The American news channel had a Cyrillic feed across the bottom of the screen, which obscured the different banners and messages the network ran, but Captain First Rank Vasiliy Vasil’evich Lavrov couldn’t decode the scrolling characters quickly enough to make sense of them, anyway.
His spoken English comprehension was good enough to know that they were talking about the same things over and over again. The reports from the Main Intelligence Directorate (GRU) and the Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) were far more interesting. Among their many surveillance activities, the two agencies tracked radio and cell phone emissions, listening in when the transmissions were in the clear. Any that related to the Russian Arctic, and now the loss of the American submarine Toledo, were routed to his office.
A navy captain first rank, a submarine officer, appeared in the open door and knocked on the doorframe. “Admiral Komeyev wants an update on the American search for their submarine.” Lavrov started to rise, but the captain waved him down. “It doesn’t have to be in person. He just wants…”
“Regular updates. Thank you, Captain Drugov. We’ve got some new intercepts from the GRU and SVR, as well as some data from other sources. All the search activity is well to the northwest of the island — about seven hundred fifty nautical miles away. The Prima station does not appear in any of the news reports or intercepts.”
Drugov was the admiral’s deputy and chief of staff. “So no news continues to be good news.”
“The best news will be when the acoustic surveillance system is finally installed,” Lavrov grumbled.
“The cable laying ship Inguri started installing the Sever modules the minute she arrived. Many sections are already operational,” Drugov announced hopefully. “But the American news organizations are all crowing about this huge secret they’ve revealed.”
Lavrov shrugged. “When the Western news media use the words ‘near Russian territory,’ they could possibly mean anywhere in the Arctic Ocean. They peddle drama, not information. I remember they used to describe our ballistic missiles subs in the Atlantic as patrolling ‘just off the east coast of America’ when the subs were many hundreds of miles out to sea.”
After pausing a moment, he asked, “Did the admiral say anything about my recommendation that we place additional submarine patrols in the area, at least until the sensor net is finished?”
Drugov shook his head. “It was a reasonable request, but he turned it down. High submarine activity would risk drawing attention to the island. Coordinating the patrols requires more communications, both to and from the submarine. This could be perceived as unusual; it’s well away from our normal training and patrol areas.”
“And in the meantime, we are completely blind,” Lavrov complained.
“Comrade Captain, we have insufficient assets to maintain a continuous presence, there will be gaps. The next submarine patrol is scheduled for later this month.”
“Well, then,” concluded Lavrov, “let us hope the Americans do us a favor and remain ignorant for a few weeks more. The longer the Americans stay in the dark, the better.”
5
CONFIRMATION
A lieutenant was waiting for Jerry at baggage claim, holding a small sign that read “DEVRON.” The shoulder boards on his whites showed that he was Judge Advocate General’s Corps, but he also had a surface warfare pin on his chest.
As Jerry approached, the lieutenant came to attention, but didn’t salute, since he was indoors. “Commodore Mitchell, I’m Lieutenant Abbott. We have a car outside.” He grabbed Jerry’s bag and headed for the exit. “If it’s okay with you, sir, we’ll have the driver check you in at the Crystal City Marriott while you’re being briefed at the Pentagon.”
A little confused, Jerry asked, “I thought the brief wasn’t until tomorrow morning.” It seemed a little late in the day to have a meeting.
The lieutenant nodded. “That’s true sir, but this is a separate, though related matter.” Outside, a navy car was waiting, and a petty officer took Jerry’s bag from the lieutenant. Once they were inside and moving, with the windows rolled up tight against the Washington summer heat, Abbott explained, “We need to brief you into a special access compartment. It was the reason for Toledo’s mission. It will save a lot of time tomorrow if we get this administrative requirement done now.”
“‘We.’” Jerry repeated. “Are you part of the investigation, then?”
“Yessir, I’m Captain Gold’s aide. He’s the senior investigating officer.”
“What about Commander Weiss?” Jerry asked.
“Jimmy Carter’s commanding officer? He’s expected here late tonight. He’s also booked into the Marriott. Do you need to speak with him before tomorrow morning?”
“No, tomorrow morning will be fine.” Lou would be tired, and they had an early start tomorrow. And the things Jerry wanted to ask him couldn’t be talked about in a hotel room anyway.
“I’m also supposed to pass on a message that a Mrs. Jennings will call your cell about nine tonight, and hopes you’re available to take it. The brief this afternoon will only take about half an hour, Commodore.”
“Will there be somewhere I can change into my whites first?” Jerry had traveled in civilian clothes.
“No, sir. It’s not necessary, and in fact the briefer would prefer you come in civvies.”
It was only a ten-minute drive in late-afternoon traffic from the airport to the Pentagon. Jerry held his questions as they were passed through security, then followed his guide down two levels. He’d been stationed at the Pentagon for two years, but it was big enough that they were soon in a part of the building he’d never seen, not that it looked any different from the rest of the place.
Abbott punched a keypad next to an anonymous gray metal door. “This is where we will have the debrief tomorrow.” Inside, a light-green-painted hall ran past doors on either side. Abbot led him through one of these to a conference room. A civilian and a lieutenant commander sat at one end.
The civilian, a forty-something man in a short-sleeved white shirt, was fiddling with a laptop computer while the officer watched, but both stood as Jerry came in. Abbot introduced them as LCDR Travis and Dr. James Perry, “who works for the government.”
As the civilian offered his hand, he protested, “Why don’t you just tell him I’m CIA, Danny?” but Perry was smiling. He had a dark, tightly trimmed beard, probably to compensate for a receding hairline. “He’d find out soon enough anyway. This whole thing is a CIA show. That’s why Toledo was up there.”
Abbott left, promising to make sure Jerry’s driver had checked him into the hotel.
Travis offered Jerry a clipboard with several forms on it. “You know the drill, sir. We need to read you into a sensitive HUMINT compartment.”
Sighing, Jerry took the clipboard and began carefully reading. Sensitive compartmented information was used for the crown jewels of the intelligence system, very special kinds of secrets. Most classified information was labeled “Confidential,” “Secret,” or “Top Secret.” If you had a confidential clearance, that meant you could read anything marked “Confidential,” but not the higher Secret or Top Secret. Military service members had at least a confidential clearance.