The Vigilant Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  The master chief formed a circle with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and extended the remaining fingers.

  Yuri pressed the valve. Compressed air squirted into the water, releasing a cascade of bubbles.

  Now neutrally buoyant, Yuri checked the rebreather’s electronic readout unit strapped to his left forearm. Oxygen and carbon dioxide levels were in the green. Yuri again made eye contact with Halgren and signaled he was okay.

  Granted permission to move onto the next element of the exercise, Yuri began to move about the narrow compartment. He swam up the ladder that was partially enclosed by a round pipe-like combing and entered the lockout trunk hatch chamber. After a quick look at the sealed hatch mechanism, he descended. Jeff Chang repeated the same procedure.

  Just as Jeff emerged from the upper hatch chamber, dropping feet first with his hands on the ladder, Murphy came up from behind and yanked off Jeff’s facemask. It sank to the bottom of the compartment.

  Govnó, Yuri muttered to himself. That part of the drill was not expected. But then he remembered. While undergoing military dive training at Sevastopol on the Black Sea, he experienced similar terror tribulations. They were designed to test how well a student diver reacts to the unexpected.

  Jeff Chang gripped the ladder with both hands, momentarily stunned from the sting of seawater in his eyes.

  Yuri watched, worried how the CIA officer would react. Come on, Jeff. You know what to do!

  Chang regained his composure and followed the ladder down to the bottom of the compartment. He retrieved his facemask, pulled it back into position and purged the water.

  Attaboy! Yuri said to himself.

  * * * *

  Laura Newman was in downtown Seattle sitting at a small conference table inside an elegant office. Facing Elliott Bay, the unobstructed water view from the fifty story tower was overwhelming. Ferries darted across the bay while tugboats, yachts and a massive box ship cruised the waters.

  Across the table from Laura sat her attorney. Tim Reveley was in his early fifties. Tall with a brawny torso, he was within just ten pounds of his college weight when he had played first-string quarterback for USC. Tanned from golf and tennis, his bronzed complexion and sun bleached brunet hair flattered his ruggedly handsome face.

  It was the noon hour. To ensure privacy, they avoided restaurants. The catered lunch had just been delivered to Reveley’s office. Laura enjoyed a Caesar salad; Tim munched on a ham and cheese sandwich. Fresh coffee was also provided.

  “Are you sure this is the same person?” Reveley asked.

  “It has to be. Just Yuri, me and Nick know about the Gmail account.”

  “Did either you or Yuri mention this Gmail account to the FBI?”

  “Maybe. I just don’t remember—they asked so many questions.” Laura dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Anyway, Yuri told me not to use it because he didn’t want Nick implicated for what he’d done—seeking asylum in the U.S.”

  “Yet, apparently this Nick fellow reached out to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He wants to speak with Yuri.”

  “About what?”

  “The draft email didn’t say, only that it’s urgent that Yuri call him on the burner phone Nick provided for him.”

  “Do you have access to the phone?”

  “No. Yuri destroyed it.”

  Tim took a swallow from his coffee cup. “When will Yuri be back?” Earlier, Laura told Reveley that Yuri was out of town on business.

  “At least a week, maybe longer.”

  “Is this NSD work?”

  “No.”

  “Oh,” Reveley said, surprised. “He’s already been put to work by the government?”

  “Yes. They didn’t waste any time.”

  “Laura, this is serious stuff. I know you care about the welfare of Orlov but you and Yuri cannot have any kind of contact with a foreign intelligence officer. It will jeopardize the agreement we worked out with Justice.”

  Laura slumped in her chair.

  Tim noticed. “What’s wrong?”

  “A couple of weeks ago Nick showed up without any warning at Yuri’s office in Redmond. They had lunch together.”

  “Oh jeez! I hope he reported that to the FBI.”

  “No, he didn’t. Yuri said he didn’t want to get Nick into trouble. Apparently, he entered the country with a false ID.”

  “That was a mistake. If the FBI finds out he talked with that guy and didn’t report it they’re going to be really suspicious. And now with this second attempt to contact Yuri, the intelligence agencies may start to believe he’s really a Russian mole instead of a defector.”

  Laura stared at the desk while massaging the back of her neck. “Tim, what should I do?”

  “Ignore the text. Don’t ever access that Gmail account again.”

  “Should I tell the FBI?”

  “Normally, I’d say yes. But if you did that, you’d have to also reveal the prior contact Yuri had with Orlov.” Reveley tilted his chair back a few degrees. “The FBI said they would stop surveilling your phones and computers when Yuri agreed to work for the government but they could be lying.” Tim returned his chair to the upright position. “If they’re still monitoring your phones, how do you suppose they’d react to the codeword—what was it again?

  “Hercules. I told them about the workboat we used at Point Roberts, so they might piece it together.”

  “Let’s do this: If the FBI contacts you about the text, just tell them what happened. But make sure to emphasize that you did not act on it and we’ll see what develops from that.”

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 46

  Day 32—Saturday

  The tension inside the Colorado’s control room was intense. The crew’s stress level ratcheted up several notches eight hours earlier when the submarine cruised through the Luzon Strait and formally entered hostile waters—the South China Sea. All consoles and workstations inside the compartment were staffed. Conversation between individuals was all business.

