‘I’d prefer tea, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course. So would I.’
Belikov signalled to the guard to arrange it.
‘What’s happened?’
‘The operation we talked about yesterday — the British submarine that’s bringing us a “Moray” mine…’
Astashenkov nodded expectantly.
‘Damned KGB! Arrogant bastards! You know what they’ve done? Screwed up the whole plan! That’s just the word for it, too; screwed up!
‘Their man in Plymouth had to end up in bed with the wife of the British commander who’s working for us! The commander found out and is so goddamned angry he’s coming here to blow our Fleet to pieces!’
‘What?’ Astashenkov cried. ‘I don’t understand!’
The guard brought in the tea, giving Belikov time to cool down.
‘All right, I’ll explain the whole story,’ he went on, when they were alone again.
Feliks listened with growing astonishment and anger. After five minutes he knew as much as Belikov.
‘We must find that boat before it finds one of ours,’ Belikov insisted. He was a surface-ship man, ill-versed in the details of undersea warfare.
‘We must also face facts, Andrei. Our submarines make more noise than theirs. If we send out our boats to look for Truculent, it could amount to suicide. Do we want to risk that?’
‘The PLA I sent south managed to intercept it. It could do so again.’
‘The British boat was moving fast then. Now it’ll be slow. Very slow and silent. We can hunt it from the air. It’ll be safer that way.’
Belikov cursed and poured himself a cognac. He cocked an eyebrow at Astashenkov.
‘All right. I’ll join you after all.’
‘Can we be certain he plans to attack us?’ Feliks demanded. ‘He might still be intending to give us the mine so his father can go free.’
‘Nothing’s certain. But we have to be prepared.’
Astashenkov’s brow furrowed.
‘If he wants to catch us with mines, he’ll have to lay them at the choke points, where he knows we have to pass. That almost certainly means close to the mouth of this very inlet.’
‘He could go further east, to the Taifun base at Gremikha…’
‘Unlikely. The further east he goes, the greater the risk we’ll catch him. No. He’ll come here. I’m sure of it. What was the original plan, Andrei? Where was he going to deliver the mine? To the harbourmaster at Polyarny?’
The Commander-in-Chief glared. It was no time for jokes.
‘He was to lay it about twenty kilometres off-shore, in less than one-hundred-and-fifty metres of water. The KGB promised to unite him with his father in Helsinki, after the mine had been recovered.’
‘Hmmm. Not bad. A pity it may not happen now.’
Belikov swirled the brandy in his glass.
‘Maybe it still will, but differently.’
‘Meaning?’
The Commander-in-Chief leaned forward, clasping his glass globe between the palms of his hands. His words came as a hoarse whisper.
‘If he comes into our territorial waters, we can sink him. The wreckage of HMS Truculent will give us a whole harvest of secrets — and a Moray mine.’
The Gulf Stream sweeps its warm water round the northern tip of Norway, keeping the fjords free of ice in the winter months, almost as far east as the entrance to the White Sea.
Off North Cape, Europe’s most northerly outpost, the current flows eastwards at a steady half-a-knot carrying with it the smaller marine life like shrimps and krill that form the smallest components in the food chain, and create much of the background noise underwater.
HMS Tenby, 5,000 tons of steel packed with electronics, machinery and men, dipped in and out of that current deep below the surface, trailing her sonar array hundreds of metres astern. She was travelling at ten knots and heading east, hoping to hear Truculent coming up behind, but with no certainty the boat hadn’t already passed her, further out to sea.
‘I don’t bloody well believe it!’ growled Andrew Tinker, folding the signal in half and tossing it onto the wardroom table.
‘May I?’ inquired the commander, reaching across.
‘Yes. See what you think of it. Sodding signal makes no sense to me at all.’
Biddle whistled softly.
‘Shit! That’s a bit strong! Phil Hitchens recruited by the KGB? Are we sure this isn’t a joke?’
Andrew stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited for Biddle to finish reading.
‘Huh! The cheek!’ exploded Biddle. ‘This bit at the end — “Decided you should know this, not because it materially affects your task, but to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation”.’
‘Bourlet’s a pompous ass!’ snapped Andrew. ‘I can just hear him dictating this crap! Does he think we’re treating it as a game?’
He dropped into a chair and took back the signal.
‘You know, something I’ve realized in the last few days is that you can know someone for twenty years — think of them as a close friend, even — and yet not really know them at all. I’m stating the obvious, but it’s sad, isn’t it?’
Biddle nodded. It was approaching midnight and he was dog-tired.
They’d sped north and east after losing contact with Truculent earlier in the day. Every hour or so they’d risen to periscope depth, to receive messages from the satellite.
Two Nimrods were laying Jezebel barriers far to the north and east of North Cape. Tenby’s instructions were to stay close to the Norwegian coast, listening in Norwegian waters where the Nimrods couldn’t search without prompting awkward questions.
‘If you wanted to deliver a Moray mine to the Soviet Navy, how would you do it?’ demanded Andrew.
‘Explosively!’
‘Seriously, how can Phil do it? Without the conscious support of his crew?’
‘I’d say it’s impossible. He can hardly go alongside in the Kola Inlet and hand one over. And if he’s going to pop one out of a torpedo tube, his WEO would have to prepare it and take part in the firing. No. I just can’t see it.’
‘With the other plan we envisaged — to lay mines and activate them later — it’s just possible he could convince his crew. But if he’s trying to pass one of the mines to the Sovs, it’d have to be totally inert, otherwise the anti-handling devices would blow it up as soon as they tried to pick it up off the bottom. And to persuade a WEO to discharge a mine that hasn’t been switched on? He’d never do it. Not in a month of Sundays.’
‘It’s mission impossible, isn’t it? He’d have to place the mine with incredible precision, otherwise the Russians would never find it. It’s supposed to be almost undetectable on sonar.’
The wardroom door opened. First Lieutenant Murray Watson stared at them in surprise.
‘Sorry. Thought there’d be no one here. Just wanted a cuppa before turning in.’
‘Pickles your liver, all that tea,’ Biddle answered. He glanced at the wall clock. ‘There’s a watch change in a few minutes. Wardroom’ll be busy. We’ll continue this in my cabin.’
To the east of North Cape is Porsangen Fjord. Floating motionless in the middle of its ten-mile-wide mouth, 100 metres below the surface, was a Kobben class submarine of the Royal Norwegian Navy.
One of the midgets of the submarine world at just over 400 tons, the Storm was less than a tenth the size of Tenby and Truculent. Crouched inside were just eighteen crew, trained to say very little and to talk in whispers when they did.