The four helicopters hovering over the waters round Ostrov Chernyy reported the explosions within seconds of each other. Using passive sonar transducers, only one had been close enough to the Truculent to hear her bow caps open and the mine being expelled.
Admiral Belikov frowned. They didn’t match. The contact discovered by the helicopter and the one the Ladny had been following — they were too far apart to be one and the same.
Two foreign submarines? Had the second boat come to try to stop Commander Hitchens betraying his country? Had the Truculent been sunk?
‘Tell them to go active. Search the area thoroughly. Put out a general signal to look for foreign submarines. There may be several boats, with the ability to make themselves sound like our own.’
The Captain Lieutenant hastened to relay the order. Using active sonar in the shallow water round Ostov Chernyy would not be easy; reflections from the uneven sea-bed could make the readings unintelligible.
Decoys. Of course! Belikov snapped his pudgy fingers. The explosions could be a decoy too. To make them concentrate their search round Ostrov Chernyy, while the submarines headed elsewhere! Inshore? To the mouth of the Kol’skiy Zaliv? To lay the new mines where they could do most damage, just outside the main submarine bases? It made sense.
And who would be waiting for them? Felix Astashenkov — ready to claim the military and political glory of destroying the foreign intruder.
Belikov fumed at the thought.
‘Send a coded signal to the Ladny,’ he ordered the Captain Lieutenant. ‘Tell her to head inshore fast. I believe the British boats are making for Polyarny.’
‘The sonar computer puts the explosions at fifteen kilometres northeast of here, Comrade Vice-Admiral,’ announced Captain 2nd Rank Yury Makhov.
Mines. And they’d found a target. Feliks had misjudged it. He’d thought the only place the Truculent would lay them would be the mouth of the Kol’skiy Zaliv. He’d been fatally wrong.
‘The sonar has no submarine contacts yet?’
‘Regrettably not, Vice-Admiral. We’ll need to be close to a Trafalgar to hear her.’
‘Then we must close the gap, Yury. Ten minutes at maximum speed will bring us near.’
Makhov disliked driving his vessel fast in inshore waters, making his sonar deaf. But he could see the anxiety on Astashenkov’s face.
‘I share your determination. We’ll have our revenge on the Englishman!’
He ordered the reactors to maximum power. Imperceptibly the 7,600 ton leviathan began to accelerate to 45 knots.
‘Ten up. Keep one-hundred-and-twenty-five metres, revolutions for fifteen knots!’ Biddle directed. They were slowing down to listen, desperate to know what had happened on the Truculent.
‘Contact bearing zero-four-five. Trafalgar class, sir!’ the sonar CPO announced. ‘Range…’
He waited the few seconds it took the computer to calculate it.
‘Two-point-seven nautical miles, sir. No other surface or sub-surface contacts registered.’
‘Right. This is it.’
Andrew lifted the handset of the underwater telephone.
‘British submarine, British submarine! This is your sister vessel speaking. I am Commander Andrew Tinker. Do you hear me, over?’
Tim Pike spun round, thunderstruck by the voice that suddenly crackled from the loudspeaker. He grabbed the handset.
‘I hear you clearly, sir. This is the first lieutenant speaking, Lieutenant Commander Pike. Over.’
There was a lapse of a few seconds before the reply reached through the water.
‘Listen carefully, Tim. Commander Hitchens is unwell. You must take command of the boat immediately. I repeat. You must assume command. That is an order from CINCFLEET. Understood? Over.’
Pike felt his shoulders sag with relief.
‘I’ve already taken command, sir. Repeat. I am now in command. Commander Hitchens is being attended to in his cabin. Over.’
Again, a pause for the reply.
‘Good news. Give him a message from me, will you? Tell him not to worry. His problems can be sorted out. Tell him I’ll help him when we get back home. Now. Get well clear, and when it’s safe call CINCFLEET. Over.’
‘We have an emergency on board, sir,’ Pike continued. ‘Two men badly injured. Legs crushed by a torpedo disloged by the explosion. Over.’
‘Sorry about that. Better try to get them ashore in Norway. Tell CINCFLEET to organize it. See you in Devonport. Out.’
Tim Pike replaced the handset.
‘Clear the datum!’ he called. They had to move fast. The Soviets were bound to have heard their conversation.
‘TAS. Take control. I’m going to see the captain.’
So, they’d been right about Hitchens all along. The man had thrown a loop. CINCFLEET must have known it soon after they’d left port. Had to send a bloody submarine to get the message through!
He shuddered to think what Tinker had intended when he’d launched that torpedo at them. Had he meant to hit the Moray mine, or had Truculent herself been the target?
In the flush of relief that they’d survived, the anger he’d suppressed for days began to boil over.
Hitchens had been happy to risk all their lives in pursuit of some crazy plan of his own. The bastard!
Sub. Lieutenant Hugo Smallbone stood at ease outside the captain’s cabin.
‘He told me to get out,’ Hugo whispered, tapping the tip of a finger against his temple.
Pike pushed into the cabin. The captain’s face was like a cast, devoid of emotion.
‘There’s a message for you, sir. From Commander Tinker.’
Suddenly Pike saw the mask crack. At the mention of the name, Philip’s lips began to tremble; a tic set his eyes blinking.
‘Said you weren’t to worry, sir. He’ll help you sort things out when we get home.’
Philip clenched his eyelids to stop their movement. Pike’s voice echoed inside his head.
Andrew? Out here? Andrew had come after him? The man Sara had named as the first of her string of lovers? Andrew, who’d betrayed nearly twenty years of friendship by seducing his wife and setting her on the path to ruin? How could this be the man they’d sent?
‘He’ll help you sort things out when we get home.’ What a mockery! God, how patronizing!
‘Sir? Sir, are you all right?’
Pike’s voice was agitated.
‘You’re suffering from shock, sir. I’ll get the medical assistant to give you something. Just hang on, sir.’
Alarmed at Philip’s uncontrollable shaking, Pike hurried to find the steward who’d done a first-aid course. He remembered where he was; he would be attending to the two men with crushed legs in the torpedo compartment.
He clattered down the ladder to the deck below.
‘Where’s the MA? Quick, get up here with your bag of goodies. Something to sedate the Captain.’
Suddenly Pike heard Hugo Smallbone bellowing for him.
‘The captain’s gone! Just rushed past me. I thought he was going to the heads.…’
Suddenly an alarm bell sounded.
‘The forward escape hatch!’ Pike yelled and hurled himself along the corridor.
In the escape chamber, the lower hatch was closed, a red light flashing to warn that the chamber was flooding.
Pike wrenched at the hatch. It crashed open, icy sea water drenching down onto the deck. Pike fought his way up through the torrent, gasping for breath. He seized Philip’s legs and both men crashed down onto the deck, choking.