Fatal Thunder

13 SORTIE

The outer office was empty, and the door to the inner sanctum was open, although the opening was dark. Just inside the door, Jain hesitated. Where was the admiral’s staff? It was late, but the admiral and his staff often worked late into the evening. The letter had said to come immediately. Jain assumed he was to report to Dhankhar’s office, but could he have been mistaken? He reopened the letter to see if he had missed something. No, nothing.

Dhankhar saw the outer office door open, but didn’t get up right away, and he left the lights in his office off. He was expecting Jain, but there could be others with him.

The admiral hadn’t completely decided what he would do if the authorities showed up to arrest him. He was a loyal Indian officer, and he didn’t want to shoot men only doing their duty, but Vajra was so close to success. All he had to do was give Jain his orders, and watch Chakra leave port. After that, his duty was done, and he had a hiding place so secret that he’d be perfectly safe until after Vajra was complete.

Dhankhar had no illusions about his chances if CBI sent a SWAT team to arrest him. But what if it was just a few investigators, sent to check out “some wild conspiracy story”? He might — no, he’d probably use the pistol.

“Hello? Is anyone here? Admiral?” Jain called out.

Dhankhar could see that Jain was alone and rose from the corner chair. He put the pistol out of sight with one hand and turned the overhead light switch on with the other. “Captain Jain, come in, please.”

Jain walked into the now fully lit office. “Sir, is everything all right?” Chakra’s captain looked worried and confused.

Everything is definitely not all right, but it will be soon, Dhankhar thought. He ignored Jain’s question, and gestured toward two chairs in a corner of the office. “Please sit.”

As Jain sat down, Dhankhar took the other chair and asked casually, “How is the chaos at the dock?”

Jain laughed and answered, “We’re coping, sir. The crew is performing wonderfully. We should be ready to sail by twenty-one hundred hours, maybe even a little earlier.” The officer began to say something else, but then stopped himself.

“And you’re wondering what the rush is all about, of course.” Dhankhar smiled. “‘What are they thinking in headquarters? Are they all insane?’ I’ve been there, Captain. But you’ve done your best to follow your orders without question, because you believed that it would all be revealed in the fullness of time.”

Dhankhar stood and walked over to his desk and picked up a fat package, then turned and handed it to Jain. “This will answer all your questions. It has the nautical charts, codes, and everything else you will need for your mission.”

Jain could see only one word on the outside: “Vajra.” It didn’t tell him much.

Dhankhar said formally, “As soon as you are able, leave Vizag and proceed to the waters off the People’s Republic of China. Those five torpedoes that were just loaded on board your boat have nuclear warheads. You will fire them into the five ports listed in your sailing plan.”

As Jain half rose out of his chair, the admiral held out one hand, forestalling any questions. “You see now why you were not told of this sooner.” Jain nodded his understanding. “Security has been extraordinarily tight. Only the highest levels of our government are aware of Vajra, but even so, we believe some elements of a hostile intelligence arm may have gotten hints of our plans. Pakistani, Chinese, Russian? We’re not sure.

“That’s why we had to accelerate our schedule so suddenly. From my office, you will proceed directly back to your boat, speaking to no one else. Do not open this envelope until you’re back aboard, and Chakra is safely under way.”

Dhankhar watched Jain closely as he spoke. The admiral had rehearsed these orders dozens of times, because they had to be perfect, and Jain had to accept them wholeheartedly.

“The warheads are all set to detonate at the same time, in sixteen days. If you follow the sailing plan, you will be well away from the coast before they explode.

“The destruction of those five ports will throw China into economic and political upheaval, but more importantly, it will also signal the start of an early offensive by our army and air force into Pakistan. Surprised, and without Chinese support, the Pakistanis will crumble, and the war will be over in weeks. So your part in the operation is not just vital — it is the beginning of everything else, and with a little luck, will finally bring India the victory we have been working for.”

Jain was absorbing the information, but appeared thunderstruck, wide-eyed.

