The captain was about to say something, but she held her tongue. Discretion is the better part of valor, Bradford thought. But he didn’t have that luxury. The president wanted options.
A red light came on above the door to the room, and Bradford knew that was a sign that something was wrong. They had all left their cell phones in the outer office. Roddy went to the door and let a man in, who immediately went to the CIA director and whispered in his ear. Then he left swiftly.
Bradford considered this new information and finally said, “This could change everything, folks. Our destroyer, the USS John McGrath, has just discovered a Russian sub tracking them.”
The Chief of Naval Operations stood up quickly, followed by Captain Wockovich, and headed toward the door.
Bradford said, “Wait a minute.”
The two naval officers stopped and stared at the CIA director with anticipation.
Continuing, Bradford said, “Let’s spitball some scenarios based on this new information.”
The naval officers came back to the table and they plotted out every possible outcome of conflict with the Russians. No idea was too far-fetched; no option was left unsaid. The big problem, everyone in the room agreed, would be bringing their recommendation to the full National Security Council and the president.
Commander Randy Wockovich paced around the CIC, knowing instinctively that this moment in his naval career could make or break his future. Sure, he was required to follow orders through the fleet to the Pentagon and all the way up the chain to the president of the United States. Yet, there was always some discretion in command of a ship at sea, based on the safety of a ship’s crew. In the end, though, he would follow orders despite his personal feelings.
His second in command, the XO Lt. Commander Rita Carlson, had just taken over the conn from the Officer of the Deck on the bridge. “Position of the sub?” Rita asked over the headset.
The sonar operator said, “Four nautical miles. Depth, three four nine. Port astern.”
“Have you determined boat type?” the captain asked sonar.
Instead of sonar taking the question, a junior officer turned to the captain from his terminal after bringing up an image. “Sir, we believe it’s a Russian Kilo Class.”
The sonar petty officer said, “Sounds like a Type six three six.”
Commander Wockovich knew that this was one of the quietest diesel subs in the world. Which is probably why it had gone so long without detection. “Do they know we know they’re there?”
Sonar nodded his head. “Yes, sir. They have to know. They’re not running silent.”
“But they obviously were,” Wockovich said.
“Yes, sir.”
Why in the hell would they do that? “Have they communicated with the Russian merchant ship?” He put this out there for the entire CIC, but was really asking intel and comm.
The intel officer said, “No, sir.”
What the hell are the Russians up to? The captain said, “Could this be one of the older Kilo Class subs the Russians sold to Venezuela?”
The intel officer took this question. “No, sir. We believe this is B-271. The Kolpino. Commissioned November 2016.”
The Russians wouldn’t put one of their newest most advanced subs in play this way unless this merchant ship was carrying something very important, the captain thought. But this made his job much more difficult. If he had the SEAL team board the merchant ship on the high seas, the sub could consider that an act of war. They would need a damn good reason to search the Russian ship. And that order would have to come from Fourth Fleet Command.
Vasili Petrov, Captain 1st Rank of the Russian Navy, glanced at himself in his stateroom mirror. He wore his casual uniform with epaulets displaying his three stars and two gold stripes. Petrov was a tough old bastard, having started his naval career during the waning days of the Cold War nearly 30 years ago. Although he would probably retire following this deployment, he wasn’t exactly thinking that way at this time. Ever since leaving their northern port near Murmansk to escort the merchant ship, he was musing over warmer climates for his retirement. He had once pulled into port in the Spanish port of Palma de Mallorca, but he wasn’t sure if his meager retirement would go very far in that opulent setting. Perhaps the Canary Islands would be more favorable. He could still be near the sea, still smell the salt air daily, and enjoy the warmth of the temperate islands.
There was a light knock on his cabin hatch. He turned and opened the water-tight hatch, revealing his executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Ivan Gushin. Ivan was a brusque leader who never let his rank go unnoticed by his crew. He had a tendency to simply glance at his epaulets displaying two stars and two gold stripes. Because of this habit, the captain would mock his XO occasionally by looking at his own rank during particularly tense moments when his second in command questioned his authority. Ivan, you see, was on his rise up the chain. Once he got his own command he would stay there just long enough to punch his ticket for his resume. Then he planned to jump ship, literally, and move on to politics. A loyal follower of former president Putin, Ivan wanted to be just like that man. Even stronger.
“What is it, Ivan?” the captain asked, turning back to his small mirror. He could still see his XO over his shoulder.
“The Americans have finally discovered us,” Ivan said.
Vasili turned to his young protégé and said, “It took them long enough.”
“We have superior technology,” the XO said, a slight smirk on his face.
Right. The truth was that they had run nearly silent and deep as they followed the merchant ship. Only recently had they gotten within the sonar range of the Americans. Also, they had gone active only so the Americans could not specifically identify them in their database.
“How have they reacted to our presence?” the captain asked.
“No countermeasures, sir.”
Interesting, Vasili thought. Normally, the Americans liked to play games with them. Cat and mouse. But his XO had to know that the Americans still possessed superior technology. They were ordered from the top to tell their crew members how this new class of diesel Kilo submarines provided the quietest technology in the world. But in reality, Vasili knew that the Americans had already discovered ways to find them. It was true that the Kolpino was capable of discovering enemy subs at four times greater distance than they could be discovered by the enemy. Yet, that was not true of every enemy ship. In reality, the Americans had probably known of their presence from the moment they left port near Murmansk.
The captain clasped the top button on his uniform and straightened his jacket over his hips. “Let the games begin, Ivan.”
The XO smiled conspiratorially. These were the exact words his younger officer wanted to hear.
29
Through Karl’s career in the Army, he had flown in a number of different aircraft, from large Air Force C-5s to small single-engine observation aircraft. He trusted the skill of military pilots. But he had no idea about the flying skills of one Juan Ruiz, the Houston oil company executive. Karl was quickly relieved when they got to the private airfield outside Caracas, where the corporate airplane awaited them. This single-engine plane with the corporate logo had to be damn near brand new. And Ruiz was a superb pilot. It wasn’t until they were halfway to their destination that Ruiz revealed he had once been a U.S. Navy aviator, flying reciprocating aircraft to the flight deck of carriers. Although that had been decades ago, Ruiz still had skills.