Thirteen
The months of planning and building, preparation and practice came to an end at 3.30 a.m. The air was muggy, indicating that a change in the weather was due, but the star-filled sky was clear, and a full moon provided far better illumination than did the floodlights that shone on the submersible from the Neptune. The last of the demagnetized ballast had been stored in place, a final check revealed that all instruments were operable and that all plugs were secure. The technicians making the inspection climbed a ladder to the deck of the Neptune, and were followed by Franklin Richards, who went straight to the operations centre.
He hurried to the master control panel, where three project supervisors were monitoring the many needles, gauges, and lights. His wife was waiting for him, too, and for an instant he put an arm around her shoulders.
‘All systems are go, sir,’ the chief supervisor said.
Marie Richards smiled at her husband, stepped forward and pulled the switch turning on the delicate mechanism that began the decompression of the gasoline stored in the chamber beneath the huge float.
‘Cut all lines to the submersible,’ Richards said.
‘Very good, sir.’ An assistant supervisor punched a button, and four automated knives cut the heavy lines.
Almost one hundred experts and technicans were on duty in the operations centre, but no one moved, no one spoke, no one as much as lighted a cigarette. After three minutes the tension was almost unbearable, and one minute later the huge football field barge sank beneath the surface of the South China Sea.
Cigarettes, pipes, and cigars appeared, and stewards began to push carts laden with coffee and sweet rolls from console to monitoring board.
Franklin Richards looked as unconcerned as he did lounging beside a swimming pool. ‘Activate television cameras,’ he said.
One by one the four cameras attached to the submersible were turned on, the images they portrayed reflected on a score of receiving sets throughout the centre, as well as projected on to a screen that occupied all of one bulkhead.
The float required ten minutes to sink one hundred feet, and thereafter descended at an ever-increasing rate.
‘Do you want the sonar switched on, Mr Richards?’ the chief supervisor asked.
‘Test it every fifteen minutes, as scheduled, but don’t leave it on until the field has gone down two and a half miles. We don’t want to interfere with the sonar devices on the destroyers that are keeping watch for hostile submarines.’ Richards picked up a telephone and dialled the Captain. ‘We’re under way, CharUe. What’s the latest on the weather?’
‘The typhoon is turning nastier, with winds up to one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour.’
‘Still headed towards us?’
‘I’m sorry to say we’re still directly in her path, but you understand she can shift her course at any time.’
‘Suppose she doesn’t change. What’s my deadline?’
‘With luck, you may have an hour or two longer than we thought. The wind and seas will begin strengthening by late afternoon, and we’ll face gale conditions by about seven tonight.’
‘I hope that’s all the time I’ll need. Keep me informed.’
Adrienne, who had been watching from a vantage point near the master console, saw the Deacon signal to her, and went without delay to the bridge.
‘Your helicopter is coming in,’ Captain Humphries said. ‘We’ll be seeing her lights in another sixty to ninety seconds.’
‘Tell him, please, to come in off our port bow and dock port-side. All the hydroelectric, sonar, and television lines are clustered aft, with the emergency lines on the starboard side.’
The Captain laughed. ‘Any time you want to leave the Corporation for a job in the Navy, let me know. The helicopter has already been given strict instructions.’
The twinkling lights of the aircraft came into view off the port bow at a height of about 1,500 feet, and began to sink lower.
A searchlight picked up the helicopter in its beam and followed it.
‘Turn off your damn flashlight,’ the irate pilot said over his intercom. ‘You’re blinding me!’
The searchlight was snapped off, and the helicopter made a soft landing one hundred yards from the Neptune, then began to taxi towards the ship.
Adrienne hurried down to the main deck, accompanied by the Deacon, and ran forward to the bow. Most of the Corporation personnel had already gathered there, but everyone else concerned with Project Neptune was too busy elsewhere.
Two seamen lowered a steel ladder that unfolded in sections, and the pilot made fast to a line that was thrown down to him.
The searchlight was turned on again, the door opened and Porter appeared, shielding his eyes from the glare. He mounted the ladder slowly, using only his right hand, with Blackman close behind, helping him.
The Deacon steadied him as he came on to the deck.
‘What happened to your shoulder?’ Adrienne demanded.
‘I regard that as an inadequate expression of greeting,’ Porter said, and drew her to him with his sound arm.
They kissed at length, ignoring the presence of their embarrassed subordinates. Senior agents were not expected to show their emotions, even under extenuating circumstances.
Adrienne took charge. ‘Come with me to the sick bay.’
Porter held back. ‘I gather from the messages we’ve been exchanging that the show is under way. I don’t want to miss it.’
‘First you’ll have the bullet in your shoulder removed and your wound dressed. The show will last all day, so you’ll have ample time to see Project Neptune.’
Porter astonished the Corporation operatives, particularly those who had worked with him for years. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said meekly, and allowed Adrienne to lead him below.
Porter went to bed in the ship’s hospital for several hours after the surgeon was finished with him, and slept soundly. One of the Corporation agents, who was keeping watch, immediately notified Adrienne when he woke, and she came below for breakfast with him.
His first concern was for the helicopter pilot, who, she told him, had gone off to land on the deck of the Navy cruiser and would remain on board.
As they ate breakfast Porter related his story.
‘One of Verschek’s people will recover the phoney submarine specifications in the morning and take them to Moscow,’ Adrienne said. ‘By the time they learn there is no such ship we should be back on the American mainland. You’re mad, but you’ve pulled off the biggest caper ever. Congratulations.’
‘I’ve had more fun doing other things.’
She hesitated for an instant. ‘It’s none of my business, but what did you really think of the Wing woman?’
‘She should have followed her acting career and married a film producer who would have made her a star. It was her only chance for happiness. She wasn’t cut out for our kind of work.’
Tin not sure anyone is,’ she said. ‘What happened to the money Verschek gave you?’
‘I forgot all about it.’ He laughed and pointed to his soiled clothes, which a hospital orderly had folded and placed on a chair. ‘Inside jacket pocket, right-hand side.’
Adrienne removed the money and counted it. ‘One hundred thousand. Lovely.’
‘My official report to Davidson,’ Porter declared, ‘will say I lost it during the fight on the Singapore wharf. Put it away. You and I will think of ways to spend it. Later. Right now I want to see what’s happening to Project Neptune.’
‘You should stay in bed and rest.’
‘I’m as healthy as I’ve ever been,’ Porter said, ‘and this is the biggest day in the history of intelligence operations. If I must, I’ll go up to the deck stark naked.’