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Just after midnight on February 24, 1968, a submarine set out from a major Soviet naval
base near the city of Petropavlovsk, on Russia’s far eastern Kamchatka Peninsula.
The Cold War had been playing out for years in Vietnam in the form of a grinding proxy
struggle, as well as in the frozen conflict in Korea.
Now, officials both in the United States and the Soviet Union feared, the situation was
in danger of descending into a direct conflict between the superpowers.
The Soviet-allied North Koreans had captured a U.S. spy ship.
In the context of this crisis, a Soviet submarine K-129 received orders to head out early for
a mission in the North Pacific, its third in quick succession.
The K-129 carried three missiles capable of delivering a nuclear payload well over 700
miles, and had been in service since 1960.
Powered by a diesel engine, she belonged to the 629A class of submarines, known to the
U.S. as Golf-II.
Golf subs weren’t at the cutting edge of Soviet technology, but were still important
assets in their arsenal.
With an extra large complement 98 officers and sailors packed on board, this patrol was
scheduled to continue through May 5, making a distant approach to American waters, far
northwest of Hawaii.
But on March 8, the Soviet base failed to receive a planned radio transmission from
the sub.
The following day, the Soviet Navy began sending a flotilla of subs, other ships, and planes
to search for the lost vessel, but with as much as a million square miles of ocean to
search, they were unable to even locate a wreck.
Months later, the Soviet government would inform the families of the crew aboard the
K-129 that they were presumed dead.
Because the Soviet command had made no attempt to disguise the major deployment of so many
warships, the U.S. Navy immediately became aware of the operation, if not its purpose.
But the Americans also had something called the Sound Surveillance System, or SOSUS--a
network of advanced audio receiving equipment--in the Pacific, and they had registered an explosion
on March 11.
So they were able to surmise that their adversaries were searching for a lost, and now sunken,
vessel.
Not only that, they were able to locate the site of the explosion to within six miles.
The Soviets were hundreds of miles off in their search party, and U.S. intelligence
could examine the site without the risk of immediate interference.
To take advantage of this opportunity, in what was called Operation Sand Dollar, the
U.S. Navy sent a specially equipped spy submarine, the USS Halibut, for reconnaissance.
Among the photos it captured were unmistakable images of a wrecked sub on the deep ocean
floor.
CIA officials realized that if the U.S. could access the Soviet submarine, the intelligence
would be invaluable.
But what they were suggesting was the single biggest technological challenge in their organization's
history, and one of the most ambitious intelligence operations in history, period.
The K-129 was resting at some 16,000 feet--nearly three miles--beneath the ocean surface.
At such a depth, the pressure is crushing.
Ordinary submarines would never dive anywhere near that.
Moreover, the heaviest object ever lifted from a comparable depth weighed 50 tons.
They were proposing the recovery of an object that weighed 1,500 tons.
And they would have to perform the incredible lift with complete secrecy.
If Soviet intelligence discovered the mission, international law would shut it down.
And in the Cold War, a legal battle was hardly the biggest conflict that could develop between
the two nations.
The CIA might seem an unusual branch of government to carry out a naval mission.
You might, for instance, think about using the Navy.
There were people in Naval Intelligence who were not pleased to take a supporting role
in what they considered to be their natural territory.
But by now the CIA had for several years demonstrated the ability to develop advanced technology
on the fly, employing engineers as contractors in secret projects with minimal organizational
friction.
So began Project Azorian, named for the Azores Islands in the Atlantic Ocean, for no particular
reason.
CIA code names were essentially arbitrary.
Still, this was really a new scale of research and development.
The technology to lift a heavy object from the bottom of the ocean did not exist.
Even mining and drilling in deep water were considered a considerable challenge.
But that fact actually helped to provide the mission with its cover.
The story would actually be another major project of naval engineering: building a ship-based
deep ocean mining rig.
There would be some overlap in the equipment needed, and the building of a huge recovery
ship, impossible to hide, would make perfect sense.
