Relishing the zampolifs discomfort and ignoring his frightened plea, Dmitri Zinyagin coolly told him, “If I were a follower of the old faith like my beloved mother, I’d get down on my knees and pray. Because the way it looks to me now, that’s about the only thing that’s going to save us.”
Chapter Eighteen
Warrant Officer Oleg Zagorsk was monitoring Sea Devil’s hydrophones when a pair of distant, muted explosions sounded from the waters behind them. Even without the benefit of headphones his shipmates could hear these blasts, and it was their CO who attempted to identify them.
“I bet there’s a British underwater demolition team working beneath the waters of the Clyde this morning, Comrades. Most likely they’re removing some sort of obstacle from the channel, or blasting out a foundation for a new pier. Whatever it may be, as long as they stay out of our way, they’re of no concern to Sea Devil” “Shouldn’t we be ascending soon to take a bearing?” asked Tanya Olovski as she wiped the condensation from the glass face of their compass.
“Do I hear just a hint of impatience in your tone, comrade?” observed the Captain.
“Relax, and rest assured that I will get us to our destination without getting Sea Devil lost.”
Quick to check his own watch, Yuri Sosnovo got into the act.
“As I figure it, we should be approaching Gourock shortly.”
“You figure correctly,” said Mikhail firmly.
“And since Holy Loch lies directly across from Gourock, this is where we’ll be making our turn to the west.”
“But what if we were to overshoot it?” asked Tanya.
“Who knows what kind of current we might have picked up when we entered the Firth.”
Mikhail tapped the oilskin-covered charts that lay rolled up on his lap.
“I guarantee you that we won’t pass it by. Comrade Olovski. And to allay your fears, I plan to surface in five more minutes to take a bearing.
Hopefully all this can be accomplished without us having to lose our escort topside. I can tell you one thing for certain… that tug has been a godsend.”
Sean Lafferty stood alone in the wheelhouse, his gaze locked on that portion of the channel visible before them. Since relieving Bernard, Sean had remained at the helm, totally responsible for the tug’s course and speed. The Dundalk native enjoyed this time to himself.
It gave him an opportunity to appreciate the passing scenery and more important, to think.
The past couple of days had seemed to fly by with an incredible swiftness. It seemed that only yesterday he and Patrick Callaghan were on their way to Edinburgh Castle to steal the crown jewels. But a virtual lifetime had passed since then. Patrick was dead, and he was in the midst of an incredible new operation that would soon alter the course of history. To think that it was because of his father that this mission had come into being made it that much more astonishing.
Shaking his head in wonder, Sean briefly looked down at the chart and identified the beacon ahead as Cloch Point. To his right lay Lunderston Bay, while the heavily forested hills that overlooked Dunoon passed on the left.
There was an assortment of surface traffic visible on this part of the Firth. A variety of fishing boats, barges, tugs, and pleasure craft plied these waters. He had also recently passed an oceangoing cargo ship that was headed out to sea. He guessed that this traffic would be getting more congested as they rounded Gourock and turned east toward Gare Loch, the site of the royal christening.
Just thinking about the earth-shattering events their efforts would soon trigger caused a heavy lump to form in Sean’s throat. Until Patrick Callaghan’s tragic passing, he had never really given much thought to death. Even during all the dangerous operations that he’d previously participated in, the idea of his own mortality never really crossed his mind. It was almost as if all the ambushes and bombings had been merely child’s games. And though people did die during these undertakings, Sean felt magically protected.
It was hard to believe that in less than an hour’s time he would disappear off the face of the earth. At the very least, his end would be quick. But did he really have to die? This was the question that had been eating at him ever since Dr. Blackwater had explained his fate.
It had seemed so noble at the time to volunteer his services to the very end. But perhaps he had been too hasty to condemn himself as he had. What was wrong with him being dropped off at a safe distance like his colleagues had offered? At least then he could get involved in the new Celtic Brotherhood that would sweep this land once the Royal Family was gotten rid of.
A blinking channel marker flashed up ahead, and as Sean positioned the tug so that it would pass well to the right of it, he consigned himself to the course destiny had picked for him. He would see this operation to its end, and bravely meet death, as his good friend Patrick Callaghan had.
The intercom rang and Sean fumbled for the handset. It was Dr. Blackwater.
“How’s it going up there, lad?”
“I’m doing just fine, Doc,” returned Sean.
“That’s good. It seems you’re finally putting to use all those boating lessons your father passed on when you were a youngster. Bernard and I are planning to go down into the bilge and get to work on preparing the bomb for detonation. So that means I won’t be able to spell you at the helm for at least another quarter of an hour.”
Sean’s throat was dry as he responded.
“That’s no problem. Doc. As long as you get up here before we reach Gourock and hit all the traffic, I’ll be fine.”
“I thought you would, lad. Keep her steady now. It’s going to be hard enough standing upright in that stinking hold as it is.”
Sean hung up the handset and reached down for the wheel with his good hand to alter their course slightly.
Only when he was satisfied that they were well within the confines of the main channel did he allow his memories to stray to the innocent days of childhood, the blessed warm summers that he would never again experience.
Mac had been standing beside the Scotsman when their torpedoes hit home, and the two traded a relieved grin as the resonant explosion reverberated throughout the Bowfin’s control room. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the gut-wrenching groaning sounds that followed as the India-class attack sub broke apart and sank to the seafloor of the estuary.
With no time to spare to gloat over this victory, Captain Foard redirected their thoughts back to the mission that had brought them into these waters in the first place.
“Helmsman, make your new course zero two-zero.
Hopefully we won’t have any more surprises, and we can finish the job that we came out here to do. Chief Langsford, let me know the second you pick up that tug’s signature on the hydrophones. Lieutenant Higgins, is that specially fitted non-detonating torpedo ready to roll?”
“That it is. Captain,” answered the weapons officer.
“We’ve got it tucked away and ready to fire in tube number one.”
“Then let’s get on with it, gentlemen. All ahead full!”
The deck tilted slightly as the Bowfin turned on its new course. But other than that there was no sensation that would point to the fact that they were presently surging through the depths at a speed of over twenty five knots. This fact impressed Mac, who looked to his right when Colin Stewart addressed him.
“Well, Commander, let’s pray that we can end this business once and for all. Any more thoughts as to what that Red sub was doing out here?”
Though Mac would have loved to share his theory about the tracked mini-sub with the Scotsman, for security sake he didn’t.
“I don’t know. Maybe they are in league with the IRB. But more likely, this could all just be some sort of strange coincidence.”