Fatal Thunder

11 ALARM RAISED

Petrov kept gazing out the window as the SUV slowly arced off of National Highway 9. The traffic had been unexpectedly heavy since early morning and their progress had been agonizingly slow; they were already two hours late. Now the traffic was getting even more congested and the frustrated driver decided to take an alternate route to the consulate. Stiff and achy, the Russian shifted his body gently, trying to find a more comfortable position. His bruised left side was not pleased with being strapped in a car for twelve hours and it was protesting. As he leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes caught sight of a huge medieval-looking building. It seemed out of place; its size and ancient European architecture was in stark contrast to the modern buildings that surrounded it.

“That’s Amrutha Castle,” Samant volunteered quietly. “It’s a hotel, and a reasonable one at that. The regular rooms are a little on the small side, but that shouldn’t bother an old submariner like you.” A thin fatigued smile was on his face.

“Well, it certainly looks impressive,” said Petrov. A sudden yawn interrupted his next words. Yielding to it, he stretched himself carefully before asking, “Did you have a good nap?”

Samant shook his head, extending his back as much as he could with his seat belt on. “Not really. I dozed in and out over the last six hours or so. This isn’t the most comfortable of vehicles to sleep in, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the chaos our visit will cause. Dhankhar must surely know who broke into the torpedo shop by now. He’ll be livid, of course, but he will also be afraid. That makes him even more dangerous.”

“We took the best shot with what we had, Girish,” Petrov replied firmly. “And it was as good as we could have hoped for. I think you’re just impatient at having to wait so long to see the results of our shot. Torpedoes are a lot quicker at telling you if they hit or missed their target.”

Samant grinned. “I suppose you are right. But disengaging as we did also means we are out of contact with our target, and that concerns me.”

“Gentlemen, pardon the interruption,” interjected McFadden, “but we are almost there. The consulate is just on the other side of Hussain Sagar Lake, and we should arrive in about ten minutes.”

Without thinking, Petrov turned his head a little too quickly, and a jolt of pain shot up his left side. “That’s good to hear, Mr. McFadden,” he gasped. “I think I’ve had just about enough of this.”

McFadden nodded. “Understood, sir. We’ll have a doctor take a look at your injuries as soon as we can. The Consul General, Mr. Erik Olson, would like to meet with you first and fill you in on the president’s intentions.”

“Has Dr. Patterson said anything more about the photos we sent her?” asked Samant.

“No, Captain. The last message I received from her said they had successfully downloaded all the files. The pictures were clear, the content excellent, and that they’d be working all night putting together the case to present to the Indian government. That was…” McFadden glanced at his smartphone, noting the time of Patterson’s e-mail. “…six o’clock our time this morning.”

“That’s eight hours ago!” grumbled Samant. “I would certainly hope more has been done since then!”

“I’m confident of that, sir, but Dr. Patterson gave explicit orders that there would be no further discussions on this issue until you and Captain Petrov were safely within the consulate. That’s why we are meeting with the consul general as soon as we arrive.”

Samant grunted his understanding and leaned back into his seat. Edgy with impatience, he struggled to keep his mind occupied for the last few minutes and looked out onto the man-made lake. As soon as he did, he found himself staring directly at the eighteen-meter sculpture of Gautama Buddha atop a small island just offshore. The serene face of the “enlightened one” had a calming effect on Samant, and although he was not particularly religious, he took it as a good omen. Silently, he offered up a short prayer for a favorable outcome to the “whole bloody mess.”

The SUV looped around the north side of the lake and then veered off the highway onto a busy side street. A half mile later the driver took an abrupt hard left onto a quieter avenue. Petrov saw McFadden look behind him to the security guard. The man was watching out the back window; a thumbs-up gesture signaled the all-clear. After another quick turn to the right, McFadden checked again and then spoke into his radio. Up ahead, Petrov saw a large gate begin to open. Barely slowing to check for oncoming traffic, the driver burst across the street and into the covered security checkpoint. As the vehicle screeched to a stop, the large reinforced gate closed behind them.

