“We are to float her out in two days,” responded Dhankhar.
“You may want to think about moving your deployment date up a bit,” Kirichenko suggested. “You may be running out of time.”
“I’ll consider your recommendation, but I find it hard to believe that you are all that concerned about my mission. I think you’re just worried about being paid, Mr. Kirichenko.”
“That too, Admiral. But it’s considered bad business practice to leave behind unhappy customers. I have a contract to keep, and you have my word that I shall fulfill all the requirements.”
“Very well, then. Besides moving up the departure date, what do you suggest we do now?”
“Keep on course, and see if Orlav can speed things up a bit. I was planning on coming out to the base tomorrow to check in on his work. But given these recent events, I’ll be there this afternoon.”
After hanging up, Dhankhar sat quietly contemplating his options — there weren’t many. While his scheme hadn’t been exposed, yet, the chances of this happening were growing, all because of a curious Russian. But his problems weren’t due to just a single Russian. No, this whole debacle was because Kirichenko and his people were sloppy. First, they lost control of a nuclear weapon that the fools in Pakistan accidentally set off, and now Kirichenko’s right-hand man, a Spetsnaz commando, lay dead in the base morgue.
Every misstep caused more eyes to look his way, and yet Operation Vajra depended on absolute stealth. Dhankhar finally admitted to himself that he needed outside assistance if he was to successfully contain this latest disaster. He also had to find a way to rein in this Petrov, who appeared to suspect what was going on. Perhaps Churkin was correct. Petrov was getting too close and in the name of stealth, he had to disappear, one way or another.
Dhankhar grabbed his cell phone again and looked up the number to the Vajra contact at the Central Bureau of Investigation. He hit the call button and waited impatiently while the phone rang.
“Deputy Director Thapar,” answered the voice.
“Ijay, Badu Dhankhar, I have a serious situation at Vizag and I need your assistance.”
Dhankhar marched past the sentry, slowing just enough to return the guard’s salute. After punching in the five-digit access code, the admiral yanked on the door and went inside. It was dark in the workshop, but he could see Orlav working under bright lights at the far end. As Dhankhar approached, it was clear that Orlav hadn’t left the building since that first night after he’d been restricted to the base. The man was disheveled and looked like he hadn’t showered in a few days. Orlav saw the Indian admiral enter and didn’t even bother to wait for his routine question.
“I’m just about finished with this weapon, Admiral. I have a few things left to install, then I can program the date and that’ll be it. I still have those two weapons to modify, but I don’t see any problems having all five torpedoes ready by April tenth.”
“Very good, Mr. Orlav. I’m pleased to hear your task is progressing well.”
Orlav smiled slightly, then looked down into the torpedo’s innards, away from Dhankhar’s gaze. “Sir, I would really like to get a good night’s sleep in my own bed, and a shower. It’s getting tiresome being cooped up here in the workshop every day. And I still need to do the final control console installation on board Chakra.”
“I understand your discomfort, Mr. Orlav. But your safety is of greater importance to me. Churkin is dead,” announced Dhankhar bluntly.
Stunned, Orlav dropped the screwdriver he was holding and staggered away from the torpedo. “D… dead!? How!?”
“He was stabbed. His body was found this morning over by the Russian Hostel. We have no idea who killed him, so I think it’s best that you stay here for the time being. However, I’m concerned about the combat system consoles. How much time do you need to finish the installation?”
Orlav was still wide-eyed, his face radiating fear; it took him a couple of seconds to respond. “I… I need about two, maybe three hours to install the keypads and then conduct circuit checks in the torpedo compartment.”
Dhankhar nodded. “Very well, I’ll have a guard escort you to Chakra during the night shift so you can complete your work; there are fewer people on board during that shift. Then afterwards, perhaps we can swing by your bungalow long enough for you to take a shower.”
“Thank you, sir,” quavered Orlav.
“You are almost done, Mr. Orlav. In another week, you’ll be somewhere in South America or the Caribbean enjoying the fruits of your labors.” Dhankhar smiled and patted Orlav on the shoulder. “It’s just a little longer. By the way, Kirichenko will be paying you a visit later. Good day, Mr. Orlav.”
Dhankhar didn’t even wait for Orlav’s reply and walked quickly to the door. After making sure the lock had engaged, the admiral turned to the sentry, pulled a photograph from his pocket, and handed it to the petty officer. “From this point forward, only myself and Kirichenko may enter this workshop. No one else is allowed access, is that clear?”
“Absolutely, Admiral,” replied the sailor.
“Very good. Oh, if anyone is particularly obstinate and refuses to comply with your warnings, shoot them.”
Orlav sat dazed and sweating in a near panic. Churkin had been killed. He couldn’t imagine anyone beating the former Spetsnaz commando in a fight — he’d seen him in more than a few barroom brawls. The man could be totally vicious. The Russian engineer struggled with the news of his colleague’s death. It wasn’t that Orlav liked Churkin; on the contrary, he hated the man. But he also feared him. Churkin was a thug — pure muscle, incapable of doing anything but providing security or convincing someone to pay their bills. Kirichenko had found him useful, but that didn’t matter anymore because Churkin was dead.
Shuffling back to the weapon, Orlav tried to get back to work, but his mind just wasn’t on the job. He made slow progress, mumbling to himself over and over again that he couldn’t believe Churkin was dead. Then, as he was installing one of the last cover plates, a stray thought wandered into his mind: If someone had killed Churkin, then that could only mean they were on to them — and that he could be next! Horror filled Orlav as he realized that the only thing standing between him and a trained assassin was the young guard out front.
In total dismay, Orlav threw the ratchet set on the floor and ran over to his makeshift bed. He grabbed the overnight bag he’d brought and started stuffing his personal gear into it; he’d leave nothing behind that could be linked to him. Then he remembered that he’d touched all the tools. Frantically, he finished stuffing the bag and was just about to begin wiping off the tools when a stern voice shot out of the darkness.
“And just where do you think you’re going?”
Orlav stood, shaking, as Kirichenko came into the light. “Yur… Yuri, we need to get out of here! It’s no longer safe!”
“And you think that by running away this will make the situation better? Really, Evgeni, you need to calm down and start thinking this insane course of action through.”
“Insane! Yuri! Someone killed Churkin! Who but another assassin could have done that!” screamed Orlav.
“Possibly, but do you honestly believe you’ll be safer running away from this base? Where would you go? And by doing so, you’d not only have this unknown assassin, but also Dhankhar looking for you with very evil intentions. No, my friend, your chances of survival would be essentially zero. Now, put the bag down and finish your work.”