The Good Spy (25 page)

Several minutes passed when a bridge lookout reported, “Sir, the forward hatch is open.”

* * *

Captain Borodin stood next to the open hatch. The forty-eight-year-old chief of the boat had just climbed out of the forward escape trunk. Standing shy of six feet with a heavy build, he reeked of death; water dripped from his saturated jumpsuit.

“What's the status, Dima?”

The chief coughed, trying to clear out the residual foul air in his lugs. He'd spent ten minutes on the upper deck of the
Neva
's torpedo room wading through waist-high water. “Bad, sir. As we expected, massive damage. Everything I could see was scorched to hell.”

“The crew?”

“Body parts on the surface. It's just awful.”

Borodin grimaced. “Can you get to tube five?”

“I think so, using EBAs we should be able to insert a temporary plug and then dewater.”

“What about sealing off for diving. We'll need a hundred meters' depth.”

The chief coughed again. “We'll have to weld a plate over the breach opening, but I don't know how we're going to do that.”

Neither did Borodin. The ship's electric welder was stored in a workshop on a lower deck in Compartment Two. Submerged in seawater for over two weeks, it would never spark again.

“Thanks, Chief. Get some dry clothes on.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the chief departed, Borodin remained beside the hatch, staring into the opening. A whiff of rotting flesh flowed into the still night air. He stepped back, appalled at the foulness.

He would never forget the stench.

CHAPTER 64

E
lena watched from the wheelhouse as the Russian sailors paddled toward the
Hercules
. She stood watch over the now idling workboat; Laura restarted the diesel. Elena turned and faced the open stairwell. “They're almost here!” she shouted.

“Okay,” answered Nick. He and Laura were one deck level below, cleaning up. The
Herc
's cabin had been in shambles after the collision—half of the galley's lockers had spilled their guts onto the deck.

Nick and Laura stood on the aft main deck. He wore a pair of dry slacks and a wool Pendleton shirt, liberated from Miller's cabin.

Nick helped the submariner climb aboard, lending the sailor a hand as he pulled himself up and over the stern railing. His companions remained in the rubber raft, which was tied to the workboat. Nick and the visitor stood on the deck. Laura and Elena stood nearby.

“Major Orlov?” asked the warrant officer in Russian.

The sailor removed the satchel strapped across his right shoulder. “Captain Borodin asked me to give this to you.”

Nick pulled open the covering flap of the handheld Russian military radio.

“This is a secure unit?”

“Yes, sir. You can speak freely with Captain Borodin. He's on the bridge.” He pointed back toward the
Neva
, still adrift a couple of hundred meters to the north.

Nick extended the built-in antenna and turned on the radio.

“Channel one?” he asked.

“Correct.”

Nick pressed the microphone's Transmit switch and spoke, “Major Orlov here.”

There was a slight delay before the built-in speaker activated. “Major, this is Captain Lieutenant Borodin. I'm acting commanding officer of the
Neva
.”

“Greetings, Captain. Welcome back to the world!”

“Thank you. We are very happy to be off the bottom.”

“We are all amazed that it worked. Are you okay?”

“Yes, but what about you—is your vessel damaged? We had no control over our ascent.”

“We were knocked around but I think we'll be okay.” Nick neglected to mention Captain Miller's injury. The master of the
Hercules
had fractured his skull. Earlier, Nick, Elena, and Laura moved the comatose Miller to his cabin. That's when Nick discovered the .45 in Miller's coat pocket. He confiscated the pistol.

“Major, on behalf of the surviving officers and men of the
Neva
and me, we thank you and your associates for all that you have done to help us. We are forever grateful.”

“We're pleased that you're okay, Captain.” Nick turned toward the two women who had just joined him and smiled.

Laura frowned, not having an inkling of what had just transpired. Elena translated for her.

“Ask him about Yuri!” Laura said.

Nick held up a hand in acknowledgment. He activated the mike. “Captain, can you tell me about Kirov—how's he doing?”

“He's fine. He's currently decompressing.”

Elena again translated. Laura beamed.