Using a more relaxed manner, Dhankhar sat down again next to the submarine captain. “Operationally, it should be almost boring. The Chinese, we hope, have no idea of our plans, so it’s just a matter of sailing from port to port, and at each of the firing positions described here,” he tapped the package, “launching one of the specially modified torpedoes into the harbor. It will settle to the bottom and wait for the appointed time. After you fire the fifth weapon, take a roundabout course back home. If things go as we expect, by the time you return, the Paks will have surrendered, and you can expect a hero’s welcome. I dare say that your reputation will surpass that of your former commanding officer, Captain Samant.” The admiral smiled encouragingly.

Jain’s eyes flicked with excitement, and when he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “I will do my best to remain covert, of course, but what if the Chinese do detect my presence, and evasion does not work?”

Dhankhar rejoiced inside. Jain had accepted the mission, and the story. “Engage only as an absolute last resort, but your survival, and your mission, are paramount. Recent experience has showed us just how bad Chinese antisubmarine warfare capabilities are. You should be able to press on, even if they have learned of our plan. Also, there are alternate targets in the package, if for any reason, you cannot attack one of the primaries.”

Jain nodded his understanding, and the admiral added, “And if you encounter Chinese-flagged vessels, naval or civilian, after the bombs have exploded, attack them at your discretion. The gloves are off, Captain. We’ll finish our fight with China, as well as Pakistan.”

The submariner grinned wolfishly. “Good. I had friends aboard Arihant.”

“That’s all, then. I’ll be down there presently to watch you get under way.”

As Jain stood, Dhankhar offered his hand. “Good luck, Captain. Our country’s future is going with you.”

Jain took the admiral’s hand, and as they shook, Dhankhar could see a shadow pass across the captain’s face. As Jain turned to leave, Dhankhar added, “It would be only natural to think about the many Chinese casualties your attack will cause. Wiser men have already discussed and argued over this. China is the largest country in the world. Only a massive blow, something that inflicts true injury, will knock her out of the war. She’s been using the Paks as proxies for years to kill our people. This will bring the war home to her, as well as ending it for us. No second thoughts. You have your orders.”

Coming to attention, Jain put on his uniform cap and saluted crisply. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

The secure phone had a distinctive ring. It wasn’t loud, but its unique sound alerted Captain Simonis and brought him upright out of the couch, his book fell to the ground as he rushed over and grabbed the phone. “Simonis.”

“Sir, this is Lieutenant Keyes, the squadron watch officer.” He recognized her voice. “We’ve received an operational-precedence message from CNO via SUBPAC. They want us to make all boats ready for sea.”

Simonis knew the status of each of his boats intimately, of course. So many men away on leave, machinery needing repairs, weapons aboard, and a dozen other things that had to be dealt with before a nuclear submarine could go to sea. “Do they expect a reply?”

“Yes sir. They want to know the earliest time each boat could sail.”

Simonis was already heading to the bedroom to change. He looked over at his wife, Louise, as she worked on a scrapbook in the dining room; she glanced up, curious but not terribly concerned. Calls in the late evening were common, and she knew her husband would stay safely ashore.

“All right, have Captain Jacobs, Commander Walker, and the three submarine COs report to squadron headquarters ASAP. Is there any hint of what this is all about?”

“No, sir, just orders to get ready.”

“Very well. Have a car pick me up in fifteen minutes.”

“Aye, aye, Commodore.”

Simonis already had his uniform for tomorrow laid out, so he quickly changed out of his civilian clothes. He always made it his business to be able to get out the door quickly, with a minimum of fuss. Even as he dressed, he was drafting his reply to SUBPAC. Texas was already out, returning from an exercise with the Philippine Navy. She had food and stores for several more weeks at sea. Question: Should he hold her on station in the area? Coming back to Guam could waste valuable time, depending on where the maddeningly unnamed crisis was happening.

It would take days to get Oklahoma City ready to sail. One of her condensers was in pieces while they traced a stubborn seawater leak. She’d been operating with the problem for a couple of weeks, and he’d finally allowed the boat’s crew to try and find and fix it here in Guam. If they didn’t, it might mean repairs back at Pearl, and he didn’t want to lose a boat for an extended period.

He needed her skipper’s best guess on how close they were to fixing it. Should they press on, or just slap it back together so they could get under way quickly? It would be nice to know just how urgent the crisis was, not that they’d told him.

North Dakota and North Carolina were in the best shape, although both had people off the boat for leave and training. He could send those two out by tomorrow, if the need was pressing.

