The Good Spy (29 page)

CHAPTER 74

L
aura was in the galley, ordered by Ken to make him a sandwich. He and Elena were in the wheelhouse. Laura could have made a run for it, but Ken threatened to shoot both Elena and Nick if she bolted. Nick remained tied up in Miller's cabin and Ken had locked the door.

As plastered as Ken was, Laura heeded his warning—almost.

She knelt next to the cabin door and whispered through the louvered vents, “Nick, are you all right?”

“Get me a knife.”

* * *

Ken, Laura, and Elena occupied the
Herc
's wheelhouse. Elena sat on the deck cross-legged, her hands bound behind her back. Laura stood on Elena's right; she leaned against the chart table. Her wrists remained bound in front. That way she could function as Ken's gopher.

After wolfing down the ham and cheese and guzzling through another bottle, Ken reached for a fresh Redhook. Half a dozen bobbed in an ice-filled container on the deck at his feet. Laura hauled it up the companionway stairs when the trio relocated to the bridge.

* * *

Nick was on his right side, his ankles and wrists lashed together at the base of his spine. He gripped the four-inch paring knife with his left hand. Unable to see, he'd already sliced his right wrist. Blood dripped onto the deck. He ignored the sting as he continued to attack the rope.

* * *

Ken sat on the edge of the captain's chair and rotated it so he could face the women. He held the .45 in his right hand; a fresh Redhook, his fifth, filled his left palm.

He took a swig and belched.

“All right, blondie”—his words slurred—“let's try this again. I want to know who you really are and what you're doing with my wife.”

Elena stared at the deck. She offered nothing, not even her name.

Frustrated, Ken faced Laura. “Who is this bitch?”

“She works at the Russian Trade Mission in Vancouver.”

“She KGB?”

“I don't know—probably, but they don't call it that anymore.”

Ken took another gulp. “So what are you supposed to be doing—the three of you here on this boat?”

Laura did not respond.

“Laura, answer me—
Now!
”

“We're supposed to meet up with a ship that's coming into Vancouver tonight. Transfer some operatives off it and then bring them down to the Seattle area.”

“Are these the commandos you were talking about?”

“Yes.”

“So what are they up to?”

“I don't know, they didn't tell me. I just follow orders.”

“What about the submarine they left here—where's it at?”

“It's gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don't know, back to the ocean I guess.”

Ken teetered on the chair. “What are you doing? You give away software secrets and now you're helping Russians infiltrate our country.”

“I'm in over my head, Ken. I can't get out. If you persist with this, you won't get out, either.”

“Well, screw that. I'm going to put an end to this.”

Ken turned and set the half-full beer bottle onto the nearby chart table. With his gun hand still aimed at the women, he fumbled with the controls to the VHF radio. Although his brain remained alcohol fogged, he knew that the Coast Guard monitored Channel 16.

“What are you doing?” Laura asked, alarmed.

“I'm going to have a little chat with the good old U S of A Coast Guard.”

“No, don't do that!”

He ignored Laura as he flipped on the Power switch; the radio had been pre-set to Channel 16. He picked up the coiled microphone and leaned toward Elena. “You're going to rot in a prison for a million years.”

Ken eyed Laura. “And you, you keep your mouth shut, and just maybe I can keep you out of the can. But it's going to cost you. You drop the divorce and sign over control of all your stock to me. If you don't, I'll turn you in and then you'll join your two Russki friends in Leavenworth.”

Ken keyed the mike. “Calling U.S. Coast Guard, calling U.S. Coast Guard, over.”

The reply was immediate. “Channel sixteen traffic, this is Coast Guard Group Port Angeles, identify yourself.”

Ken again activated the microphone. “Never mind that. You just need to know that something's going down in the Strait of Georgia, offshore of Point Roberts. There's some Russian spies that are coming in tonight on a ship plus there's a sub running around somewhere up here, too. You should send—”

Ken never finished. Electrical power to the
Hercules
clicked off in an eye blink. The wheelhouse blacked out and the VHF radio died.

“What the hell?” Ken bellowed. Residual illumination from a pole-mounted pier light allowed him to see Laura's and Elena's faces.

“We were on shore power—the dock breaker must have tripped,” Laura offered.

Ken noted that the marina's dock lights remained lit. “So how do you turn the lights back on in this thing?”

“I'll have to start the generator; it's in the engine room.”

“Get going.”

“I'll need a flashlight. There's one up here someplace.”

Laura was opening a nearby drawer when a shadowy form charged from the companionway.

Nick crashed into Ken, knocking him to the deck.

CHAPTER 75

T
he workboat exited the marina and ran on a southwesterly course at ten knots. With the running lights just extinguished and the AIS switched off at the dock, only radar could track the vessel as it faded into the dark.

Laura had the helm; Nick stood at her side. Elena was below in the galley making sandwiches.

Ken Newman occupied the deck inside Captain Miller's cabin, still drunk and banged up from Nick's sneak attack. Nick took pleasure in cinching up the rope.

