"Here," Clark said. "These are the submarine pens."
"Well? Well? Is it only Quin we are worried about? I will take responsibility for him. We have discussed this operation for most of the night. Is there more than Quin to hold us back?"
"You never give up, do you?" Clark said.
"Would you drop out?"
"No."
"Giles?"
"Too risky — no, I'm not sounding like a granny just for the sake of it. Quin is crucial. If Clark can't get the right information, at the precise split-second he requires it, then everything could be lost — including Clark." Pyott shook his head, held his features in a gloomy, saturnine cast, to emphasise his words.
Aubrey was exasperated. He had seen the Proteus now. He had to act.
"You" ve talked to MoD air?"
"There's no problem there. A Harrier could get Clark across Finland and into the Pechenga area — yes. You have the authority to send it. The AWACS Nimrod that was rigged up especially for sea trials with Proteus is on standby at Farnborough. They could accommodate yourself and Quin. Eastoe and his crew are on stand-by to be flown down from Kinloss to Farnborough." Pyott's face now changed to an expression of exasperation; he was angry with Quin for wasting his time and his organisational talents.
"Communications?"
"Yes, we can do that. Between the Nimrod and Clark, with a range of a hundred miles, speaking in a whisper."
Aubrey had passed to the cutaway chart of the submarine. A multitude of hand-written labels had been appended, explaining and exposing each minute section and piece of equipment and function of the Proteus. Aubrey, by studying it, would know as much about the most secret of the Royal Navy's submarines in an hour as the Russians would know by the time Proteus sailed again from Pechenga.
"Damn," he said softly as the realisation sprung itself upon him like a bad dream. "Jamming or interception? Location?"
"Can be overcome," Pyott admitted reluctantly. His enthusiasm had dimmed again, with his own realisation. His eyes had strayed towards the door of the room where Aubrey had slept and which now contained a sedated Quin.
"Your equipment, Clark?"
"Portable — just. I could make it, with an infinite amount of luck, without drowning under the weight of what I need — would need, Mr Aubrey. It can't be done without Quin. I can't learn enough in time. He has to be there — in range of my transmitter — all the time, and able to talk me through whatever I find." He jabbed a finger at one section of the hull of the Proteus. "Hell, the back-up system's here! Not to mention that this stern section, where some of the sensors are, has been damaged by one, maybe two, torpedoes. I can't go climbing over the hull spot-welding alongside Russian dockyard workers! It's crazy."
"If it can't be done, you will abort “Plumber” and destroy the “Leopard” equipment with the maximum efficiency," Aubrey said in a tight, controlled voice. "But perhaps it can be done."
"What will you do with Quin? Twist his arm, Kenneth? Threaten to fling him out of the Nimrod if he doesn't answer Clark's questions correctly and without hesitation? I'm afraid that Clark and I agree on this occasion. It would be a complex, expensive, dangerous and ultimately wasteful operation. If Clark must go in, let him go in simply to destroy “Leopard”. Someone other than Quin could point him in the right direction there."
Aubrey was plucking at his bottom lip, staring at the chart of the submarine, its workings and innards exposed like a biological specimen or drawing. The ringing of the telephone was loud and startling in the room, and Pyott rushed to answer it as if he were afraid that its noise would waken Quin. Immediately he answered, he glanced at Aubrey, and beckoned him to the desk. It was Cunningham.
" “C”," Pyott whispered as he handed him the receiver.
"Richard?"
"Kenneth — how is our patient?"
"Not good. Uncooperative, unreliable, withdrawn, chronically suspicious and afraid."
"I see. No use to you, then?"
"Why? Has the operation been cleared?"
"Yes, it has. The Secretary of State has cleared it with the PM. She's enthusiastic, I gather."
"The Prime Minister obviously wasn't made aware of the difficulties," Aubrey said sarcastically. Cunningham had had to clear the proposed operation with the cabinet minister responsible for the SIS, the Foreign Secretary who, in his turn, had consulted the Prime Minister. The recruitment of another national, Clark being American, the incursion into Soviet territory, and the special circumstances pertaining to the submarine, had removed the operation beyond the sphere of the intelligence service acting alone and covertly.
"She has cleared the operation with the President, if it proves feasible in your judgement. NATO ministers will be informed under a Priority Two order. I have been successful on your behalf, but you now seem to imply that I" ve been wasting my time?"
"I hope not. I hoped not. It does seem rather hopeless, Richard."
"A great pity. Then Clark will have to go in just to get rid of “Leopard”?"
Aubrey listened to the silence at the other end of the line. Behind Cunningham, there was the enthusiasm, the permission, of the politicians. A chance to give the Russian Bear a black eye, a bloody nose, without risking more than one life. Turning the tables on the Kremlin. He did not despise or disregard the almost naïve way in which his operation had been greeted with enthusiasm in Downing Street and the White House. It was a pity that the seriousness of the operation's parameters and its possible repercussions had required the political sanction of the two leaders. The NATO ministers, with the exception of Norway, would be informed after the event. They did not matter. The naïvety, however, gave him cause to doubt the rationale of his scheme. To be praised by laymen is not the expert's desire. Aubrey now suspected his operation's feasibility.
Cunningham seemed to have no desire to add to what he had said, or to repeat his question. Whatever Aubrey now said, he would, with enthusiasm or reluctance, pass on to the Foreign Office and Downing Street.
"No, he will not," Aubrey heard himself say. The expression created an instant sense of lightness, of relief. It was a kind of self-affirmation, and he no longer cared for pros and cons, doubts and likelihoods. It would be attempted. "Captain Clark will be briefed to examine and, if possible, repair “Leopard”, and to instruct the commanding officer and crew of the Proteus to attempt to escape from the Soviet naval base at Pechenga."
Cunningham merely said, "I'll pass your message on. Good luck, Kenneth."
Aubrey put down the receiver quickly, as if Clark or Pyott might make some attempt to snatch it from him and reverse his instructions. He had spoken clearly, precisely, and with sufficient volume for them to hear him. When he looked at them, Pyott was fiddling with his moustache again, while Clark was perched on the edge of a foldaway table, arms folded across his chest. He was shaking his head. Then, unexpectedly, he grinned.
Pyott said, as Aubrey approached them, "You're taking a grave risk with this young man's life, Kenneth. And perhaps with Quin. Do you think it's worth it?"
"Of course he does," Clark interposed. He was still smiling. "He knows I won't refuse, on any count. Uh, Mr Aubrey?"
"Perhaps, Ethan, perhaps. I'm sorry you have to enact my romantic escapade, but your President is relying on you, too, I gather."