The so-called drawer was less than two inches high. "What's this?" Ilse said, lifting the little curtains, pointing to the boxes, secured with nylon strapping, that now filled the top and bottom racks.
"Just what the labels say. Xerox paper, printer toner, pens and pencils, scratch pads."
"Scratch pads?" Ilse tried to imagine what 120 men might do, left to themselves at sea, without even fish or birds for witnesses. An image of Cape buffalo rubbing their butts on tree stumps came to mind.
"Writing tablets," Jeffrey said. "Our manuals and charts are all on-line, but we still go through a lot of paper."
"Oh," Ilse said. It's like sleeping in a warehouse. She'd noticed that throughout the parts of the boat she'd seen so far, storage cabinets were recessed in every conceivable nook and cranny.
"You're all set for toiletries, and, urn, you know, other stuff?"
"Yes, Commander," Ilse said. "The supply officer on Frank Cable made me up a package. She was very helpful."
"Yeah. There are things we don't stock on submarines."
Ilse had to look away. He was so coy about it. Men always were.
"There was one other thing," Jeffrey said.
Ilse looked directly at him. "Oh?"
"Laundry."
"That's right." She hadn't thought of that. "My clothes are filthy."
"Did you bring a change?"
"Just what I have on. At Pearl Harbor they made me travel very light. Before I got on the plane they even took my hair dryer."
"Home appliances don't mix well with seawater and steel," Jeffrey said. "We can fit you out. That's not a problem."
"I like those denim jump suits some enlisted men were wearing."
"I'll take care of that," Jeffrey said.
"Also, besides these khakis, those blue shirts and pants are nice."
"No problem," Jeffrey said. "There's, um, there's one other thing."
"Yes?"
"Could you, um … do you mind … doing your own underwear?" Ilse laughed. "Don't your laundrymen have wives or sisters?"
"Oh, no, it's not that. It's just that, um, well, the machines are rough on delicate things." Ilse pointed to the little metal sink, where a pair of panties and a bra were soaking. Jeffrey blushed.
Ilse chuckled. "We Boers are self-sufficient people. I take it you're not married."
"No."
"I thought you might not wear a ring. Safety or something. You know, machines and radiation. Electricity."
"That's true," Jeffrey said. "Sometimes jewelry can be dangerous. But no, I'm single … You just called yourself a Boer."
Ilse sighed. "It's still what I am. Murdering my family hasn't changed that. There are many of my generation who want to stop what's happened — older people too. It seems to me sometimes that we live just to try to stop it. But that can't change who we are, Commander."
"It must be hard for you."
"Have you ever been to South Africa?"
"No … never."
"The mountains, the coastlines, the vineyards, and the veld. The cheetahs, the lions, the flowers, and the birds. The native art, the deserts, the Valley of Desolation, the Valley of a Thousand Hills." Ilse stopped to draw a breath.
"It all sounds very nice."
"I've been many places, Commander. Research trips, and travel just for … just for fun, I almost said. Nowhere compares to home. I want that back. We'd come so far in recent years, and now we've lost it all. We're shamed before the whole free world for what a few of us made happen. Or let happen. Can you understand?"
"It's like Cuba going communist, or France with the Resistance."
"Both of which you read about in books."
"Yeah."
"Well, this is happening to me. You have your ship, your crew, your relatives back home. Your country is united, now more than in sixty years. I have none of that. I've lost my country. I want it back."
"I'm sorry. It, um, it, you, you must be lonely"
"It's something no uitlander could understand."
"A foreigner, you mean?"
"There's no translation." Ilse yawned, although she didn't want to.
"I see you're tired," Jeffrey said. "I'm pretty bushed myself. Some sleep will help. We'll wake you in six hours. I'll post a schedule for the shower."
"How military of you."
Jeffrey blinked. He actually seemed hurt. "The submariner day is eighteen hours," Jeffrey said. "Three six-hour watches. One on, two off, usually."
"I'll get awful jet lag fitting into that."
"You can ask the corpsman for a sleeping pill."
"No."
"There's one other thing," Jeffrey said. "The captain asked me to bring this up with you. You'd mentioned you knew people in our navy."
"Just some guys I went out with in San Diego."
"Captain Wilson, he, uh, he wants to know. In South Africa, did you know people there?"
"You want to pick my brain, for intelligence?" Not again. Didn't I get enough of this in Washington?
"Something like that," Jeffrey said. "There's one guy, he was high-profile. Now he's in command of Voortrekker."
"Voortrekker?"
"That's their ceramic boat, commissioned a year before Challenger, built in Germany with help on the propulsion plant from Russia. It was supposed to be a concession, a gift from the German bankers, a legal bribe to get to make some lucrative loans to a Boer-controlled armaments conglomerate. The hull's a composite multilayered matrix, like tank armor, but much less dense than steel."
"I know," Ilse said, "Sessions told me. And the Germans have their Deutschland and the Brits have HMS Dreadnought. And the Japanese started the whole thing."
"Yeah, there was an arms race," Jeffrey said. "Anyway, we thought you might have met Voortrekker's captain, Jan ter Horst."
Ilse stiffened.
"What's the matter?" Jeffrey said.
"I know him."
"Very well? If we could understand his mind-set, in case we go up against him, it would help."
"Yes, I know Jan ter Horst." Ilse said the name with bitterness.
"What's he like?"
"Arrogant. Innovative. He'll take shrewd risks, and he learns very quickly. Aggressive, a brilliant leader, religiously devout. One of the instigators of the Putsch."
"Sounds like a tough character."
"He's the best they have, and he knows it. If you ever do encounter him, be very, very careful."
"Sure you're not exaggerating?" Jeffrey said.
"I'd fear for my life if I were you. I really would. He's ruthless, more than you can possibly imagine."
"The problem is he did the Severodvinsk school, in Russia, not the British Perisher, then went to sea a lot on Russian SSNs, for the experience. Now our agents can't get his file in Moscow or anywhere else."
"I can help. But just so far. Be warned, for future reference … "
"You have my attention."
"I won't be with you long, and I want you to survive this war. Jan ter Horst enjoys being unpredictable, and he loves to rub it in. He's very energetic, and he has a wild imagination." In spite of herself Ilse gave a secret smile. "He's also a terrific liar." Unlike you, Jeffrey Fuller. You're too easy to figure out. In some strange way you're even sweet. Predictable but sweet. Both could cost you.
"How come you know so much?" Jeffrey said.
"Up until the Putsch, for two years, Jan and I were lovers."
CHAPTER 7
"Morning, sir."
"Morning, sir."
Jeffrey nodded back. The two enlisted men got coffee, then took off. Jeffrey turned back to the table, piled with lethal-looking gadgets.
Sitting in the booth in the enlisted mess was Lieutenant Shajo Clayton, now in his element. Ilse sat across from Clayton, but Jeffrey stood — it helped him think. Four SEALs sat at another booth, adjusting bulky cases that said DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE on the sides. Two of these men, Clayton said, were logistics and equipment guys not going on the raid; they were alternates, just in case.