The Good Spy (31 page)

CHAPTER 80

T
he leak started with a trickle. The background racket from the engine and turbo generator masked the tiny hiss. Six minutes later, the pinhole fissure in the hatch seal eroded exponentially. The high-pitched screech jolted Yuri awake.

He checked the pressure gauge: the escape trunk was losing pressure at a prodigious rate. He'd just passed his next decompression stage change—two hours ahead of schedule.

Yuri kneeled over the lower hatch. The residual ring of bloodstained seawater encircling the hatch had disappeared. He cranked on the hatch-locking mechanism, hoping to squeeze the rubber gasket farther. But the outflow continued unabated. The seal had been scheduled for replacement during the
Neva
's last inspection, but that task along with countless other maintenance work had been canceled due to the submarine's pending retirement.

Yuri activated the intercom mike. “There's a leak in here. Add more pressure!”

He repeated his call twice but received no response. The conscript assigned to monitor Yuri was taking an unauthorized break in an adjacent compartment.

Yuri used his dive knife to cut away one of the lead weights from his dry suit. He slammed it against the escape trunk's steel casing.

* * *

“Kakógo chërta!”—
What the hell—roared Captain Borodin.

The CCP watch officer responded, “Sir, it's coming from aft.”

Borodin grabbed a microphone to call the sonar room, when a female voice speaking English blasted from an overhead speaker, “We need help back here. Yuri's going to die if we don't do something now!”

It took Captain Borodin seventy-two seconds to reach Compartment Six. He stood at the base of the escape trunk, his heart galloping. Laura handed him the microphone. A cluster of crew, including the derelict sailor, milled about at the base of the trunk, unsure what to do.

Borodin activated the mike. “Yuri, what's going on?” He spoke in Russian.

“The seal on the hatch is blown. It's venting.”

“Stand by, I'm going to check it out.”

Borodin handed the intercom mike back to Laura and clambered up a ladder to the base of the hatch. He grabbed the lower locking wheel with both hands and applied everything he had. The wheel rotated a few degrees. No change. High-pressure air continued to vent.

He dropped back down and faced the conscript assigned to watch Kirov: “How long ago did this happen?”

The young man stared at the deck in shame.

Borodin reached for the microphone. “Yuri. We can try adding pressure to the trunk, but that leak isn't going away.”

“I don't have a choice, do I?”

“No, I'm afraid not. What's your pressure?”

“I'm down to two point one bars.”

“You feel anything yet?”

“No.”

“That's good.” Borodin's forehead wrinkled. “What pressure were you at when this started?”

“About four bars.”

“Okay, start venting the trunk. We'll get the chamber prepped for you.”

“Stephan, I want you to do it!”

“Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere.”

On his knees, Yuri unlocked and pulled open the inner hatch. Captain Borodin looked up from below; Laura stood at his side, her face lined in worry.

“Come on, Yuri!” commanded Borodin. “The chamber's ready.”

Yuri made it down the ladder before he collapsed, his injured left leg buckling. As Borodin and two sailors lifted Yuri, his head spun. He vomited.

CHAPTER 81

“I
s he going to be okay?” asked Laura as she huddled with Captain Borodin next to the recompression chamber. She could see Yuri through a viewport.

He lay on a mattress on his left side with eyes closed; sweat pooled on his forehead. The
Neva
's medic knelt next to Yuri, taking his blood pressure.

“Yuri okay,” Borodin replied with his limited English. “I think we get him recompressed in time.”

It had been a chancy six minutes in all—the time it took to pick Yuri up from the deck, manhandle his near deadweight bulk through the narrow hatch of the recompression chamber, seal the hatch, and then charge the chamber with compressed air. During that entire process, the medic remained at Yuri's side, to keep him from aspirating vomit.

The three minutes that elapsed from closing the chamber hatch to pressurization were an agony for Laura. Yuri shrieked as the expanding helium bubbles circulating in his bloodstream and tissues wreaked havoc. The mini-mines targeted his joints.

Once the chamber reached four atmospheres—equivalent to about one hundred feet of seawater—the attacks subsided. Exhausted, Yuri lost consciousness.

“How long will he have to stay in there?” Laura asked Borodin.

The captain picked up a clipboard and consulted a Deep Blowup nomogram. He ran his finger across the chart. “Yuri has about fifty-six hours ahead of him in chamber.”

“But he'd already spent over thirty hours in decompression.”

