“What have you got?”
John Hinves shrugged his shoulders. “Looks no different than the last Type 53 torpedo we examined. There’s been no discernible modification to the engine or fuel system. It’ll have the same top speed as previous Type 53 torpedoes.”
That wasn’t a surprise. Russian and American torpedoes used proven engines designed in the late twentieth century. Torpedoes needed fuel that didn’t require oxygen, while generating sufficient power for the high-performance engine — the equivalent of a Formula F1 race car engine packed into a twenty-one-inch-diameter shell.
DelGreco moved on to the electrical engineers, who were placing the circuit cards in drying ovens after cleaning. Torpedo advances over the last few decades had occurred primarily in the guidance and control section, as the introduction of faster microprocessors and advanced algorithms led to enormous improvements in torpedo capabilities.
DelGreco asked Dave Reynolds, overseeing the circuit card effort. “Got anything?”
“Not yet. The design looks similar, but there’s no telling what algorithms are loaded on the cards. We should be able to reassemble and power up the guidance and control section tomorrow, then slave it to the WAF and run it through attack simulations,” Reynolds said, referring to the Weapons Analysis Facility used to test new U.S. torpedo algorithms in various simulated attack scenarios.
Finally, DelGreco stopped by Gino Cerbarano, overseeing disassembly of the torpedo warhead, which was a rare find in an exercise torpedo, since the warhead was usually replaced with an exercise section containing safety settings and data recorders. This set-to-hit torpedo contained a dummy warhead, which, contrary to its name, was the third section instead of being located at the head of the torpedo. It contained no explosive, but all of the required electronics. Cerbarano’s team was removing the exploder and arming device, which would then be inspected along with the sensors in the warhead shell, looking for design improvements. The response from Cerbarano was similar.
“They’re the same components. No change to the sensors. We’ll know more after we disassemble the exploder and arming device, but it’s unlikely there are any notable improvements. They’re pretty simple devices. Detonate when they’re instructed to, and prevent detonation otherwise.”
DelGreco surveyed the men and women working diligently in the secure bay, his eyes shifting back to the circuit cards. The improvements were undoubtedly new software algorithms, enabling the torpedo to see farther or better discern the target from sonar reflections off the surface and bottom. As he awaited the test results from the WAF, DelGreco wondered what the intelligence agencies had determined regarding Russia’s newest torpedo.
CHAPTER 10
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
Elena Krayev entered the lobby of Hotel Metropol, a short walk from the Kremlin and Red Square, wearing a red dress hugging her curves, with a slit to the top of her right thigh, accentuating her long legs. Heads turned, both male and female, following the Russian as she entered Metropol Hall, a three-story-tall grand dining room. The hall’s opulent interior, replete with marble Ionic pillars supporting a stained-glass ceiling, was reminiscent of other grand hotels of the era — the Plaza in New York, Claridge’s in London, and the Ritz in Paris.
Passing through Metropol Hall, Elena entered Savva, the hotel’s five-star restaurant offering a balcony view of the Bolshoi Theater. She moved through the crowded establishment, not bothering to check with the hostess before entering a private dining room in the back. Inside the small room, capable of seating twenty, was a single table covered with a white-starched tablecloth set for two. On one side of the table sat retired Fleet Admiral Georgiy Ivanov, former commander-in-chief of the Russian Navy, wearing a dark gray suit and tie.
Following the debacle at Ice Station Nautilus, the Russian president had relieved Ivanov of command. Ivanov resented his abrupt dismissal, and America’s CIA had identified an opportunity. This wasn’t Elena’s first meeting with Ivanov. They’d dined and spent the night together on several occasions. Unfortunately, Elena’s relationship with Ivanov hadn’t produced the windfall the CIA had hoped for. He apparently knew what was happening and remained tight-lipped, but Elena had managed to pry several useful nuggets from him during their previous encounters.
Ivanov rose from his chair when Elena entered, helping her into her seat before returning to his. A waiter, standing nearby, approached with the menu and Ivanov offered to order for both of them, to which Elena agreed. Ivanov selected a bottle of her favorite wine and ordered the duck, with wild cherry sauce and baked apple, for both.
Dinner was superb and the conversation remained light and enjoyable, with Elena catching up on Ivanov’s endeavors and Elena filling him in on hers — she was a Russian translator contracted to several American Fortune 500 companies. Of course, Elena didn’t reveal that translating wasn’t her only job; she was also employed by the CIA.
Both passed on dessert, and after Ivanov paid for dinner, he escorted Elena out a back exit where a black sedan awaited, car running and chauffer inside. After opening the door for Elena, he joined her in the backseat and the car traveled through the alley, turning right onto Teatral’nyy Proyezd, headed to Ivanov’s residence not far from the Kremlin. Neither spoke during the short drive, although Elena placed her hand on Ivanov’s thigh and he placed his hand on hers.
The car pulled to a halt in front of Ivanov’s townhouse, and after Elena followed Ivanov inside, she made her move. She pushed Ivanov against the wall and pressed her body against his, offering a passionate kiss, which he eagerly accepted. She was nearly six feet tall — the same height as Ivanov — and she used her body to pin him against the wall, her hands placed against it on either side of him while she let his hands wander.
After a long moment, Elena stepped back and grabbed Ivanov by his tie, guiding him toward the dining room, where she pushed him down into a chair. She hiked her skirt up and sat in his lap facing him, her thighs straddling his waist, resting her forearms on his shoulders while she leaned in for another kiss.
When she pulled back, Ivanov smiled and said, “So, Miss Krayev, what brings you here tonight? What is it you want to learn?” He placed his hands on her bare thighs.
Ivanov had never voiced his suspicion about her, but there was no doubt he’d suspected for some time. She decided to be direct. “The Americans have learned that Russia has developed a new torpedo. Kazan is test-firing it against Alexander.”
Ivanov belted out a hearty laugh, its intensity surprising Elena. Something was awry; she hadn’t said anything remotely funny.
With a smile still on his face, he said, “This is why Russia will win a war against the Americans. Even with their sophisticated intelligence agencies and the billions of dollars they pour into espionage, the single most important development in submarine warfare has eluded them. We are not testing a new torpedo. We are testing Alexander!”
Elena locked on to Ivanov’s revelation. The Americans had gotten it backwards. Alexander was testing some sort of torpedo defense.
Ivanov continued, “We have been developing this technology for ten years and the Americans don’t have a clue. Even if they discover what we have developed, they will be a decade behind us. In the meantime, the Russian Navy will rule the world’s oceans.”
Elena leaned in again, stopping an inch away from his face. “What kind of technology?”
The smile faded from Ivanov’s face. “I have said too much already. You will have to be satisfied with what you have learned thus far.”