“How long do you think it will take to get there?” Nick asked.

“About an hour.”

“Good.”

Laura leaned to her right to check the radar display. She noted the faint return a couple miles offshore of an island inside Canadian waters. The track line matched the heading of the
Hercules.

Nick stepped up the radar unit. “Still there?”

“Yep.”

* * *

The six-man detail descended into the torpedo room. Clad in coveralls with wet suits underneath, each man wore a full-face fire response respirator and lugged a portable air tank on his back. They also carried half a dozen plastic body bags.

After assembling on the partially flooded upper deck, the men surveyed the carnage. Three intact corpses along with a horrific blend of scorched body parts bobbed in the waist-deep water.

“Okay, guys,” the leader shouted through his face mask, “you know what needs to be done, so let's do it.”

In silence, the men set about the grizzly task. They collected the remains of their submates with reverence, placing them inside the bags.

* * *

Laura guided the
Hercules
alongside the
Neva
's starboard hull. The workboat's three-foot-diameter rubber fenders cushioned the impact. She cut the power and walked onto the port bridge wing.

Standing below on the side deck at amidships, Nick tossed the spring line to one of the sailors standing on the
Neva
's deck. The crewman secured the line to a retractable cleat on the sub's outer skin.

Nick scurried forward and repeated the same arrangement with the bowline.

As Nick headed aft to secure the stern line, Laura finally noticed the heavyset man standing on top of the
Neva
's sail. He wore a gray sea coat, and an officer's cap covered his head.

At eye level with Laura and just thirty feet away, he raised his right hand to his brow and saluted.

Laura waved back in response.

* * *

Captain Borodin watched as the woman stepped back into the pilothouse.
Thank you, kind lady, whoever you are
.

He had yet to speak directly with anyone aboard the
Hercules
, but already his crew busied themselves with preparing to transfer its cargo. The man who had just handled the mooring lines assisted them.

Borodin noted the three portable pumps with their coils of suction and discharge hoses laid out on the aft deck. Also stored nearby were four plastic five-gallon containers that he assumed contained gasoline. But what peaked Borodin's interest the most was the portable welder. A heavy-duty unit, it was exactly what they needed. Because of its bulk, the welder would have been a struggle to haul aboard by hand. However, the workboat's deck-mounted crane could handle it.

Captain Borodin looked away from the
Hercules,
peering westward. Thankfully, the sea remained calm and the skies were clear. He could see lights on the nearest shore—Mayne Island, one of the hundreds that made up Canada's Gulf Island archipelago.

Behind and above Borodin's perch, he heard the muted whine of the dual search radars as they probed the darkness. Other than a freighter steaming southward in the main shipping lanes four miles to the east, the
Neva
and
Hercules
remained alone in this section of the Southern Strait of Georgia.

* * *

Laura and Elena stepped out of the cabin onto the workboat's main deck. Nick sat at the control station for the crane. He lifted one of the gas-powered pumps and transferred it to the
Neva.

Elena said, “This is surreal; I still can't believe we're doing this.”

“No kidding,” Laura said as she watched the Russian sailors guide the pump onto the deck of the submarine.

* * *

“Chief, how long?” asked Captain Borodin. It was a quarter to midnight. He stood on the
Neva
's outer skin next to the forward escape trunk. The head and shoulders of a chief petty officer projected from the hatch opening.

“We should be complete in half an hour.”

“How's the patch holding?”

“Ivan did a superb job. We'll need to run some live tests but I think it'll hold just fine.”

“And the flooding?”

“We should have it pumped out soon.”

“That's good news, Chief. Well done.”

“Thanks, sir. I better get below.”

“Go ahead.”

Captain Borodin watched as the sailor descended into the torpedo room. He looked back across the deck toward the sail. The pumps and welder covered the foredeck. The drone of multiple gas-powered engines filled the otherwise tranquil night.

Borodin took one last look downward into the open hatchway, holding his nose. An awful concoction of electric arc exhaust gases, chlorine, and putrid flesh flowed out of the opening
.
Portable lighting inside revealed the metal grating of the torpedo room's upper level.

What a hellhole
.

* * *

After storing the body bags inside an empty and dry upper level torpedo tube and installing a pumped fresh air hose system, the six-man detail continued its work. Their first order of business called for temporarily plugging tube five. The detail used an inflatable life raft, stuffing it inside the open breach and then triggering the compressed air bottle.

The next phase involved dewatering Compartment One. The repair team employed the portable pumps transferred from the
Hercules
. With a combined capacity of nearly two hundred gallons per minute, the two rental pumps and the
Herc
's emergency unit expeditiously drew down the water level in the torpedo room. The
Neva
's bow gained over six feet of freeboard after pumping, leaving tube five almost dry. The temporary plug dammed off most of the flow, but seawater still trickled through the tube into the compartment.

Although the two-hundred-pound steel breach door was blown off its hinges during the accident, the repair team manhandled it back onto torpedo tube five. A wet-suited welder spent over an hour welding the entire circumference of the door onto the rim of the tube and its deformed locking ring.