“When hatch seal fail, we must throw out original schedule. Yuri start over.”

Laura said, “Can I go inside and help? I've had first aid training.” She'd already observed how the chamber's airlock worked, allowing the transfer of personnel and supplies into and out of the chamber.

“Maybe later. Yuri in good hands.” He gestured to the porthole and the medic inside. “Dimitry know how to care.”

An overhead speaker blared out a message in Russian.

Borodin retrieved a nearby intercom mike and exchanged words with the caller.

Laura watched as Borodin's brow wrinkled and the inflection of his voice altered.

He hung up the microphone. “I return to command center. Stay here, please.”

He sprinted up a stairwell.

* * *

“What's it doing?” asked Elena.

“It's still hovering. But it just dropped something into the water. I can see a cable hanging down.” Nick stood next to Elena with a pair of binoculars held to his eyes.

They were in the
Herc
's wheelhouse; it was late morning. The workboat lumbered northward six miles from shore; it just passed Nanaimo, one of Vancouver Island's largest cities.

The Canadian military helicopter hovered just above the water surface about half a mile west of the
Hercules.

“What do you think they're doing?”

“I have no idea.”

* * *

Although Nick did not recognize the threat, the
Neva
's chief sonar operator did. He called the captain.

“Where is it now?” asked Captain Borodin. He stood next to the senior technician, out of breath from his dash from the recompression chamber. The boat was at ultra quiet mode with the power to the propeller cut. The
Neva
drifted ninety meters below the surface. Four hundred meters ahead, the
Hercules
pulled away.

“Still a kilometer out, Captain.” The sonar operator concentrated on the tones broadcasting from his headphones. He also studied the graphical display on his console. “Still no pinging. They must be listening.”

The heavy beat of rotors on the sea surface altered the
Neva
's sonar tech to the helicopter's presence. The technician also heard the splash of the helo's dipping sensor unit when it entered the water.

It was unlikely the helicopter's passive sonar would hear the
Neva
's minuscule sound output. On the other hand, should the sonar unit's active mode be triggered, all bets would be off.

“Captain, he's retracted the probe and is moving off.”

Borodin sighed but his blood pressure continued to spike. The
Neva
had become prey.

Another helicopter patrolled the Strait of Georgia thirty kilometers farther south, near the City of Vancouver. Configured for antisubmarine warfare, both rotor aircraft operated from a Canadian Forces Base at Comox on Vancouver Island.

A cutting edge U.S. Navy P-8A Poseidon antisubmarine jet from NAS Whidbey also prowled the southern end of the Strait of Georgia. Two additional patrol craft, soon to be mothballed propeller-driven P-3C Orions, traversed the Strait of Juan de Fuca from Whidbey Island to the Pacific Ocean.

* * *

It took several hours for the impact of Ken Newman's aborted radio call to make its way up the military chain of command. A staff analyst on watch at the National Military Command Center in the Pentagon took the call. The Navy lieutenant commander had already read the sighting report of the
Barrakuda
. It didn't take her long to piece together the possibility. She reported her findings to the officer in charge of the NMCC, suggesting that the rogue sub had not returned to the Pacific after all. The U.S. Army major general concurred.

Ordered to investigate, NAS Whidbey dispatched a pair of EA-18G Growlers to Point Roberts, but the jets reported nothing suspicious. Later in the morning, antisubmarine warfare patrol aircraft from NAS Whidbey started patrolling the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Southern Strait of Georgia. About the same time, Canadian forces began to deploy.

To defuse public reaction to the flurry of military activity, NAS Whidbey prepared a press release announcing a joint U.S. and Canadian naval training exercise and then e-mailed it to local media outlets throughout western Washington and southern British Columbia.

To protect killer whales that also hunted in the same waters, the allied forces had orders to limit the use of active sonar. High-powered sonar pulses could only be used after a suspected target was identified by passive measures.

* * *

Unaware of the
Neva
's resurrection, the FSB team continued to survey the Southern Strait of Georgia. This afternoon they worked the southern approaches to the passage, north of Sucia Island. With no further contact from their local coordinator—Elena Krestyanova—or any sign of the
Hercules
, Captain Dubova carried out her orders. But everything was about to change.

The Russian special operators watched the P-8A Poseidon eject another cylinder from its belly. A tiny parachute deployed, retarding its descent. It splashed into the water.

Lieutenant Karpekov turned to face his boss. “That's the third one so far. I don't think it's on a training mission.”