“Welcome to the U.S. Consulate General in Hyderabad, gentlemen,” said McFadden as he showed the Marine guard his identification. After a quick inspection of the vehicle, the inner gate was opened and the SUV drove up to the main entrance of Paigah Palace. Petrov took in the striking view as they swung around the driveway. The castle was a large two-story building with an extravagant portico supported by three tall semicircular arches. The architecture was definitely European; he’d seen buildings with similar facades in St. Petersburg.

As soon as the SUV came to a stop, Petrov unbuckled himself and swung open the door. Cautiously ducking the doorframe, he slowly extracted himself from the abusive vehicle, and just as carefully began walking over to Samant and McFadden. It hurt to walk, but it was a good hurt. His body delighted in finally being able to stretch out fully. A small group of people, led by a rather hefty man, was exiting the palace and quickly approached them.

“Captain Samant, Captain Petrov, welcome to the United States Consulate in Hyderabad. I’m Erik Olson, Consul General.” The large man offered each of them his hand in turn, then motioned to the front door. “This way, please.”

Filing into the building, they walked down an ornate grand hallway toward the main conference room. Samant was impressed by the decor, but he couldn’t miss the stacks of sealed boxes and loose packing materials. Passing by several very busy offices, he found it curious that he didn’t see a single Indian employee. He knew diplomatic missions usually hired locals to help with the administrative, cooking, and cleaning duties. As they were ushered into the conference room, Olson pointed toward a table with some refreshments.

“Please, help yourself to tea, coffee, or water. I hope sandwiches and salad are acceptable. I’m afraid our food service is a bit limited this week.”

Petrov and Samant both eagerly grabbed something to eat. They’d stopped a couple of times during the trip to Hyderabad, but that was only for fuel and other absolutely necessary human functions. Snacks were, of course, available, but both wanted a more substantial meal.

Samant loaded up a full plate and picked up a cup of tea. Carefully carrying his lunch to the conference table, looking toward the consul general, he asked, “Mr. Olson, I couldn’t help but notice all the boxes in the hallway and offices. Are you moving?”

“Yes, Captain. You may not be aware, but the United States has only leased Paigah Palace while a new consulate compound was constructed in Gachibowli — fifteen kilometers to the west as the crow flies. We begin moving in later this week. Needless to say, it has been utter chaos here. But the secure video teleconference system is still hooked up and we’ll be able to link you in when Secretary Lloyd briefs President Handa on the information you’ve obtained.”

“And when will that be?” asked Petrov as he sat down with his meal.

“We really don’t know, Captain,” Olson replied sheepishly. “You see, the ambassador is having a difficult time reaching either President Handa or Foreign Secretary Jadeja.”

Both Samant and Petrov stopped eating and looked at Olson with confusion and concern. Neither could understand why it would be so difficult to reach the Indian president or his foreign minister.

Seeing their stunned expressions, Olson quickly explained, “They are both taking some personal time to celebrate the Festival of Ram Navami tomorrow with their families, and are currently out of the capital. The Indian government is largely shut down for the next few days.”

Samant let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his face with both hands. How could he have zoned out so completely as to overlook such an important Hindu holiday? No wonder he hadn’t seen any of his countrymen in the consulate. They had all been let go early to be with their families. In the back of his mind, he could hear his mother lecturing him… again.

“I don’t understand,” said Petrov, still perplexed.

“Ram Navami is the culmination of a nine-day period called Navratri,” Samant injected. “It commemorates the birth of Lord Rama, one of the most revered deities in Hinduism. Since this day also marks Rama’s marriage to his wife Sita, the holiday period places great emphasis on the family.”

“And as President Handa and Foreign Secretary Jadeja are conservative Hindus, they take religious festivals such as this very seriously,” Olson said. “It’s unlikely we’ll have the briefing today, and unfortunately, tomorrow may not be much better. The ambassador is over at the Ministry of External Affairs as we speak pushing for an audience, but one cannot drag a head of state to a meeting if he doesn’t want to come.” Olson shrugged his shoulders.

Petrov was awestruck, Samant quietly resigned. They’d risked so much to get the information to the Americans, and now the Indian president was going to put off even listening to the evidence because of a holiday! It’s not that Petrov had anything against religious or national holidays — he loved the Christmas season — but given that the very future of India was at stake, religious holiday or not, an elected leader needed to put the well-being of the nation ahead of his own personal desires. Fueled by fatigue, his anger slowly bubbled to the surface. Dropping into his old ways, Petrov spoke with the voice of an irritated, seasoned navy captain.

