The Good Spy (24 page)

CHAPTER 63

D
AY
14—S
UNDAY

L
aura Newman straddled the bulwark as freezing seawater rushed over her body and poured into the open aft deck. The
Hercules
lay hard over on its port, almost half-capsized.

The frigid water shocked her body and shortcircuited her ability to reason. She reverted to survival mode:
Don't let go!

Nearly submerged, Laura hung on with her hands and thighs clamped to the steel wall that rose three feet above deck level. With her neck awash, she struggled to breathe. She'd already inhaled a mouthful, gagging in the process.

Laura shut her eyes waiting to go under, sensing that she would have to abandon the vessel to save her life.

When she opened her eyes, the sea had dropped half a foot. She looked to her right, back toward the main cabin. The lights were still on.

A few more seconds went by. The water continued to retreat.

After the
Hercules
had nearly righted itself, Laura slid over the top of the sidewall and plopped onto the deck. She landed on her hands and knees, splashing through a wedge of trapped water about a foot deep.

Her teeth clattered and she took short quick breaths.

She had survived, but survived what? She wasn't sure.

The
Hercules
listed just five degrees. The scuppers at the base of the port bulwarks continued to drain.

Laura crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. She peered aft at the open deck. The ROV's control console and video monitor were jammed up against the port bulwark, both units smashed and waterlogged. The tattered end of the ROV's tether trailed from the drum reel bolted to the afterdeck of the
Hercules
.
Little Mack
remained on the bottom. Laura had guided the robot out of the torpedo tube but in the aftermath of the collision, the tether sheared.

What happened? Laura wondered.
And where
's
Nick?

Laura stepped to the port and looked seaward. Nothing. She crossed the deck to the starboard side. A huge dark form lurked low in the water about a hundred feet away. Residual light from the boat's cabin and wheelhouse revealed the
Neva
's hull—350 feet in length.

“Oh dear Lord,” she said, “Yuri did it!”

* * *

Like Laura, Elena marveled at the
Neva
's resurrection. She stood on the starboard bridge wing. Captain Miller remained inside the wheelhouse, unconscious and sprawled on the deck.

The
Neva
's fin rose a dozen feet above the hull. The forward end had a vertical face but the aft section sloped downward like a turtle's back.

Both vessels drifted.

While gripping the guardrail, still overcome by the magical presence of the behemoth, Elena noticed movement on top of the fin.

* * *

Captain Borodin stood alone on the bridge. The rest of the four-man observation party waited below for permission to join him.

He inhaled deeply. The salty fragrance of the evening air was a welcome respite from the manufactured environment of the pressure casing.

Anxious to be topside, he didn't bother with his sea coat. He embraced the chill.

Borodin searched the horizon for other vessels. It took just a moment to locate the
Hercules
. The workboat drifted off the port beam.

He turned away and peered aft. That's when he noticed the open VLF buoy hatch. The port door had failed to retract after reeling in the buoy. The CCP indicator panel warned of the problem; he ignored it, ordering the blow anyway.

Just aft of the open VLF hatch door he spotted the damage: several missing sound absorbing rubber tiles that exposed the bare steel of the outer hull. The
Neva
had struck something just before broaching. Everyone aboard heard the “thud.”

Unable to control the submarine's ascent, Borodin and the CCP crew had eagerly counted off the rise rate. To a man, their hopes of deliverance multiplied exponentially each meter closer to the surface they came.

When the
Neva
had neared the surface, the open VLF hatch reflected sound waves from the
Hercules
's depth sounders, announcing its pending arrival.

Borodin turned his attention back to the workboat, pulling up a night vision scope that hung from his neck. He aimed the sensor end at the vessel, targeting the wheelhouse.

With hair billowing about her face, the woman signaled with her arms.

“Yuri's friends!” he said to himself. “Thank you, whoever you are!”

The loudspeaker built into the conning tower's intercom unit activated. “Captain, permission to come to the bridge?”

Borodin reached down and pushed the Transmit button.
“Da.”

* * *

“What happened?” asked Elena. She stood on the deck next to Laura and Nick.

Laura knelt by Nick. He lay facedown on the deck, a pool of water enveloping his body. Laura looked up. “He was thrown overboard. Somehow, he managed to climb back aboard. I didn't even see him until he collapsed here.”

Elena dropped to her knees, opposite Laura. She lowered her head to within inches of Nick's right cheek. “Major Orlov—Nicolai,” she said in Russian, “are you all right?”

His eyelids flickered and he managed a weak smile. “Vodka,
požalujsta
!”

Relieved, Elena reached for his shoulders. “Help me, please?” she asked Laura. “We need to warm him up.”

“Okay.”

* * *

“I want the compressor up and running in five minutes.”

“Understood, Captain. We'll have it online in three.”

“Very well.”

Borodin, wearing a headset with a boom mike, remained on the bridge atop the sail.

The four men stacked around him in the observation well were silent. The watch-standers searched their designated sectors for targets, each set of eyes glued to their individual night vision devices. One of the radar domes mounted to a retractable mast in the sail extended ten feet above bridge. It, too, probed with electronic eyes, the low-pitch hum of its orbit reminding them all that the
Neva
had returned from the dead.

Captain Borodin could see his breath as he exhaled. A few minutes earlier, he'd gratefully accepted his coat, brought topside by a sailor.

Borodin keyed the microphone, connecting with the CCP. “This is the captain, put me through to Kirov.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty seconds passed and then his headphones came alive: “Stephan, Yuri here.”

Borodin smiled, never quite used to how helium altered the human voice. Kirov sounded like Donald Duck.