The car was waiting for him in the cool darkness. In spite of the hour, it was still a little muggy. Early spring in Guam meant afternoon temperatures in the eighties.

The drive to squadron headquarters gave him time to ask himself the real question. What was the crisis? Where were his boats needed? What was the timeline?

Operations had returned to almost peacetime levels following the Littoral Alliance war. To his knowledge, the region was quiet. Were the Chinese out for revenge? A land attack mission might require his subs to carry Tomahawk missiles. Those had to be prepped and loaded in port. The CNO knew that, of course, and would give him as much warning as security allowed.

Simonis and the Navy lived and breathed security and classification. The fleet had secrets that had to be protected. He understood that. But at times like this, an unspecified contingency limited his boats’ ability to prepare for what could be a life-or-death situation.

He remembered Commander Mitchell, and the man’s personal connection to the national security advisor. If Simonis asked him to, Mitchell could send a query to Washington. It was all back-channel stuff, and frankly distasteful, but the squadron commander balanced his need for information against the gravity of the offense: bypassing the chain of command.

By the time the car had arrived at squadron headquarters, he’d decided against using Mitchell to send a message — for the moment.

“I have just a few more questions about your timeline, Mr. Petrov.”

“That’s Captain Petrov, and you said we were finished working on that.”

Agent Sushma Goyal was apologetic, but insistent. “I thought so, too, until I sent it to our headquarters in New Delhi. Special Director Thapar wanted to know more about your visit to the torpedo shop, and about the other Russian nationals you interviewed while you were attempting to gather more information on Mr. Orlav. He’s especially interested in a Mr. Anton Kulik. Do you have any more information on him, and his interest in Indian nuclear weapons?”

While Petrov argued with Goyal, Samant stood and paced around the conference room, trying to walk off the frustration he felt. He’d watched the leaders of the Indian government receive the news that a conspiracy within the government and the navy was about to launch an attack on China that would likely trigger a nuclear war. They had photographic evidence of bootleg nuclear weapons present at the Vizag naval base, about to be loaded on a nuclear submarine. At the end of the teleconference, they’d heard President Handa assure President Myles and Ambassador Eldridge that CBI would take swift action to arrest the conspirators and confirm their control of Chakra.

After they broke the connection, Petrov and Samant had almost collapsed with exhaustion. More treatment for Petrov’s injuries had been followed by an early meal and bed, Samant feeling completely safe for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long.

Neither slept well. Petrov couldn’t find a comfortable position, and Samant’s dreams were troubled, full of him pleading to Gautama on the lake for wisdom or enlightenment, but always finding the statue of Buddha out of reach, facing away from him.

Shereen Massoud had awakened them at seven A.M., but she had no knowledge of events at the Vizag dockyard. Consul General Olson had joined them at breakfast, and informed them, with some puzzlement, that as far as he knew, no arrests had been made, and nothing had been done about Chakra. However, a CBI car was due to arrive at 0830 to pick them up. The local zone office wanted more details about Dhankhar and his associates, to help speed the investigation.

“They can come here,” Petrov had insisted.

“It’s to be a short meeting, and then they’ll take you to the airport to get you back to Vizag. So, it does make some sense for them to come get you. However, even though we are a bit shorthanded,” Olson replied, “I can spare a Marine to accompany you as your bodyguard should there be any trouble.”

“You mean, if they try to arrest us,” Samant added.

Olson shook his head sharply. “No. The head of the CBI told me personally this morning that all charges have been dropped. The Marine is going along just in case one of the conspirators tries something. CBI has even granted permission for him to be armed — that is extraordinarily unusual, gentlemen.”

Petrov slumped. “I’d hoped we were done with that possibility.”

“We will be, once the CBI rounds them up, which is why we need you to go over there and answer their questions. Now, neither of you are U.S. citizens, and I can’t force you to go, but we’d be grateful if you did, and we’ll do our best to protect you while you’re doing it.”

Olson had made a good case, and they’d agreed to go. The car had picked them up promptly. An officious but polite Agent Goyal and two husky-looking agents loaded Petrov, Samant, and a Marine corporal in civilian clothes named Matthews quickly into an SUV and headed to the Hyderabad Zone headquarters, in charge not just of Hyderabad, but the states of Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka.