  Yuri studied the control room’s horizontal large screen display. A digital chart of the northern half of the South China Sea filled the waist high touchscreen. Colorado’s current position and its projected course were superimposed on the display. It was six hundred feet below the surface running at a stealthy sixteen knots.

  Commander Tom Bowman was next to Yuri. Colorado’s CO gestured toward the high definition screen. “One of those new bottom stations is right here.”

  “How far away are we from it?” Yuri asked, noting the skull and crossbones icon that marked the location of the Chinese seabed-based antisubmarine weapon system.

  Bowman touched the screen. “Right now, it’s sixty-four nautical miles away.”

  “How close can we come to it?”

  “COMSUBPAC’s latest report ordered us to maintain a minimum separation of forty nautical miles but we’ll be around forty-five.”

  Bowman referred to a scheduled radio check-in with the commander of Submarine Force, Pacific Fleet. While underway, Colorado deployed its floating wire to intercept encrypted VHF radio transmissions originating from Pearl Harbor. The very high frequency waves penetrate the ocean surface to a depth of five to six feet, allowing reception by the sub without the need to raise a radio antenna.

  Yuri noted that the proposed route on the display bisected two additional death’s-head icons located eastward of Hainan Island. “So, two more of those things to go along our route after this one?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Which one did Tucson tangle with?”

  “The one southeast of Sanya, just north of the Parcel Islands.” Bowman pointed with a finger.

  Yuri looked up. “How close to that station did Tucson come?”

  “About thirty-f
ive nautical miles but as you’ll recall, Tucson only detected those things ascending from just a couple miles away. My gut tells me those two units were in active patrol mode when Tucson showed up.”

  “That makes sense,” Yuri said, nodding. “How many more bottom stations?”

  “At last count, eight confirmed installations in the South China Sea, six in the north basin and two in the south. But it’s likely going to increase.” Bowman kneaded his nose. “The PLAN has had two ships installing the damn things.”

  “You must be tracking them by satellite.”

  “We are, plus we have our own SOSUS network that allows us to monitor what the ships are up to twenty-four seven.” Bowman referred to the U.S. Navy’s Sound Surveillance System, a network of underwater listening posts.

  “In the South China Sea?”

  “That’s right.”

  Bowman’s revelation was new to Yuri. “Do the Chinese know?”

  “We don’t think so. We were careful during deployment. The PLA Navy needs to remain in the dark about our network.”

  Yuri put it together. “You used subs to install the hydrophones.”

  “No comment,” Bowman said with a smirk.

  * * * *

  The Novosibirsk breached the northern Ryukyu Islands on schedule, passing between the Japanese volcanic islands of Kuchinoerabu-jima and Kuchino-shima. The Russian attack submarine crossed the Yaku-Shin Bank and entered the Pacific Ocean. The Novosibirsk was currently southbound.

  With the troubled waters of the Korea Strait and the East China Sea now in Novosibirsk’s wake, Captain Petrovich took the opportunity to leave the attack center, where he had “camped out” for the past three days. He just arrived at the torpedo room.

  The watch officer snapped to attention as Novosibirsk’s commanding officer approached. “What’s the status of our ‘specials,’” Petrovich asked.

  “They all check out, Captain. No problems.” The twenty-seven year old lieutenant was a recent transfer to the Novosibirsk.

  “Excellent.”

  The Novosibirsk typically carried thirty heavyweight torpedoes but for this mission only four were aboard. The “war fish” were loaded in four of the sub’s ten torpedo tubes. Occupying the weapon’s bay racks were thirty self-propelled anti-ship mines. Nearly the same length as the torpedoes, the mines consisted of a propulsion unit and a mine package. Once ejected from a torpedo tube, the mine was designed to swim to pre-designated bottom coordinates where it would settle onto the bottom and wait.

  “Ah, Captain, will the deployment water depths still range from twenty to forty meters?”

  “That’s the current plan—why do you ask?”

  “Just concerned about possible discovery because of the shallow water.”

  “Your job is to ensure that the units are deployed as planned and that they will detonate.”

  “Understood, sir,” the assistant weapons officer said. But he was not finished. “It’s just that these units are foreign made. I don’t know how reliable they are.”

  “Fleet vetted the mines prior to our mission. They’re based on our own SMDM mine system but with improvements.” The GRU purchased the Chinese exports through a host of middlemen and cutouts, ensuring that the trail would not lead back to the Kremlin.

  “The SMDM—but how?”

  “Not your concern. Any additional questions?” Petrovich asked with an edgy tone.

  “No sir.”

  “Very well, carry on.”

  “Aye, Captain.

  Petrovich exited the torpedo compartment, deciding to pay a surprise visit to the engine room. As he headed aft, he considered his conversation with the weapons officer. The lieutenant’s concerns about the mines were justified. Fleet engineers at Vladivostok assured Captain Petrovich that the Chinese mines were functional, which was not a surprise to Petrovich. The buzz circulating within the senior naval officers at Pacific Fleet Headquarters shed light on the origins of the “specials.”

