Not long thereafter, several mines materialized in the murky water. Keller eased back on the throttle and the mini-sub slowed as it approached the nearest one, while the second SDV, piloted by Burkhardt, stopped to examine the next closest mine. Each was a sphere three feet in diameter with a dozen contact spikes sticking out from the its spherical surface, attached to an anchor chain disappearing into the darkness below. Above and beneath them, Keller spotted more dark spheres; mines had been anchored to at least three different depths in this layer.
After Keller logged the first mine’s location and depth, he adjusted the SDV’s buoyancy, descending to the mine below it to determine and log its depth. Beside him, the second SDV did the same. It was going to take a while to map a path through the minefield, much less destroy each mine one by one.
60
K-571 KRASNOYARSK
“Scope clear!” the Watch Officer announced as Krasnoyarsk’s forward periscope pierced the water’s surface.
Captain Lieutenant Petr Dolinski turned the scope swiftly, completing several sweeps in search of nearby contacts. A moment later, he declared, “No close contacts!”
Conversation resumed in the Central Command Post, now that the hazardous ascent to periscope depth had been safely conducted. The crew shifted its focus to executing the tasks directed by their commanding officer: obtain a satellite fix, and more important, download the latest satellite reconnaissance on the American carrier strike group.
While Captain Second Rank Gavriil Novikov awaited the update, he reviewed the Russian submarine task force’s plan to hunt down and sink the American carrier strike group. Thus far, three of the six strike group escort ships had been sunk, leaving only two destroyers and a lone submarine. However, the most potent American ASW asset, the remaining submarine, had abandoned the carrier strike group for some reason. Not that it would matter.
The three Akulas were pursuing the carrier strike group, while the more heavily armed Krasnoyarsk had headed in a different direction. Based on the pending satellite recon, Novikov’s decision to head south instead of east, abandoning his initial chase of the strike group, would prove either foolish or brilliant.
As expected, the speedy aircraft carrier was proving a challenge to catch and sink. As fast as the Akulas were, the American aircraft carrier could outrun them. It might have to leave its surface warship escorts behind — and Novikov didn’t doubt that it would if necessary — making them easy prey for the Akulas. Novikov knew that to achieve success, he needed a plan that somehow countered the American aircraft carrier’s speed.
“Command Post, Communication. Message broadcast download is complete. Satellite intel message has been received.”
The Watch Officer acknowledged the report, then Novikov ordered his submarine down from periscope depth.
As Krasnoyarsk settled out at fifty meters, Communication followed up. “Command Post, Communication. Intel update has been transferred to fire control.”
Novikov stopped behind one of the michmen at his fire control console. “Load the latest satellite recon,” he directed.
The michman did as directed, and his display populated with numerous symbols and markers. The American carrier strike was to the east as expected, but it had turned south, still a short distance ahead of the pursuing Akulas. The strike group was headed toward the U.S. Navy’s Fifth Fleet’s main base in Bahrain. Additionally, American ASW resources were being repositioned to Bahrain.
The American strategy seemed clear. The plan was to create a formidable ASW screen across the entrance to the Gulf of Bahrain, behind which the American aircraft carrier and other surface warships would be safe.
Novikov smiled. The Americans were reacting as he had expected.
He turned to his Watch Officer. “Come to course one-eight-five. Increase speed to flank.”
61
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
Seated beside Khalila on the main floor of the National Counterterrorism Center, surrounded by sixty other men and women focused on their computer displays, Jake Harrison leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had been a fruitless two days as he and Khalila looked for clues to Mixell’s whereabouts, scouring law enforcement reports and databases. It was obvious that Mixell was planning something major, with the target likely in the Baltimore/Washington, D.C., area, but thus far the man had remained a ghost.
Mixell’s updated appearance had been fed to the automated surveillance databases, but personnel resources assigned to tracking him down remained scarce because the issue still hadn’t been designated a National Special Security Event by the Department of Homeland Security. They hadn’t yet determined what Mixell’s target was nor the timing of the attack. As a result, only a handful of NCTC analysts had been assigned to assist Harrison and Khalila.
Khalila noticed Harrison taking a break, leaning back in his chair. “Want another cup of coffee?” she asked.
It was only 8 a.m., but they had already been at it for two hours. After Craig Daniels had helped generate the sketch of Mixell’s updated appearance, Harrison and Khalila had redoubled their efforts to track him down, working nonstop the last few days aside from six hours of sleep each night.
“Yeah, I could use more coffee,” Harrison answered.
“Great,” Khalila said. “While you’re at it, get me another cup, too.”
She gave him a deadpan stare, having turned what had seemed to be an offer to get him a cup of coffee into Harrison getting one for her. Then she broke into a grin.
“Just kidding,” she said as she stood, placing a hand on Harrison’s shoulder as she passed behind him, headed toward the coffee station at the back of the main floor.
Harrison’s eyes followed her, his thoughts flitting back to the night they had spent together in Bahrain. Since then, her demeanor had softened considerably, and a subtle, dry sense of humor had surfaced. True to her word, she had displayed no further interest in a romantic relationship with him, which suited Harrison. He still felt guilty about what happened, ending up in another woman’s arms so soon after Angie’s death.
His computer monitor began flashing, drawing his attention to the display. Facial recognition algorithms had identified a match in one of the secondary surveillance systems. In addition to federal and state camera networks, the NCTC had access to thousands of private security surveillance systems, subject to each company’s agreement to participate in the government program.
A visual match for Mixell had been identified on a surveillance system installed at a Giant Food store, the largest grocery chain in Maryland. As Harrison studied the video frame supposedly capturing Mixell’s image, Khalila returned with coffee, handing him a cup.
The image was somewhat grainy, but Harrison was convinced it was Mixell.
“What do you think?” he said, turning to Khalila.
Before she could respond, Harrison’s display filled with three more alerts, also from the Giant Food surveillance system. Mixell had been spotted three more times.
“It’s him,” Khalila concluded.
Harrison scanned the surveillance photo details, searching for the location of the Giant Food store. However, each surveillance photo had come from a different store. That made sense, Harrison figured. Mixell was altering his routine, not shopping at the same place each time. But then he noticed an oddity. The surveillance cameras had detected Mixell at four different grocery stores on the same day.