Goyal’s boss had met them, showed the three to a well-appointed conference room, offered them tea, and then left “to coordinate the investigation.”

For the rest of the morning, Goyal and other agents had thoroughly debriefed the two submariners, with every answer written down, correlated, and examined for inconsistencies or inaccuracies. Repeated questions from the two about the status of Chakra and the conspirators were always met with the same answer: “It is all under control; everything is being done properly.” Neither Petrov nor Samant was reassured.

They broke for lunch, which was too spicy for Petrov, but while they were eating, Agent Goyal’s boss, Joint Director Chaudhari, returned. “I understand you’ve been asking about the status of the submarine and Vice Admiral Dhankhar. I want to reassure you that we are moving with all possible speed to regain control of Chakra and apprehend the conspirators.”

“Why the delay?” asked Petrov bluntly. “It should have happened this morning, or even last night.”

Chaudhari disagreed. “True, there is a MARCOS unit stationed at the Vizag naval base.” Samant was nodding agreement, and the joint director explained to Petrov, “It stands for Marine Commandos, like the Russian Spetsnaz troops or American SEALs. They could certainly perform the task, but given the concerns about the extent of the conspiracy, we were worried that using them would alert our targets. Special Director Thapar thought it best to use a unit that we could be virtually certain was reliable — not from this region, and not from the navy. An air force Garud commando unit is en route from Jodhpur. The Garud force is responsible for airbase security, and have extensive anti-terrorism training.”

Samant exploded. “That’s in Rajasthan, the other side of the country! Surely there was something closer.”

“Special Director Thapar made the selection, based on the unit’s readiness level,” the joint director replied testily.

“And we’re supposed to be there to provide technical support when the commandos take control of the submarine,” Petrov added. “Why are we still here when you finished your questions this morning?”

“Relax,” Chaudhari soothed. “An army helicopter is waiting to take you straight to Vizag as soon as we are finished here. It’s a two-hour flight, but there’s no rush. The Garud force isn’t scheduled to land until almost midnight. They’ll begin preparations immediately, and we’ll execute the raid at four or five o’clock tomorrow morning. We can get things tidied up here and then we will all go to the Visakhapatnam naval base together. I understand Consul General Olson himself will go with us, as an observer.”

“But you’ve got Dhankhar identified as the leader, and Orlav as the technician. Just arrest those two. Without them, the plan falls apart.”

Goyal shook his head, smiling, almost patronizing. “Their plan has already failed. That sub will never leave the pier. What we have to do now is arrest not just the leader and his henchman, but all the supporters of this conspiracy as well. We are watching the admiral and closely monitoring his communications. That will lead us to the other plotters. And we have eyes on the torpedo shop.

“Special Director Thapar has put some of his best men into the yard. They are watching everything. They report furious activity, but that the submarine won’t be ready to sail until tomorrow morning, which matches your information, I might add.”

“What if…” Petrov began, but Goyal interrupted him. “We also have people watching all the exits of the shipyard, and Dhankhar’s house as well. There’s a tracker on his car, and we’ve flagged his bank accounts and credit cards. He’s helping us more by being temporarily free than if he was behind bars.”

They’d started again after lunch, this time using the information from Petrov and Samant to construct a timeline of their own actions, and what they could reconstruct of the plot. “This will help us in our interrogation of the suspects, as well as suggesting places and times to concentrate our efforts.”

Petrov kept glancing at his watch and mentally adding two hours to it. Samant seemed mesmerized by the wall clock. Corporal Matthews used his cell phone to make periodic reports to the consulate. He stayed in the room with his two charges, but well in the background.

Dinnertime came, and after another meal Goyal’s questions about the timeline continued, fueled by a stream of messages from New Delhi. How were the two able to evade shipyard security?

Then they received a question from the captain leading the Garud detachment. How stable were the nuclear devices? Could the torpedoes be rigged with a suicide switch? After the bombs were secured, how should they be handled?

Those were really the kind of questions Orlav was qualified to answer, but Petrov did his best. No Indian nuclear expert could be contacted, Goyal explained, until after they’d been cleared of involvement in the plot. That might not be in time for the raid tomorrow morning.