“When are you going to start sucking on some real air?” Borodin asked, laughing.

A high-pitched chuckle. “It'll be awhile yet.”

“Are you all right?”

“So far. I banged up my head a little.” Yuri coughed. “What happened?”

Keeping an eye on the proximity of the nearby workboat, Borodin said, “We came up so fast. I had no control whatsoever—surfaced right under your boat. Knocked a few tiles off but we're fine.”

“The
Hercules
—what happened?”

“Don't know yet for sure, it's about forty meters away. I'm looking at it right now; it appears to be structurally intact but it's dead in the water.”

“What about her crew?”

“Lights are on.” Borodin raised his NVD and scanned the
Hercules.
“I see movement on the aft deck, several people. I'm sending over a raft with a portable radio.”

“Good, there are two SVR officers aboard. Work with the male—Major Orlov. I don't trust the other one. Her name is Krestyanova, Elena. I don't know her grade.”

“I understand.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything?”

“Talk with Laura Newman and let her know I'm okay.”

“She's the American that helped you?”

“Yes, helped us all—at enormous risk to herself. She's aboard the
Hercules
.”

“What does she know?”

“Everything—we'd never be where we are now without her.”

“Don't worry. I'll let her know personally.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Nick Orlov shivered and his teeth chattered. He sat on a chair in the galley of the
Hercules
, his naked form encased by a wool blanket. Elena and Laura flanked him, each vigorously massaging his back and shoulders, trying to revive his chilled body.

Although miserable, he relished the attention. “Elena, a little more to the right, please.” She moved a few inches. He poked his left hand out of the wrap and ran it up the inside thigh of her skintight jeans.

“Nicolai, you
bábnik
!” she shouted while jerking her leg from his grip. “Watch out, Laura, he's warmed up way too much now!”

Laura smiled as she, too, stepped away, wary of another sneak attack.

Nick turned around, grinning. “Thanks, ladies, I'm feeling much better.”

Elena muttered,
“
No kidding.”

* * *

“Remember, Lieutenant,” Yuri said, “the partial pressure of oxygen must remain constant.”

“Yes, sir. I'll set it up as you directed.”

“The instructions are in the manual. If you have any questions, I'll walk you through it.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Very well.”

Yuri's voice remained distorted by helium yet his directions were unambiguous. He would die if misunderstood. The supply officer operating the control panel at the base of the escape trunk knew nothing about diving. But he now served as Yuri's lifeline, responsible for mixing helium and oxygen from the storage tanks in Compartment Six into a sustainable blend.

Yuri continued to rely on the rebreather, taking the mouthpiece out whenever he spoke. Its supply of heliox would soon run out and he'd need to tap the sub's onboard stock.

His split eyebrow had clotted; blood only oozed from the wound.

Yuri reached forward and turned a valve handle. The hiss of high-pressure air venting to Compartment Six reverberated inside the escape trunk. He monitored a gauge mounted to the side of the chamber. The pressure decreased. Yuri checked the dive computer strapped to the left forearm of his dry suit.

The delay in engineering the bilge vent had cost Yuri dearly. For every extra minute spent working beyond his planned bottom time, an hour of decompression added to his original schedule.

By turning the trunk's air release valve, Yuri started the decompression process. He would bleed off pressure inside the steel chamber in measured steps and hold the lower pressure at specific stop points for predetermined time intervals. This would allow the helium dissolved in Yuri's blood and tissues time to seep out without forming deadly bubbles—minuscule gas spheres that cause appalling ruin to the human body.

His first bout with decompression sickness had left him crippled. Another case of the bends would probably kill him. Yuri could not afford to cut any corners.

Using the aft escape trunk as a decompression chamber would safely return Yuri to normal pressure. But it would be an agonizingly slow process. The LED display on his dive computer broadcast the schedule. It would take fifty-eight hours before he could exit the trunk.

* * *

“Helm, engine ahead slow,” ordered Captain Borodin.

“Ahead slow,” replied the officer of the watch.

Borodin remained on the sail, connected via intercom to the central command post.

As the bronze propeller bit into the sea, a tremor reverberated through the
Neva
's hull. Borodin trained a portable spotlight on the bow and waited for the boat to gain momentum.

Moving at just three knots, the bow was almost completely submerged, leaving just a meter of freeboard. “Helm, full right rudder,” he said. “Make your course zero one zero.”

The watch officer echoed the order.

The boat began an unhurried turn.

Over the next few minutes, Borodin ordered several additional course changes. The flooded bow compartment severely impaired performance; maneuvering underwater would be even worse. During the test maneuvering, Borodin kept a close eye out for the powerless workboat, orbiting it.

“Helm, engine all stop,” ordered Borodin.

The
Neva
and the
Hercules
both drifted with the current, separated by two hundred meters of water.

Borodin keyed the microphone again and ordered the deck parties topside. The first group climbed onto the outer casing. One at a time, the lead three-man team exited through a door recessed into the port sidewall of the sail. They wore wet suits, carried canvas tool bags and flashlights. The men stepped onto the narrow deck adjacent to the sail and headed toward the bow. They stopped at the forward escape trunk hatch.

While the first team worked on opening the hatch, the next team emerged from the sail door. They struggled with a heavy bag about the size of a storage trunk. Within five minutes, the inflated eight-man rubber raft rested on the deck just forward of the sail.

The team leader, a senior warrant, looked up at Borodin. “Captain, that it?” he said while pointing toward the
Hercules.

“Affirmative.”

“Permission to depart.”

“Granted.”

The men lowered the raft into the water. The team leader and two sailors climbed into it and paddled toward the workboat.