“Then Mr. Olson, I strongly recommend that more direct language be used to convey the urgency of the situation. I realize that diplomatic conversation tends to be more polite, but every hour we delay gives our adversaries time to finish their preparations. And God help us if Chakra sails before we can stop them.”

The intensity in Petrov’s eyes reinforced the sternness of his voice. Olson’s surprised expression showed that he had gotten the message loud and clear. “Yes, Captain, I’ll forward your recommendation immediately, emphasizing the time factor.”

“Good. When can we speak to Dr. Patterson?”

“Once we knew there wouldn’t be a meeting with President Handa today, she went home to sleep. Her e-mail said she’d be back in the office by about six thirty A.M. Washington time; that’s still a couple of hours from now,” Olson responded.

Petrov nodded with frustration. The time zones were an unfortunate fact of life. There was nothing that they could do right now, but the thought of just sitting around waiting, wasting time, was maddening.

“In the meantime, we have prepared rooms for you. I’m sure you could use some rest. I don’t know about you, but I find it impossible to sleep soundly in a car,” said Olson, motioning to one of his staff.

The young woman that came forward was petite in size, but athletic in appearance. Her dark eyes, fair complexion, and fiery-red hair were an unusual but attractive combination, at least as far as Samant was concerned. “This is my administrative assistant, Ms. Shereen Massoud, she’ll show you to your rooms and will answer any questions you may have about the consulate’s facilities. I’ll be sure to let you know when Dr. Patterson is available.”

Olson then excused himself; he said he needed to pass Petrov’s recommendation up his chain of command. Massoud politely greeted the guests, then sat down as they finished eating. Petrov brooded silently as he mindlessly chewed on his sandwich, still struggling with the disappointing news. Samant was gloomy, but he wasn’t as affected as his Russian friend. He’d seen important tasks move slowly before. Recognizing that they were being rude, Samant politely exchanged small talk with the young woman while he finished his meal.

“How long have you been stationed in India?” he asked.

“A little over two years,” Massoud replied. “It’s been a great tour, and I’ve learned a lot, but I am looking forward to getting back home.”

“Homesick, are we?”

“Sort of, sir.” Massoud looked a little uncomfortable. “Sure, I miss my family, but, honestly, I’m not a big fan of the spicy food. And it’s hard to find a good hamburger in a country where the cow is considered sacred. However, your country has a killer lemonade.”

“Ah, so you like Panaka?” Samant chuckled as he referred to the lemon-based drink made with jaggery and pepper.

“Hell, yeah!” exclaimed Massoud. Immediately regretting her outburst, she rushed her hand to her mouth. Blushing, she apologized, “Excuse me, I mean, yes, sir.”

Samant laughed out loud, and even Petrov had to smile over the young lady’s enthusiastic response. With their meal finished, Massoud showed the two men their rooms. Samant was duly impressed with the suite; it was almost as big as his apartment in Vizag. While inspecting the bathroom he spied the shower — the very thought of hot water washing over him was seductive. He sat on the bed and slowly removed his shoes; he then lay down and stretched his weary body out fully on the mattress. I’ll just rest here for a minute, Samant thought. He didn’t make it to the shower.

Frustration, exasperation, vexation… Patterson mentally ran down the list of synonyms for her feelings as she paced impatiently around the conference table. She just couldn’t comprehend how a national leader could be so blasé about something so serious. Did he just not get it? Lloyd was sympathetic, but his explanation earlier that morning did nothing to make her feel any better.

“President Handa is making a compromise, Joanna,” argued Lloyd. “We’ll brief him today, but it will be after sunset, his time, so he can complete most of his religious obligations. The fact that he’s agreed to listen to us at all today is a major concession.”

“Potentially a very costly one, Mr. Secretary. I’m quite certain Admiral Dhankhar has made very good use of the thirty hours this delay has cost us!”

