The Good Spy (32 page)

CHAPTER 83

D
AY
16—T
UESDAY

T
he
Hercules
approached the Seymour Narrows. The one-half-mile-wide waterway separated Vancouver Island from the considerably smaller Quadra Island. It was slack tide. With currents up to ten knots or more, passage at any other time would be tricky for the plodding
Herc
and the crippled
Neva.

Nick had the helm and handled the portable Russian radio; Laura monitored the radar display. Elena observed from the rear of the pilothouse.

Laura studied the radar image of the waterway. Trouble was half a mile ahead, heading toward the
Hercules
at eight knots. The orange icon blinked onto the scope just as the
Herc
completed a right turn, passing the red navigation light that marked the south end of Maud Island and the southern entrance to the Seymour Narrows. Land formations had blocked the radar signal until the
Herc
aligned itself with the Narrows. The southbound fishing boat, the northbound
Hercules
, and the semi-submerged
Neva
were the only traffic in this stretch of Discovery Passage.

The
Hercules
and
Neva
ran tandem, averaging six knots over the bottom. Separated by just seventy feet of open water, the
Herc
's wheelhouse ran even with the
Neva
's sail. Captain Borodin commanded from the sail with his team of observers, all on the lookout for trouble.

To help conceal its presence, the submarine ran semi-submerged, with just the upper half of sail and the massive towed array sonar pod on top of the rudder assembly awash. On radar, the
Herc
and the
Neva
appeared as two vessels running parallel with a smaller boat trailing the pair.

The approaching fishing vessel compromised the
Neva
's stealth. The partial moon in the sparkling clear night sky created the worry—the
Neva
did not belong in these waters. Nick radioed the threat to Borodin.

Laura turned to the starboard. The
Neva
's sail appeared black as the night. The phosphorescent wake of both the sail and rudder assembly contrasted with the ink-black waters. She peered ahead. The rack of overhead floodlights on the approaching fifty-eight-foot purse seiner lit up its decks like a Broadway musical. It would pass a hundred yards to the
Herc
's port.

“What should I do?” asked Nick.

“Stay on course. There's no time for anything else.”

“But they might actually see it—for sure their radar does.”

“I know.”

* * *

Borodin addressed the four watch-standers that surrounded him. “Men,” he said in a hushed voice, “remain silent and no moving about for the next few minutes.”

* * *

Laura stood on the port wheelhouse wing. She peered aft with binoculars. The southbound fishing boat turned to the port, following the reverse of the
Herc
's course. She did not observe any movement on the decks.

Laura returned to the bridge. “Anything?” she asked Nick.

“All quiet.” He monitored the VHF marine radio as well as the secure radio link to the
Neva.

She checked the radar screen: no new targets.

“Do you think they saw it?” Nick asked.

“I don't know. I didn't see anyone come out on deck. I think that's a good sign.”

“And there was no call to the Coast Guard,” he added.

Laura stared through the windshield into the blackness of the channel. She hoped the next passage would not be as hair-raising.

CHAPTER 84

D
AY
17—W
EDNESDAY

A
ll day Tuesday, a steady procession of military aircraft and warships operated in the Southern Strait of Georgia. The FSB team observed from the
Explorer
without deploying the side scan sonar. Later that afternoon when they returned to the marina, a messenger from the Trade Mission met them. Dubova returned to Vancouver. An encrypted message from Moscow waited for her in the mission's code room:
Terminate Operation Eagle and return home immediately.
Russian military reconnaissance satellites had detected the joint U.S. and Canadian ASW search.

“They must be searching for the
Neva
,” offered Karpekov as he flopped into a chair by the cabin door and picked up a magazine. The yacht remained inside its Squalicum Harbor boathouse.

“Probably.”

Dubova expected the Americans would eventually discover the hulk, employing their vast arsenal of ASW gear. But it no longer concerned her. She focused on executing the exit plan.

* * *

Ken Newman struggled to stand, wobbly on his legs. He took a couple steps from the bed to the kitchen. At the counter, he worked the manual can opener, removing the lid from a tin of peaches. He gulped down half of the contents. Juice dribbled down his chin.

Too weak to continue standing, Ken sat in one of the two wood chairs at the tiny kitchen table, placing the can on the tabletop. The one-room shack was about twenty feet square. It was his home for the past two days. He gazed out the single window. The Strait of Georgia was about one hundred yards way. How he made it up the embankment to the vacant cabin continued to amaze Ken.