Borodin asked, “Major, how are we going home?”

“We're still working on that, Captain.”

“How can that be? We've been stranded for over two weeks now. A plan of action should have been in place long ago.”

Nick faced Elena. She sulked.

“What's the matter?” asked Laura, observing the mutual regret.

Nick replied, “Captain, we've had some coordination problems. It's taken much longer to arrange your out than expected.”

Borodin replied, “Can you at least indicate what your general plan is?”

“Stand by, Captain.”

Nick again turned toward Elena. “What should I tell him?”

“Go with the original plan, we'll resurrect it—somehow.”

Nick keyed the microphone. “Captain, first you and your crew will need to transfer onto our vessel. We'll transport you to shore and a holding facility near Vancouver. From there, you'll be shuttled to a private hangar at the airport. And then we'll fly you out.”

“We all travel as a group?”

“Yes.”

“When will this occur?”

Elena broke in, “Tell him we need at least a day to complete the flight arrangements.”

“A minimum of twenty-four hours for the flight. But we're prepared to take you and your crew now.”

“We can't do that.”

“Why?”

“Kirov's decompression will take two and a half days to complete.”

“Why so long? He didn't say anything like that before.”

“It took him longer to vent Compartment Two than he'd planned. He's paying the price.”

Before Nick replied, Elena preempted him, “Nick, if we have a couple of days, I'm sure we can get everything in place.” It would also provide her time to smooth things over with their boss.

Nick continued, “Captain, what about the
Neva
, is she still seaworthy?”

“We're checking. We have power and helm control. We're also recharging the high-pressure flasks in preparation for diving.”

“You plan to submerge again?” Nick asked, bewildered.

“Yes, during daylight hours. We'll make repairs in the dark.”

“We can take some of your men now if you want.”

“Thank you but no. We need everyone aboard— we're shorthanded. What we could really use is some food; we're getting low.”

“We can help with that!”

The rubber raft returned twice to the
Neva
, loaded down with dozens of grocery sacks and cardboard boxes.

Orlov and Borodin again talked over the encrypted radio circuit. Elena selectively translated, not fully trusting Laura.

“Thank you for the supplies,” Borodin commented. “Once again we are in your debt.”

“You're welcome, Captain,” Nick said. Now ready for closure he continued. “When Kirov finishes decompressing we'll meet you here again and make the transfer.”

“We can't do it here.”

“Why?”

“I'm not going to scuttle the
Neva
here—offshore of Point Roberts.”

“I don't understand.”

“We need to find a more secure location, deeper water and not in United States territory. There's a deep hole north of here about eighty kilometers, near Nanaimo.”

Borodin referred to an abandoned underwater ammunition dumpsite, marked on the Canadian charts. The shattered hull of the
Neva
would blend in with the bottom debris. When the scuttling charges detonated, the sound print from the explosions—if picked up by Canadian or U.S. underwear listening posts, would be chocked up to munitions cooking off—he hoped.

Nick faced Elena. “Where's Nanaimo?”

“On the east coast of Vancouver Island, not too far away.”

“Okay, Captain. Provide us with coordinates and we'll pick you up at the new location.”

“We'll do that, but before we can head north we must make repairs.”

“What's the problem?”

“The first compartment is still flooded, which affects our maneuverability. I have marginal control on the surface. We can submerge if we stay shallow but she'll be a pig to steer, especially in any kind of crosscurrent. We must correct the problem before heading north—it's too far to go without full control.”

“How can we help?” Nick asked after Borodin explained the root of the
Neva'
s dilemma.

“We need a welder and pumps. Do you have any of that equipment aboard?”

“Just a minute.” Nick switched to English as he addressed Laura. “Do you know if there's a welder aboard plus some pumps?”

“I don't know, maybe. There's a lot stuff stored in the engine room.”

“Can you check for me?”

“Sure.”

Nick keyed the mike. “We're checking, Captain.”

Captain Borodin and Nick went over other operational protocols until Laura returned.