Ten minutes before noon the secure VTC links between the three locations were synchronized and the audio and video channels checked. Patterson could see Olson, Samant, and Petrov on the left-hand screen. On the right-hand screen were the deputy chief of mission and the naval attaché. Ambassador Robert Eldridge had gone to greet President Handa at the embassy’s main entrance. The ambassador had warned Secretary Lloyd that the Indian president was irritated with the “ill-timed summons,” and that only the promised presence of President Myles at the meeting had convinced the Indian to cut short his holiday.

The Indians were still grateful to the Americans for clearing them as the source of the Kashmir explosion. The ambassador had used that to his advantage to convince the Indian leadership that they really needed to come to the U.S. embassy and listen to what those “same Americans” had to say. The kindest Indian reaction had been “This better be important.” Lloyd reassured Eldridge that the information the U.S. government was going to provide would be worth the diplomatic capital expended.

Patterson looked again at her notes. She knew the content by heart, but the flow of the briefing had been modified and she wanted to make sure she stayed on script. Myles had insisted that she present the information to the Indian president. A scientist, not a diplomat, had to be the messenger. The president also wanted to keep Petrov and Samant offscreen at first. Their presence had “shock value” for President Myles, and he wanted to use that shock to drive home their difficult message to Handa. It was critical that they apply the blow at the right time; thus, Samant and Petrov would not be brought on until after the evidence had been presented.

With five minutes to go, President Myles walked into the situation room and greeted his staff. He then dismissed everyone not participating in the VTC. Only four people would be in view during the virtual meeting. Myles didn’t want to overwhelm the Indian contingent by sheer force of numbers. A couple of minutes later, the naval attaché gestured to the screen and said, “Stand by.”

Myles signaled for everyone to stand. The secretaries of defense and state flanked the president, while Joanna stood offset behind Lloyd.

“Attention on deck!” sang out the navy captain.

Joanna watched as Eldridge appeared on the screen, followed by four Indians. Handa was tall for an Indian, and easily stood out from the rest of his countrymen. His face was weathered, with deep furrows on his forehead, and while he had most of his hair, it was snowy white and cropped short. The tightly clipped white goatee complemented his sharp facial features, giving him an air of authority. He carefully positioned himself in the center of the table and gave the traditional Indian greeting of “Namaste” with a slight bow. Joanna noticed the restrained frown and pursed lips. The man was not happy.

Myles reciprocated by putting the palms of his hands together, bowing, and repeating the word “Namaste.” Then, speaking carefully, he greeted the Indian head of state.

“President Handa, I very much appreciate your presence here this evening, and I regret having to take you away from your family during this special holiday. I know it is a considerable sacrifice on your part, but I would not insist on this video conference if the matter were not of the utmost urgency and importance.”

The Indian took a deep breath, pausing to keep his emotions in check. “President Myles, I must admit that I’m not in a particularly pleasant mood. The observance of the Festival of Ram Navami challenges us to focus our attention on our family — being together, fasting and praying, is vital to our future happiness and prosperity. And to break with those sacred activities prematurely is… most annoying.

“Ambassador Eldridge has been steadfast is his urgings that I come to the U.S. embassy to hear your concerns about this so-called nuclear crisis. I’m not accustomed to being summoned by a foreign government in my own country, nor do I appreciate being instructed as to whom can accompany me.”

Joanna fought hard not to wince; the Indian president had good reason to be upset. Both his deeply held religious beliefs and his pride had been badly bruised. She wondered just what Eldridge had said to the elder statesman.

“Mr. President, I completely understand your irritation, and it is I, not Ambassador Eldridge, you need to direct your anger toward. He was just following the strict orders I gave him. And it is I who owes you a most sincere apology for my actions. As for the ‘summons,’ it was unavoidable. The information we are prepared to give you is highly classified, and our nations’ secure communications systems are not compatible. In time we could have worked this out, but we do not have the luxury of time.

“Furthermore, as this information implicates that some senior Indian military officers are behind the conspiracy, I could only disclose it to the civilian leadership of the Republic of India.”

Myles paused briefly to let his last statement sink in. “President Handa, we Americans have a reputation, deservedly, for being excessively blunt. But I would much rather risk a diplomatic faux pas than allow significant pain and suffering to occur to a nation that I consider to be a friend.”

