Peter Sasgen - War Plan Red

“Observers as far away as Stockholm, Sweden, and Hamburg, Germany, reported seeing the flash from the explosion,” Radford said. “Some thought a nuclear device had gone off. A couple of TV stations reported one had and you can imagine the panic it set off.

“So far the Norwegians have agreed to our request to say it was an accident aboard an LNG tanker. But it’s got a lot of people worked up including the world’s shipping lines and Lloyds of London, as well as the UN, who are demanding an immediate investigation. On the technical side we’re in agreement with the Norwegians that the LNG tanker took two torpedoes. They know a Russian sub fired them and it’s only a matter of time before the Norwegian Navy puts it together and figures it all out. They admitted they’ve been tracking what they say are two Russian subs for the last week. We know they have the SOSUS contacts to prove it. Also, our cable taps of their communications confirm their suspicions that the Russians may not be in control of their submarines. No one at ComlnC Stavanger has yet mentioned the word terrorist, but that may only be a matter of time. And it may only be a matter of time before the Norwegians, the Swedes, even the Danes, lodge a protest.”

“What about the Russians?” asked the president.

“They’re pulling out of the Barents Sea and we’re starting to see activity in the Baltic. Mr. President, if they aren't already asking you questions, they soon will.”

“Subitov has asked for a private meeting to discuss, as he put it, ‘the recent incident,’ and I can’t put him off. Tomorrow I'll probably hear it from the president himself.”

Friedman said, “Karl, have you heard from Grishkov?”

“Not yet. But I will. Bet on it.”

The president finished his vodka and set the glass aside. After a long pause he said, “What’s happened to Scott?”

“We think he’s either in the Kattegat or in the Baltic. We can’t be certain, but I believe he’s still trailing the K-363.”

“Any chance that the K-363 was sunk in that incident?”

“Doubtful, sir,” Radford said. “We would likely have picked it up on satellite. We have the four wrecks heat-spotted—the frigate, too—but no others.”

“No traces of her on satellite imagery?”

“No, sir. Our laser satellites can't penetrate those waters. Turbidity leaves us blind.”

The president turned to Friedman. “What do you think, Paul? Tell the Russians what we're up to or continue to play innocent?”

Friedman toyed with the studs in his shirt cuffs, both of which had exploded out of his coat sleeves at least half a foot. “Why let on? Let Scott finish it for us. We’re that close now.”

The president turned to Radford. “Karl, after you talk to Grishkov, see if you can raise Scott and get a status report.”

“I'll try, but he may have his hands full right now.”

The president turned back to Friedman. “Paul, I can't stonewall the Russians much longer. Subitov is no dummy. If Scott can't nail that bastard Zakayev in another day or two, it’s over and we’ll have to come clean.”

Friedman looked as if he were in physical pain.

“Agreed that Zakayev knows too much. But I’m willing to take a risk that whether it’s us or the Russians who find him, he’ll end up dead.”

After a prolonged silence, Friedman said, “I don't know. I just don't know.”

“What don’t you know, Paul?”

Radford waited silently in Virginia.

Friedman stuffed his protruding cuffs back into the coat sleeves. “I don't know what Zakayev wants.”

“What he wants,” said the president, “is to destroy the Russians, bring down their government. That’s what he wants.”

Friedman looked the president in the eye. “With respect, sir, would you, or would Karl, please tell me how? How is he going to do it? How is he going to destroy the Russians? He has no missiles, no guns, only torpedoes, and they’re only good for sinking ships. He proved that when he sank a ship filled with natural gas, sank three other ships filled with a billion dollars’ worth of cargo, killed scores of seamen, damaged a Norwegian warship, killed her captain, scared the hell out of a good part of Scandinavia and parts of Germany. Yes, Zakayev is a goddamn terrorist and he hates the Russians and he’s run us and them around like a bunch of bloody fools. But he’s not doing it for the fun of it or to prove how clever he is or that he can kick the bloody Russians in the ass any time he wants by stealing one of their goddamned submarines. He’s got something planned and I don’t know what it is, and frankly, sir, it scares the shit out of me and should be scaring the shit out of the Russians too.”

Radford smiled, hearing his own words, slightly embellished, aped by Friedman.

Friedman compressed his lips and looked away.

“And it should scare the shit out of me, too, is that what you’re trying to say, Paul?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President. I was completely out of line. I didn't mean that.”

“Sure you did. Admit it.”

Friedman said nothing.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Paul, Zakayev does scare the shit out of me. All the more reason Scott has to kill him before the Russians get to him.”

Кarl Radford looked at his watch and frowned. Downstairs a car waited. In an hour he was to deliver a speech at a breakfast meeting of the Retired Intelligence Officers Association in Arlington, and Grishkov’s appearance on the Secure Video Teleconference link to Severomorsk had been delayed.

While he waited he glanced at the computer monitor on his desk and his frown deepened. Displayed were PRs—Pending Replies—to encrypted messages transmitted to various units under SRO control around the world. The list wasn’t long; only ten units had been flagged and two were undergoing decryption even as Radford studied the list. But at the top of the list was Badger One, Radford’s code name for Jake Scott. Next to Scott’s name was a blinking red flag that meant there had been no response to the cycle of SRO transmissions broadcast from the Wisconsin ELF facility starting late last night.

Too soon to worry, Radford told himself. Weather in the Kattegat had been bad and getting worse. The attack and its aftermath had required the rerouting of some shipping into and out of The Sound and nearby ports. Satellite photos showed a traffic jam off Falkenberg, Sweden, and another south of Copenhagen. With ships jammed like logs in a river, Scott would indeed have his hands full.

A new message appeared beside Badger One. The ELF transmissions had automatically recycled to once every hour instead of every half hour. Too soon to worry, Radford told himself again.

A tone chime from the SVTC got Radford’s attention. A digital timer on the monitor counted down to zero and the screen brightened.

Radford cleared his throat and faced the screen. “Hello, Mikhail.”

Grishkov, hunched forward on his elbows, had a sour look on his face as if the cigarette he was smoking tasted bad. “Good day, General.”

Radford said, “It seems we’ve been talking on this thing—”

“I warned you not to take us for fools,” Grishkov erupted. “The K-363 torpedoed that LNG carrier, sank those ships, and almost sank a Norwegian frigate, killed her captain—no, don’t deny it. We know your Captain Scott witnessed the attack because he has been dogging the K-363 ever since she departed Olenya Bay. The Norwegians have lodged a protest with our ambassador in Oslo, and have threatened to take the issue to the UN. Our mistake was to fall for your ruse with the K-480 in the first place. But that’s over now. We have ordered our forces in the Baltic Sea to find and capture Zakayev and his terrorist friends.”