Lieutenant Commander Pike stepped into the control room having just completed his rounds. He spotted the wireless operators hovering awkwardly outside in the passageway.
‘So, he’s really doing it,’ he murmured to the OOW.
‘Didn’t doubt the captain’s word, did you, sir?’ Cavendish retorted.
Pike raised one eyebrow in reply.
‘Ten down. Keep two hundred metres,’ ordered Cavendish. ‘Steer oh four oh. Revolutions for eighteen knots.’
He looked at the control room clock. Just over half an hour until the end of his watch.
For Sunday’s evening meal, the galley offered corned beef salad or ‘oggies’ — Cornish pasties — and chips.
Philip ate early, the steward bringing him a tray to his cabin. He wanted to be finished with his meal and with sifting the signals by the time the watch changed at 7 pm. It was the time he’d chosen to make the pipe; to give the men their first clue as to what he planned.
The signals were easy to sort. The intelligence reports he’d pass to the watch leader; the family messages and the summary of the world news he’d give to the first lieutenant for distribution. Those he placed to one side. He slid the messages for other submarines included in the burst transmission into the bin at his feet.
In front of him was the message he’d dreaded, the one he’d had to prevent the crew from seeing.
FLASH 201814Z OCT.
FOR: EXEC. OFF. HMS TRUCULENT.
FROM: FOSM NORTHWOOD.
RESTRICTED.
NEED IMMEDIATE EXPLANATION WHY YOU FAILED TO MAKE RENDEZVOUS 1600Z TODAY. ESSENTIAL YOU COMMUNICATE HF/SSIX SOONEST.
They’d addressed it to Tim Pike, trying to by-pass him. Sent it without special code, so the whole fleet could see it. Clumsy. By making it so open they’d hoped to get the message through. They were wrong. It merely showed they had yet to realize what they were up against.
He smiled but with little satisfaction. He had no wish to take on his masters. Circumstances had forced him into it.
He carefully folded the signal and placed it inside the wall safe.
He waited until ten minutes past the hour, so the men would be settled in their mess decks or at their watch posts, then he stepped briskly into the control room, checked the navigation plot and the power settings, and unhooked the microphone that would broadcast his words throughout the boat.
‘Do you hear there? Captain speaking. Just an update on our situation,’ he began, hoping the tremble in his voice would not be noticeable. ‘We’re well clear of the Faroes-Shetland Gap now, and very shortly we’re going to put on a bit of speed. Our destination is still somewhere in the north Norwegian Sea, but I can’t be specific at this stage.’
He swallowed to moisten his throat, and turned away from the men in the control room so they couldn’t see his face.
‘I have to tell you that our orders have been changed since we left Devonport. It may well be that we no longer take any part in Exercise Ocean Guardian — that’s not quite clear yet. The thing is, there’s a bit of tension brewing between the Russians and NATO, and… er… we’ve been put on alert for a very special and very sensitive mission. Can’t tell you anything about it at all at the moment; CINCFLEET has classified it Top Secret — Commanding Officer’s eyes only. But, I can tell you what was on the BBC World Service news this evening — I’ve just had the summary through on the satellite.
‘Earlier this morning there was an incident some way north of here, involving helicopters from the US aircraft carrier Eisenhower and a Soviet cargo ship called the Rostov, carrying MiG fighters. The Russians are apparently accusing the Yanks of threatening their ship. Mr Savkin, the… er… Russian leader, made a very provocative speech this afternoon, accusing NATO of all sorts of things, particularly slagging off this exercise that we’re involved in.
‘Now, it’s not entirely clear what he’s up to, but CINCFLEET isn’t taking any chances. So, I’ve been given my orders. I hope to be able to give you some details in a day or two, but in the meantime please just take my word for it that whatever we do, there’s a good reason for it. That’s all.’
He made to hang up the microphone, but snatched it back again.
‘Just one more thing. The video tonight, according to the first lieutenant’s list, is Gorky Park. That’s all.’
At the chief petty officers’ table in the ratings’ mess, CPO Hicks turned to Gostyn, the propulsion chief, knife held up in mid-air.
‘What the fuck was that all about?’
‘Not good news. Not good at all.’
In the wardroom six officers sat round the table, stunned into temporary silence. All eyes turned to Tim Pike.
‘You heard the captain. I can’t talk about it, can I?’ he growled uncomfortably.
Rear-Admiral Anthony Bourlet paced like a caged rat up and down the floor of his office overlooking the main gates at Northwood Royal Naval Headquarters. Andrew watched him uncomfortably.
‘This is bloody ridiculous! Something must have gone wrong with the boat. I can’t believe a commander in Her Majesty’s Navy would deliberately flout his orders and take off into the wide blue yonder on a personal vendetta! A man would have to be mad to do that.’
‘That’s just the point, sir. He may be. Some sort of breakdown.’
‘They’d know. On the boat. The other officers would realize something was wrong, and sort him out, take command or whatever.’
‘Eventually, yes. But how long would it take, sir? I’m no expert, but if Philip just appeared slightly odd, it wouldn’t be enough reason for the executive officer to take over. If Pike misjudged it, he’d be on a charge of mutiny.’
‘Mmmm,’ the Admiral growled. ‘What could you get away with on your own boat, Andrew?’
Bourlet stopped pacing. Fixing both hands on the desk, he leaned bulldog-like across it. The broad band of his Admiral’s insignia glinted gold against the dark blue of his uniform sleeves. He’d commanded surface ships as a younger man, never a submarine.
‘What d’you mean exactly, sir?’
‘If you took it into your head to sink half the Soviet Navy, could you do it? Could you actually launch the torpedoes?’
Andrew smoothed down his thick, dark hair, and frowned, taken aback by the question.
‘Well, that’s the job of the weapon engineer.’
‘Of course. But could you convince him to do it?’
Andrew reflected for a moment.
‘It’d be bloody difficult. If we were firing a live round against a real target — there’d be a dozen men involved at least. It’d be war. Everyone on board would have to know.’
‘Could you, as captain, convince them to do it?’ Bourlet pressed. ‘Tell them you’d received secret orders, a personal briefing, CO’s eyes only? Something of that sort?’
Andrew expelled his breath through pursed lips, then shook his head.
‘It’d be pretty impossible, sir, with the Harpoons or torpedoes. There’d have been signals, targeting data and so on. That stuff wouldn’t be CO’s eyes only.’
‘Then we shouldn’t have too much to worry about…’
‘But if he’s got mines on board. That could change things…’
Bourlet winced at the confirmation of his own fears.
The intercom on his desk buzzed twice. He pressed a key.
‘Yes? What is it?’
‘Sub duty ops officer to see you, sir. Says it’s very urgent.’
Andrew got to his feet.
‘Do you want me to wait outside, sir?’
Bourlet held up a hand.