The Red Collusion Read online

  The President hit the table with his fist and leapt to his feet in frustration.

  “And this is the General Secretary who looked our Ambassador in the eye and assured him that they wouldn’t attack? So what now? Are you going to ask for two more days to analyze this Soviet Secretary’s fantasy? Go do your homework. You said there were also some findings in the North Sea relating to the explosion? Then let’s meet here in ninety minutes. I also want to hear what our Soviet experts have to say, as I understand that I can’t get any answers about their intentions from you military folk.”

  “Mister President”, said CIA director George Brown, “I’d like a private word with you. It won’t take more than two minutes.”

  “Come with me”, the President replied curtly and hurried out of the Situation Room, followed by the CIA director. Only the security officials remained in the room, looking forlorn and embarrassed. The President instructed his three Secret Service men to keep their distance.

  “Why didn’t you speak up in the meeting, George?” asked the President. “Is it possible that even my CIA director doesn’t know what the Russians have in store for us?”

  “I’ll have new information by the next meeting. There are quite a few developments right now, Sir. Mister President I request your special approval in light of this situation, and especially because of the ambiguity surrounding us here, to activate the Raven.”

  The President mulled this over, running his fingers through his hair.

  “As I remember, and correct me if I’m wrong, you told me at the time that the Raven is an extremely senior source at the Kremlin. If we activate the Raven, it may be assumed that the information passed on to us will expose this person. Is that right?”

  “That’s correct, Mister President. That’s why we decided in advance that the Raven should be activated only when we face real danger, and even then, it would require your prior approval.”

  “Well, I think we have no choice. We are facing real danger, and none of my generals can explain the reason for this danger. Okay, George, activate the Raven.”

  The President strode away from the CIA director, his security detail rushing to catch up with him.

  The Four-Engine Orion P-3 Maritime Patrol Aircraft flew back and forth over the North Sea, northwest of Norway. The pilots had been unequivocally instructed to keep away from the west because of the active radiation which had been detected in the blast area. From time to time, the airborne Geiger counter emitted beeps attesting to the presence of radiation in their immediate surroundings, but these were not at a magnitude that could endanger the air crew.

  The navigator held a chart on his knees, on which the search areas were divided into many narrow strips. Since flights like these went back and forth the length of the strips, the pilots dubbed them “ironing missions”, as they were similar to the motion of passing an iron over an ironing board. The plane was equipped on both sides with two large observation windows which protruded outwards, like large transparent bubbles. The airborne observer would look through them at the sea, trying to detect suspicious sea vessels.

  One of the observers was heard on the pilots’ headsets.

  “Identifying a wake in the distance at our nine o’clock.”

  The maritime patrol aircraft sharply banked to the left in a steep dive. Two minutes later, the plane had already made three passes above a medium-size trawler. The observer’s voice was heard again on the intercom.

  “Okay, I got it on film. It is coming from the exact location of the blast. It could be interesting to ask the crew some questions. By the way, I can’t see any fishing nets on its deck, and judging by the black smoke, it’s probably racing away to the east at full power.”

  The plane’s captain, experienced in sea patrol missions, needed no further information for all the red lights to go on in his brain. He immediately reported the findings to headquarters. The captain was informed that the battleship USS Iowa was in the area and had already been ordered to intercept the suspicious trawler. Within minutes, the HMS Chester, an old British Royal Navy frigate, which was even nearer to the trawler, was located.

  The captain of the maritime patrol aircraft established contact with the British frigate and updated its communications officer with the details of the trawler, its speed, location and course. Then the Orion climbed back to high altitude, as its crew observed the HMS Chester closing the distance to the trawler.

  The captain of the HMS Chester watched the trawler through heavy naval binoculars. Judging from its empty decks, the ship seemed deserted, but the great quantity of black smoke pouring from its smokestack confirmed the earlier report that he had received, that the vessel was racing at full power, trying to escape eastwards to the Soviet Union. The captain looked at the name of the ship in large letters on its bow and called out into the microphone over the radio, which was set to the international emergency frequency.

  “Zlatoya Klatzo, Zlatoya Klatzo, this is Her Majesty’s Ship Chester calling. You are requested to stop for a routine check. Silence your engines; all your crew should come up to the upper deck. Please confirm.”

  The captain repeated his call several times, but there was no response from the trawler, even when they were cruising parallel to one another at a distance of only 100 meters. The royal frigate’s captain pressed the alarm button and the noise of deafening whistles filled the air throughout the ship. Within seconds, scores of the ship’s crew were running in every direction to man the heavy gun and machine gun positions, to the takeover team boats, to the fire extinguishing stations and so forth, each to his position and function.

  The captain again spoke into the public address microphone.

  “Attention, your Captain is speaking. We have a situation here with a vessel that isn’t responding on the emergency frequency and is attempting to evade us. Gun crew number two, fire one shell one hundred meters ahead of the trawler’s bow...Fire!”

  A loud blast shook the frigate, after which the shell exploded just a few meters ahead of the trawler’s bow; but it continued on its way, totally disregarding the shelling in its path.

