“Honestly, Aleks, I don’t know of any plans to start the fighting again — not that there couldn’t be some contingency plans being considered. There are a number of very frustrated senior officers who are unhappy with the peace negotiations. Our friend, Dhankhar, is one of them. But I can’t see why this would require Chakra’s refit to be accelerated. Besides, Pakistan’s navy has been badly mauled. There isn’t a whole lot left, and nothing that would require an Akula-class submarine to take care of it.”
Samant’s answer appeared to ease Petrov’s worried expression, but not entirely. The Russian finished his tea, stood, and faced his host. “Then I have one last question for you, Girish. And I don’t mean to be offensive, or seek access to India’s state secrets, but it is a rather sensitive subject, so I must beg your pardon in advance.”
“Certainly,” replied Samant, now deeply curious.
Petrov took a deep breath, bracing himself before speaking. “Is it the Indian Navy’s intention to put nuclear weapons on Chakra?”
“WHAT!?” shouted a stunned Samant as he leapt to his feet. “How can you even suggest such a thing!”
Petrov remained calm. Samant’s reaction was completely justified; the question did sound like an accusation. “Bear with me, Girish. I will explain my reasons in a moment. Now, please, will you answer the question?”
Fuming, Samant struggled to get his anger under control. Friend or not, Petrov’s insinuation was insulting. Several tense seconds went by before the Indian captain responded, and even then it was through clenched teeth. “I know of no nuclear weapons that can be fired from Chakra’s torpedo tubes. We currently lack the ability to make warheads that small, that’s why we’ve concentrated on ballistic missiles. Even if the Nirbhay cruise missile were ready now for submarine launch, which it isn’t, it would probably be conventionally armed. Besides, such a modification would be a gross violation of our agreement with your country.”
“Agreed, on both counts. So, why have I been ordered to install the ability for the combat system to pass data to a nuclear-armed weapon?”
The fury on Samant’s face dissolved into disbelief. “You must be mistaken, Aleksey. My country doesn’t have a suitable weapon.”
“Am I? Look here, Girish,” said Petrov as he rolled out several detailed schematics of the fire control system.
“Here are the two Omnibus combat system consoles as currently configured on Chakra. The weapon data transfer wiring exits the back of the consoles at this point, runs to these junction boxes in the torpedo compartment, and ultimately feeds into the tubes, here. Now, note the changes on this schematic.
“See here? These are new wires that need to be installed, and they run to the existing junction boxes. But note the new panel section on the Omnibus console. The last time you saw them, this section was plated over.”
Samant studied the plans carefully and frowned. “This wasn’t part of the original refit plan I reviewed eight months ago. I specifically recall requesting the old CRTs be replaced with flat-screen displays and I was told there weren’t going to be any substantial changes to the fire control system.”
“Exactly, Girish, and that’s the heart of my problem. These changes are very recent. But more importantly, on Russian Navy submarines, that is where the nuclear weapon control panel is located. It allows the commanding officer to unlock a weapon so it can receive start-up power, launch data, and also satisfies the final control interlock, allowing the warhead to arm.”
“You’re certain of this, Aleksey?”
“Absolutely, my friend. I have many, many years of experience with this system. Even so, I’ve tried to come up with a viable alternative explanation. So far, I haven’t found one.”
“Have you raised this issue with Captain Mitra?”
“Yes, of course. I made a polite inquiry about the modifications this morning. Although, I, ah, didn’t mention the part about nuclear weapons,” replied Petrov with a cynical grin. “Mitra said the combat system upgrade is for a new indigenous Indian weapon system that will be available in the near future. He said he wasn’t at liberty to discuss it with me.”
“What new weapon?” Samant grumbled. “The advanced torpedo DRDO has been working on is for European submarine designs. It’s completely incompatible with Russian submarine torpedo tubes. That’s why we chose to acquire the improved UGST-M torpedo…”
“Which is of Russian design and manufacture,” finished Petrov. “And one other thing. It appears that only Russian technicians are making this modification. Unfortunately, the maintenance package our countries agreed to has a vague clause regarding the replacement of torpedo tube interface wiring as needed. I can’t say this modification is outside the scope of the contract.”
“This… this is incredible!” stammered Samant. “Who approved this change?”
“Vice Admiral Bava, Dhankhar’s chief of staff, is the only signature on the modified refit documentation.”
“No one from the Controller of Warship Production and Acquisition Office signed off on it?”
“Correct,” Petrov answered as he rolled up the plans. Samant rubbed his forehead and started pacing, his mind reeling.
Petrov watched as his friend walked behind the desk, a deep scowl on his face.
“Girish,” pleaded Petrov, “I would like nothing more than to think this is just a clever kickback scheme to skim off some money from the refit funding, God knows there’s been plenty of that in the past. But, given the nature of the modifications and the insanely truncated schedule, it’s not at all consistent with simple graft. My gut instinct says something is dreadfully wrong here.”
Samant stopped, and nodded slightly. Then, straightening himself, he said, “What do you want me to do, Aleksey?”
Relieved, Petrov moved closer. His speech was more animated. “Your office has two masters, one here in Vizag, the other in Mumbai. If you could make some discreet inquiries to the Directorate of Naval Design and the assistant chief of naval staff submarine acquisitions concerning new submarine torpedo tube launched weapons, I believe we’ll be able to either confirm or deny my suspicions. I will do likewise through the Russian naval support liaison office, although I’m not confident I’ll get much help.”
“Very well, Aleksey. I will make the calls as soon as you leave. When should we try to get together again?”
“Later this evening, at Akshaya’s, say twenty hundred hours. We’ve had dinner there before; so no one will think it unusual. And if I’m wrong, dinner is on me.”
Joanna Patterson fought to control her excitement as she strode down the hallway to the Oval Office. She had pleaded with the president’s chief of staff, Milt Alvarez, for just ten minutes of the president’s time. That’s all she said she needed to pass on the results of the aerial sampling analysis; after that she’d have the president’s undivided attention. The single piece of paper in the folder she carried was a bombshell.
She barely noticed the lone Marine standing guard, and she didn’t realize she had entered the outer office until the president’s secretary greeted her. “Go right on in, Dr. Patterson. The president is expecting you.”