In all probability the Dolly would be out for some time. It was possible that she could hit a run of fish and be back in port again in a matter of days, but it was also unlikely. Wisely her new captain was provisioning her well; in that he showed evidence of some sound experience, since well-fed men work much better at sea and it is extremely costly to have to put into port for resupply if the luck runs bad or the weather turns foul for extended periods of time.
Whoever the new owners of the Dolly were, they had proper consideration for their vessel and her crew; for once a chief engineer had an ample supply of spare parts to stock and enough money to spend to make all necessary and advisable repairs. The men who were to go to sea on her obviously appreciated the fact that the port work was being well done. It was also clear to the old hands nearby that they were being well paid, because many of them were young and seemed capable; crewmen like that could have their pick of the available jobs, and the Dolly, while sound and well built, was no particular prize on which to be sailing. That was their business, however, and no one interfered. It could be a cooperative venture with a good bonus available if all went well.
When the time came, the Dolly cast off and moved through the harbor at the prescribed five knots with more dignity than she had displayed for some time. She went past the breakwater as a Japanese freighter was coming in and an hour later was no longer visible. The last pleasure boat to sight her saw her headed off in a northwesterly direction.
When she was completely by herself at sea, her captain summoned his first mate to the bridge. “Have you been over her thoroughly?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, every inch. We’ve checked and double-checked. Also our final security report was go. One item: Lieutenant Hanson speaks fluent Japanese.”
“I know that.”
“Of course, sir. What I was going to say was, he tuned in on the crew next to us while we were being discussed; they did notice the nature of our personnel, but attributed it to the fact that we are paying well. From the way they spoke Lieutenant Hanson doubts very much that they will talk about the matter with anyone.”
“Good. It appears then that everything is A.O.K. Set up the radio watches and break out the long-range radar. You know what else to do.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
The captain reached out and laid his hand on his mate’s arm. “One thing more before you go, Jimmy. Things may look tough, and they are, but the Navy is at sea.”
A grin broke out on the mate’s face. “Right you are, sir! As of this moment I’m peculiarly happy. Think of all of the guys left back on the beach.”
“I am. You are now the best executive officer at sea with the United States Navy and I expect you to live up to it.”
The lieutenant was a young man and full of vitality. “Let me know if you have any complaints, sir.”
As the dusk fell on the Dolly she kept on her steady course toward the fishing grounds south of the Aleutians. In the wheel-house standard navigational methods were keeping her on course; the chart was in plain view. Deep in her hold, in a location almost impossible for any ordinary inspection to find, a highly sophisticated inertial platform was in operation. There was also much other equipment which had come on board in a series of disguises — obtained, packaged, and delivered under the personal direction of Stanley Cumberland. It had been stockpiled very carefully, and very secretly, weeks before the disaster to the country had struck. Admiral Haymarket had selected most of it himself with its eventual purpose clearly in mind. He had also made a personal selection of the crew that was to use and maintain it; when Lieutenant James Morton, Jr., of the United States Navy had been described as the best executive officer at sea, his qualifications for that distinction had not rested solely on the fact that he happened to be the only one. He was gifted with enormous resourcefulness and was something of a mechanical genius. In addition to that he was a damn fine sailor, which was what the admiral had * looked for first.
A great deal was resting on the Dolly now, on every member of her crew, and particularly on her captain. In his selection the admiral had gone the limit. He had had more or less the pick of the entire Navy, barring a few men who had already been selected for even more important duties and responsibilities. The man he had chosen knew the very grave risk that faced him and every member of his crew, and he had welcomed it.
Hopefully, the Dolly was about to write a few fresh paragraphs in naval history.
When Raleigh Hewlitt seated himself at his desk on the morning after he had witnessed the shooting of Philip Scott, he felt himself a different person. He was not happy that he had seen a man die, but there were other considerations, one of them being some millions of other Americans who were also people of value and whose lives and futures had been betrayed by the man who had paid with his life for what he had done.
His manner was a little firmer than it had been; he felt a certain increase of confidence. He had helped to make possible a counterthrust against the enemies who were now occupying his country. Mr. Zalinsky would have given a good deal, he knew, to share the information that was locked in his brain.
Then Zalinsky rang. Hewlitt went into the Oval Office with his usual paper and pencils to see what it was this time.
Zalinsky motioned him toward a chair without looking up. Hewlitt sat down and relaxed — he felt that he had earned the right to do that now. The administrator affixed his signature to a document before him and then gave him his attention. “I extend to you my deepest regrets,” he said.
Hewlitt looked properly surprised. “Concerning what?” he asked. “Captain Scott.”
Hewlitt lifted himself slightly out of his chair and then sank back down again. “What’s happened to him?”
Zalinsky gave him the X-ray eye treatment. “You do not know?” “No — please tell me.”
“He is dead.”
Hewlitt sat in silence for a moment, his head down. Then he blinked his eyes and pressed his teeth together before he spoke. “You shot him.” He made it both a question and an accusation.
Zalinsky shook his head. “No, I did not shoot him. Somebody did, but for yet I myself do not know who is responsible.”
“But I saw him,” Hewlitt protested. “It was just last night…” “In this city you have much crime upon the streets,” Zalinsky said, “and I have not had time to adjust it yet. He was out late and encountered death.”
Hewlitt wondered how much of that Zalinsky believed, then knew that he did not believe it at all. “Captain Scott was a fine officer,” he said, as though he were still stunned and thinking aloud. “What have they done with his body?”
“I am uncertain; I have not been told. It is now time to pass to another matter, have you preparation?”
“Yes, go ahead.” He swallowed hard and gave just enough indication of trying to get himself under control.
“Our premier has given a new order which all must obey, I myself also.” He stopped and waited, possibly measuring Hewlitt’s reaction and he surveyed him with solid appraisal.