The Hunt for K-129

Summary

The Hunt for K-129: A Deep Dive into Project Azorian

Introduction to the Sinking of K-129

In the late afternoon of winter 1968, the Soviet nuclear submarine K-129 met a tragic end. Commanded by a weary 38-year-old captain, the vessel carrying three nuclear missiles sank approximately 1,500 miles northwest of Hawaii in the North Pacific Ocean. The submarine's demise, marked by a sudden explosion and subsequent sinking, sparked a covert interest from the United States amidst the intensifying Cold War tensions.

Discovery and Initial Assessment by the U.S.

John Craven, the head of the Navy's Deep Submergence Systems Project, played a pivotal role in the unfolding events. In May 1968, at the United States Naval Observatory in Washington, D.C., Craven exclaimed, “K129 intact” (02:37) upon analyzing sonar data that suggested the submarine had not imploded under immense pressure but remained largely intact on the seafloor.

Realizing the potential value of the sunken vessel, Craven recognized that the Soviets had lost track of K-129's exact location. The U.S., equipped with precise sonar data, saw an opportunity to salvage the submarine, which housed sensitive state secrets and weapons of mass destruction.

Formulation of Project Azorian

The ambitious plan to retrieve K-129 culminated in Project Azorian, one of the most significant and costly covert operations in history. Curtis Crook, head of engineering at Global Marine, was approached by CIA operative John Parangoski (JP) to leverage his company's expertise in deep-sea operations. Initially skeptical, Crook delved into naval records, identifying K-129 as the likely target due to its size and specifications.

Together with Crook's team, a novel method dubbed the "Deadlift" was conceived. This technique involved constructing an immense 2,700-ton ship capable of lifting the submarine from three miles beneath the ocean's surface without detection.

Building the Hughes Glomar Explorer

The realization of Project Azorian necessitated the creation of a vessel unlike any before it—the Hughes Glomar Explorer. Spearheaded by John Graham, Global Marine's chief naval architect and a former alcoholic whose past made him a trustworthy yet discreet asset, the ship was designed to be a floating behemoth masquerading as a deep-sea mining platform.

Crook orchestrated the involvement of Howard Hughes, the reclusive billionaire, utilizing him as a front to maintain the project's clandestine nature. Hughes' eccentric reputation and existing ties to deep-sea mining provided a plausible cover story. By December 1970, the ship was launched, featuring a massive "moon pool" and a specialized claw mechanism intended to grasp and lift K-129.

Challenges and Secrecy Measures

Project Azorian was shrouded in secrecy, with every measure taken to prevent Soviet discovery or public knowledge. The construction faced technical hurdles, exemplified during trials when the Hughes Glomar Explorer buckled under rough seas, threatening the integrity of the mission (24:09). Additionally, the project had to navigate the pressures of governmental oversight and budget constraints, culminating in a staggering $800 million price tag.

The Retrieval Mission

On August 4, 1974, after nearly six years since K-129's sinking, the Hughes Glomar Explorer embarked on its historic mission. Equipped with the Deadlift mechanism, the ship successfully grappled a portion of the submarine. However, technical malfunctions led to only a third of K-129 being retrieved. Crucial components such as missile tubes and the code room remained on the ocean floor, representing a significant setback.

Interaction with the Press and Seymour Hersh

The mission's secrecy was nearly compromised when investigative journalist Seymour Hersh sought information about Project Azorian. CIA Director William Colby engaged with Hersh, acknowledging the mission's existence but offering to provide detailed insights post-completion in exchange for discretion. Hersh agreed, ensuring that the operation remained concealed from the public and the Soviet Union (28:07).

Outcome and Legacy

Though Project Azorian did not recover all intended targets, it symbolized American ingenuity and the lengths to which the U.S. would go to secure Cold War advantages. The mission's aftermath revealed that only six bodies were recovered from K-129, and significant portions of the submarine remained submerged. The operation also left a lasting impact on governmental secrecy practices, giving rise to the term "Glomar response," a method of non-disclosure used in various contexts.

John Graham's untimely death shortly before the mission's culmination added a poignant note to the endeavor. His contributions were honored by the scattering of his ashes from the Hughes Glomar Explorer, marking the end of an era in deep-sea espionage.

