Ruchkin momentarily stopped the interview as he wrote some notes. Petrov glanced over at Osinov, who was literally shielding his eyes to prevent contact with the SVR agent. There was no doubt in Petrov’s mind that his supervisor would have a piece of his rear end later.
“So, Captain,” resumed Ruchkin. “How did you become the lead engineer for this refit? The position is not in your contract.”
“You’re correct, Agent Ruchkin, my original assignment was as a submarine technology liaison with the Indian Navy to assist in planning modifications and upgrades for their Russian-produced submarines — which includes INS Chakra. I also provided some consulting to India’s design teams for their next nuclear submarine, mostly in the propulsion plant area. Captain Mitra essentially drafted me to be the lead engineer because I have the technical and tactical experience on Project 971 submarines. I was a starpom, ah, excuse me, first officer, on K-157 Vepr. My understanding was the radical reduction of the refit schedule required someone with more experience be assigned to oversee the refit. I just happened to be handy.”
“I see. Well, Captain, I do appreciate the candor you provided in your answers. It’s not often I find someone willing to speak their mind so freely. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Osinov?”
“What? Oh, yes, absolutely, Agent Ruchkin.” Petrov tried hard not to smirk. He would still get an ass chewing over this, but nothing official would come of it.
“One last thing, Captain,” said Ruchkin as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Do you recognize this man?”
Petrov took the photo and studied it carefully. The picture was an official photograph of a middle-aged man in a Russian naval uniform. He looked a little old to be a captain third rank, but it was not uncommon in the Russian Navy for some officers to advance more slowly, particularly in the noncommand specialty fields. “No. I don’t believe I’ve seen this man before.”
Ruchkin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, Captain? He is a Russian national assigned to the refit project.”
Petrov saw the Indian agent’s eyes widen a bit. He began moving slowly, attempting to get a better view of the photograph. “I’m sorry, Agent Ruchkin. But if this man is working on Chakra, I haven’t seen him. But I must remind you I’ve only been in the job for about three weeks. I haven’t met every one of my countrymen working on this boat. In fact, I’ve intentionally limited myself to contact with my assistants, as there is just so much work to do.”
“Understandable. Well, then, perhaps you’ve heard his name: Evgeni Orlav?”
Petrov tried to keep his eyes on Ruchkin, but Sharma seemed visibly annoyed. Was the Russian SVR agent venturing off a previously agreed track? Or was Ruchkin trying to catch him in a well-laid trap? Again, Petrov’s instinct was to play it safe. “Oh, yes, I have heard the name. He’s a torpedo specialist, or so I’m told, but he doesn’t report to me. Mr. Orlav does most of his work off-hull, and his immediate supervisor is an Indian naval engineer, Commander Fali Gandhi, I believe.”
“Don’t you find that odd that you haven’t seen him?” pressed Ruchkin.
Petrov shook his head. “No, not particularly. According to the contract he’s to inspect and test the new UGST-M torpedoes that were recently purchased by India, and to run tests on Chakra’s combat system to ensure the system can pass tactical information to the new weapons. Most of his work would keep him off-hull and in one of the weapons repair shops.”
“Pardon me, Captain, but why isn’t something so important as a submarine’s main weaponry of more concern to you? Isn’t it one of the key requirements in the new refit schedule?”
The snide remarks angered Petrov, and he let it show. The SVR agent was intentionally goading him. “Agent Ruchkin, as I have said before, I have many things that need to be done before the sea trials in a little over a week. I must carefully pick the work elements that would benefit the most from my limited time. Mr. Orlav’s job is not overly complex, but it is very time-consuming. The contract specifications are especially strict, requiring each torpedo be stripped down and thoroughly checked, and then pass three complete diagnostic tests before the weapon will be accepted. This takes time, a lot of time, time I do not have. If the Indian engineer was not satisfied with Orlav’s work, I’d hear about it, and then I would get involved. I have heard nothing from the Indians about Orlav’s performance.”
Ruchkin nodded, a smile once again on his face. “Thank you, Captain. I won’t keep you from your duties any longer. I wish you good luck in completing the refit. It sounds like you’re a very busy man. But I would appreciate it if you would keep Mr. Orlav in mind as you go about your work. Here’s my card. Feel free to call me at any time.”
Petrov took the card and quickly bid Ruchkin and Sharma farewell; he wanted to get out of sight before he lost his composure. Fighting to walk at a casual pace, he made a beeline to his car, and calmly started to drive away. It was only after he was out of sight of the liaison office that his hands started to shake.
The problem with taking even a short break was that the paperwork didn’t stop flowing while one was away. The pile had continued to build relentlessly, and a mass of correspondence and reports awaited Dhankhar when he returned. He’d breathed a heavy sigh at the sight of the imposing mound, hung up his jacket, and dug into the backlog. The admiral had managed to plow his way through most of the stack on his desk when an aide knocked on his door.
“Begging your pardon, sir. I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but a Mr. Bapat from the United Services Club is on the phone. He insists that he needs to speak to you. It concerns your last visit.”
Dhankhar’s initial irritation at the intrusion was replaced by curiosity. The combination of the man’s name and the club was a prearranged code that a member of the Vajra group wanted to speak with him. “Very well, please forward the call.”
As soon as the phone rang, Dhankhar grabbed it. “Vice Admiral Dhankhar here; how may I help you, Mr. Bapat?”
“Good afternoon, Admiral, this is Shiv Singh. I need to speak to you on a secure line.” Dhankhar immediately recognized the voice of the assistant deputy director in the Indian Intelligence Bureau.
“One moment please,” replied Dhankhar as he opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a smart card with an embedded microprocessor. He inserted the card into his phone and punched in his ID number. Moments later the phone’s display read SECURE.
“Shiv, the call is now secure. What’s the problem?”
“Admiral, one of our agents just reported in that he accompanied a Russian Foreign Intelligence Service officer this morning as he interrogated a Russian engineer involved with Chakra’s refit. The SVR agent was most interested in knowing if there was anything unusual or odd about it.”
Dhankhar sat up straight. Singh now had his undivided attention. “Go on.”
“The engineer is a retired Russian naval officer, his name is Aleksey Petrov. According to the report he’s a former submariner, my agent said the SVR officer addressed him as ‘captain.’ I looked up his visa information; he’s an engineering consultant here to facilitate planning future upgrades to Russian-built submarines. Apparently, Captain Mitra of the naval dockyard brought this Russian on to expedite Chakra’s refit.”