If all went well, Soviet spies wouldn't even think to look for a military or intelligence
component in the civilian industrial project.
In 1970, the company Global Marine was the leader in the development and operation of
deep sea mining equipment.
They had that year successfully tested complex manipulation of seafloor drilling equipment
with their ship the Glomar Challenger.
Funding the research would present two challenges.
First, the expensive project of course had to get the green light from the highest levels.
But there also had to be some explanation for the funding of the extensive development.
To that end, the eccentric and private billionaire Howard Hughes lent his name as the mining
operation's investor of record, forming a shell corporation called Summa to hide the
money for Project Azorian.
Hughes had assisted with intelligence gathering in the past, and in addition to being a plausible
funder, his inaccessibility meant he wasn't likely to be a security risk.
He may not have even known, or cared, exactly what the real operation was.
But his name added a kind of luster to the cover story, which received some interest
from the press.
The Hughes-Global Marine venture would be the development of equipment that could gather
nodules of manganese and other minerals that accumulated around sediment on the ocean floor.
In principle, it seemed like it could be a profitable enterprise.
And since no one had ever tried it before, there was no hard evidence to the contrary.
Early on, the CIA team rejected exotic ideas like extracting hydrogen from the water around
the wreck to create a balloon that would lift the sub.
Instead, they would use what was called a string--actually a series of steel pipes--to
lower a remote operated capture vehicle with a claw to the ocean floor.
The vehicle would have a detachable complement of legs as a kind of lander, which would allow
leverage to initiate the tremendous lift, without the risk of sinking into the seafloor
if it proved semi-fluid.
The legs would then detach, and the string would be pulled up one segment at a time.
The ship itself, the Glomar Explorer, would have a giant, hidden "moon pool" in its hull
that could accommodate the submarine, which measured over 320 feet in length.
Pulling the wreck to the surface required that the vehicle remain virtually stationary
in the water, and so the Explorer was outfitted with a complex gimbal system that allowed
continual adjustment in the effective center of mass for the huge ship.
But there was also the matter of the nuclear weapons.
The recovery crew would have to treat the entire wreck as contaminated, because the
material within the warheads would have by then leaked into everything.
Plus, there were nuclear tipped torpedoes.
But the payoff would be an inside look at the Soviet nuclear weapons program, in addition
to all of the technology of the submarine itself.
Even more valuable would be insights into the Soviet Union's communications systems,
specifically, their coded communications.
Provisions were made to try to salvage waterlogged paper to preserve the K-129's code books and
other records.
By 1974, the undertaking had overcome all the engineering obstacles, at least they hoped--not
to mention calls from some who were in the loop to call off the project that was costing
hundreds of millions of dollars, with a dubious chance of success.
The ship was its own prototype.
The team could do testing closer to shore, and did, off California's Santa Catalina Island.
But the whole thing was designed for one mission, and they'd likely get one try.
Once the Explorer was in place about 1,500 miles west of Hawaii, with sophisticated,
essentially experimental equipment, it took longer than planned to get everything running
properly for a retrieval attempt.
There was an inkling of what the Americans were up to, but the CIA mission had apparently
managed to keep intel out of the hands of any foreign agents.
And the task itself seemed impossible, so it was reasonable for the Kremlin to brush
aside fears that the U.S. might recover the K-129.
Still, while the recovery team were in position, the Soviets took notice and sent a surveillance
mission in what looked like a civilian vessel to contact the Explorer.
They exchanged messages in Russian, and the command on the Soviet ship bought the cover
story.
This was, they determined, what it looked like: an experimental mining expedition.
Still, not everyone in the Soviet military brass was convinced, and later a tugboat arrived
with much the same purpose.
The interaction the second time was, in a way, both more confrontational and less harried
for the recovery team.
With the tugboat in close visual range of the Explorer, the Soviet sailors mooned the
American rig workers, who responded in kind, after which the enemy tugboat departed.
This was not the peak of tension in the Cold War.