Handa nodded slightly, accepting Myles’s explanation for the highly inconvenient meeting. Pointing to the men with him, Handa made a quick introduction. “You know, of course, my Prime Minister, Shankar Pathak, and my Foreign Secretary, Gopan Jadeja.” Both men bowed their greetings.

“To the left of Foreign Secretary Jadeja is Mr. Vishnu Kumar, the Director of the Central Bureau of Investigation, the highest law enforcement agency in India. Given the vague reference to a potential ‘military conspiracy’ in Ambassador Eldridge’s messages, I thought it wise to include Mr. Kumar in the discussion. Now, please, tell us about this information that concerns you so deeply.”

Touché, Mr. President, thought Patterson, as she let out a sigh of relief. The thin smile on Handa’s face showed his tenseness had eased some. Myles, also smiling, quickly introduced Lloyd, Geisler, and Patterson, and then motioned for everyone to be seated. Joanna walked up to the podium, brought up her title slide, and formally introduced herself. She wasted no time in getting to the point.

“President Handa, it is typical in U.S. policy briefings to provide ‘the bottom line up front,’ followed by the supporting evidence. Therefore, I must ask for you and your compatriots’ indulgence. Our message is not a pleasant one.”

She hit the button to pull up the BLUF slide and spoke quickly; the fuse was now lit.

“We have multiple collaborating sources that indicate elements of the Indian Navy are planning to attack five of China’s largest ports with nuclear weapons similar to the one that exploded in Kashmir last month. The weapons are to be delivered by torpedoes launched from the Project 971U submarine, INS Chakra. We know the mastermind behind this planned attack is Vice Admiral Badu Singh Dhankhar, although it is likely other flag officers…”

That was as far as she got before the Indian officials at the U.S. embassy exploded in a cacophony of noise. They could not believe what they had just read and heard. It was impossible for Joanna to go on over the indignant shouting. What little the Americans could pick out told them that the Indians not only refused to accept the idea, they were insulted at the very thought. Myles motioned for Joanna to stop; understandably, President Handa and the others were upset and needed to blow off some steam before she could go on.

In Hyderabad, Samant covered his eyes and groaned as he watched the turmoil unfold. The reaction was pretty much what he expected, but that didn’t make it any easier. He prayed that Handa and the others wouldn’t slam their minds shut to the evidence.

Petrov saw his friend’s pained reaction and spoke quietly. “I’ve known Joanna Patterson for over ten years now, and she can be very… direct. But, I’m alive today because of that directness. She knows what she’s doing, Girish.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Aleks,” Samant whispered. “I just hope President Handa doesn’t have a heart attack!”

The Indian president finally managed to rein in his subordinates and turned, seething, to the camera. “President Myles, this is an outrage! Admiral Dhankhar is a noble officer and is highly respected by my office and his colleagues! To levy such an accusation is unmitigated slander…”

Myles rose to his feet. He raised his voice. “Mr. President! Please let Dr. Patterson present the considerable evidence that supports it. You’ll see there is no possible alternative!”

Handa closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He knew the American president was not the kind of man to shout at meetings. Struggling to control his anger, he slowly sat back down and said carefully, “Very well, proceed.”

“Dr. Patterson, please continue,” commanded Myles.

Joanna pulled up the next slide with a photo of a barge surfaced in ice-laden waters and started to describe the source of the nuclear weapons. She explained how she was part of a submarine mission that discovered the barge off the Russian island of Novaya Zemlya in June 2005, and of the subsequent recovery of two nuclear warheads for Soviet SS-21 intermediate-range ballistic missiles. It was the analysis of the nuclear material from these warheads that allowed the United States to claim with high confidence that the Kashmir explosion could not have come from an Indian weapon.

She then told them of their meeting with the Russian ambassador, where the United States admitted their less-than-legal activities and asked for their help in recovering the weapons. The Russians did so promptly, but reported that another six weapons had already been removed from the barge, and recently. The Russians also said that a disgraced admiral by the name of Kirichenko was undoubtedly the individual who knew about the barge’s location and likely recovered the weapons and had offered them on the black arms market. Kirichenko’s whereabouts had been unknown for years.