Conclusion

Project Azorian remains a testament to the complexities and high-stakes nature of Cold War espionage. While it achieved partial success, the mission underscored the immense costs—both financial and human—associated with such covert operations. The full extent of the recovered materials and the mission's long-term implications continue to be subjects of intrigue and speculation.

Notable Quotes:

• John Craven (06:38): “K129 intact.”
• Seymour Hersh (28:07): “I know that if the director of the CIA had come to me for an interview, it meant...”
• Curtis Crook (07:02): “If we pull this off, it’s not just a win for us, but for the entire nation.”

Further Reading:

For those interested in delving deeper into the story of K-129 and Project Azorian, notable recommendations include:

• Taking of K129: The Most Daring Covert Operation in History by Josh Dean
• The CIA's Greatest Covert Operation: Inside the Daring Mission to Recover a Nuclear-Armed Soviet Sub by David H. Sharp

Credits:

This episode was written by Sean Raviv, with sound design by Andre Pleuze. Produced by Christopher B. Dunn, Sarah Wytak, Teja Palakonda, and Rafa Faria, with fact-checking by Sheila Patterson. Executive producers include Mr. Ballin and Nick Witters, alongside contributions from the Wondery and Ballen Studios teams.

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Transcript

[Luke Lamanna]

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[John Craven]

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[Luke Lamanna]

Join Wondery in the Wondery app or on Apple podcasts. It was late afternoon in the winter of 1968, and a Soviet captain was trying to contain his anger. His second in command had just caught two sailors asleep at the stations on a submarine carrying three nuclear missiles that could kill millions of people. Sleeping on the job could be deadly. The captain reamed out the two men and put them on kitchen duty. Then he headed down a narrow hallway filled with overworked sailors. The 98 men aboard submarine K129 had been at sea for almost two weeks when they should have been on shore leave. But a couple other subs had mechanical problems, so the K129 had been ordered to cover the gap in the Soviet Union's Pacific defenses. But everyone was growing weary, including the 38 year old Captain himself. When the captain reached his living quarters, he sat down and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he glanced in the mirror at his tired face. The weight of commanding a nuclear sub was evident in his bloodshot eyes. Alone, he lay on his bunk and put his head on his pillow. Over the years, he trained himself to take deep naps. At a moment's notice, the captain closed his eyes and started to fall asleep. And then he heard an impossibly loud bang. But before he could figure out what had made it, he heard the screams of his men and he ran into the hallway. Alarms blared and red lights flashed. Men were panicking, running in all directions. The captain felt the submarine start to tip on its side, and he grabbed grabbed a railing to keep his balance. Then he felt growing pressure in his ears. And he knew that could only mean one thing. K129 was sinking. That's when he saw water. A wall of it heading right toward him, engulfing everything in its path. He looked up at the ladder leading to the bridge, where he could take command of this crisis. But there was no E.

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[Luke Lamanna]

From Ballin Studios in Wondery I'm Luke Lamanna and this is Declassified Mysteries, where each week we shine a light on the shadowy corners of espionage, covert operations and misinformation to reveal the dark secrets our governments try to hide. This week's episode is called the hunt for K129. In March of 1968, the Soviet nuclear submarine called K129 sank 1500 miles northwest of Hawaii, deep in the Pacific Ocean. This was the middle of the Cold War, and tensions between the United States and the Soviets were running high. A downed nuclear sub in the middle of the ocean meant weapons of mass destruction were unprotected and sensitive state secrets could be taken by anyone with the resources to claim the prize in the race to reach the dead sub. The Americans were able to pinpoint the location first and launched one of the biggest and most expensive covert missions in history. The goal? To raise a 2,700ton submarine from three miles below the surface without attracting any attention. To succeed, the mission would bring together a truly unusual cast of characters, including America's greatest spies and nautical minds, along with an eccentric Hollywood titan. After spending $800 million and hiring the top American minds of the time, would the US Government be able to pull off the impossible and raise the K129 submarine? If so, what Cold War secrets would they find? And would they share them with the American public or keep them a secret? John Craven tapped a pen against the side of his head at the United States Naval Observatory in Washington, D.C. in late May 1968. He was deep in thought, with his eyes shut, when suddenly they opened wide. It's in one piece. He shouted to nobody at all. Craven was the head of the Navy's Deep Submergence systems project created to help salvage materials on the seafloor. Though he was only 40, Craven may have had more expertise on undersea missions than any person in the US Navy.