“There's no welder that I could see,” she said, “but there could be one stored someplace aboard. Only Captain Miller would know.” Laura continued, “I did find an acetylene torch and a portable gas-powered pump with a bunch of hose.”

Nick reported, “Captain, we couldn't find a welder but there's a torch and a pump.”

“We've got to have a welder—a heavy-duty unit. That's our only hope for sealing the tube.”

Elena joined in again, “Tell him we'll rent one.”

“Captain, we can get you a welder and come back in the evening. Will that work?”

“It'll have to.”

“Will you be okay—submerged, I mean.”

“I think so—if we don't go too deep and avoid—” Borodin stopped.

Nick pressed the microphone switch. “Captain, you still there?”

Forty seconds passed and then Borodin replied, “Our radar just picked up a surface target that's moving at forty knots from the north; it's vectored straight for us. It'll be here in twelve minutes. We're diving now. Start monitoring this frequency at seventeen hundred hours your time later today and we'll rendezvous again.”

“What kind of target?”

“We don't know, maybe the authorities. Regardless, the
Neva
must not be seen. Get your cover story in place in case you're boarded, and bring us a welder. I've got to go.”

The radio link clicked off.

CHAPTER 65

N
ick, Elena, and Laura stood on the starboard bridge wing. The
Neva
submerged, leaving a faint bubble trail. They watched the approaching craft. The flashing amber strobe light on its mast marked its high-speed advance.

“What is that thing?” Nick asked in English.

Elena had the binoculars pressed to her eyes.
“Chyort.”

“What?” Laura asked.

“It's the Canadian Coast Guard,” Elena said.

“How do you know that?” asked Nick.

“They're the only ones that have hovercraft around here.”

“Really?” Nick said.

“Yep, that's why it's going so fast.”

“Oh no,” Laura mumbled as she remembered Captain Miller. He remained below, laid out on his bunk, unconscious. “What do we do now?”

Nick took charge. “Okay, here's what we need to . . .”

* * *

The ninety-four-foot air cushion vehicle made its approach from the north at forty knots and executed a full-speed orbit around the
Hercules
before slowing. Riding on top of the water surface, it produced hardly any wake wash.

With its twin variable pitch propellers still whirling at a furious rate, the hovercraft scooted across the fifty yards of open water to the
Hercules
and stopped about ten feet away. The high-pitched whine of its engines faded and the pressurized air-filled skirt that encircled the craft deflated. The ACV's hull settled about two feet into the water. The only sound now, a muted rumble, broadcast from the
Hercules
's idling diesel engine.

Laura and Nick waited on the stern deck. Elena remained in the cabin, cleaning up the last of the chaos from the near capsizing.

Nick still had Miller's .45, but a shoot-out would be a disaster; talk was the only way out—a skill Nick did well.

The hovercraft's front hatch opened. The silhouette of a man backlit by crimson cabin lighting appeared. “Hello there,” he called out in a friendly voice.

Laura and Nick returned the greeting.

“Are you the skipper, sir?” asked the Canadian Coastguard officer.

“Yes, this is my boat,” Nick said. “Is there a problem?”

“Permission to come aboard, skipper?”

“Ah, okay—sure.”

He tossed Nick a mooring line. Nick pulled the ACV forward until its rubber skirt kissed the
Herc
's hull. The officer climbed over the rail, followed by a second crew member. Neither man carried a firearm. Two other crew members remained inside the ACV; a female sat at the controls, another male stood nearby.

“What's the problem?” Nick again asked, addressing the ACV's captain.

“Sir, are you having difficulty with your vessel?”

Nick had his story ready, prompted by Laura's brainstorm. “Yes, we had a power failure. I just fixed it.”

“Was your radio out of order, too?”

Laura answered, expecting the officer's question. “Yes. I was in the wheelhouse when everything shut down—nothing worked.”

“So you weren't monitoring Channel sixteen?”

“Not after we lost power.”

The ACV's CO turned to face his companion. “That certainly explains it.”

The man nodded his agreement.

“What's going on?” Nick asked.

