Drugov picked up the photo and stared at it for a moment. “This is an American submarine base, Vasiliy, did the missing submarine magically reappear?”
“You’re not entirely off, Pavel. A submarine did in fact recently appear, but it wasn’t Toledo, rather it was the Jimmy Carter.”
“And why should I be concerned with this particular submarine?” Drugov’s face showed his irritation.
Lavrov sighed. How typical, he thought. “The Carter should concern you greatly, Pavel, for you see she is the U.S. Navy’s premier spy submarine. Roughly akin to our Main Directorate of Deep-Sea Research submarines, only well armed, considerably faster, and far stealthier. Oh, and she is normally home ported in Washington State… on the Pacific coast.”
The rapid change in Drugov’s expression told Lavrov that he had the chief of staff’s complete attention. “Carter showed up in Groton within the last twenty-four hours. According to GRU reporting, she’s been at sea for the past three months; they estimated she was operating in the western Pacific Ocean, or possibly in the Barents Sea. But we really have no idea of where she has been; we would be hard-pressed to get a sniff of her, let alone track her. For this submarine to show up at an east coast base right now is very troubling, Pavel, very troubling.”
“If the Jimmy Carter is a reconnaissance submarine, then it would make complete sense for the Americans to bring her to the other side of the continent to help search for their missing boat,” Drugov concluded as he sat down. “Don’t you think you’re making up your own ghosts, Vasiliy?”
“Perhaps,” considered Lavrov. “But it all feels so wrong. The Americans haven’t lost a submarine due to a peacetime accident in over fifty years, why now? Right when we are at the most vulnerable stage of the Drakon’s lair construction project. Discovery right now would be catastrophic. Then add to this the sudden appearance of a very capable spy submarine that has the equipment necessary to not only detect, but also identify the deep-water launch facility. Furthermore, if the Carter had been sent to help in the search, why did she pass by the very location on her way to the Groton submarine base?
“Is this all just a highly improbable set of coincidences? My intuition is screaming it can’t be. So, no, Comrade Captain, I don’t think I’m creating my own ghosts. I believe the Jimmy Carter’s arrival at Groton is an ill omen.”
Drugov looked closely at his intelligence chief, there was no doubt the man was sincere in his beliefs. And he was correct; of course, Project Dragon was at an awkward phase in its development. Would it hurt to be just a little cautious? “What do you want from me, Vasiliy?” he asked.
“I request permission to brief Admiral Komeyev on these developments. Tonight if at all possible.”
The chief of staff got up and started walking, thinking. The Russian Navy commander-in-chief had little patience for exaggerated threat assessments; he wanted accurate estimates of an adversary’s capabilities and intents. Not some hyperbolic propaganda ploy for the masses, or a pitch to justify more funding. But Lavrov had a well-earned reputation as a levelheaded strategist. It didn’t take long for Drugov to reach a decision.
“Very well, Vasiliy. I’ll call the CINC and his deputy. You have thirty minutes to prepare your presentation.”
An enlisted mess steward brought in a carafe of hot tea and some shortbread biscuits; he served the two admirals first and then the captains. Admiral Vladimir Komeyev took a seat on his couch; his deputy, Vice Admiral Viktor Balakin, sat next to his boss. Komeyev seemed to be in good spirits despite being dragged back into the office late on a weekend, Balakin not so much. His demeanor was one of annoyance.
“So, Vasiliy, what disaster threatens Mother Russia so badly that I had to drop everything and come running back to the office?” Lavrov heard both the light-hearted tone as well as the message behind it—“This had better be good.”
“My apologies, Admiral, but I’m confident this won’t be a waste of your time or Admiral Balakin’s,” began Lavrov. “It is my belief that there is a considerable risk the Project Drakon facility could be discovered by an American spy submarine.”
Komeyev stopped drinking mid-slurp, his eyes focused on Lavrov. Balakin gasped and then coughed from the tea going down the wrong pipe. Putting his teacup down slowly, Komeyev said, “Please continue, Vasiliy.”
Lavrov advanced the electronic presentation to the next slide; the satellite imagery shot that had started the whole thing jumped up onto the screen. “This photograph is of the U.S. submarine base in Groton, Connecticut. Please take note of this boat, here.” The laser dot danced along the length of a large black hull alongside one of the many piers.
“It is the Seawolf-class submarine Jimmy Carter, America’s premier intelligence gathering submarine. It appeared, unexpectedly, sometime late on July ninth at this facility — the imagery was taken during the midafternoon local time today. The last time we saw this submarine was on April eighth at Naval Base Kitsap-Bangor, in Washington State. We have no definitive information on her whereabouts between these two dates, although the GRU assesses she was operating in the western Pacific or perhaps the Barents Sea.”
“Surely this submarine has been called in to help search for the Toledo,” interrupted Balakin.
Lavrov smiled slightly; Vice Admiral Balakin could be quite predictable at times. “Yes, sir, that is the current working hypothesis, however, if one looks at the geography of the situation it makes little sense for the Carter to be at this base, at this time, given the officially announced search area.”
“Go on,” Komeyev insisted, his interest piqued.
The captain pulled up a large-scale chart that showed the location of the announced search area, as well as the Groton submarine base and the Prima Polar Station.
“We know that the Jimmy Carter was on the west coast of the United States in early April. Regardless of her mission and location, she would have taken the Arctic route to the other side of the country.” Using the laser pointer, Lavrov highlighted the shortest possible route that Carter could have taken.
“If the Carter was sent to assist in the search for the Toledo, then why did she pass within a few hundred nautical miles of the announced search area and continue on sailing for an additional three thousand five hundred nautical miles to Groton? This is what makes little sense, and calls into question the validity of the hypothesis.”
“Perhaps this spy submarine required additional specialized equipment to effectively conduct the search. Wouldn’t that explain the long detour?” suggested Balakin.
“I’m afraid not, sir. The GRU’s assessment of the Carter’s location allows ample opportunities for her to pull into an Alaskan port to pick up any necessary equipment and supplies. And even if she were actually already operating in the Arctic Ocean, the Carter could have easily pulled into Svalbard, Norwegian territory, which is far closer to the search area. The port of Longyearbyen has a three-kilometer airfield that could support any American transport aircraft, and there is nothing that the Carter could deploy that can’t be moved by air.”
“Are you implying the Americans have intentionally lied about the search area?” grumbled Balakin; he disliked being made to look like a fool.