  The Chester’s captain was again heard on the ship’s PA system.

  “Takeover Team One and Takeover Team Two, lower boats and prepare to board the trawler. I must remind you that our entire Navy is on supreme alert. Be vigilant and prepare for any eventuality. You are permitted to open fire only if you are fired upon. We will close distance to the trawler and cover you. Go ahead and good luck!”

  Two fast rubber assault dinghies, each manned by eight highly skilled and well-equipped Royal Marines, approached the trawler from both sides. The marines attached their boats to the ship’s metal body where the height of the deck was lowest, and skillfully threw rope ladders to the decks with anchor-like hooks that caught on the bridge. Within seconds, the first of them climbed, like big cats, over to the deck of the trawler. The captain watched them through his binoculars.

  Captain Yashin, commander of nuclear submarine K-219, had been observing the trawler through his periscope for quite some time. When he noticed the British frigate approaching the trawler, he called his crew to their battle positions. The pneumatic launch tubes had already been loaded with torpedoes. The submarine crew was awaiting orders.

  “Captain”, the duty seaman called out beside him, “We are detecting another ship approaching from the south. It’s a very large ship, probably a battleship.”

  Captain Yashin turned his periscope to the south and indeed, the great silhouette of an American battleship was there in all its intimidating glory. He could read its name on its side: BB-61. That is the USS Iowa, the Captain thought, and it’s starting to get quite crowded and unpleasant around here. We need to complete our mission and head home. He picked up the microphone.

  “Launch Tube One and Launch Tube Two, target ahead, direction one nine five, range two four zero zero. Fire!”

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p; The muffled sound of released pressurized air was heard in the submarine. Through his periscope, Captain Yashin tracked the two torpedoes cutting through the water at a very high speed, leaving two thin white wakes behind them. He decided not to wait until the torpedoes had hit the target, as he figured that he would also hear the explosions underwater. Now we’ve already been detected, he thought, and they’ll come after us, and very soon we’ll have depth charges exploding around us. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. He took up the microphone again.

  “Dive, dive, dive. Depth two hundred forty, direction zero nine five, full power ahead.”

  The telephone rang on the HMS Chester’s command bridge and the Captain quickly picked it up. A panicky voice was heard on the line.

  “Sir, this is the observer. I see a torpedo in the water, racing toward us from east to west. Wait, I see another one. I think they’re going to hit the trawler, but I’m not sure. 600 meters, 400… 150.”

  A powerful explosion was heard and then another, and a huge fireball engulfed the trawler’s hull. A shockwave shook the HMS Chester with great force. The Chester’s Captain held tightly on to the railing and watched, mesmerized, as the trawler, whose bow seemed to rise skyward, fell back and hit the water with great force. The ship then tilted downwards, bow first, and began sinking rapidly until it was vertical. Within two minutes, only the tip of its stern was visible above water. The ship’s propellers, which continued spinning, were now pointed skyward. It was a frightening, chilling sight, yet extraordinarily captivating and powerful. A minute later, the trawler had completely disappeared and a deathly silence returned to the sea.

  The HMS Chester’s Captain was an old seaman, a veteran of the Second World War. He quickly recovered, and his clear authoritative voice was heard again over the PA system.

  “HMS Chester crew, this is the Captain speaking. Lower boats and search for survivors. Damage control team, check for damage and report immediately. The enemy submarine which sank the trawler will be taken care of by our big sister the USS Iowa. Chester crew, we have probably lost some brave men. God save the souls of our heroic brothers.”

  Two small dinghies searched again and again through the oily waters around the place where the trawler had gone down, between the broken pieces of timber and debris floating in the water. In the distance, the muffled sounds of explosions were heard. These were the depth charges that the USS Iowa was dropping with the intention of hitting the unknown submarine, or at least of causing it enough damage to force it to the surface.

  The water was almost frozen and it was clear to everyone that even if some survivors from among the Royal Marines and the trawler’s crew had made it out alive, they would not survive in the water for more than a few minutes.

  “There’s a head!” a voice was heard on one of the two rescue boats, which raced toward it. An athletically-built man was holding on to a piece of lumber floating in the water.

  “This one isn’t one of ours, and he’s as strong as a horse”, said one of the rescuers, while pulling the survivor out of the water and into the boat with the help of two of his mates. The survivor seemed to be in shock. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering, making a knocking sound. They laid him down in the center of the boat and covered him with an aluminum thermal blanket to preserve what little remained of his body heat. Despite his condition, he was fully conscious and probably aware of his surroundings.

  Within a short time the survivor, supported by two seamen, was brought up to the British frigate and led to the officers’ mess. His clothes were removed and he was dressed in a warm, dry uniform. An electric heater was brought and the survivor was served hot tea.

  “Spassiba”, [thank you, in Russian], he whispered.

  The frigate’s Captain entered the mess hall and looked down at the survivor. He reckoned that despite his condition, the man was bearing up surprisingly well.

  “Do you speak English?” the Captain asked him.

