‘Cheers,’ he said, and waved them to seats.
One sip of the insipid drink was enough for Porter, but he noted that Adrienne Howard went through the motions of enjoying hers.
‘On behalf of the Director and all members of the Council,’ Davidson said, ‘I offer the Corporation’s congratulations to Miss Howard and Mr Porter.’
That was all Porter had to hear. Without any question a horrendous assignment loomed ahead.
‘You two have been chosen to lead our counter-intelligence forces in the most important, vital operation the Corporation has ever undertaken.’
‘I’m flattered to death,’ Porter murmured, his voice dry.
The blonde remained silent, but a corner of her mouth twitched, and she bit her lip.
‘Your one deficiency, Porter, is your misplaced sense of humour.’ Davidson was aggrieved. ‘Under the circumstances, I shall overlook your comment. I trust you’re both comfortable here. The Corporation owns this place. Through a dummy setup, naturally, so we can speak with complete freedom.’
‘I hope the chap Miss Howard bashed wasn’t a deputy director,’ Porter said.
Davidson did not smile as he shook his head. ‘No, a salesman who happens to be a guest here. We do take in outsiders.’ He passed the cheese and crackers, then became solemn. ‘It is my privilege to tell you about Project Neptune, an operation so secret that almost nothing concerning it has been reduced to paper. What does the name Zoloto fourteen dash twenty-nine sixty-seven mean to you?’ He looked at Adrienne Howard, challenging her.
She thought hard, then shrugged.
Davidson turned to Porter.
‘Give me a minute. Zoloto means “gold” in Russian, of course, and with the numbers it must be the serial identification of a Zoloto class of Soviet atomic submarine.’
Davidson looked crestfallen.
‘It comes back to me,’ Porter said. ‘About two years ago a Russian atomic submarine was lost. Somewhere in the Pacific. I was on temporary duty as head of the Singapore station, and I was relieved so I could chase up leads. The Russians never made any announcement, and most of the KGB field people never even heard of the sub. As I recall it, I chased all over the Far East for a month or two, but I came up with zed-e-r-o. A great cipher.’
Davidson perked up. ‘That was only the beginning, Porter. The Russians spent a year searching for their submarine. So did we. And we found her.’
Adrienne Howard pushed back a.strand of her shoulder-length hair, but betrayed no feeling.
Porter rolled a cigarette.
‘We used our most advanced bathyscaphe diving techniques, our most modern sonar. We found the ship, resting at the bottom of the sea, more than three miles down. The precise location is irrelevant at the moment. Suffice to say that within days a decision was made at the highest level to raise the sub. Our scientists will have eight Red atomic weapons to take apart, and for the first time we’ll know what makes them tick.’
‘Wow!’ the blonde said.
Davidson was smug as he held up a hand. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘We also want, desperately, the Red Navy communications code on board that sub. We know that every captain and every communications officer has a copy, so there must be two of them in that tight shell at the bottom of the ocean. I need hardly tell you how valuable it would be to us if we could decipher every message received and sent by every submarine in the Red Navy.’
‘Zoloto submarines,’ Porter said, ‘have a gross weight of more than six thousand tons. You just said she’s sitting at the bottom more than three miles down. The benefits of recovering her are so obvious we needn’t waste time enumerating them. But how, in God’s name, can you haul up a ship of more than six thousand tons without breaking her to pieces and sending her to the bottom again, this time with her codes destroyed and her atomic weapons ruined?’
‘We believe it can be done and will be done,’ Davidson said. ‘That, my friends, is Project Neptune.’
‘Brian,’ Adrienne Howard said, ‘if I didn’t know you never touch anything stronger than ginger ale, I’d be prepared to swear that you’ve been drinking.’
‘I’m listening to you, Davidson,’ Porter said, ‘but I’m not believing you.’
The White House,’ Davidson said, ‘is convinced that the recovery of the Zoloto will influence the course of our current arms limitation negotiations with Moscow. The President,’ he continued, intoning the words, ‘has given Project Neptune the highest priority.’
‘That still doesn’t mean the submarine can be salvaged,’ Porter said.
His superior ignored the interruption. ‘More than seven hundred million dollars has been spent so far, and no one knows how high the bill will run before we’re finished.’
‘I’m delighted I’m not an American taxpayer,’ Porter said.
‘We in Gamma Division deal very little in technology. We leave that sort of thing to Theta. So you’ll be filled in later on the details. It’s enough for me to tell you now that some of the country’s best scientists went to work on a crash programme to design a salvage ship capable of bringing up the Zoloto intact. The keel of the Neptune was laid eleven months ago, and she’ll soon be ready for launching.’
Adrienne Howard frowned. ‘How big is this ship, Brian?’
‘She has a gross weight of more than forty-two thousand tons!’ Davidson said proudly.
Porter and the blonde exchanged glances, and for the first time their thoughts were the same. ‘Damn it, Davidson,’ Porter said, ‘thousands upon thousands of shipwrights, welders, carpenters, plumbers, electricians, steel workers and God only knows how many others have had to work on this ship. The security problems are staggering. By now Moscow and Peking must know what you’re doing, and so does every ha’penny Red satellite!’
‘We’ve made no particular effort to keep the building of the Neptune a secret, although we haven’t publicized it, either.’ Davidson’s giggle was unexpectedly high-pitched. ‘The US Government has no part in the project. The ship is being built by private industry for commercial purposes. Every last one of the workers believes she’ll be used to explore the sea bed for coal deposits. How’s that for a cover?’
‘Brilliant,’ Adrienne said, ‘but who would be stupid enough to swallow the story?’
Davidson played his trump card. ‘The builder is Franklin Richards.’
Suddenly the wild scheme began to make sense. Franklin Richards, one of the world’s wealthiest men, was a self-made billionaire who had accumulated his original fortune in coal, then expanded into real estate and built huge office building complexes in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and other major cities. It was well known, however, that his real love was the sea, and his shipyard on the Strait of Juan de Fuca in the state of Washington was one of the busiest on earth. It was said that one-third of the freighters and tankers in the American merchant marine, as well as those flying the flags of Liberia and Panama, had been constructed in the Richards yards.
So Richards was the one man anywhere who could provide perfect cover for Project Neptune. His own fortune was so vast that he could finance it himself. He owned a yard where the Neptune could be constructed. His coal holdings were still extensive, and no one would question his desire to locate more deposits at the bottom of the sea.
There was one catch, however. The forty-five-year-old Richards and his French-born wife, Marie, were bona fide, charter members of the international jet set. They entertained extensively at their various homes, their names appeared constantly in society and gossip columns, and no list of Beautiful People would be complete without them. The risk of entrusting such key roles to a gregarious, socially active couple was great.