[John Craven]

So when he learned a few weeks earlier that the Soviets had sent a fleet of submarines, ships and fishing boats out into Pacific Ocean, Craven became really interested. They were looking for something, and Craven was pretty sure he knew what it was. A Soviet submarine called K129 that had sunk in the North Pacific Ocean.

[Luke Lamanna]

Craven realized the Soviets didn't know exactly where the sub had sunk, and in recent days, it looked like they were giving up on their search. But he and other Americans knew something that the Soviets did not. American sonar had found the exact location of K129 beneath 17,000ft of ocean. The submarine was just sitting there, waiting for the Navy to find it, take the weapons aboard, and steal whatever secrets lay within. When Craven first heard about the sunken submarine, he thought it was intriguing, but no more than that. If the sub had suffered an explosion severe enough to make it sink, chances were that anything useful on board was destroyed. Then the mounting water pressure as the sub sank would finish the job, crushing it like a tin can. Craven assumed any recovery mission probably wouldn't provide much value. But the sonic data he was looking at showed a different story. It looked like the sub had been on the surface when it exploded. But after that initial explosion, there were no significant events picked up by the Navy's acoustic tracking systems. That meant the submarine probably did not implode from the pressure as it sank to the seafloor. Craven wrote two thrilling words in his notepad. K129 intact. Then he put down his pen and picked up the phone. The four young engineers standing in Curtis Crook's office in downtown Los Angeles looked at him like he was speaking ancient Greek. He'd been explaining a nuanced concept related to offshore drilling, but they were clearly perplexed. He needed to dumb his language down. But before he could, the intercom buzzed. Crook put his finger up to say, one sec. And the engineers nodded in relief. Crook was 41 years old and the head of engineering for an ocean drilling company called Global Marine. Under his watch, the company had designed and built some of the biggest drilling ships ever made. Crook was the kind of guy whose office door was never shut and the kind of guy who got the job done. The intercom buzzed again, and his secretary said there was a man on the phone who was anxious to talk to him. He wouldn't say who he was, but he'd called three times in the past hour. Crook took off his wire room glasses. He told his secretary to set up a call for later in the afternoon. He put his glasses back on and tried to regain his train of thought with the young engineers when the intercom buzzed again. As soon as his secretary spoke, Crook noticed a change in her voice. She was panicked, telling him that the mysterious guy who'd been calling was now in their office with two other men and he still wouldn't tell her his name. Crook was about to tell his secretary to inform the man and his associates that they could wait when those same men confidently entered his office. They were all wearing crisp business suits and were in no mood to wait. Crook quickly apologized to the engineers and sent them on their way. The three men sat down. The one in charge was 40, with slick back hair. He stuck out his hand and said his name was John Parangoski and he worked for the CIA. Everyone called him JP Crook asked for ID but the man said they didn't carry those. Crook looked at Parangoski with a healthy suspicion and then decided the man was legitimate. He asked what he could do for the CIA. JP Said that America needed Crook's expertise for a highly classified mission. Crook looked at JP and his two colleagues, realizing how important this mission must be to the trio if they just showed up at his office with no notice. But JP didn't explain. Instead, he asked Crook if it was possible to lift an object weighing 2,000 tons from three miles down on the ocean floor. Crook replied with the only answer he could think of. He wasn't sure. JP Shook his hand and told him to think about it. They'd be in touch soon. Crook went home that night, puzzled but intrigued, and went straight to his bookshelf. His company, Global Marine, specialized in doing things in the deep that nobody had done before or even thought to do before. Why couldn't they lift something that big and that far under the surface? And what sort of object were they talking about, anyway? 