  “Nyet, ya gabrit Prusky”, he answered in Russian, saying that he spoke only Russian.

  The phone on the wall rang and one of the seamen answered. He listened and passed the handset to the Captain.

  “It’s for you, Captain.”

  The Captain took the handset.

  “This is the Captain.”

  “This is Captain Mitchell, of the USS Iowa. Please accept my condolences. I understand that you’ve lost some of your men.”

  “Yes, we have. It seems that all sixteen of our Marines are lost at sea. Thank you for your condolences. Now go on, please.”

  “We chased after the enemy submarine and dropped several depth charges, but is appears that the enemy wasn’t hit and managed to escape to the east. If you have any Russian survivors, we can help. We have an intelligence officer who speaks Russian here on board.”

  “We have one survivor and he is now…” “You say Russian?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “What’s his condition? Can he be questioned?”

  “I believe so. He looks pretty tough to me. He was given a change of clothes and some hot tea and he is now recovering. I’m not at all sure that he’s just a fisherman.”

  “OK. Under these circumstances, we don’t abide by British etiquette. I promise you that he will very quickly forget he’s Mister Tough Guy.”

  “I’ll sail closer to you, and we’ll transfer this fisherman to you in an

  Omega chair across a wire.”

  “Hold it, Captain. The Intelligence Officer is right here next to me, and he has two requests. First, tie him to the Omega chair with his hands behind his back so he doesn’t try to jump and kill himself. Second, put his original clothes in a plastic bag and send them to us as well.”

  “No problem, Captain. We’ll do all that, and thanks for your help with the submarine.”

  “Don’t mention it. Too bad we didn’t hit it. Again, I’m sorry for your loss. We’re now approaching your starboard side.”

  Within minutes, the huge USS Iowa was approaching the British frigate, coming closer and closer. A rope was shot into the water from the Iowa’s deck and was collected on the HMS Chester’s deck and, fifteen minutes later, a steel-threaded wire was suspended between the two ships.

  The Russian survivor was lashed tightly to a chair hanging from an overhead pulley on the cable. Hundreds of seamen stood on the decks of the two ships and watched the Russian survivor being pulled across to the Iowa over the wire.

  The Intelligence investigator looked through the Russian’s original clothes, and having finished inspecting them, walked to the next room and sat facing the Russian, who was guarded by an armed seaman. He first inspected him visually for quite some time. It was hard not to be impressed by the calm bearing, and strangely enough, even by the confidence displayed by the Russian, considering the circumstances in which he now found himself. The Intelligence officer addressed him in his mother tongue.

  “What is your name?” “Vassily.”

  “Vassily what?” “Vassily.”

  The interrogator could swear that he noticed a hint of a grin at the corner of the mouth of this Russian, who seemed a hard nut to crack.

  “What was your job on the ship? I can see you’re not a boy.” “Chief Engineer.”

  “Show me your hands.”

  The Russian extended his two palms for his interrogator to see.

  “And what have you been doing in the past twenty-four hours?”

  “We were fishing.”

  “Tell me about those fish that you caught in these frozen waters. What did you fish? Sardines? Whales? Frozen fillet?”

  “I don’t know. I am only a Chief Engineer.”

  “Interesting”, the interrogator replied in disdain. “I’m looking at the pictures taken by our maritime patrol airplane, which you must have seen passing above you. It’s strange; there are no fishing nets on t
he deck. Maybe you were fishing with those long antennas that covered your entire ship? I hear about fisherman that use explosives for fishing, even though it’s illegal, but fishing with a nuclear bomb? Haven’t you gotten it mixed up? Do you agree with me that maybe you went overboard just a little bit?”

  The Russian survivor kept quiet and displayed no emotion.

  “Now tell me, what’s this big thing covered with a tarp in the middle of the ship? Maybe that’s where you stored all your fishing nets? No? To me it looks rather like a tank or a self-propelled gun. Maybe it caused your ship to sink to the bottom of the ocean like a stone after you were hit by the torpedo – the tank or the gun rolled forward and its weight caused the ship to stand on its nose and to plunge to the bottom. There’s another thing I want to ask you, just out of curiosity. Tell me, do all fishermen in Russia have Soviet Navy storm coats?”

  The interrogator looked at the Russian’s face and thought he noticed some signs of uneasiness, but he was not sure of it, and he decided to increase his subtle pressure on the Russian.

  “Listen up. This was only the foreplay, and our foreplay ends now. I know you are an officer in the Red Army. As one officer to another, I will share with you some important information. You were sunk by two torpedoes, and these torpedoes were fired by your own nuclear submarine K-219. Now, isn’t this obvious to you? Would it make sense for us to sink you before we found out what you have on board and while we had sixteen British Marines on your deck? Why do I have a strange feeling that you know this submarine, and I have a hunch that you also know its Captain personally? You left from the same port, right? When we caught you, you were trying to run towards Murmansk. Now tell me, are you stupid? Don’t you realize that this submarine was ordered by your own commanding officers to sink you, in order to silence you forever?”