Bing… … … bing… … .bing… bing..bing.bing.bingbingbingbing
“Hard left rudder… .brace for impact!”
The Russian USET-80, 533mm torpedoes had both gone for the noisy counter measures as the submarines sonar returns became distorted by the layer, giving confusingly contradictory range and bearing data. However, the second weapon, travelling a little behind the first, had curved upwards, almost vertically into the cloud of bubbles and out the other side, straight into the thermal layer where it turned hard to port with the intention of reacquiring. Travelling at 50knots it had emerged above the layer before the USS Twin Towers, but pointing in the opposite direction. It acquired the submarine as it completed its turn and swept toward it, still travelling at twice the speed of the vessel. Captain Pitt had just ordered the hard turn to port when the torpedoes short-range side scan sonar received a solid return, it was designed for events such as near misses and it performed its function, triggering the proximity fuse. 661 pounds of TNT detonated just fifty feet from the Twin Towers stern, fracturing her single propeller shaft as the unleashed energies were transferred to the vessel’s hull. No one aboard remained on their feet as the whole vessel bucked with the force of the detonation, steam lines ruptured, electrical fires started in three compartments and the vessel was plunged into darkness as circuit breakers overloaded.
Normal lighting had been restored by the time Captain Pitt came to, with an unpleasant taste of blood and shattered teeth in his mouth. His face felt odd but when he tried to bring his right hand up to it he gagged with the pain and vomited onto the deck plates. His wrist hadn’t just broken; he had a compression fracture from automatically putting his hands out to save himself from the up rushing deck. White bone, jagged at the end was protruding through the flesh of his forearm, and on the deck plates before him was a pool of congealing blood, smeared by his own face. He felt hands turning him over and almost screamed aloud as feeling returned to his left arm, it was broken also but not as dramatically as the compound fracture of the right wrist.
“Steady Captain, you face butted the deck and you ain’t likely to be voted best looking anything for a bit. Stay still while we check you over, sir.”
His vision was blurred and he realised he probably had a concussion, but he thought he recognised the Bosuns mate.
“I need a damage and situation report first.”
“Sir, we’re sat on the surface, the Chief of the Boat got us here, everyone one else was out of it, mainly everyone that is. We had some fire but it’s out now… flooding in the engine room but the pumps are handling it. We’re dead in the water as far as propulsion goes, but we got electrical power back. There’s lots of injured like yourself and five dead, sorry sir.”
“Where is the Chief, I need to speak to him.”
“Sir… he was one of the dead, his back was broke but he could still shout orders, he lay on his back giving encouragement and directions when yelling was inappropriate. All the officers was injured too, but the Chief, well… he was a good man sir. A little while after we got up top, well he just stopped talking and we realised he was dead too.”
“How can we still be afloat… what the hell happened?”
The bosuns mate finished examining him and sat back on his haunches.
“The way I figure it, we was still reeling in the array when that thing went off, so I reckon the torpedo struck it, instead of us.”
A sick bay orderly came up and the mate stood to give him room to work. “Who has the boat?”
“Mr Hannigan sir, he had a dislocated shoulder but he’s got things under control, with a little help from us older hands… .hell of a first cruise for him.”
Pitt could only nod in reply, and then the orderly produced a syringe.
“Sorry sir but I need to reset those breaks before I can move you, I’m putting you under for a while.”
The Captain open his mouth to protest but he felt a sharp jab and seconds later darkness closed in.
The Commissioner did not enter the embassy through the front doors in Grosvenor Square, but via Blackburne Mews at the rear of the building, and into the indoor garage. His driver remained with the car as he was met by a junior staff member and escorted upstairs to Arnie Petrucci’s office. The CIA Head of Station rose from his desk and crossed the room. “Commissioner, thank you for coming.”
They shook hands briefly and waited for the escort to withdraw from the room, closing the door after him before seating themselves and getting down to business. The policeman opened his briefcase and handed over notes, and a small bottle containing a tissue sample.
“The Grampian Police are a little put out that you wouldn’t take them at their word.”
“Their Chief Constable seems like a good guy to have around, I’ll call him tomorrow morning and square things… it’s not that we doubt their ability, we just need to get a second opinion to be entirely certain that the remains are of Major Bedonavich. It would be a hell of a thing to carry on running what it is we are running if he was in fact in their hands and being worked on.”
The Commissioner made no attempt to draw Arnie on what the operation was; he just sat there quietly.
“Have you had any success with tracking down the killers?”
“Yes, and no. A Ford Transit van was found burnt out on the outskirts of Aberdeen, not an unusual occurrence for the area in which it happened, but this one had a body inside it, death was from gunshot wounds.”
“Score one for Constantine then.”
The policeman nodded.
“Possibly.” It would be a few days yet before the scene had been examined to everyone’s satisfaction, and a firm picture of who had done what, was established.
“In the meantime we are checking CCTV footage in shops, chemists and petrol filling stations between the scene and Aberdeen. DNA examination of the male and female found at the scene show them to be east European, but immigration have no trace of their dabs on file.”
“So they were illegals?”
“Not necessarily, their fingerprints would only be taken if they had applied for residency, not tourism or business.” The Commissioner rose to his feet. “If there is nothing more Mr Petrucci, then I will be on my way?”
Arnie led him to the door and with a shake of hands the policeman left with his escort, leaving the American to summons a courier who would take the tissue sample to Langley for a second comparison against one they already held.
Vice Admiral Putchev smiled and nodded his thanks to the crewman as he took the proffered mug from the tray. Captain Hong himself smiled as he watched the simple act of politeness, and found he was also saying thank you when the tray was next offered. The Russian’s command style, so in contrast to that of the authoritarian Chinese system, was definitely rubbing off on him.
After sipping at the beverage appreciatively, he turned to the Russian.
“What did you say goes into this?”
“Cocoa and sherry… but you can use any sweet wine really.”
“It is… unusual, but agreeable for all that.”
“I spent three months as an observer with NATO, aboard the British destroyer HMS Devonshire. A strange peoples the British, but I got quite fond of this on cold nights in the Atlantic. A far more pleasant product of those islands than their skinny women and cricket.”
Hong took up his night glasses and swept the horizon. All radars with the exception of a merchantman forty miles ahead of the fleet were powered down. Despite her looks, the merchanter out ahead was crewed by naval ratings and ‘walking point’. What appeared to be standard steel shipping containers on her decks, were in fact made of plywood, camouflage for the surface to surface and Crotale launchers concealed beneath them.