"Ahh, they'll find out soon enough," Kellerman said.
"No, it's the principle of the thing," Benson said. "They're brother submariners, right? It would be fun just to tweak the bastards, just for the hell of it."
"Sounds good to me," Scobey said. "How?"
"Well, we could get Johanson in on this." PO2 Johanson was one of Pittsburgh's divers. "Or one of us could swim over there. Like after dark. With a message."
"I'm liking this better and better," Scobey said.
"Thank you for coming, Commander," Admiral Hartwell said.
Frank Gordon stepped into the air-conditioned coolness of the briefing room, a secure, windowless, concrete-walled chamber beneath the modest three-story facility that housed the headquarters of most of the various Mare Island commands.
It sure wasn't like I had a choice, Gordon thought, but he smiled and nodded. "Not a problem, sir. May I introduce my Executive Officer, Lieutenant Frederick Latham."
Mike Chase was already there, seated at the conference table next to Admiral Hartwell, the CO of Submarine Squadron 5. On the other side of the table were several men whose suits suggested intelligence officers. One was a tall, almost gaunt man with silver hair and a patrician manner. He was impeccably dressed in a Savile Row suit, and would have looked more at home in a gentleman's club in London or Boston than in a Navy briefing room with its Spartan furnishings and pale green cinder-block walls.
As Gordon was taking a seat at the long briefing table, two more men entered, both Navy commanders. One was wearing dolphins above the rows of brightly colored ribbons on his whites.
"Good," Admiral Hartwell said, rising. "We can begin."
"Perhaps, Jules," the older man said, "we should start with introductions."
"Of course… sir." The admiral began making introductions for those who needed them. Mike Chase, Pittsburgh's former CO, and Gordon, her next. Commander Richard Perrigrino, the skipper of the Parche. Commander James Edward Travers, of Naval Intelligence, who'd been aboard Parche as a passenger during her last deployment. Jules Hartwell himself, commander of SUBRON 5.
The only one of the other intelligence officers given a name was the older man in expensive clothes — John Wesley Cabot, introduced as "a senior intelligence officer from Langley, Virginia."
Langley meant the Agency, of course, the CIA.
"Thank you, Jules," Cabot said. "Before we begin the briefing proper, I'd like to speak briefly with Commander Chase, if I may."
"By all means."
Gordon studied the man carefully, since he seemed to be — or seemed to think he was — in charge of the proceedings here. Gordon was reminded of an old, old saying extant in the Boston-New England area, a land where legions of Cabots and Lodges had ruled for generations, where the Cabots, especially, had a history of serving in the church as ministers. Lodges, the old saying went, spoke only to Cabots, and Cabots spoke only to God.
"First of all I have to ask you, Commander Chase," Cabot said in a whispery voice with a strong Harvard accent that changed first to fust, and ask to awsk, "if you are aware of covert and possibly illegal efforts by men of your crew to communicate with the crew members of the Parche?" He pronounced the vessel's name "Patch," and Gordon was reminded of the Harvardese line about "pahking your cah in the cah-pahk."
"Illegal? No, sir. I'm not aware of anything like that."
"It was our hope to completely cordon Parche and her crew off from, um, outside influences. It appears we have been unsuccessful."
"Unsuccessful in what way?"
"Intelligence agents went aboard the Parche early this morning to conduct interviews, much as they conducted interviews of your men, Captain Chase. But each and every one of the men interviewed stubbornly refused to answer all questions, even so far as confirming their identity. They claimed, each and every one of them, that they were not allowed to talk to any unauthorized personnel, and that if my people insisted, then they would do so only with an attorney present… at government expense."
Gordon held back a chuckle, and he could tell Mike was suppressing a barely controllable grin. "And what makes you think one of my men was involved, sir?"
"It's the only theory that makes sense! Your crew knew what had happened aboard this ship. It only seems reasonable that they would try to let Parche's men in on the secret."
"That strikes me as excessively circumstantial, Mr. Cabot," Chase said. "Unless you can prove such an allegation—"
"Of course we can't prove it! But I suggest that you let your people know, Commander Chase, that this sort of behavior constitutes a serious breach of security regulations. It is not impossible that we could have the entire crew of the Pittsburgh up on charges."
"What charges, sir?"
"Suborning authority! Conduct prejudicial to national security! Violation of security oaths!"
"Frankly, I doubt that you could get blanket charges of that nature to stick," Chase said calmly. "And I doubt your willingness to prosecute them in what would quickly become an open forum."
"What do you mean, 'open forum'?"
"Only that you can't lock sailors up forever, and sailors love to talk. The story would get out sooner or later. Newspapers. TV…. "
"TV!"
"It's possible. Especially if they thought they were being railroaded. Especially if their commanding officer thought they were being unjustly treated."
"That would be a violation of your oath as a naval officer,
Chase."
"My oath, Mr. Cabot, was to the Constitution of the United States."
"There are the Official Secrets Acts. And obedience to duly appointed authority in your chain of command."
"And I and my men will not do anything to jeopardize national security. But you people can lean on that horse only so long before its legs finally give way. I suggest that you not test it."
Cabot scowled. "I had hoped, Commander, that you would be more cooperative."
"What are you going to do to me, take away my boat?" He spread his hands and laughed. "Commanding a submarine was all I ever wanted out of life. I've done that, now, and I'm not going back. So beach me or drum me out of the Navy, but quit making empty threats and stop harassing my crew!"
"I… see,"Cabot said. He pursed his lips. "Well, at least you are honest with me, speak your true mind. But I fear that your loyalty to your country may be questionable."
"You take that back!"
"Mike, easy," Hartwell warned.
"I'm not going to take that kind of shit from anyone," Chase said.
"Mike—"
"Do you hear this crap? He sounds like a CIA recruiting poster out of the 1950s. I am a loyal American. I wouldn't be wearing this uniform if I was not."
"Mike, none of us question that…. "
"He does. And if he doesn't believe me, let him lay charges against me, right here, right now!"
"Commander Chase, I apologize," Cabot said, surprisingly. "Your loyalty is not in question here. I submit that this is not the time or place for airing this sort of unpleasantness. Commander, if you wish to discuss this with me further, in private, I will be happy to do so.
"However, time is short, and we need to proceed to the real purpose of this briefing." He raised his voice. "Commander Travers? If you please…. "