Her next slide showed a diagram highlighting the significant changes to Chakra’s refit. She emphasized the abruptly shortened time period and the change in focus that concentrated the work on sonar, fire control, and torpedo upgrades. The vast majority of the engineering-related repair items were suddenly deferred, repairs that India had already purchased expensive parts for. None of these changes made any sense; all had been approved by Dhankhar’s staff, and all occurred after the Kashmir explosion. Next came slide after slide of close-up, detailed photos taken on board Chakra and in the base workshops. She didn’t bother to point out the obvious that the photos came from secure areas within the naval shipyard at Visakhapatnam.

Petrov and Samant watched the Indians’ reactions closely. All were angry, but as the photographs of Chakra appeared, different officials showed confusion, disbelief, and surprise.

Patterson spent some time describing the modifications to the fire control, torpedo tubes, and torpedoes. “All this work was to be performed by a single Russian national, a Mr. Evgeni Orlav, who worked alone in an isolated workshop. And based on rumors from numerous Russian and Indian shipyard workers and supervisors, he reported directly, and only, to Admiral Dhankhar.

“The Russians later volunteered information that Orlav was a retired naval engineering officer who specialized in the care and maintenance of ballistic missile reentry vehicles — to include the ‘physics package.’ With the loss of one warhead to the LeT terrorists, who accidentally detonated it, the five remaining warheads were removed from their reentry vehicle casing and reassembled into five UGST-M torpedoes, two of which were visibly identified at the shop where Orlav did the majority of his work.” There were muted exclamations at the photographs of the torpedo shop interior and the torpedoes, as well as the ominous shape on the workbench.

One of her last slides showed the picture of the crumpled piece of paper with the list of Chinese ports. A total of ten were on that paper; all were major ports that supported China’s export economy, her petroleum infrastructure, and/or her financial markets. An accompanying table showed the historical throughput capacity of each of the ports in terms of standardized containers and barrels of oil. The numbers were staggering.

The last slide was summary recap. The targets were major Chinese ports; the weapons were rogue Russian nuclear weapons, placed in torpedoes by a Russian technician, and delivered by INS Chakra. The unexplainable changes in Chakra’s schedule refit were made immediately after the Kashmir explosion, and everything associated with the changes came from Vice Admiral Dhankhar’s office.

Joanna theorized that Dhankhar might have been motivated by the stagnation of the Indian offensive and the ongoing peace negotiations. She cited some of the admiral’s own public statements expressing his concern about the direct military aid Pakistan was receiving from China. She closed by warning that should Dhankhar successfully destroy several major Chinese ports, the retribution against India would be catastrophic. The plot was no longer a secret. Too many people in Russia and the United States now knew about it. It would be unwise to think that China wouldn’t eventually learn the truth.

Joanna turned off the screen feed and sat down. The situation room was absolutely silent. The Indians looked completely amazed. No one spoke for at least a minute. Finally, Myles rose. “There you have it, Mr. President. You’re now in possession of the same information that we’ve been working with. I trust you now understand why we had to have this meeting.”

Handa remained silent, running his right hand over his goatee. He was struggling with the revelation presented by Patterson. Myles then saw the director of the Central Bureau of Investigation lean over and whisper to the Indian president. The older man nodded, and Kumar faced the camera.

“President Myles, what you’ve shared with us is very disturbing. But I must ask, how did you get many of those photos? If I understand Dr. Patterson correctly, they could only have been taken within our shipyard at Visakhapatnam.”

“You’re correct, Mr. Kumar. They were provided to us by a confidential source.”

Kumar’s face visibly tightened; his voice became hard. “I see. So what you’re saying is that you have a spy in our shipyard!”

“No, sir,” Myles countered firmly. “The photos were provided by individuals who had already reached the same conclusions and sought outside help, not to hurt India, but to save her!”

“Very commendable, if true!” hissed Kumar.

Handa raised his hand, silencing the director. “President Myles, I accept that you believe this information to be factual, and that you have shared it out of a genuine concern for the well-being of India. And for that I thank you, and I also forgive you for demanding that we meet this evening.”

“But?” asked Myles.

“The information you’ve provided does seem to implicate Vice Admiral Dhankhar, but it is totally at odds with my personal experiences with the man. Yes, he’s been a critic of our peace negotiations with Pakistan, but he is a loyal and faithful officer who has followed orders in the past. He has done nothing that would cause me to distrust him.”