When all of the components of the ship were ready, the crew of the Explorer began lowering
the recovery vehicle Clementine nearly three miles to their target, one steel pipe section
at a time.
The lander arrived above the hull of the sunken submarine, and the arms of the recovery craft
closed and took hold.
Up at the other end of the video feed, remote steering of the robotic vessel took great
skill and cool nerves.
Once the arms were in place, the remote pilot began the incredible feat of lifting the enormous
payload from the seafloor with the force of the lander's legs.
Fortunately, the ocean bottom was quite solid, preserving more lifting power than a fluid
base would allow.
Once the sub was safely suspended in the water, the legs were detached, and the rest of the
power to pull would come from the string.
As sections of pipe were removed from the string, the cumulative weight dropped significantly,
reducing the force needed to pull each time.
But partway up, two of Clementine’s claws broke, and submarine they held snapped.
Most of the K-129 broke away, and fell back to the seafloor, although a chunk was still
in her grasp.
The recovery team had to relay this news back to Langley.
The first reaction from the home office was to abort and try again.
But the engineers of the Glomar Explorer knew that if they stopped and reset, they were
likely to come back completely empty-handed.
Even a partial success had been far from assured.
In the end, their boss at the CIA relented and let the team continue with the lift.
At last, a portion of the submarine rose up and into the moon pool.
Everyone intended to make necessary repairs and adjustments to the equipment, and return
to the site the next time ocean conditions were favorable, the following summer.
The missiles--and most of the sub--remained unrecovered.
But a second expedition would never happen.
The Soviet Union may never have learned the extent of Project Azorian, but journalists
in the U.S. were picking up clues to the story.
Eventually, the Los Angeles Times received a tip with enough details to report on the
real mission behind "Project Jennifer," and a popular radio commentator broadcast an opinion
piece on the story.
Whatever the American public may have thought about the funding of CIA black ops was irrelevant,
though, since a return trip would have required the same secrecy as the first.
Workers now suited up to handle wreckage laced with nuclear waste.
There would be no missiles in this section, but the presumption was that radioactive material
would be everywhere.
Additionally, there were nuclear-tipped torpedoes in the recovered portion.
As the crew bagged equipment that might have value for American intelligence, they also
found the remains of six sailors from the K-129's last, unfortunate voyage.
Orders were to treat all human remains, including fragments, with respect and dignity.
Before the Glomar Explorer returned to port, the sailors received a burial at sea with
military honors, with both the Soviet naval flag and the American flag on display, and
both of the national anthems played.
This ceremony was videotaped, and years later, when the Cold War adversaries had awakened
from their decades-long nightmare, a later CIA director would present the naval flag,
and the video, to Boris Yeltsin, first president of the newly-established Russian Federation.
The final price tag for Project Azorian was $350 million.
It took longer to plan than the early space missions, and coincided with the Nixon era,
when American confidence in the government in general was low, and the illegal abuse
of secrecy was rampant.
Like the space program, it did offer some spin-off technology.
Almost as an afterthought, it made major advances in the field of deep ocean drilling, and the
Glomar Explorer would later serve a function similar to its cover story.
The requirements of detente with the Soviet Union necessitated a calculated silence about
the program, since an acknowledgement by the Americans would embarrass their adversaries,
unhelpful in strategic negotiations.
In fact, it was in response to Freedom of Information Act requests about the project
that the CIA developed its so-called “Glomar Response,” that it would “neither confirm
nor deny” a matter in question.
But parts of the project were declassified in 2010, following the release of Michael
White's 2009 documentary Azorian: The Raising of the K-129.
Josh Dean’s The Taking of K-129, published in 2017, provides most of the details for
our coverage.
But the exact extent of the intelligence that was gleaned from the K-129 remains a secret.
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What better ways can you think of to spend 350 million dollars?
Or maybe your dream is to lift Soviet submarines off the seafloor?
Tell us in the comments.
Now go watch “The Deadliest Submarine the USSR Ever Built.”
Thanks for watching, and, as always, don’t forget to like, share, and subscribe.
See you next time!