Day 31—Friday
Underway for over two days, the USS Colorado was southbound in the Pacific. It followed the Ryukyu Island chain, presently running at twenty knots six hundred and fifty feet below the surface. The Japanese island of Okinawa was about fifty miles away to the northwest.
Yuri Kirov and Jeff Chang were in training. They stood inside the submarine’s lockout trunk with two SEALs from the Ghost Riders recon team. The combination emergency escape trunk and special ops lockout-lockin compartment was located on the Colorado’s top deck level just aft of the sail. The airlock was designed to allow a nine man SEAL assault team to egress and ingress the submarine during one cycle of flooding and draining of seawater.
Yuri and Jeff had spent time in a pool back at Yokosuka with the SEALs training with the diving gear. This morning was their last exercise. Neoprene dry suits covered Yuri and Jeff from head to foot. Rebreather packs were strapped to their chests. Gloves, facemasks, weight belts and buoyancy compensators completed the ensembles. The two SEALs were similarly adorned.
Master Chief “Wild Bill” Halgren was in charge, assisted by CPO Ryan Murphy, aka Malibu Murph.
“Okay gents,” Halgren said, “you know the drill. I’m going to flood the chamber to the equivalent pressure of forty feet of seawater. I want you to hang onto the handholds, no swimming around until I give the okay signal. Got it?”
“Understood,” Yuri said. Jeff Chang echoed Yuri.
“If either of you have any problems, signal us immediately.” Halgren looked Yuri’s way. “I’m going to watch you.” He gestured to Jeff. “Murph’s got your six.
Yuri and Jeff acknowledged their understanding.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
All four prepared for flooding. They slipped on their facemasks, covering eyes and noses. Next, each man retrieved his closed-circuit rebreather gas hose and clamped down on its rubber mouthpiece. The divers inhaled and exhaled, verifying gas flow.
When prompted by Halgren, Yuri and Jeff hand signaled they were okay.
Seawater began to flow into the compartment. Yuri expected to hear the usual racket of rushing water but he heard just a whisper. Amazing, he thought. They employ sound suppression techniques on virtually everything on this boat. No wonder no one can hear them.
As the water level in the compartment surged over Yuri’s head, he gripped the handhold. He was buoyant and needed to release air from the horse collar buoyancy compensator draped around his neck. He made eye contact with Halgren and pointed to the purge valve on the BC.
The master chief formed a circle with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and extended the remaining fingers.
Yuri pressed the valve. Compressed air squirted into the water, releasing a cascade of bubbles.
Now neutrally buoyant, Yuri checked the rebreather’s electronic readout unit strapped to his left forearm. Oxygen and carbon dioxide levels were in the green. Yuri again made eye contact with Halgren and signaled he was okay.
Granted permission to move onto the next element of the exercise, Yuri began to move about the narrow compartment. He swam up the ladder that was partially enclosed by a round pipe-like combing and entered the lockout trunk hatch chamber. After a quick look at the sealed hatch mechanism, he descended. Jeff Chang repeated the same procedure.
Just as Jeff emerged from the upper hatch chamber, dropping feet first with his hands on the ladder, Murphy came up from behind and yanked off Jeff’s facemask. It sank to the bottom of the compartment.
Govnó, Yuri muttered to himself. That part of the drill was not expected. But then he remembered. While undergoing military dive training at Sevastopol on the Black Sea, he experienced similar terror tribulations. They were designed to test how well a student diver reacts to the unexpected.
Jeff Chang gripped the ladder with both hands, momentarily stunned from the sting of seawater in his eyes.
Yuri watched, worried how the CIA officer would react. Come on, Jeff. You know what to do!
Chang regained his composure and followed the ladder down to the bottom of the compartment. He retrieved his facemask, pulled it back into position and purged the water.
Attaboy! Yuri said to himself.
* * * *
Laura Newman was in downtown Seattle sitting at a small conference table inside an elegant office. Facing Elliott Bay, the unobstructed water view from the fifty story tower was overwhelming. Ferries darted across the bay while tugboats, yachts and a massive box ship cruised the waters.
Across the table from Laura sat her attorney. Tim Reveley was in his early fifties. Tall with a brawny torso, he was within just ten pounds of his college weight when he had played first-string quarterback for USC. Tanned from golf and tennis, his bronzed complexion and sun bleached brunet hair flattered his ruggedly handsome face.
It was the noon hour. To ensure privacy, they avoided restaurants. The catered lunch had just been delivered to Reveley’s office. Laura enjoyed a Caesar salad; Tim munched on a ham and cheese sandwich. Fresh coffee was also provided.
“Are you sure this is the same person?” Reveley asked.
“It has to be. Just Yuri, me and Nick know about the Gmail account.”
“Did either you or Yuri mention this Gmail account to the FBI?”
“Maybe. I just don’t remember—they asked so many questions.” Laura dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Anyway, Yuri told me not to use it because he didn’t want Nick implicated for what he’d done—seeking asylum in the U.S.”
“Yet, apparently this Nick fellow reached out to you.”
“Yes.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants to speak with Yuri.”
“About what?”
“The draft email didn’t say, only that it’s urgent that Yuri call him on the burner phone Nick provided for him.”
“Do you have access to the phone?”
“No. Yuri destroyed it.”
Tim took a swallow from his coffee cup. “When will Yuri be back?” Earlier, Laura told Reveley that Yuri was out of town on business.
“At least a week, maybe longer.”
“Is this NSD work?”
“No.”
“Oh,” Reveley said, surprised. “He’s already been put to work by the government?”
“Yes. They didn’t waste any time.”
“Laura, this is serious stuff. I know you care about the welfare of Orlov but you and Yuri cannot have any kind of contact with a foreign intelligence officer. It will jeopardize the agreement we worked out with Justice.”
Laura slumped in her chair.
Tim noticed. “What’s wrong?”
“A couple of weeks ago Nick showed up without any warning at Yuri’s office in Redmond. They had lunch together.”
“Oh jeez! I hope he reported that to the FBI.”
“No, he didn’t. Yuri said he didn’t want to get Nick into trouble. Apparently, he entered the country with a false ID.”
“That was a mistake. If the FBI finds out he talked with that guy and didn’t report it they’re going to be really suspicious. And now with this second attempt to contact Yuri, the intelligence agencies may start to believe he’s really a Russian mole instead of a defector.”
Laura stared at the desk while massaging the back of her neck. “Tim, what should I do?”
“Ignore the text. Don’t ever access that Gmail account again.”
“Should I tell the FBI?”
“Normally, I’d say yes. But if you did that, you’d have to also reveal the prior contact Yuri had with Orlov.” Reveley tilted his chair back a few degrees. “The FBI said they would stop surveilling your phones and computers when Yuri agreed to work for the government but they could be lying.” Tim returned his chair to the upright position. “If they’re still monitoring your phones, how do you suppose they’d react to the codeword—what was it again?
“Hercules. I told them about the workboat we used at Point Roberts, so they might piece it together.”
“Let’s do this: If the FBI contacts you about the text, just tell them what happened. But make sure to emphasize that you did not act on it and we’ll see what develops from that.”
“Okay.”