“When Southwest Ledge Light is abeam, go ahead standard and set a course for the Race, Deedee,” said Buck to his OOD, a lieutenant named D. D. Brown, whose title on board was the anachronistic “gunnery officer.” The lighthouse, a solid, square structure, built of brick on a rocky outcropping almost in midchannel, could have passed without much notice in any town or city, except for the unusually thick walls which made its windows resemble the gun embrazures of an old fort. There had been a time when keepers would wave to the submarines as they entered or left the Thames River, but no more. The light on its roof had been on automatic for years. “Topside is secured for sea, Commodore,” said Buck, “and the ship is rigged for dive. We’ll be securing the maneuvering watch after we round the Ledge.”
“Very well,” said Rich. He put down the binoculars with which, from habit, he had been inspecting the lighthouse, settled his parka hood more firmly around his head. He and Buck had been standing on opposite sides of the bridge cockpit, on folding metal steps which lifted them a foot higher above the bulwarks. Buck stepped down at the same time Rich did. At higher speed a little more protection from the cold wind would be welcome. The move brought the two men shoulder to shoulder against the after edge of the cockpit.
“How did you leave Laura, Skipper?” asked Williams. “Short notice for her, wasn’t it?” The question was part of an unofficial conversation, not meant, as the previous exchange had been, to be heard by others.
“Oh, she was caught by surprise, of course, but she took it in stride. She knew something was going on, especially with that late-night session aboard the Proteus. Also, she’s guessed it has something to do with Keith, and that’s got to be nothing but a woman’s intuition.”
“She couldn’t be your wife all these years and not know when something big is going on, Skipper. You’ve not had much sleep the last two nights, there was that thing in the paper about the Cushing, not that it had anything correct, and now you’re suddenly taking the Manta off on a long cruise. I was bushed, myself, when I finally rolled into my bunk down below, but I was way better off than you because I’d already moved aboard. She’s got to have guessed something’s up.” Buck made no effort to stifle his huge yawn.
“I suppose I could have done some better planning,” said Rich. “Anyway, I’ll have plenty of time to get rested before we hit the ice. Except for thinking about what Keith and his crew are going through, I could be a passenger. You’re the one who’s going to have to do all the work.” He put his binoculars to his eyes, and Buck knew he did not wish to pursue a discussion of last night’s events.
“There’s an emergency on,” Laura had said, “and it’s got something to do with Keith. It’s all over the base, and all over New London too.” She had been asleep, but had slipped on a robe to help Rich throw together some changes of clothing to take with him. When Rich did not answer, she went on, “Peggy called a couple of hours ago. She’s hysterical.”
“What about?”
“Oh, everything. Sometimes I worry a little about her. If there’s any gossip or rumor floating around about anything or anybody, she’s heard it. She’s a regular dirt hound, and it’s practically an obsession with her. Right now there’s a lot of loose talk going around about the Cushing, and I’ll bet Peggy’s heard it all. She’s found out about that big secret conference you’ve just come from. Says it has got to be about the Cushing, and that the big Navy brass came up here in civilian clothes and went straight aboard the Proteus to talk to you about it.”
“Is that why she’s hysterical?”
“Partly, I think. The rumors are about Keith, this time, even though they’re not personal, and she’s finding that hard to take. What set her off, though, was a telephone call from a newspaper in Washington.”
“What did the newspaper want?” Richardson paused in the act of selecting the right khaki shirts, turned to face her. “When did they call?”
“She called me right afterward, so it was just over two hours ago. Mainly, the man only asked if Keith was skipper of the Cushing, and when they had left New London. Where they were bound for. That sort of thing. In her frame of mind that would be enough to get her upset right there, but then he came on with something about Keith being mixed up in some kind of a fracas with the Russians, and that really scared her. I promised I’d call her back as soon as I’d had a chance to talk to you about it.”
“There’s nothing I could tell her,” said Rich. “Was it the reporter who told her about the conference? They ought not to be allowed to do that kind of thing. Calling up a skipper’s wife with this kind of rumor …” He left the sentence unfinished, threw the shirts roughly into his suitcase.
“Maybe, I don’t know. I heard about it earlier, though. A big Navy airplane landed over at Trumbull Field, and three Navy sedans were waiting for it and took everybody to the Proteus.”
“Well, you can’t call her back,” said Richardson.
“Come on, Rich. Of all the things she’s asked me for lately, this is the most legitimate. She’s sitting by her phone right this minute. It’s her husband. She’s worried silly, and she needs help. I promised I’d call as soon as I’d talked to you. What can I tell her?”
“Well — okay. But you have to say that you don’t know anything about any conference, one way or the other. So far as you know, Keith’s all right. So’s the Cushing. She’s not to pay attention to any rumors about her. The Manta’s going on routine training exercises.”
“Then why are you going along, Rich? She’s going to ask that just as soon as she finds out you’ve gone, and that’s going to be later on today sometime.”
“Tell her … tell her …” Richardson struggled with the words but more, Laura could see, with himself. “Well, all right, but you’ve got to make her swear to secrecy. I’m giving the Manta an Operations Readiness Inspection, an ORI. Got that? An ORI. It’ll take a month, and Keith’s going to be all right. That’s the second point. Keith’s going to be all right, but she’s not to talk about it to anyone.”
“That sounds pretty mixed up to me,” said Laura, “but I’ll try to put it across. You’re giving the Manta an ORI, and somehow Keith’s going to be okay. She’ll know either the ORI’s a fake, or else you’re not doing anything for Keith. Besides, who ever heard of a month-long ORI? She won’t buy that story.”
“Look Laura, whose side are you on? Just tell her what I said. You don’t know what I’m doing either, do you? You don’t know if this sudden trip has anything to do with Keith or not. We’re doing everything we can. You just keep saying that I said Keith’s going to be okay, and not to talk to any reporters. They don’t know anything, and they’ll just get her upset.”
There was unaccustomed asperity in Richardson’s voice, which he instantly regretted. Laura compressed her lips, said nothing. “Look, Laurie,” he said after a moment, coming around the bed and sliding his arm around her waist, “we’re getting underway tomorrow, and I’ll be gone for quite a while. And I can’t tell you anything, even though I know I can trust you all the way. But we don’t trust Peggy, do we? Whatever you or I tell her is as good as broadcast all over town. Besides, I don’t want to think of her right now.”