The swift ebb tide current swept him into a cluster of rock outcrops off the eastern shore of Valdes Island, part of the Gulf Island chain. Just after sunrise, he dragged his frigid and waterlogged body across the rocky shoreline onto dry land.

About a mile wide and ten miles long, Valdes Island was located north of Galiano and Mayne Islands. Sparsely populated with much of the island held in reserve for Canadian First Nations, the island had no water, electrical power, or telephone services.

Ken slurped down the rest of the peaches, draining the syrup to the last drop. He shuffled back to the bed and collapsed.

* * *

He sat behind the wheel, monitoring the autopilot. The
Herc
surged forward into the oncoming seas as it navigated the Inside Passage. Whitecaps dotted the mid-morning seascape.

Yuri raced down the stairwell into the galley and sprinted to Captain Miller's quarters. He ripped open the door.
“Oh my God!”

Yuri's heart sprinted as he struggled to pull himself up, horrified by the nightmare. In his dream, he'd discovered Laura's bullet-riddled and blood-soaked body sprawled on the bunk where she'd been sleeping.

Yuri had just enough room inside the recompression chamber to sit upright. Fresh sweat oozed from his brow and both hands trembled. He jerked the oxygen mask off. A bout of coughing doubled him over.

He reached for the intercom handset and triggered the pager.

Yuri heard the buzzer's tone outside of the steel cylinder, his home for the past two days. He had about half a day of decompression to go.

Yuri's watcher sat on a portable chair next to the recompression chamber, dozing. He picked up the handset after the third buzz. “Yes, sir.”

“I need to talk with Captain Borodin.”

“I'll patch you through to the central post on the intercom.”

“No. I need him here—now. Go get him. Tell him it's urgent.”

“Yes, sir.”

CHAPTER 85

D
AY
18—T
HURSDAY

C
aptain Borodin stood in the sail with his team of observers. The sun rose an hour earlier but you'd hardly notice. The mile-thick mat of vapor-rich clouds hung just a hundred meters above the sea surface. A chilled drizzle soaked everything, and one-meter-high swells rolled in from the northwest.

The
Neva
was at the very northern tip of Vancouver Island with the Pacific Ocean just ahead.

By following the acoustic trail blazed by the throttled-back
Hercules
, surfacing only in darkness to maneuver the most demanding passages, the crippled submarine completed the transit from the Seymour Narrows to Queen Charlotte Sound in two days.

A hundred meters to the starboard, the
Hercules
bucked into the oncoming seas.

Captain Borodin and Nick Orlov were speaking over the encrypted portable radios.

“He's in really bad shape,” reported Borodin.

“What's wrong?”

“While he was decompressing, he came down with a chest infection. Our medic is certain it's pneumonia—in both lungs.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It is. He needs to be in a hospital. We don't have the right antibiotics.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I think we should transfer him to your vessel. Now that you don't have to babysit us, you can speed back to Vancouver and get him the care he needs.”

“Okay, we can do that.”

Borodin shifted position inside the bridge well. “Yuri told me that your partner is with the Trade Mission, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I think it would make sense for her to contact the mission and let them know Yuri's on his way. They can make arrangements to get him treated and then flown back home.”

“Okay, I'll have her phone the mission.”

“Do you have encrypted communications aboard?”

“Only what we are using now, but they're short range only so we'll have to use a cell.”

“Nothing can be transmitted in the open without encryption. The Americans and Canadians are monitoring everything in the region—land lines, cell phones, texts, e-mails, marine bands.”

“Looking for us.”

“Yes.”

“What can we do then?”

Borodin waited to respond. “After we transfer Yuri, send your partner over. She can use our encrypted radio to contact mission.”

“Great, I'll let her know.”

A short time later, as the
Hercules
wallowed in
Neva
's lee, Borodin maneuvered the bow, quartering the oncoming waves. The mass of the submarine's hull partially attenuated the waves, making the transfer possible.

Yuri Kirov was first. Barely able to stand, Borodin watched as two sailors helped him into the raft. Just before shoving off, Yuri raised his right hand and saluted the bridge. Borodin returned the gesture.

With Yuri aboard the
Hercules
, it was Elena's turn. Borodin observed as she lowered herself into the bobbing raft. After she took the center seat position, the two sailors began paddling.

When the raft docked with the
Neva
, Borodin keyed his intercom microphone. “Control, bridge. What's the ETA on that contact now?”