“They're obviously looking for something,” Captain Dubova replied.

“Maybe they know about the
Neva
.”

“Maybe.”

Based on the Boeing 737 airframe, the brand-new U.S. Navy patrol plane dropped sonobuoys throughout Dubova's search area. Designed to detect sounds generated from submerged submarines with passive sonar, the sonobuoys radioed their findings back to the P-8A for analysis. The stinger at the tail end of the aircraft also housed sensitive magnetic anomaly detection equipment. The MAD gear could sniff out ferrous-based hulls under hundreds of feet of seawater.

Captain Dubova and her assistant watched as the jet climbed in the distance and took another wide turn to the right.

“Looks like it's getting ready for another run,” commented Karpekov.

Dubova agreed. The Poseidon was about to commence a new survey track that would be even closer to their current position.

“We're done here, Grigori. Reel in the fish.”

“We heading back to Bellingham?”

“Yes, we need to get out of here before we attract interest.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Dubova's orders were explicit: Avoid detection at all cost
.

CHAPTER 82

T
he
Neva
surfaced. Only the sail and the upper half of the rudder assembly protruded above the water.

Although the sun had set twenty minutes earlier, the partial surfaced condition represented a precautionary measure. The reduced radar cross-section disguised the hull's true length.

The ESM mast detected three distant radars, each probing the tranquil waters north of Vancouver. It also picked up several encrypted military radio frequencies.

Captain Borodin stood in the bridge well on top of the sail. The usual compliment of watch-standers occupied their stations. The
Hercules
drifted about a hundred meters off the starboard bow, its silhouette barely visible.

Borodin held the microphone to the portable radio set. The twin remained aboard the
Hercules
. He triggered the Transmit switch. “I know this is supposed to be a secure circuit but just the same, I'd like you to come to me. I can't leave for obvious reasons.”

“All right, Captain,” Nick Orlov replied, “send your raft over.”

* * *

Orlov and Borodin were alone in Captain Tomich's cabin. Borodin summarized Yuri Kirov's predicament.

“Fifty more hours!” Nick exclaimed, flustered. “I don't know if we can wait that long.”

“We have no choice. Yuri will die if we deviate from the new decompression schedule. It may even take longer than planned.”

“We'll just have to wait and then make the transfer.”

“I'm not comfortable waiting here that long.”

“Why?”

“The Americans and Canadians are obviously looking for us. We've been lucky so far. I don't want to push it.”

Nick's brow wrinkled. “What are you getting at?”

“It's time for us to leave.”

“What do you mean, leave?”

“Now that the flooded compartments have been pumped out, the
Neva
is functioning tolerably. As long as we don't dive too deep we should be okay.”

“Are you suggesting that you might be able to return home on your own power?”

“Maybe not all the way, but enough to get into international waters—very deep waters where we can be picked up by our own forces. Then the
Neva
can be scuttled.”

“But I thought that's what you were going to do here—we're over that dumpsite right now.”

“That's still an option—after Yuri completes decompressing, but it's by no means ideal.”

Nick raised his hands, signaling his confusion.

“The bottom here is only four hundred meters deep. The Americans and Canadians—if they were to discover the hulk, even after setting off the charges—could still salvage the fragments.”

Borodin continued, “Believe me, Major, they have the technical capability to recover everything. If we can get offshore in water twenty times as deep, and have enough time to remove all critical electronics, code equipment, and other gear, the shattered hulk won't be as interesting. Besides, we'll be able to watch the area in case the Americans start sniffing around.”

“What about all the activity to the south?” Nick argued. “They're still looking for you there. Besides the helicopter, we spotted one of those sub hunter planes today.”

“I expect there's more than just one patrolling. The U.S. Navy has a large air base on Whidbey Island. They probably realize that we were spying on the Nanoose torpedo test area and are trying to escape to the Pacific.”

Nick rubbed the stubble on his chin. “That means they'll be waiting to ambush you.”

“Yes, but I have an alternative.”

“What do you mean?”

Captain Borodin unrolled a navigation chart and placed it on the table in front of Nick. He pointed with his right index finger. “This is what I have in mind.”

* * *

Nick and Laura were in the captain's cabin, seated at the desk.

“Laura,” Nick said, “before we return to the
Hercules
, there's something you need to know.”

“Yes?”

“It's about your husband.”

“What about him?”

“He's escaped.”