2,000 tons? £4 million? He figured it had to be a submarine. A year earlier, the Navy had asked Global Marine for some ideas when an American sub had sunk. But the company's planning didn't get past the idea stage because the job went to another firm. Maybe this one wasn't American, Crook thought. He searched the shelf until he found a thin book with a blue cover. It was a reference book known as the Bible for all the world's navies. It included information and data on naval vessels of all kinds from around the planet. He turned the pages until he found a section on Soviet subs. The weight roughly matched. The next day, Crook was back in the office, still thinking about lifting a sub from the bottom of the ocean. The intercom buzzed and Crook knew who it was. Send him in. JP from the CIA came in with his two associates once again, this time looking a little more relaxed. Well? He asked. Crook looked at him with a smirk and said, I think it can be done. It was mid November 1969, a week after Curtis Crook first met JP of the CIA and Crook was sitting in a windowless room staring wide eyed at a green book. The room was in a building near Los Angeles International Airport that had doors with coded locks. JP had brought Crook onto the K129 project officially, but it was very hush hush. To keep everything as quiet as possible, Crook brought on just two other engineers to start. Now the three of them were together in this dull and practically airless CIA provided room. Crook had guessed right. The CIA wanted to somehow lift a Soviet submarine off the ocean floor and needed Global Marines help to do it. JP Gave him a green book containing all the different ideas that CIA engineers had come up with for how to raise K129. Crook looked through the ideas with his team and laughed. Some of them were so ridiculous they felt like a joke. One plan involved using rockets. Another used robots. They even suggested using flotation bags to lift K129 to the surface. One of Crook's engineers threw his hands up in mock desperation as if to say, are they serious? Eventually, Crook and his engineers decided that none of the ideas in the green book would work. But over several days of thinking, they came up with a plan that would. They called it the Deadlift method. It involved creating a string of pipe longer and heavier than any ever built. At the end of the pipe would be an enormous claw capable of picking up the submarine. When Crooks said the idea out loud, it sounded just as absurd as the ones the CIA proposed. But there was one difference. He knew the claw would work. Crook took a sip of coffee and looked at the hastily scribbled drawing of the claw that he'd made. It looked more like a kid's fantasy than an idea that would one day be built. And that wasn't the only extraordinary thing they would need to raise K129. They also had to design and build a ship. And not just any ship. This would be closer to a man made island than a boat. Crook stood up and told his colleagues there was yet another complication. It was paramount that project Azorian, as the CIA was calling it, stay a secret from the Soviets and hidden from regular American citizens. They needed a plausible cover story for the ship's existence. One of Crook's colleagues asked the obvious how do you hide a $350 million, 600 foot long ship floating in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? The answer, Crook said, came down to two deep sea mining. In 1969, the idea of mining the sea floor for crucial elements like copper and nick was no longer science fiction and companies were investing tens of millions of dollars to make it happen. It wouldn't be too far fetched for the Americans to claim they were investing in an incredibly expensive ship for deep sea mining. Crook looked at his colleagues and let out a big sigh. The COVID story was the easy part. Now they had to build the damn thing. On a hot summer day in 1970, Curtis Crook was having coffee at a mom and pop restaurant down the street from the Global Marine office. The man sitting across from him was his friend and colleague, John Graham, the company's chief naval architect. The 55 year old was an MIT grad and the smartest person in any room he entered. He was the brains behind the company's most innovative ship designs, including a 400 foot long beast called the Challenger that was capable of drilling in water 20,000ft deep. So when Graham spoke, his colleagues listened. But now Graham, cigarette perched on his lips, was doing the listening. Crook told Graham that he wanted him to design a ship that was far bigger than the Challenger. How much bigger? Graham asked. Crook looked at his friend. He was about to tell Graham a staggering number. And he couldn't tell him the true reason they needed this ship. That's because Graham was a former alcoholic. The CIA saw alcoholics as a security risk because they could more easily let classified information slip. And even though he hadn't touched a drink in years, Graham was the first to admit he was an addict. So he didn't have clearance to know about K129 or the true mission. Crook told Graham he wanted a ship weighing 35,000 tons, three times the size of the Challenger. He also wanted it to have a huge 125 foot long opening in the middle of the ship to lower equipment through. Maybe bigger, when all is said and done. As he lit another cigarette, Graham said he thought this seemed like a giant boondoggle. How in the world would they make money on a ship this expensive to build?