Petrov began drawing up a checklist, based on what safety regulations he could remember from his own days in the navy. They were Russian weapons, after all. He still kept one eye on the clock. Earlier in the day, there had been talk of a nap for the still-fatigued pair before the flight to Vizag. That had been reduced to sleeping aboard the helicopter, and now that might have to be deferred if he couldn’t finish the procedures…

The door burst open, surprising them all. Matthews, half dozing in the corner, was suddenly on his feet, weapon out in a shooter’s stance. He quickly pointed the weapon up, though, when the first person through the door was a civilian, and unarmed.

Goyal leapt to his feet. “Director Kumar!” Surprise filled his exclamation, and he started to ask a question, but stopped, frozen in shock when President Handa followed the director into the room. Others, including Chaudhari, followed Handa into the room.

Matthews’s weapon was out of sight even more quickly than he’d drawn it, and the Marine had braced. Even Petrov had joined Samant in coming to attention. Handa nodded to them all, and motioned for them to relax.

Ignoring Goyal, the president walked over to Samant and offered his hand. “Captain Girish Samant, I wish to thank you personally for your courage and loyalty. You’ve already done our country a great service, and may have saved India from a horrible fate.” After shaking hands with Samant, he turned to Petrov. “India is also grateful to you, Captain Petrov. How are your injuries?”

The Russian shrugged automatically, then winced. “I’m sorry, sir, but they’re only a nuisance.”

Shaking Petrov’s hand, the president answered, “You risked your life in the service of my country. There will always be a place for you here in India.” He looked over to Kumar and nodded.

The director of the CBI faced Agent Goyal, still dumbstruck. “Report!”

Almost stammering, the agent explained, “We have been drawing up safety procedures for the Garud force after they have secured the nuclear weapons…”

Kumar held up a hand, stopping Goyal in midword. “Plans have changed. The Garud force is going to be too late.”

“What?” Samant wasn’t sure if he’d said it first, or Goyal, or Petrov, but their exclamations were almost identical.

Handa said, “We should go,” and turned to leave.

Kumar said, “Captain Petrov and Captain Samant, please come with us now.” When Petrov gestured toward their escort, Kumar added, “And him, as well. Consul General Olson will join us at the airport.”

They were already walking, with Handa in front and setting a fast pace. Workers in the corridors stopped, wide-eyed, and then got out of the way as the procession passed.

Kumar explained, “The president’s jet is waiting for us. Luckily we were already en route here. Once airborne, we should be in Vizag in about forty-five minutes, say midnight. By then the reaction force will be ready to move, but they won’t wait for us.”

Samant, keeping pace to one side of Kumar, was confused, and asked, “What about the Garud commandos? The raid tomorrow morning?”

“We can’t wait,” Kumar answered. “We have absolutely no idea what’s going on at the shipyard. If they’ve been tipped off…”

They’d already hurried down two sets of stairs, and almost burst out of the front doors. A line of cars was waiting, an armored car at each end of the convoy. Kumar urged the three into one car, and followed them in.

As he belted in, Samant asked Kumar, “How? Who would do that? What about the agents…”

“You probably heard that Thapar had placed agents at the Vizag shipyard, that they had Dhankhar, Orlav, and the submarine under close surveillance.”

“Yes.”

Kumar scowled. He spat out, “Special Director Ijay Thapar is nowhere to be found.” He paused a moment, then explained, “It was by pure luck that we discovered the facade. While we were en route here, I asked our communications officer to pipe in the radio circuit the agents were using to coordinate surveillance of the shipyard. Easier than jogging Thapar’s elbow with constant demands for updates. Imagine our surprise when we couldn’t find the circuit, and even more when the Vizag office said they knew nothing about any surveillance of the shipyard.”

“Thapar lied,” Petrov concluded.

“And fooled us into thinking we had the plotters in a bottle, ready to be scooped up at our leisure,” Kumar continued. “Worse still, he’s undoubtedly warned Dhankhar, and if we find any of them, or Chakra, still at the shipyard, it will be a miracle.”

Sirens howling, the convoy had made good progress through the streets of Hyderabad, and drove through the airport gates at nearly full speed.

“But what about the Garud force?” Samant asked.

