He had the longest hair of the group; mahogany locks secreting his ears. Due to his good looks, toned physique and his youth—just twenty-eight, he could have been a cover model for a bestselling romance novel.
Chang said, “Shendao serves as the designated aircraft carrier homeport for the PLAN’s South Sea Fleet.”
Senior Chief Aaron Baker spoke next. “Isn’t
there another naval base nearby?” The thirty-seven-year-old burly African-American with a grizzled beard and a jet-black thatch hailed from Atlanta. Baker secured the moniker of “Runner” from the marathons he ran for fun when off duty.
“Correct,” Chang said. He returned to the first slide. Using the remote he lased the right side of the photo. “This area is where the Yulin Naval Base is located. A huge facility that moors both surface combatants and subs.”
Chang returned to the Shendao photo. He highlighted an area of the uplands near where the aircraft carrier pier connected with the shore, circling the pointer’s laser dot around the south end of a large building. “The entrance to the objective is located in this section of the building. It runs underground in a tunnel that leads to a cavern carved out of rock inside the hillside. The cavern functions as the operations center for a new ASW system the Chinese are in the process of deploying in the South China Sea. Your job, gentlemen, is to get me inside that center so I can get access to the computer system.”
“How big is this op center?” asked Master Chief William “Wild Bill” Halgren. The most senior member of the team, the Texan was also the largest at six-foot four and 240 pounds. Cleanshaven with an old school crew cut, Halgren could have easily fit in during the nineteen fifties and early sixties. He earned his handle from his pre-Navy cowboy stint, competing as a saddle bronc rider and a bull rider. Hardened from wrestling half-ton beasts determined to maim him, Halgren aced BUDS—Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training at Coronado, California, launching his esteemed military career.
“Sorry Master Chief,” Chang said, “we don’t have intelligence on what’s inside. We’ll have to play it by ear.”
That comment generated another collective groan from the assembled.
“Well excuse me, sir,” Halgren said, “that means we won’t have a clue as to what we’re up against. That’s not acceptable.”
Lieutenant Commander Andrews joined in. “Master Chief, both Command and I understand your concern. We don’t like it either but given the circumstances, we have no choice but to go in blind.”
The Vigilant Spy Page 17