[John Craven]

Crook told him he didn't need to worry about that. They already had investors, people very excited about undersea mining Let him worry about the money part of things.

[Luke Lamanna]

Over the next few months, Graham went to work designing this giant ship. He was told to keep the project quiet, even in house, but he was allowed to hire several engineers to help with the blueprints. He spent countless hours guiding his plastic slide ruler over the constantly evolving drawings of the ship. All the while, he listened to big bands play on the stereo he kept in his office. In October 1970, Graham's clearance finally came through and Crook could reveal the reason they were designing such a massive ship. Now that the engineers knew the real purpose of their ship, they realized they needed something even larger. Over the next few months, the planned weight of the ship would increase from 33,000 to 50,000 tons. The opening in the middle of the ship, called a moon pool, went from 125ft long to 199ft. And then, of course, there was the claw that would eventually grab the K129 and try to lift it back to the surface. It needed to have a set of fingers that made it resemble a toy claw, along with video cameras and sonar devices to help locate the exact position of the sub. The claw would also have legs that were sturdy enough to help lift the sub off the seafloor as the claw pulled. So not exactly an arcade game. Now that everyone understood the assignment, pressure set in. There was no time to waste. Any idea that didn't work was a waste of time, and Crook couldn't afford that. Crook assigned a quiet and detail oriented engineer to watch over Graham's shoulder, making sure the technology to build the architect's vision existed or would exist soon, and to check his work. Crook was starting to see the design taking shape, and soon the ship would be built. Now he just had to explain why this vessel, the size of an island, was in the Pacific Ocean. In early December 1970, Crook took an elevator up to the penthouse floor of a Los Angeles hotel. When he got to the door of the suite, two muscular security guards patted him down and then let him in. Waiting for Crook at a fancy glass table were other representatives of Crook's company, Global Marine, as well as two men from the CIA and a lawyer from a company called Hughes Tool. The lawyer pointed Crook to an empty seat. Crook had butterflies in his stomach. He felt like this meeting was about to go terribly wrong. And if it did, he'd be blamed because it was his idea to involve one of the most unpredictable people on the planet, the owner of Hughes Tool, the reclusive billionaire, Howard Hughes. Adding Hughes into this difficult operation was high risk. High reward. On one level, the billionaire was the perfect person for Crook's cover story. Not only did Hughes have a long history in mining and drilling, but Global Marine had already been buying drills from his company, Hughes Toole for years. And the billionaire had a reputation for risky ventures. So it would be just like him to invest in high risk deep sea mining. The catch was that Hughes was a known eccentric who rarely showed his face in private. His behavior was erratic. He once told his staff he was going to watch movies at a local screening room. Then he didn't emerge from that room for four months. And when he did, he was wearing the same soiled clothes he was last seen in. At this meeting, Hughes lawyer represented him. But he kept getting mysterious phone calls. The lawyer would listen for a few seconds, hang up, and then ask a new question. Crook was certain that Hughes was in the building somewhere, listening to the whole conversation and phoning in instructions. But whatever Hughes heard, he must have liked it. By the end of the meeting, Hughes agreed to act as a go between for the CIA and Global Marine, funneling the money to build the ship. The success of the project now depended on one of the world's strangest people. On December 8, 1970, a few days after Howard Hughes agreed to be a front for Project Azorian, Crook found himself in another penthouse, but this time in Hawaii. He was there for the public unveiling of Global Marine's phoney mining project. Crook stepped up to the podium that had been set up in the suite and tapped on the microphone as he looked out at the room full of reporters and people involved in the project. Most people in the audience were holding full glasses of champagne. Crook told them that the rumors were true. Global Marine had a big new project. It involved an unprecedented ship, new technology, and deep sea mining on a scale never before seen. And it would all be paid for by Howard Hughes. The president of Hughes Tool then stepped to the mic and announced that Howard Hughes had been the mysterious sponsor behind this project all along. Together with Global Marine, they plan to mine rare earth elements from the bottom of the ocean on a ship that would be called the Hughes Glomar explorer.

[John Craven]

Everybody cheers.

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[Luke Lamanna]

