“He sure tried,” Graves replied to COB as she closed the door and made good her escape.
Chapter Seven
The Russian president stood from behind the desk in his private office. Considering his responsibilities, the office was quite small. He had a formal office in which he received dignitaries and foreign leaders which was ornately decorated with paintings, a few small statues, fine rugs, hand-crafted wood molding, a huge desk that — he assumed — was meant to impress people. But he preferred the small office for serious work.
Vitaliy Shuvalov, his Foreign Intelligence Director entered. With the Korean phase of the operation now stabilized, and the Americans distracted, the president was focused on the final phase but had insisted Shuvalov keep an eye on the situation in Japan.
“Good evening, Mister President, I apologize for disturbing you so late,” the Director said politely, but without feeling. The youth had gone bald prematurely, and the president thought his head somewhat bullet shaped.
“Not at all,” he replied as he directed the youth to a seat. The president’s personal secretary offered drinks which both men refused, before she exited, leaving them alone. The president lit a cigarette as he got settled in his chair, and then got to the point, “What can you tell me about the Americans?”
Shuvalov opened a small briefing binder as he slipped his glasses on. His voice was steady, almost emotionless as he explained, “The USS George Washington and USS Nimitz are both in Sasebo harbor undergoing repairs. Our agent in the docks believes neither carrier will be ready for sea for at least a week.”
“What can you tell me about the American suspicions regarding North Korea?”
“Their president has welcomed our overture to act as an intermediary to stabilize the situation, and the western press is hailing our move as a possible peaceful solution to the crisis. This has certainly calmed the situation somewhat, but the Americans are moving cautiously. There is no indication they are redeploying their forces back to their original patrol areas.”
“How long before they could?” the president asked, knowing it was essential to keep the Americans occupied with Korea until the next phase was complete.
“The Americans appear to be uncertain about the possibility of peace. Their forces in the region are on high alert, but they do not appear to be leaning toward preemptive offensive action.”
“How can you be certain?” the president asked, not necessarily afraid of the Americans attacking the DPRK. It would certainly keep the westerners occupied.
“Our man in Sasebo reports that other than an increased maintenance tempo, the Americans are showing no sign of preparations for offensive action. In fact, he reports a recent gala of sorts for the naval officers in port.”
“A gala?” the president asked.
“A party, Mister President.”
The president smiled thoughtfully. As a KGB officer, he’d been taught that the Americans were lazy, but when riled could act decisively. Certainly he’d seen this during his presidency when the Americans had invaded Afghanistan in 2001 and Iraq in 2003. He’d witnessed their military easily crush all opposition in both countries. But, if the Americans were relaxed enough to hold a party…
“Perhaps we should press our Iranian friends to move faster.”
Shuvalov nodded his head in agreement. “I believe it wise, Mister President. They are behind schedule as it is, and our sources say the USS Roosevelt will be leaving port within the next week heading toward the Mediterranean.”
“Not the Persian Gulf?” the president asked, knowing they couldn’t be certain of anything the Americans might do.
“Their crew has been told to expect liberty in the Mediterranean and the American consulate in Spain and Italy have each started coordinating port calls for the fleet. But, once in the Mediterranean…”
“They could be in the Persian Gulf in a week.”
“More likely ten days, sir. But, the Iranians must move soon.”
The president was anxious, knowing the unpredictable Persians were not quite ready. “And we’re still watching the American base?”
“We have a submarine just outside the harbor reporting all ship movements.”
Chapter Eight
“Take her out, Lieutenant,” Brodie said simply.
What?!
“Excuse me, Captain?” Kristen asked from her lookout position on top of the sail.
The Seawolf was ready for sea, and Kristen was once more assigned to the bridge crew. The XO had just cleared the bridge in preparation for getting underway, and Brodie was in his customary perch on the sail with his feet dangling in the bridge.
Brodie looked at his lit cigar. After contemplating it for several seconds, he flicked it over the side and into the water. “Take her out, Lieutenant,” he repeated casually, as if he were handing over the keys to a Ford Pinto instead of a three-billion-dollar submarine.
Kristen had commanded a submarine out of harbor a million times before in her dreams, but she’d never even been on the bridge when one was taken out to sea for real. So his unexpected order caught her off guard. She looked at Reynolds and Collins, both of whom didn’t appear to think Brodie’s order at all unexpected. “Aye-aye, Captain,” she replied, unable to say anything else.
Beside her, looking a little surprised, was the Japanese harbor pilot. But he said nothing as she took a deep breath and brought up the mental checklist of things she had to do in order to safely get the Seawolf from pier side and out to sea. “Communications check, gentlemen,” Kristen ordered in — what she hoped — was her most professional and confident tone.
“Communications check, aye, ma’am,” Reynolds and Collins echoed automatically.
The complete checklist for getting underway was imbedded in her memory, and she went down it with strict obedience to regulations well aware that if she made a mistake, embarrassment would be the least of her concerns. But forty-five minutes later, the Seawolf had been gently nudged away from the wharf and was in the channel with the tugboats nearby and awaiting further instructions if she felt it necessary. The entire evolution had been nearly flawless, except for an urgent course correction to deal with an unexpected drift caused by a sudden change in the current she hadn’t anticipated. The entire procedure had been almost routine, but for the fact that she was a lieutenant junior grade and didn’t have her dolphins yet.
The nervousness she’d first felt upon his order to take control had been replaced by pure exhilaration as she found herself deftly handling the nine thousand ton killing machine as they headed toward open water. The sea state was low and they were moving with the current, making her task significantly easier. But even though things had gone well, she’d been surprised that Brodie had never so much as raised an eyebrow to question or countermand any of her orders. It had been incredibly bold of him. But after seeing the way Reynolds and Collins had reacted to his order for her to take command, she realized this wasn’t the first time he’d turned the reins over to a junior officer for what was — in Kristen’s case — the thrill of a lifetime.
As she stood on the sail behind the bridge, with the crisp salt air and chill wind in her face and the bulk of the submarine rocking gently beneath her, Kristen couldn’t help but wish the moment would never end. She had dreamed of this. She had worked for this. She’d fought for this, but she had never truly thought she would get this far. She imagined her sense of accomplishment was similar to those mountain climbers who reached the summit of Everest, and she relished the feeling. Unfortunately, despite her desire to stay on the sail forever, the Seawolf was a creature of the deep and didn’t belong on the surface. As they headed into deep water, she knew her time had run out.