Diagonal steel braces welded to the breach door and to the deck and overhead reinforced the plug. Captain Borodin instructed the crew chief to make certain that door would not blow off under one hundred meters of seawater.

With the torpedo room no longer open to the sea, the crew began pumping out the remainder of Compartment One. When the water reached the lowest level of the torpedo storage space, the men again donned their emergency breathing apparatus. Borodin wasn't sure what would happen when the main battery compartment was dewatered.

The worry was a release of chlorine gas—deadly stuff for sure. Fortunately, nothing dire happened when the batteries were exposed, just whiffs of the gas—like at a public swimming pool.

Captain Borodin turned from the hatch and walked back to the sail.

He thought of the weld.

CHAPTER 76

D
AY
15—M
ONDAY

L
aura and Nick arrived in the
Neva
's central command post at half past midnight. Elena remained aboard the
Hercules
, guarding Ken.

The control room's tight quarters bewildered Laura. The compartment overflowed with mechanical equipment, electrical gear, and electronic consoles. The men stared at her.

Laura was positive that she looked ghastly: wrinkled blouse, no makeup, and her hair limp and stringy. But maybe it was the dark color of her skin.

The senior warrant officer stood. He smiled and in practiced English said, “Miss Laura, Captain Borodin tell us you help Yuri save
Neva
.” His posture stiffened. “On behalf of crew, thank you for our lives.” He barked an order in Russian. The central post staffers stood up, snapped to attention, and in unison saluted Laura.

She almost cried.

Captain Borodin escorted Laura and Nick to his compact cabin. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, Laura listened as Orlov and Borodin conversed in their native tongue. More annoyingly, she'd yet to speak with Yuri.

“So far, our radars haven't picked up any threat,” offered Borodin. He sat behind his desk. A Canadian chart of the Strait of Georgia covered its surface.

“That's encouraging,” Nick said. “Maybe they think it was a hoax.” He occupied the lone guest chair.

“Let's hope so. We need a break for once.”

“Yes, we certainly do.”

Nick and Borodin remained leery of Ken Newman's aborted warning to the U.S. Coast Guard—hoping they really had evaded catastrophe. If Nick hadn't shut down the
Hercules
's power, Newman could have stirred up the proverbial hornets' nest: sub tracking and electronic attack aircraft from NAS Whidbey plus more Canadian air assets from CFB Comox. Borodin employed the
Neva
's electronic sensors to sniff out any hint of increased air or sea surveillance in the Southern Strait of Georgia. English-speaking crew monitored all U.S. and Canadian Coast Guard and military frequencies. At the first sign of trouble, the boat would submerge.

“Will the repairs allow you to head north now?” asked Nick as he shifted position in the chair.

“They should make a huge difference. But first we'll need to test the patch on the torpedo tube to make sure it'll hold.”

“How will you do that?”

“Take the boat down in stages—twenty meters at a time. I need a hundred meters capability for operational purposes.”

“Then we head up to that underwater explosives dump area?” Nick said, pointing to a chart on Borodin's desk.

“Yes, we'll follow submerged, tracking the workboat's propeller.”

“The underwater racket it makes?” Nick said.

“That's right, but you'll need to keep your speed down. Five knots max. At that rate we should be able to control the
Neva
without too much trouble.”

“When do you plan to get under way?”

“We should have everything wrapped up in a couple of hours.”

“Good, that should work.” Nick turned toward Laura. “Captain, can you please arrange for Laura to speak with Yuri?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Laura sat at a vacant console near the aft end of the central post. Assorted gauges and displays, all with Cyrillic markings, made up the bulk of the instrument panel. The built-in vertical computer monitor mounted above the console base displayed a gray screen.

Laura wore a headset with a voice-activated lip mike. Yuri remained in Compartment Six, still sealed up inside the escape trunk. For the last few minutes, they caught up.

When Yuri first spoke, his cartoon accent startled Laura. He remained on helium.

“How's your leg?” Laura asked.

“About the same.”

Even with his squeaky voice, Laura noticed something upsetting but she'd held off until now.

“You're coughing a lot. What's wrong?”

“I'm a bit parched.”

“Are you ill?”

“No, I just need some water.”

“Why don't you have water?”

“There's no way to open up the trunk until decompression is complete.”

“How long will that be?”

“About a day and a half to go.”

“Another day and a half—without water—and you've already been in there a day. That's awful. There has to be a way to get water inside that chamber.”

“It's okay. I'll be fine.”

“But you'll become seriously dehydrated—especially when you start breathing pure oxygen, and that's not okay.”

“I can make it.”

“Tell me how that escape trunk is constructed.”

Knowing Laura would not drop the subject, Yuri described the basic layout. Laura asked, “Those gas supply lines, you have both air and oxygen, is that right?”

“Yes, plus diluent—a blend of oxygen and helium.”

“But right now you're just using one line, right?”

“Yes, the diluent. Just what do you have in mind?”