“Sir, target five one remains on the same heading and speed. Estimated time of arrival at our coordinates is forty-six minutes.”

“Very well, stand by.”

Borodin turned toward the north and pulled up his binoculars. Visibility remained less than two kilometers—about a mile.

* * *

Laura hugged Yuri, pulling him tight with her arms. She looked up, still in shock.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” she said.

Yuri smiled and said, “I love you—with all my heart.”

They were in the salon alone. Nick just woke Laura. She'd had the mid-watch and was sleeping in Dan Miller's cabin when Borodin proposed the transfers.

Laura was about to respond to Yuri's tender words when he started coughing. That's when she noticed his pale skin.

“What's wrong, honey?” Laura said, breaking her bond.

He continued coughing, almost doubling over.

“Do you need water?”

He looked up and was about to answer when his eyelids fluttered. An instant later, he collapsed onto the deck with a colossal thud.

“Yuri!” Laura screamed.

* * *

Elena Krestyanova entered the central command post. The men sitting at their consoles couldn't help but stare. Elena's skintight jeans, long blond hair, and lovely face were impossible to ignore.

“Dobro požalovat'!”—
Welcome—Borodin announced. He offered his hand.

“Spasibo”—
Thank you
—
Elena said, shaking his hand. She looked around. Crowded with equipment and men, the CCP reminded her of a Moscow subway car at rush hour. The ripe odor emanating from the crew didn't dispel the comparison.

Borodin glanced at his wristwatch and said, “We should make the call. I do not like being exposed on the surface for so long.”

“I agree, Captain.”

He smiled. “Please, follow me to the radio room.”

Elena and Captain Borodin relocated to the radio compartment, a minuscule space located just off the CCP. She sat at a compact table with a telephone-like device mounted on one corner. Borodin stood at her right side.

“Is it ready?” Elena asked.

“Yes. Just dial direct, like a regular telephone.”

But there was nothing regular about this phone.

Elena picked up the handset to the encrypted satellite link and dialed. Long ago, she'd memorized the number to the secure phone at the Vancouver Trade Mission.

She held the handset to her right ear. After half a minute, she looked up. “I don't hear anything—no ringing, no dial tone, nothing.”

“Hang up and try it again.”

She did and while still holding the phone to her ear she frowned. An intercom speaker in the radio room activated. “Captain, control. Radar reports an approaching vessel seven kilometers to the north. It's heading directly for us at seven knots.”

Borodin raced back into the CCP. He retrieved a microphone and called the watch officer on the sail. “Bridge, Captain. Can they see us?”

“Not yet, Captain. The visibility remains at about two kilometers.”

“Signal
Hercules
that we're diving. Tell them we'll rendezvous at these coordinates when the traffic has departed to transfer the passenger back.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Borodin turned to face the diving officer. “Ivan, make ready to dive the boat!”

* * *

“What do you mean, it isn't there?” asked Elena.

“They must have departed. See for yourself.” Captain Borodin switched on an overhead monitor. Linked to the search periscope, a DVD drive in the CCP recorded all surface observations.

“This is a recording of what I just observed,” continued Borodin. He'd already retracted the periscope.

The flat panel screen blinked on revealing gray seas and bleak skies.

Elena stepped closer to the screen. The image slowly tracked to the right. Projecting two meters above the sea surface, the video camera at the top of the search periscope mast came within a foot of inundation as ocean swells rolled in from the northwest.

“It's much rougher now than when submerged.” The
Neva
crawled near the bottom for over an hour as the tugboat and its football field–long barge stacked sky high with logs passed overhead. Only when it transited through the area did Borodin risk the observation.

“The
Hercules
must be out there waiting for me,” Elena said.

“No, I'm afraid not. We would hear its engine on our sonar. There's no vessel traffic in this area at present.”

The color in Elena's face paled as she began to put it together. She ignored the stares from the other nine men that staffed the CCP with Borodin. “So where is it?” she asked.

“The weather's turning and your colleague needs immediate help, so I expect they're headed back to Vancouver.”

“So what do I do?”

“You're coming with us.”

* * *

After running four hours westward, well beyond Canadian territorial waters, Borodin ordered the
Neva
to ascend to periscope depth. Then for the first time in almost four weeks, the submarine's UHF radio mast rose above the surface and beamed an encrypted microburst transmission heavenward to a Russian military satellite. Borodin expected that the Americans might detect the broadcast, but he no longer cared. He reported that the
Neva
was on its way home.