  A civilian engineer in Saint Petersburg working for the Russian Navy sold the complete SMDM design package to an MSS agent. Chinese engineers in Shanghai took the plans and specs and improved on the design. The knockoff units actually worked better than the original Russian manufactured torpedo mines.

  After confessing to an FSB interrogator, the engineer was sentenced to thirty years of hard labor at a Siberian prison camp.

  Petrovich and his colleagues all agreed that the traitor should have faced a firing squad instead.

  * * * *

  The Heilong progressed northward, following the east coast of Japan’s most northerly island of Hokkaido. The fisheries city of Nemuro was one hundred and seventy nautical miles to the west. The submarine cruised at twenty knots just over a thousand feet below the surface. Water depth in this region of the ocean was around three miles deep.

  Operations aboard the Chinese submarine had evolved into a routine of around the clock watch standing, endless drills, continuous maintenance, and constant surveillance. Of particular concern to Heilong’s commanding officer this day was the sonar report of a surface contact. Commander Yang Yu discussed the contact with Heilong’s executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Zheng Qin.

  “What do you make of this?” asked Yang.

  “It does appear to be following our track, matching our speed and heading.” Zheng was thirty-one, scrawny with jet-black hair cut to regulation length. Pockmarked from severe acne as a teen, his face mimicked the surface of the moon.

  The two officers peered at the plotting table in the Heilong’s attack center. The electronic chart displayed the submarine’s current position and the sonar contact. Sonar identified the ship’s acoustic signature as a Japan Coast Guard cutter.

  Commander Yang checked his wristwatch. “It’s been on the same course for an hour now.”

  “But how could it detect us at this depth, Captain?”

  “It shouldn’t.”

  “It may just be a coincidence,” Zheng offered. “The ship’s likely on a routine fisheries patrol. Sonar reported over a dozen fishing vessels in the general area.”

  “You’re probably right.” Yang stared at the digital chart. “We’ll continue as we are for the next hour. If it still follows, we’ll reevaluate our options at that time.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The Japanese patrol ship changed course to a westerly heading twenty minutes before Yang’s time limit. Relieved that the sonar contact was a false alarm, Commander Yang decided to return to his stateroom for a nap. XO Zheng commanded as Yang rested.

  In the Heilong’s wake some twenty miles away, a predator stalked its prey.

  The USS Mississippi, ever vigilant, was ready to strike if ordered.

  Chapter 47

  Day 33—Sunday

  The Lian returned to Sanya a few minutes before three in the afternoon. Dr. Meng Park was one of the first to disembark. After eight days at sea, she was more than ready for shore leave.

  Captain Zhou Jun waited on the pier adjacent to the gangway that connected Lian to the dock. He watched Park as she walked down the ramp, towing a wheeled suitcase and carrying her briefcase. She had traded her bulky coveralls for a pair of skintight blue jeans and a short sleeved silk blouse that flattered her breasts.

  “Welcome back, Dr. Meng,” Zhou said.

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “I need an immediate debriefing before you return to your hotel. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good, my vehicle’s close by.”

  “Okay.”

  Captain Zhou reached forward and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “Let me get that.”

  “Thank you.”

  The businesslike greetings were a charade for the benefit of the dockworkers and Lian’s crew that milled about the pier and along the decks of the ship. Dur
ing the ten minute drive to Zhou’s apartment, Meng would indeed provide a summary rundown on the installation of the Viper network. But that was a pretext for the real purpose of their encounter.

  Both were ravenous. They would spend the rest of the afternoon in bed before finally taking a break. Zhou had reservations at a nightclub in downtown Sanya.

  * * * *

  Commander Bowman summoned Yuri Kirov and Jeff Chang to the Colorado’s wardroom. Yuri and Jeff were seated at the mess table when Bowman and Lieutenant Commander Andrews entered the compartment. It was 3:07 P.M., local time.

  SEAL team leader Andrews took a chair next to Chang. After Bowman filled his mug with fresh coffee, he claimed his chair at the head of the table. Glancing toward Yuri and Jeff, Bowman said, “Thanks for joining us.” He took a taste. “We’re currently about sixty nautical miles out, still in deep water. But it’s going to get shallow soon so we’ll be reducing our speed accordingly.” Colorado’s CO glanced at his wristwatch. “The current plan is to launch the SDV at zero one hundred hours this coming morning.”

  “How close to shore will we be?” Yuri asked.

  “Six miles.”

  “Water depth?”

  “Around two hundred thirty feet.”

  Yuri did the math—seventy meters. “I assume we’ll be near the surface when the submersible is launched, otherwise we might need a decompression stop.”

  “Correct. The launch sequence has been set up to avoid the need for decompression.”

  “Good,” Yuri said. “One less issue to worry about.”

  Andrews commented next. “It’ll be slack tide so the trip in should take no more than an hour.”

  “Any change regarding surf conditions at the beach?”

  “No. One half meter high waves.”

  “Okay.”

  After another taste of coffee, Commander Bowman rejoined the conversation, addressing Yuri. “When you launched the mini from the boat you were on, how far offshore of Yulin were you?”

  “About twenty kilometers.”

  “So, just outside of China’s territorial waters.”