“I see. So you believe this information was manufactured? To possibly discredit Admiral Dhankhar?”

“Since I do not know who supplied you this information, I cannot rule out the possibility that it is a smear campaign to ruin Dhankhar’s excellent reputation,” Handa protested. “He has served me and my predecessors well, Mr. President.”

“What do I have to do to get you to believe us?”

Handa hesitated, considering Myles’s question. Kumar leaned over again and whispered to his president. Facing the camera, Handa said, “We’d need to have direct access to your sources.”

Joanna suppressed a smirk; President Myles had nailed it perfectly, and was ready to reel them in.

Without flinching, Myles exclaimed, “Done! Milt, please bring up the consulate in Hyderabad.”

The VTC screen suddenly cut in half with Petrov and Samant now visible on the left-hand side. Myles launched immediately into the introduction. “President Handa, may I present Captain First Rank Aleksey Igorevich Petrov, Russian Navy, retired, and now chief technical advisor to the Indian Navy on INS Chakra’s refit. And I believe you are already acquainted with Captain Girish Samant, the previous commanding officer of INS Chakra.”

The four Indians sat stunned; a single feather could have knocked all of them over. Upon seeing Samant, Handa began trembling, and his voice was unsteady, quavering; his tone sounded more like a plea than a question. “Cap… Captain Samant, is what the Americans have told us true?”

Samant wavered momentarily. He regretted the pain he was about to cause his nation’s leader, but the Indian captain had already made his decision. There was nothing left to do but carry on. “Yes, Mr. President, everything that Dr. Patterson has said is correct. It was Captain Petrov and I that discovered Dhankhar’s dark secret. Dr. Patterson helped to provide the missing pieces that enabled us to collectively put the entire puzzle together.”

Handa slumped back into his chair, his hands cradling his head. The prime minister and foreign secretary were equally dumbfounded and remained silent. Director Kumar recovered first and asked the only obvious question.

“Captain Samant, are you confident of your findings? Is there no other credible alternative explanation?”

Petrov looked at Samant, the Indian nodded his approval. “Mr. Director,” began Petrov, “I have considerable experience with Project 971 submarines. I was a first officer on one of our boats and I have detailed technical knowledge of the Omnibus combat system. There is only one reason for a panel in that position on the console: to pass firing data and unlocking codes to a nuclear-armed weapon.

“Chakra wasn’t equipped with those panels when my country leased her to you. But the refit plan I had to execute required running new data communication wiring from the console to the torpedo tube junction boxes. Orlav was to install and test the panels, and he worked directly for Vice Admiral Dhankhar.”

“Director Kumar,” interrupted Samant. “Both Captain Petrov and I looked into every other possible weapon, both Russian and Indian. The only new weapon we’re ready to field is this new Russian torpedo, and even if there were a new Indian weapon, which there isn’t right now, it would be incompatible with the Russian combat system. I’m sorry, but we were unable to find a credible alternative explanation.

“We went to the Americans because we needed an informed outsider to confirm or deny our theory. I couldn’t report our suspicions up the navy chain of command, or indeed the Defense Ministry, as we had no idea how widespread this conspiracy had become. Admiral Dhankhar could not possibly do this on his own — we believed he had to have help from above.”

President Handa lifted his head from his hands; his face looked drained. Myles and everyone else could see that he’d been presented with an unexpected nightmare. Everyone waited as he processed the news and considered the many dangers.

Finally, Handa asked, “Have you told the Chinese? How much do they know?”

“No,” Myles replied quickly. “We have no indication that the Chinese know about this yet, and we haven’t told them a thing. We believed it would be better for all concerned that you resolve the matter internally — if the first thing the Chinese hear is that you stopped a plot and the conspirators were in custody, then the danger would have passed.”

Visibly relieved, Handa replied, “Yes, tensions with China are high enough right now. I agree, and appreciate, the opportunity to settle this matter within India’s borders.” He gave a slight nod toward the camera. “We will act quickly to stop these criminals before they ruin us all.”

Myles added, “Although the weapons were made in Russia, my advisors are confident that if the plot had been carried out, China would still see India as the perpetrator, with a likely retaliation in kind.” Even though Myles’s words were carefully phrased, many in the room visibly shuddered at them — at the idea of Chinese missiles destroying Indian cities.