On January 2, 1974, the now fully built Hughes Glomar Explorer was out to sea off the coast of California. It had been almost six years since K129 sank and the CIA finally had an actual ship to retrieve it with. It was 619ft long, with three metallic towers sticking out of the deck that made it look like a floating factory. The weather was choppy, winds were strong, and the boat was rocking. If they weren't pushed by a compressed timeline to have the mission completed by that summer, they might have postponed this trip. But they needed to test the ship's equipment as soon as possible. Crook stood at the railing above the giant opening in the ship, called a moon pool. Looking down, he could see the enormous gates at the bottom that kept ocean water from getting in until they were ready. Then someone in the control room flipped the switches to open the gates, and water began rushing in. But the ship buckled hard in the rough water, and the water filling the pool washed up onto the deck, soaking the people who were watching underneath the ship. The open gates slammed against the hull, making one deafening boom after another. As he watched the technicians in the control room struggle to close the sea gates, Crook wondered if all this work he'd put in was going to be for nothing. Was this plan just as laughable as those ideas in the CIA's green book? Crook watched as two divers swam down into the pool to manually close the gate that refused to shut. It suddenly struck Crook that people were risking their lives for this crazy idea that he had had in that windowless office. And what made him feel even worse was yet another problem. One of the most resourceful investigative journalists in the country was asking questions about Project Azorian. CIA Director William Colby was escorted up to the Washington, D.C. bureau Office of the New York Times, where famed investigative reporter Seymour Hersh was waiting. Hersh offered a seat and a coffee to Colby in his thick Chicago accent. Colby had only been CIA director for five months. He didn't want Hirsch to spoil the agency's biggest mission. Not on his watch, anyway. Colby told Hersh he was going to be frank with him, franker than he'd like because he knew the journalist's work.

[John Craven]

Hersh interrupted. He said that he knew that if the director of the CIA had come to him for an interview, it meant.

[Luke Lamanna]

That his source was correct.

[John Craven]

The CIA was trying to recover a sunken Soviet submarine. Hirsch smiled and sat back. Four years earlier, he'd won a Pulitzer Prize for breaking the story of the My Lai massacre, where American soldiers slaughtered hundreds of civilians in a village in Vietnam. Once he found a trail, he didn't stop following it.

[Luke Lamanna]

Colby shrugged and admitted that Hirsch was right. There was a sunken Soviet sub, and if Hersh published his story, it would ruin a mission six years in the making and waste hundreds of millions of dollars already spent. Hirsch looked back at Colby with a combination of satisfaction and surprise. Colby explained that if the Soviets found out, it would raise Cold War tensions even further, a major escalation that would require the government scrap the operation, wasting years of work and hundreds of millions in American taxpayer dollars. But legally, Colby knew he couldn't stop Hersh from reporting on this. Hirsch knew it, too, but he waited to hear more. Colby offered him a better story, a complete briefing on this secret operation as soon as it was completed. Colby sat in suspense as Hirsch closed his eyes to consider the offer. He seemed to enjoy making Colby sweat. Everything came down to this one reporter's decision. Colby did everything he could to avoid looking nervous. Finally, Hurst stuck out his hand and said, you've got a deal. Colby shook the reporter's hand and tried to hold in a sigh of relief. Crisis averted, Project Azorian could proceed. On the morning of August 4, 1974, global marine engineer John Parsons was sleeping for the first time in more than 24 hours when a young crewman stormed into his room, waking him up. He looked like he just lost his mother as he said, john, something's wrong. We've lost a lot of weight. Parsons, a former Marine who'd fought in Vietnam, was used to things going wrong on difficult missions. He got up and felt the ship beneath his feet shaking. At first he thought it was an earthquake. But then Parsons had an even worse what if they'd lost the submarine? The Hughes Global Explorer had been at the Recovery site of K129 for a month. Over the previous months, they had strung together 17,000ft of steel pipe all the way down to K129, complete with a giant claw at the end. Unbelievably the claw had taken hold of K129 and the submarine was slowly on its way up to the Explorer. The ship, designed by John Graham years earlier, seemed to be working exactly as he designed it. But now, all of a sudden, something was seriously wrong. Parsons sprang from his bunk and ran to the control room. When he got there, the room was already full of CIA agents and engineers all staring at the same closed circuit camera images of the claw. At first, Parsons didn't see anything worrisome in the black and white images. All he saw was the claw holding K129 and slowly rising towards the ship they were standing on. But everyone except the sleeping Parsons had felt the ship shudder just a few minutes earlier. Unless something had rammed into Explorer, it had to do with the submarine. Parsons was as perplexed as everyone else in the control room. But then one of the engineers suddenly screamed a four letter word and everybody looked at him. It's not live, he said, referring to the closed circuit images. The image only updates when the camera detects a change. There must be a glitch. Parsons held his breath as the tech team reset the feed. When the screen finally lit up with an updated shot from the claw, Parsons saw what he feared most. The image showed that a few of the claw's fingers had snapped and the claw had dropped. At least half the submarine. A large chunk of of K129 was probably already back on the seafloor. Unreachable. Unretrievable. This was a major failure. All Parsons could do was shake his head.

