“Wolf One, Wolf Den, there’s no authorized work. That’s a hostile. You’re weapons free.”
“Wolf Den, Wolf One. I understand weapons free on the submersible. I also need a minimum distance to a main caisson of the Kerch Strait Bridge at which I can detonate a heavyweight torpedo without damaging the caisson. Over.”
An uncomfortable silence told him he had stymied the watchman who manned the phones. The replacement voice carried the authority of the senior officer on watch at headquarters.
“Wolf One, Wolf Den. That information doesn’t exist here. I’ll need to send an urgent message to the Highway Authority to gather that information. How soon to you need it? Over.”
Volkov glared at the sailor seated at the weapons control console.
“How long will it take the weapon to reach the closest caisson at maximum speed?”
The sailor looked to his screen.
“Sixteen minutes, sir.”
“Wolf Den, Wolf One. I need an answer in fifteen minutes — and not a second later. I’ve discovered another submerged threat that I believe is preparing to sabotage the bridge, and I will detonate a weapon in the vicinity in sixteen minutes. Over.”
“Wolf One, Wolf Den. Understood. Out.”
He secured the handset.
“Shift the weapon in tube one to coordinates one hundred yards distance from the closest caisson, bearing zero-four-five from the caisson.”
The weapons operator obeyed and announced the readiness of tube one.
“Shoot tube one,” Volkov said.
The pneumatic torpedo impulsion system beyond sight in the ship’s forward compartment thrust a weapon into the ocean while sucking air into its piping. The rapid pressure change popped his ears.
“Tube one away, normal launch,” the weapons operator said.
Whistles and chirps filled the room.
“The explosives are applied to the target at the pipeline,” the trainer said. “The dolphins have swum to a safe distance for detonation.”
Volkov studied the image of the submersible. The synthetic shrimp crackles had continued building the resolution, and his target’s form had become clear.
“That’s a mini-submersible,” he said. “Minimal yield on each detonator will be sufficient. Set both detonators to minimum yield. We may yet be able to make this look like an accident.”
The trainer appeared relieved with the lessened risk of collateral damage to his animals.
“I’ve set the settings to minimal,” he said.
“Detonate.”
The two pops reminded Volkov of an assassin’s bullets.
“The submersible has flooded,” the sonar operator said. “It was almost instantaneous.”
“Very well. Give me an update on our torpedo.”
“Twelve minutes to detonation, sir,” the weapons operator said. “Running at full speed.”
“Send the dolphins to the caisson.”
“Why?” the trainer asked. “Haven’t they done their jobs?”
Volkov wearied of the civilian’s questions but accepted them as an annoying necessity.
“For battle damage assessment. I’ll want their cameras telling me what I shot and making sure I killed it.”
“Okay. I’ll send them.”
Volkov reached for the radio handset.
“Wolf Den, Wolf One. I’ve used the explosives from the dolphins to sink the submersible near the pipeline. I’ll send an image and coordinates. Over.”
“Wolf One, Wolf Den. Roger. Over.”
“Where’s my engineering assessment? Over?”
“It’s still coming. Don’t do the saboteurs’ work for them with an over-aggressive torpedo shot. Over.”
“Then get me my damned assessment. Out.”
During the next ten minutes, he watched the icon of his weapon race toward the caisson.
“Wolf One, Wolf Den. The engineering assessment is one nautical mile. Over.”
“That’s ludicrous, Wolf Den. That’s cowardice — not an engineering assessment. Tell the engineers to reassess.”
“There’s no data on this, and there’s no time to run an accurate simulation. You demand a rapid answer, you get a rapid response. Over.”
Volkov lowered the handset to avoid cursing into it. He then returned it to his mouth.
“I’ll detonate my weapon one hundred yards from the caisson. I assume responsibility for the outcome. Have our ships stay out of the way. Out.”
He drove the handset back into its cradle and looked at the weapons operator.
“You heard me. One hundred yards.”
“Yes, sir. It’s almost there.”
“Then you’d better hurry and send the signal to the warhead.”
The sailor tapped icons and announced the detonation. The sonar operator nodded.
“I heard the explosion, sir. Our weapon has detonated.”
“You don’t hear concrete shattering, do you? I didn’t destroy the caisson, did I?”
“No, sir. I can’t attest to hidden structural damage, though.”
“Neither can I,” Volkov said. “I’ll leave that to our engineers to resolve.”
He took the Krasnodar deep to avoid the chastising radio chatter he expected from headquarters.
“Where are the dolphins?” he asked.
“Half way there,” the trainer said. “I can get you pictures in about fifteen minutes.”
After waiting for the mammals to reach the caisson, Volkov ordered multiple images of his torpedo’s aftermath. The dolphins found a pair of lifeless divers’ bodies and two scuba scooters suspended in the shallows beside the concrete pillar.
“Move them closer to the caisson,” he said. “Get close ups of the full circumference of the concrete.”
Fifteen minutes later, he viewed a still life of explosives attached to the caisson. He could only wonder how close the divers had come to completing their work and bringing down the bridge, but he was certain he had discovered and defeated an enemy with the resolve to challenge Russia’s annexation of Crimea
“Load that image into the radio system,” he said. “Whatever whining the engineers may have about my torpedo, let them compare it to this.”
CHAPTER 2
Jake Slate glanced across the waiting room at Pierre Renard.
“She’s making us wait even longer than last time.”
“Miss McDonald is reminding us how important she is,” Renard said.
“She’s pegged to be the next DCIA, right?” Jake asked
“Not quite yet, but close. I suspect she needs one more feather in her cap, so to speak.”
Jake watched the Frenchman’s steel blue eyes shimmer as he passed a gold-plated Zippo lighter under a Marlboro.
“I thought you only smoked now when you were feeling the pressure. You’re not afraid of Olivia, are you?”
“You’ve known me too long for me to deceive you, and I must admit that I’m suffering a good deal of anxiety.”
“Do tell. The great Pierre Renard, anxious about talking to Olivia McDonald? She was just a young CIA agent when you let her nab us. Don’t tell me she’s got you quaking in your boots ten years later.”
“Don’t fool yourself, my friend. She may have erred in falling in love with you back then, but that was her solitary mistake. She’s well armed in the battle of wits. She all but had you captured in Avignon.”
“But not you. You were already out of France before she could have pulled the trigger.”
“Indeed I was, but if she had taken you into custody, she would have had me as well.”
Jake watched gray clouds rise from the amber butt.
“You would have come out of hiding to help me?”
“You know I would have.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. That aside, why would her wits scare you now? She’s never outsmarted us completely, and DCIA or not, she’s just one of many powerbrokers in your network.”