Kumar held up his hand as the car came to a stop. Quickly unbuckling, they followed Handa and the others up the boarding ladder into the president’s aircraft, a Boeing 737, engines idling.

They hurried up the stairs after the director, and saw Handa disappearing as he headed toward the front of the plane. “The president’s private office is forward. We can sit back here.” Kumar gestured toward a luxurious lounge, plush leather seats lining each side. A conference table farther aft was isolated by an etched-glass partition. Samant recognized the subject, depicting the three principal Hindu gods, Vishnu, Shiva, and Shakti, wielding celestial weapons against an army of demons.

Once they were settled, Kumar explained, “Just before we landed here, I ordered, on President Handa’s authority, the Quick Reaction force from the Visakhapatnam Police to arrest Dhankhar and Orlav, and take control of Chakra. They’re preparing right now. They have no experience with naval vessels, but then again, neither does the Garud force.” Kumar made another face as he remembered Thapar’s deception.

Samant glanced at his watch. It was 2250. Kumar said, “The team leader said they’d be ready to move a little after twenty-three forty-five. Our pilot’s using full throttle, but there’s no way we’ll get to Vizag before they are ready to move, and I won’t make them wait. We’ve lost too much time already.”

“What do you want us to do?” Petrov said, gesturing to Samant and himself.

“We will need you to identify the devices, as well as your experience with submarine systems. Captain Samant, it’s likely you will have to take command of Chakra again, since we will be taking Jain and his officers into custody.”

Samant nodded sadly. He hadn’t really thought much about Jain’s role, but he must be deeply involved. And Chakra’s reactor was certainly critical. Even if the conspirators did not sabotage the boat, somebody had to keep the plant running smoothly.

Together with Petrov, he began drawing up a new list.

There was a fair amount of traffic, but not enough to slow him down. Admiral Dhankhar checked his GPS. The next town was Chatuva, barely more than a cluster of buildings lining each side of the road. He didn’t need to stop.

The old blue Outlander was running smoothly enough, and the weather was cooperating. His biggest worry wasn’t the authorities. He was already a hundred kilometers northwest of Vizag, and the chance of them stopping a car registered to someone who didn’t exist was virtually nil. What really concerned him was his fatigue. He’d planned to make it as far as Raipur tonight, but that would mean driving until about four in the morning.

He’d gotten a late start. Jain had shaken the admiral’s hand for the last time at 2110, according to Dhankhar’s watch, then hurried aboard Chakra as the shipyard workers waited to pull in the brow and take in the mooring lines. It had taken every bit of control Dhankhar possessed to appear calm and pleased to see the captain off. The authorities could show up at any second, but Jain could not know that this wasn’t an officially sanctioned mission, approved by “the highest levels of the government,” as Dhankhar had assured him.

The appearance of the authorities would not only end Vajra, but destroy Jain’s trust in him, and that was suddenly a very important thing. He would somehow explain the deception when Jain returned. By then, the government would be celebrating the victory over Pakistan and it would all be moot.

He didn’t have any special words for Jain, just the traditional “Good luck and good hunting.” He hardly remembered what Jain had said in return, probably something about not letting him down.

Dhankhar had watched the sub leave the pier and fade into the darkness. In accordance with his orders, Jain would submerge the instant there was enough water under his keel and head off at high speed, about forty-five minutes from now, but that was out of the admiral’s hands.

Leaving the pier, the admiral had walked a few blocks to where he’d left the car. He found it earlier, right where it was supposed to be, and put a few personal items inside.

Once inside the car, he changed into civilian clothes and packed his uniform and identification into a duffel bag. His new documents and driver’s license described him as a retired army officer. The car was, of course, registered in the new name.

He drove out of the shipyard without incident, and headed northwest. It was a three-day drive to Amritsar, on the northwest border, but there was a bungalow reserved for him under another false name, and for the next three days, he’d be on the road.

As he drove, Dhankhar could feel the tension draining away. He’d done it — Vajra was under way. There was more than two weeks of waiting before it would be completed, but Chakra was on her way. He suddenly yawned, and realized how much he’d been depending on adrenaline to keep going. Fatigue was going to be an issue, but he’d brought a thermos of tea. He’d be fine.