“Skipper, the reason we were dispatched is that Vancouver Vessel Traffic Control has been trying to contact you for the past hour. You've been slowly drifting toward the shipping lanes.”

“Oh, I forgot about that.”

“You're very close to the northbound lane.”

“But aren't we still in U.S. waters?”

“Yes but we share responsibilities with your Coast Guard in this area of the Strait of Georgia.”

“I'm sorry,” Nick offered. “I wasn't thinking about the shipping lanes; we're so far offshore it just didn't register.”

“That's understandable.” The Canadian shifted his stance. “Were you assisted by another craft?”

“I don't understand.”

“As we made our approach, our radar showed two contacts but then they faded to one blip.”

“Ah, no. We're alone here.”

“Must be a glitch with our system.” The coastguardsman shuffled his feet. “Well, anyway, are just the two of you aboard?”

Laura had been anticipating this question, too. Under no circumstances could they reveal the presence of Miller. If they discovered the unconscious and obviously injured man, the Coast Guard crew would mount a full investigation.

“Ah, there's one other aboard,” Laura said. “She's in the galley.”

“Okay. And just where are you headed?”

“Point Roberts,” Nick answered. “We came up from Seattle—almost got there but lost power.”

“I see.” The Canadian gestured toward the bow. “If you don't mind, I'd like to make a check of your pilothouse, see if everything's in working order. That okay with you, skipper?”

“Sure.”

Nick and Laura led the way, entering the main cabin, passing through the galley, and climbing the companionway to the bridge.

Elena nodded at the two visitors as they passed through the main salon. Seated at the mess table, she nursed a cup of coffee. Unlike Nick, she had prepared for trouble. Her suppressor-equipped Beretta lay on the bench seat at her right side, covered by a towel.

The inspection took five minutes. The Canadian officer requested that Nick switch on the AIS system. Laura complied, thankful that Captain Miller had briefed her on the
Herc
's automatic identification system.

* * *

The
Hercules
had been under way for forty-five minutes. Several steel plates on the starboard hull had dents and one of the depth finder transducers no longer functioned. But that was the extent of the damage. The submarine's outer covering of rubberized anechoic tiles cushioned the impact. Had the
Neva
hit the hull farther aft, the workboat's rudder and propeller assembly would have been crushed.

The
Hercules
approached the south shore of Point Roberts. About a hundred yards ahead, a flashing red light marked the western end of the marina's breakwater. Laura stood at the helm. Elena and Nick flanked her.

“Are they still following us?” Laura asked.

Nick looked aft. The yellow strobe light marked the presence of the Canadian patrol craft. “Yeah, it's still there.”

“Do you think they'll come into the marina, too?” asked Elena.

“I hope not,” Laura said.

Navigating in the confined spaces of a small craft harbor strained her navigation skills.

Laura maneuvered past the breakwater and lined up with the center of the marina's entrance channel. The
Hercules
crawled forward.

“Hey, they just turned away,” announced Nick.

* * *

“Captain, sonar. Target has increased speed and is heading west. Sounds like he's accelerating. Thirty-plus knots.”

“Very well, keep monitoring.” Captain Borodin rotated his chair to face the officer of the watch, who stood next to the central command post's helm. “Let's run another sweep.”

“ESM sweep, aye, sir.”

Thirty seconds later, a slender steel tube rose from the top of the sail and pierced the sea surface by two meters. The antenna sniffed for hostile electronic transmissions, radars in particular.

The
Neva
's electronic support measures officer made his report by intercom. “Captain, I'm picking up the same transmitters from our previous sweep. No new contacts.”

“Very well.” Borodin then addressed the watch officer. “Up periscope.”

“Up periscope, aye, sir.”

Borodin peered through the eyepiece. “No close-by contacts. Get me a bearing on the target.”

The watch officer relayed the command to sonar.

“Captain, sonar. Target bears two seven seven. He's really moving—forty-plus knots.”

Borodin turned to the designated bearing and increased magnification. The flashing strobe caught his attention. “I have it. He's departing the area.”

Smiles and grins broke out on all those assembled in the
Neva
's CCP.