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[Luke Lamanna]

Back in Los Angeles, Curtis Crook arrived at the Project Azorian program office in one of Howard Hughes buildings, ready to celebrate. He knew that while he was sleeping, the remains of K129 would be getting close to the surface. Six years of endless stress filled days had all led to this. There were boxes of champagne waiting for him and all the other staff to pop them open. But when he walked into the office, he instantly knew something was wrong. There was no laughter, no sign of celebration. The champagne bottles were exactly where they were when he left the day before. Crook put his briefcase down and sat at his desk as a member of his staff entered the office. He spread his hands out to silently ask, what's going on? She shook her head and told him about last night. Everyone had stayed late in anticipation of word that the K129 had reached the surface. The staff member said the first telex message came in at 11pm it read, Congratulations. Break out the champagne. The staff cheered and hugged. But then another message came in soon after. It said, disregard the previous communication. The claw, it turned out, had broken and dropped a big chunk of the submarine. Six years of hard work and $800 million of American taxpayer money had all led to this heartbreaking moment. Though Crook was disappointed, there was still a glimmer of hope that Project Azorian wasn't a complete failure. A decent portion of K129 was in the Explorer's Claw, still on its way up to the ship. That part of the sub might contain valuable Soviet secrets, even if it was unlikely to contain the codes and missiles they considered primary targets. They'd just have to wait and see. Days later, Crook was in the office when the recovery ended. The Claw finally came through the open sea gates and entered the Explorer's Moon pool. The gates were closed, the submarine lowered, and the pool emptied. Everyone on board finally got their first clear look at what had been recovered. It was a bitterly disappointing sight. Only one third of the submarine lay in the empty pool. Everything from the submarine tower on back was gone, including the missile tubes and the code room. As best they could tell, all the primary targets had sunk back to the bottom of the Pacific. Crook took a bottle of champagne and put it on his desk. They'd accomplished a lot after all. Built a brand new ship, lifted part of a nuclear sub, kept it all hidden from the Soviets and the American public. But they only got a third of a submarine, so Crook Champaign remained unopened. A few men volunteered to look through the recovered third of K129. There was a risk of exposure to nuclear radiation, but a lot of people were anxious to see inside the sub. A young CIA engineer with a cowlick was among them. He suited up in the way they were all trained. Surgical gloves, rubber galoshes, then a full body Long John before putting on a Tyvek suit. Then another layer of gloves, which were taped at the wrist. Ankles were also taped to prevent leakage. A hard hat and an oxygen mask in a tank finished the outfit. The job was to enter the recovered subsection and Collect as much as possible. Even seemingly benign items could reveal something about where the submarine was built or who designed it. If an item looked interesting, you handed it over to an expert for analysis, maybe a Russian linguist or a nuclear physicist. All the volunteers were given lessons on Soviet warning labels in advance to avoid injuries or worse. The collection was a race against time. As he entered the hull of the submarine, the young CIA engineer noticed the smell of rust. Items that had been underwater for six years were starting to decay rapidly now that they were re exposed to air. He was surprised at the amount of space there was to move in the battered K129. In some places, the structure looked horribly deformed, like a giant had stepped on it. In others, it looked like nothing was amiss, like it was still a functioning vessel. He entered what appeared to be an officer's sleeping quarters. He got down on his knees and reached under a bunk, feeling for anything that might have been stored underneath. Something was stuck to the bottom of the bunk, and he tugged on it. It came loose and the engineer jumped back. It was a human head, nearly whole. The eyes and ears had been eaten away by crabs, but the skin and hair and nose were still hanging on after six years underwater. He sat down on the bunk and closed his eyes, waited until his heart rate returned to normal, forced himself to look away from the head. He moved on to a different room, which he thought might be the captain's quarters. It looked roomier and a tad fancier. On the sole bunk, the captain's body, or whoever it was, still lay prone. Squint and you might not be able to tell that the man had died years ago. He opened a desk drawer and found a journal.

[John Craven]

The CIA's paper preservation crew would later discover that the journal contained important notes taken by the senior Soviet officer. The journal was flown straight to Washington to be studied further. Maybe they'd get some decent intelligence.

