Fatal Thunder: A Jerry Mitchell Novel (28 page)

“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.”

5 April 2017

2330 Local Time

Flag Officers’ Quarters

INS
Circars

Visakhapatnam, India

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.”

12

PLAN B

6 April 2017

0700 Local Time

Naval Shipyard

Visakhapatnam, India

Dhankhar had been in the yard since before five, pressing Mitra for anything that could speed
Chakra
’s sailing. The captain was competent enough, coping as well as could be expected with the sudden schedule change after the Kashmir incident. But Dhankhar and the Vajra plan were now on borrowed time. Fighting rising impatience, he chivvied and haggled with Mitra for ways to shave even minutes off the scheduled sailing time, regulations be damned.
Chakra
, with the weapons aboard, had to sail before the authorities arrived and put an end to everything.

The instant he’d learned of the Americans’ briefing to the president, he knew it was only a matter of time before the government would act to seize the weapons and arrest everyone they could find. It was possible that he and some of the other members might be under surveillance, but given the warning he received last night from the deputy director of the premier law enforcement agency, that was unlikely, at least for now. His saving grace would be the bureaucratic inertia that was part and parcel of any Indian government agency. This “friction” would be exacerbated by discreet actions by other members; nonetheless, he couldn’t count on that to give him more than a few hours. But for the moment, he was free to act.

A small voice had urged him to flee, or go into hiding to avoid arrest and imprisonment. But his disappearance would doom Vajra. That was unthinkable. After
Chakra
sailed, he’d go to a safe place, but not before.

Like the others, he had received the “execute” order late last night. But the majority of the Vajra members were unaware of the complete collapse in security. The four councilmen thought it a wiser course of action to use this deception; the prearranged actions for the execute order would initiate the elimination of any trace of the operation, without the risk of some of the members panicking.

If some of the conspirators were indeed under surveillance, then ignorance would prevent them from acting unwisely. Fear might make one of the group change his habits, or possibly bolt. Dhankhar didn’t want to consider the possibility of one of them betraying the rest by running to the authorities.

And they still had a chance. The Americans had only warned his government about the attack on the Chinese ports.
Chakra
’s crucial role was only the first act of a much bigger plan. The army was readying itself for a spring offensive in the event that the peace talks were unsuccessful. This was a reasonable strategy, and expected. The likely date for that was still a few weeks off, but stockpiles of ammunition and fuel had been built up throughout the winter months. The Pakistanis wouldn’t expect an early offensive in less-than-optimal weather.

Everything Dhankhar and his cohorts knew said China was on the brink of economic and social collapse. The sudden destruction of China’s five largest port cities would wreak havoc throughout the country.
Chakra
’s attack would push them over the edge.

Officers that were part of Dhankhar’s group would send orders launching a surprise offensive, well before the Pakistanis expected it and now without their Chinese protectors. No Chinese AWACS aircraft flying just over the border, warning of Indian aircraft. No more ordnance or spares for the Chinese-made Pakistani fighters. India would have air superiority.

No threat of Chinese troops tying up valuable units on the flanks of the fighting. They’d need every soldier they could to keep order in the cities. That would free up fresh troops.

Because key people in the Indian armed forces were ready for Vajra, they’d be able to take advantage of the kind of shock and surprise that had been unintentionally displayed in Kashmir. He expected Indian troops to break through the Pakistani’s static defenses and into the rear within hours.

And again because of the Kashmir explosion, and thanks to the Americans, the nuclear weapons could not be directly linked to India. Yes, the Americans knew, but they undoubtedly wouldn’t say anything to China out of a fear of causing even greater casualties—they’d take the lesser of the two evils. Would the Indian government, when presented with a fait accompli, pass up the chance to end the Pakistani threat once and for all? India had gone to war with that goal, and that victory would be his vindication and redemption.

Dhankhar finally convinced himself that Mitra was doing all he could, and headed for the torpedo shop. He realized he’d been stalling, remaining in Mitra’s office because he didn’t want to hear what the Russians would tell him. But that was irresponsible. Whatever the problem, he’d fix it somehow.

*   *   *

They’d worked through the night. Dhankhar was pleasantly surprised; he’d half expected to find the place deserted, the Russians fled to gods knew where. But the lure of the money had been too great.

The door to the weapons vault was open, and all five torpedoes were out. That gave Dhankhar a flash of hope, but then he could see that two of the weapons were still in pieces, their warhead sections exposed. Kirichenko and Orlav were bent over one of them. The Russians were obviously not done.

Kirichenko stopped work as Dhankhar came into the shop. He’d found a pair of coveralls, and with a rag stuffed in a back pocket, looked more like a car mechanic than a former admiral. Actually, he looked like a tired and worried mechanic, the kind that has to give his customers bad news.

“We’re not finished,” Kirichenko announced. “We can’t finish in time.” He sounded matter-of-fact, as if he was going to tell Dhankhar the engine block was cracked and couldn’t be repaired.

The Russian nodded toward three weapons neatly lined up near the door, resting in their cradles. “Those three are ready to be loaded. Final checks have been made.” He gestured toward Orlav, still working. “The fourth device is in place, and we should be able to finish it in time for loading, but the fifth still needs to be installed. There’s no way we can fit it, perform the necessary checks, assemble the complete weapon, and then make the rest of the checks.”

Kirichenko shrugged. “I can give you four weapons. That’s the best we can do.” Again the same matter-of-fact tone, but Kirichenko was trying to pretend this wasn’t a massive failure. It was clear he hoped Dhankhar would be satisfied with destroying four Chinese port cities.

“No. I want five,” Dhankhar replied firmly. “Six was the original agreement. Four might not be enough. Five will barely deliver the body blow we need.”

Kirichenko gestured helplessly. “I just told you. We can’t finish in time.”

“Actually,” Dhankhar replied, “we’ve moved the sailing time up. “
Chakra
leaves tonight.”

“What?” Kirichenko’s look of surprise almost made Dhankhar laugh. Then the Russian sighed, and rubbed his forehead. He was probably nursing a headache, not that Dhankhar cared. “Then there’s absolutely no time to even begin work on the fifth torpedo.”

“Then you can finish the work under way, after
Chakra
sails. Just get the last two weapons assembled. You can make the final connections and tests aboard the submarine.”

The Russian scratched his unshaven chin thoughtfully, then nodded. “All right. It means more of the crew will learn about the torpedoes,” he warned.