“I don't know how he did it, but last night after you boarded the
Neva
he managed to untie himself and then slip overboard, probably with a lifejacket.”

“How can that be?”

“The last time we checked him was around one in the morning. An hour later, he was gone.”

“Where could he have gone?”

“We were close to the shore at the time, several kilometers—about two miles. You could see the lights.”

“Two miles! That's a long way.”

“It is and the water's very cold. We're certain he wore only street clothes.”

“He's a strong swimmer, but with the cold water—”

“I'd say there's a small chance he made it ashore.”

Laura fidgeted in her chair. “He's crazy, Nick. I don't know what he'll do.” She threw her hands into the air. “I fed him a lot of BS about what was going on. If he gets someone to listen to him . . .”

“Did you mention the
Neva
?”

“No, other than what he overheard when we—” Laura stopped. “But if he was free at that time he had to have seen the
Neva
. It was moored next to the
Hercules
.”

“I know. Both Elena and I are convinced that he saw it. That's why we think he risked swimming to shore.”

“Then he knows everything.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“We need to get back to the
Hercules
and get moving.”

“Yes, let's go.”

As they exited the cabin, Nick's anxiety eased a bit. He had motivated Laura as planned albeit with a twisted recount of Ken Newman's escape.

Surely, Newman had drowned—the water nearly freezing and so far away from land.

That expectation further appeased Nick's angst.

* * *

Nick and Laura returned to the
Hercules.
The
Neva
remained nearby, still semi-submerged. Both vessels drifted northward with the current.

Nick, Laura, and Elena huddled around the wheelhouse chart table. A Canadian chart covered its top. Nick summarized Captain Borodin's new plan. A lead pencil line drawn onto the chart outlined the proposed route.

“This is madness!” protested Elena. “How can he ever think they'll make it through there?”

Nick answered, “With some luck and our help, Captain Borodin is confident it can be done.”

“It's really not a bad plan,” Laura added. “It's very deep most of the way, but there are several shallow or narrow spots that will require operating near or at the surface.” She pointed to the chart, tapping a fingertip at the locations. “Seymour Narrows, here at Current Passage, and then up around Alert Bay.”

“It's a clever plan,” Nick offered. “The Canadians won't be expecting it.”

Elena did not buy it. She stared at the chart, studying the sinuous pathway that separated the north end of Vancouver Island from the British Columbia mainland—part of the Inside Passage to Alaska
.
A multitude of islands, fiords, shoals, and channels lined the route.

Elena looked up. “These channels are narrow. How will it fit through them?”

“That's where we come in,” Nick said.

“Right,” agreed Laura. “Timing will be critical. We'll be running ahead and . . .”

Nick and Laura spent the next several minutes completing the briefing. Elena let out an obvious groan of irritation. “This plan of Borodin's is too risky. Moscow will never approve it.”

“That doesn't matter,” countered Nick.

“What do you mean?”

“Captain Borodin's not going to contact Moscow.”

“Why not? Now that he's on the surface, he can use all of that fancy radio gear he has on board. I bet he can even talk with Moscow direct.”

“True, but he's not going to risk it, even with encryption and burst transmissions. If the Americans or Canadians pick it up, which they very likely will with all of the activity up here, it will confirm to them that hostile forces are in their backyard.”

“I still don't like it. We have no authorization for any of this.” Elena switched to Russian. “Borodin should scuttle the
Neva
right now and we'll take them all ashore tonight.”

“What did she say?” Laura demanded.

“In a moment.” Nick then directed his attention back to Elena, answering in their native dialect, “That's not going to happen. Kirov has two days of decompression to go. He can't leave the
Neva
until then.”

“What about Yuri?” asked Laura, having heard Nick use his surname.

Nick ignored Laura. “Borodin is not going to sacrifice Kirov after what he's done for the crew, so just forget about that stuff. It's not going to happen.”

“Then we'll wait.”

“Borodin's not going to wait. If the Canadians get wind of what he has planned, they'll block the escape route.” Nick checked his watch. “In less than ten minutes he's expecting us to begin heading north. The
Neva
is going to submerge and follow us.”

Elena turned away, conceding defeat.

“What was all that about?” Laura said, addressing Nick.

“Everything's okay.”

“Then we should get going.”

“Right.”

Elena retreated to the galley as Nick and Laura prepared the
Hercules
for getting under way. Elena busied herself by making a fresh pot of coffee. But she seethed, convinced that Nick had stabbed her in the back.