[Luke Lamanna]

Yet. That same morning, as crew members on Explorer sifted through Soviet machinery from K129, President Richard Nixon resigned in the wake of the Watergate scandal. For Crook, it felt like two eras were ending at once. The Nixon years and the Explorer saga. The Hughes Glomar Explorer headed away from K129 after a month at the recovery site. But the mission wasn't over. Sorting and analyzing all the Items found aboard K129 and the recovered section of K129 itself would take a while. Only after that stage would the full success or failure of the mission be determined. But even with the monumental amount of cash and deception that went into lifting K129 to the surface. The public still doesn't know exactly what was gained or if the mission was worth the cost. We do know that the salvage operation recovered a total of six bodies.

[John Craven]

And many years later, the Americans gave Russian President Boris Yeltsin the Soviet naval flag that shrouded their bodies. We also know that the ballistic missiles and code books, the primary targets, were not brought up. And we know that at least 100ft of the submarine is still at the bottom of the Pacific. Otherwise, the CIA still hasn't revealed a full list of what was recovered. Is that because they don't want to give proof that it was a crazy expensive mission or because they're hiding some of their success? Secrecy around the mission was so obsessive that today in government circles, a stubborn refusal to release even the most minor information is known as the Glomar response. All told, Project azorian cost about $800 million, the equivalent of almost 5 billion today. For that much money, you could house tens of thousands of people, build schools, hospitals and roads. Instead, the American government spent it on one of the most expensive sleight of hands in the history of espionage. In March 1975, when Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Seymour Hersh finally got to publish his report about Project Azorian in the.

[Luke Lamanna]

New York Times, he wrote it was considered a failure.

[John Craven]

In the opinion of senior U.S. navy officials.

[Luke Lamanna]

Though the code books and nuclear missiles that the CIA wanted from the K129 fell to the ocean floor, it could be argued that the Hughes Glomar Explorer is a symbol of American ingenuity. When Curtis Crook had coffee with John Graham and told him how big they needed the Hughes Glomar Explorer to be, it seemed impossible to build that big of a ship. But Crook, Graham and the other engineers figured out a way to get a 4 million pound submarine from 3 miles under the sea without their cold war or enemy knowing it was happening. John Graham, the recovered alcoholic turned naval engineer, died just a few weeks before K129 was pulled out of the water. He knew death was coming after a lung cancer diagnosis, and he asked that his ashes be scattered aboard the Explorer in recognition of the capstone of his life's work. Curtis Crook took Graham's urn on the Explorer, gathered with a few other engineers, and spread his friend's ashes into the Pacific. A final tribute to a job well done. Follow Declassified Mysteries on the Wondery app, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to every episode of.

[John Craven]

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[Luke Lamanna]

Or on Apple Podcasts.

[John Craven]

Before you go, tell us about yourself.

[Luke Lamanna]

By completing a short [e-mail] survey from.

[John Craven]

Ballint Studios and Wondery. This is Declassified Mysteries hosted by me, Luke Lamanna.

[Luke Lamanna]

A quick note about our stories we.

[John Craven]

Do a lot of research, but some details and scenes are dramatized.

[Luke Lamanna]

We used many different sources for our show, but we especially Recommend Taking of K129, the most daring covert operation in history by Josh dean and the CIA's greatest covert operation inside the daring mission to recover a nuclear Nuclear armed Soviet sub by David H. Sharp. This episode was written by Sean Raviv. Sound design by Andre Pleuze. Our producer is Christopher B. Dunn. Our associate producers and researchers are Sarah Wytak, Teja Palakonda and Rafa Faria. Fact checking by Sheila Patterson for Ballin Studios. Our head of production is Zach Levitt. Script editing by Scott Allen. Our coordinating producer is Samantha Collins. Production support by Avery SIEGEL. Produced by me, Luke Lamanna. Executive producers are Mr. Ballin and Nick Witters. For Wondery, our head of sound is Marcelino Villapando. Senior producers are Loradona Palovoda, Dave Schilling and Rachel Engelman. Senior managing producer is Nick Ryan. Our managing producer is Olivia Fonti. Our executive producers are Aaron O'Flaherty and Marshall Louie. For Wondery, Keep Going.