Speaking softly, the Indian president asked, “President Myles, what do you want me to do?”

“Apprehend Dhankhar, Orlav, and Kirichenko as soon as possible, and open a public investigation. For our part, I’ll have Secretary Lloyd and the State Department work with your people on a statement of U.S. support to be issued after you announce the arrest of Dhankhar and his associates, and that Chakra is still in port and firmly under Indian Navy control.”

The ringing of his cell phone pulled Dhankhar from his book. Irritated at the intrusion, he looked at the caller ID screen. No name was displayed, but he recognized the number. Sighing, he answered, “Admiral Dhankhar.”

“Badu, it’s Ijay Thapar.” Dhankhar heard the familiar voice of the deputy director for the Central Bureau of Investigation, but something wasn’t quite right. The man’s voice seemed to waver.

“Ijay, it’s late. What can I…”

“Badu, President Handa is aware of Vajra,” interrupted Thapar.

Dhankhar froze, dazed. This was his worst nightmare. “How?” he asked.

“The Americans briefed him at their embassy a couple of hours ago. They know everything, Badu.” The voice started to sound panicky.

“Easy, Ijay. Tell me what you know.”

“The American president’s staff told Handa about a sunken barge the weapons came from. The Russian government had been informed and they’ve recovered the barge. The Russians said six weapons were missing and that a man named Kirichenko likely took them.” The name sent shivers up Dhankhar’s spine. He’d never shared Kirichenko’s name with any members of the group, and they hadn’t asked. If they had his name…

But Thapar wasn’t finished. “The Americans know about a technician named Orlav, and that he’s modifying the new Russian torpedoes to carry the devices. Badu, they had detailed photographs from Chakra and the base. And somehow they found the list of potential targets.”

Dhankhar’s hands had started to tremble at the sound of Kirichenko’s and Orlav’s names, but it was the mentioning of the target list that got his heart beating wildly. The Americans had indeed learned a great deal of Operation Vajra. Forcing himself to calm down, the admiral half asked, half asserted, “Ijay, was it Petrov?”

“Yes, Badu. He’s at the U.S. consulate in Hyderabad. But he wasn’t alone.”

“What? Who betrayed us?” Rage now crept into Dhankhar’s voice.

“Girish Samant.”

“No, that’s not possible,” whimpered Dhankhar, crushed.

“I’m afraid so. He backed up Petrov’s testimony. Badu, you were specifically accused by name.”

The admiral didn’t know what to think or say. His intricate plan was falling apart before him. Thapar waited only a moment before continuing. “The council members have been advised. All electronic and hard copy documents concerning Vajra will be erased or shredded and burned. After this call, all special cell phones will be destroyed and the accounts deleted. Financial transaction records will also be erased. There will be no linkage between you and the rest of the assembly.”

Dhankhar grew cold; his colleagues were abandoning him.

“The other members have not been informed of this tragedy, but the execute order has just been sent to preclude them from doing anything untoward and drawing attention,” Thapar explained. As part of the security protocol, none of the assembly members were to contact another once the execute order was issued. There would be no formal communication until the council sent word that it was safe.

“Were there any instructions for me?” asked Dhankhar.

“Yes. Get Chakra to sea immediately. Then you’re to go into hiding. Someplace remote, and tell no one where you are going. The council believes that even though the Americans know, they won’t tell the Chinese out of fear that it would make the situation much worse. The Americans don’t like the idea of significant Chinese casualties, but they abhor the thought of a massive retaliatory strike on India. They will remain silent.”

“I see,” the admiral replied skeptically.

“This was your idea, Badu,” declared Thapar. “You’re the one who volunteered to carry the load if things went awry.”

Anger flashed through Dhankhar. “Don’t presume you can lecture me, Ijay! I know what my duties are. You can tell the council that I’ll carry them out to the fullest.”

“I’m sorry, Badu,” Thapar apologized. “I’ll do what I can to slow down any legal proceedings, but it won’t be a lot of time. Perhaps twenty-four hours at the most.”

“Then I best get to work. Good-bye, Ijay.”

“Good-bye, Badu. May the blessing of Rama go with you.”