SCIF
USS Gerald R. Ford
0628 local time
Katie made a quick scan to take the temperature of the assembled officers around the table, all of whom outranked her. The admiral, who sat at the head, wore an inscrutable neutral expression, one that flag officers all seemed to have mastered; she couldn’t help but wonder if there was some secret mandatory school taught by Robert De Niro that O-7 selects were required to attend. He was flanked by the CAG on the left, whose face seemed stuck in a permanent scowl, and the much more likable and laid-back DCAG, Captain “Spacecamp” Huddleston, on the right. Down the line from Huddleston sat the Ford’s XO and CO. The former looked concerned, leaning in with elbows on the table, while the latter sipped casually at his coffee. Last but not least, Kumari, who sat beside Katie, looked a bit bedraggled as she ran the computer, putting slides of information recovered by the JSOC SEALs up on the big flat-screen TV for all to see.
“The op confirmed that the Finitor is a Russian spy boat,” Kumari said. “The SEALs have inventoried state-of-the-art spy gear aboard, and we have positive identification of half the Russian Navy crew on board and at least one Russian GRU officer.”
“I can’t believe they shot him,” the CAG grumbled. “I mean, what the hell? Hitting a Russian ship in international waters was provocative enough, but the damn SEALs had to go and shoot a Russian GRU officer as well? Are they trying to start World War Three?”
Don’t do it, the voice of caution said in Katie’s head. Just let him ventilate.
But when no one came to the SEALs’ defense, her big mouth seemed to open without authorization from her brain.
“I’m sure they did their best to avoid casualties, sir, but the GRU officer fired,” Katie said. “They managed to take the ship with only the single casualty, and no blue side wounded. I’d consider that a success.”
“A success? Let’s see if you still feel that way after the Russians respond in kind,” the CAG said, glowering at her.
With great effort she didn’t take the bait, and turned back to Kumari, who continued.
“Our cyber team is hacking into the recovered hard drives, but it’s taking time. What we do know is that whatever piece of equipment they were towing was lost. When the maintenance team from the Lawrence O. Lawson got the cable drum working, they didn’t find anything on the other end of the line . . .”
“But we confirmed they were directly over the DASH data hub and feeds?” the admiral asked.
“Yes, sir,” Kumari said.
“So they were planning to sabotage our deepwater sonar network?” Spacecamp asked.
Kumari turned back to Katie.
“That is our working theory, sir,” Katie said. “NSW has an EOD and salvage team en route to try and recover the device. It’s possible the Finitor is a bottom-mapping platform, but they could also have been using a submersible with the capability to do more. We have to assume worst-case scenario for now, is our thinking.”
“I agree,” the admiral said.
“Well, good Lord,” the CAG said. “Disrupting our sonar surveillance systems and comms could be prelude to a first strike. We need to know where that Russian submarine is.”
“We need to know if she’s carrying those Status-6 nuclear torpedoes,” the XO added. “From what you briefed, Lieutenant Ryan, one of those things could be used to take out the entire strike group.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Admiral, I recommend we spread the strike group out significantly in case that’s what’s on the Russians’ minds,” Captain Mackenzie, the Ford CO, said, his face tense with the rising gravity of the situation. She knew he’d flown hundreds of combat sorties in the war on terror as weapons systems officer in the Growlers. The man was no stranger to the gravity of war.
“We will,” the admiral said. “We’re also waiting to see what the White House and Pentagon think about raising the defense readiness condition. We need to stand firm and project confidence. Satellite imagery has the Russian carrier and battle group respositioning south. I assume in reaction to our hit on the Finitor. I’ve recommended repositioning the strike group north, right up against the Russian fleet.”
“Why?” the CAG asked. “Sir, we have tensions quite high already. This hit on their ship will demand a response from the Russians. If they are steaming south, it means they’re looking to pick a fight. Do we really need our jets challenged by Russian MiG-29K fighters on every sortie? And what if they have their new fifth-gen fighters aboard?”
“The Checkmate fighter is still a prototype and only two Felons are operational, and those are not carrier-capable,” Kumari said.
The CAG turned on her, red-faced. “Yeah, well, you intel weenies said the Belgorod was in development and the Status-6 was just a propaganda tool, so screw your reassurances. We’re inviting a mishap that could drive us into a shooting war in a blink.”
“I get it, Marty,” the admiral said. “But if these nuclear torpedoes are aboard the Belgorod and are meant to be used against Strike Group 12, then having our carrier in close proximity to theirs is the best way to give them pause. I imagine the Russian admirals are less inclined to fire a nuke torpedo if their own fleet is in the blast area and at risk of the fallout.”
“Makes sense,” Mackenzie said.
“Where is the Belgorod, Lieutenant Ryan?” the admiral asked. “And how close are we to finding it?”
Katie took a moment to choose her words. “Sir, we’re waiting to hear from the Indiana as well as the Washington. Both are hunting the Belgorod, but we have no comms until they come up to share data. They could be tracking her, for all we know, but submarines on mission only transmit when it’s absolutely necessary, otherwise they compromise their stealth.”
“These are two of the best crews in the submarine force,” the admiral said. “If the Belgorod can be found, I’m confident they’ll find her.”
“But what if they don’t?” Sarah Williams, the Ford’s XO, asked, her arms crossed over her green flight suit.
Everyone turned to look at her, and the question hung in the air.
“In that case, we have to pray that the worst-case scenario we’re all concerned about is simply that,” Admiral Kiplinger said at last, “and the Russians are just flexing their muscles a bit and nothing more.”
The XO nodded.
What else could be said? Modern submarines operating in the world’s oceans did so with absolute impunity, because that was what they were designed to do. Subs like the Belgorod were not meant to be found, and that’s why it was such a terrifying adversary.
“All right,” the admiral said, his tone suggesting they were done. “We meet back here in twelve hours, or sooner if new information warrants.” He rose. “In the meantime, we should expect the Russians to begin harassing our flight operations and buzzing our damn ships as soon as they’re in range. Brief your people to keep cool heads and not do anything stupid. Naval Special Warfare has already poked the bear. Let’s be careful we don’t do the same.”
Everyone stood, Katie included, and the senior officers shuffled out the door of the SCIF.
“I need you to reach out to your contacts at ODNI and wherever else,” Kumari said. “I’ll work with Dr. Jones on plans for how our surface assets can contribute to the hunt for the Belgorod.”
“I’ll get with Captain Ferguson and our connections at ODNI right away,” Katie said.
“Good,” Kumari said, then sighed and held Katie’s eyes. “We’re running out of time. And I’m gonna be honest—this whole thing scares the hell out of me.”
Katie clenched her jaw.
Me too.