“Admiral, since I’m not a nuc anymore, I have to do something on nights and weekends.” Tyler arched his eyebrows lecherously. “I hear the Russkies are playing games.”
Dodge was instantly serious. “They sure are. Fifty-eight attack boats — every nuclear boat in the Northern Fleet — heading this way with a big surface group, and most of their service forces tagging along.”
“Doing what?”
“Maybe you can tell me. Come on back to my inner sanctum.” Dodge led Tyler into a room where he saw another new gadget, a projection screen that displayed the North Atlantic from the Tropic of Cancer to the polar ice pack. Hundreds of ships were represented. The merchantmen were white, with flags to identify their nationality; the Soviet ships were red, and their shapes depicted their ship type; the American and allied ships were blue. The ocean was getting crowded.
“Christ.”
“You got that one right, lad,” Tyler nodded grimly. “How are you cleared?”
“Top secret and some special things, sir. I see everything we have on their hardware, and I do a lot of work with Sea Systems on the side.”
“Johnnie said you did the evaluation of the new Kirov they just sent out to the Pacific — not bad, by the way.”
“These two Alfas heading for Norfolk?”
“Looks like it. And they’re burning a lot of neutrons doing it.” Dodge pointed. “That one’s heading to Long Island Sound as though to block the entrance to New London and that one’s heading to Boston, I think. These Victors are not far behind. They already have most of the British ports staked out. By Monday they’ll have two or more subs off every major port we have.”
“I don’t like the looks of this, sir.”
“Neither do I. As you see, we’re nearly a hundred percent at sea ourselves. The interesting thing, though — what they’re doing just doesn’t figure. I—” Captain Coleman came in.
“I see you let the prodigal son in, sir,” Coleman said.
“Be nice to him, Johnnie. I seem to remember when he was a right fair sub driver. Anyway, at first it looked like they were going to block the SLOCs, but they went right past. What with these Alfas, they might be trying to blockade our coast.”
“What about out west?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all, just routine activity.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tyler objected. “You don’t ignore half the fleet. Of course, if you’re going to war you don’t announce it by kicking every boat to max power either.”
“The Russians are a funny bunch, Skip,” Coleman pointed out.
“Admiral, if we start shooting at them—”
“We hurt ’em,” Dodge said. “With all the noise they’re making we have good locations on near all of ’em. They have to know that, too. That’s the one thing that makes me believe they’re not up to anything really bad. They’re smart enough not to be that obvious — unless that’s what they want us to think.”
“Have they said anything?” Tyler asked.
“Their ambassador says they’ve lost a boat, and since it has a bunch of big shots’ kids aboard, they laid on an all-hands rescue mission. For what that’s worth.”
Tyler set his briefcase down and walked closer to the screen. “I can see the pattern for a search and rescue, but why blockade our ports?” He paused, thinking rapidly as his eyes scanned the top of the display. “Sir, I don’t see any boomers up here.”
“They’re in port — all of ’em, on both oceans. The last Delta tied up a few hours ago. That’s funny, too,” Dodge said, looking at the screen again.
“All of them, sir?” Tyler asked as offhandedly as he could. Something had just occurred to him. The display screen showed the Bremerton in the Barents Sea but not her supposed quarry. He waited a few seconds for an answer. Getting none, he turned to see the two officers observing him closely.
“Why do you ask, son?” Dodge said quietly. In Sam Dodge, gentleness could be a real warning flag.
Tyler thought this one over for a few seconds. He’d given Ryan his word. Could he phrase his answer without compromising it and still find out what he wanted? Yes, he decided. There was an investigative side to Skip Tyler’s character, and once he was onto something, his psyche compelled him to run it down.
“Admiral, do they have a missile sub at sea, a brand new one?”
Dodge stood very straight. Even so he still had to look up at the younger man. When he spoke, his voice was glacial. “Exactly where did you get that information, Commander?”
Tyler shook his head. “Admiral, I’m sorry, but I can’t say. It’s compartmented, sir. I think this is something you ought to know, and I’ll try to get it to you.”
Dodge backed off to try a different tack. “You used to work for me, Skip.” The admiral was unhappy. He’d bent a rule to show something to his former subordinate because he knew him well and was sorry that he had not received the command he had worked so hard for. Tyler was technically a civilian, even though his suits were still navy blue. What made it really bad was that he knew something himself. Dodge had given him some information, and Tyler wasn’t giving any back.
“Sir, I gave my word,” Skip apologized. “I will try to get this to you. That’s a promise, sir. May I use a phone?”
“Outer office,” Dodge said flatly. There were four telephones within sight.
Tyler went out and sat at a secretary’s desk. He took his notebook from a coat pocket and dialed the number on the card Ryan had left him.
“Acres,” a female voice answered.
“Could I speak to Dr. Ryan, please?”
“Dr. Ryan is not here at the moment.”
“Then…give me Admiral Greer, please.”
“One moment, please.”
“James Greer?” Dodge was behind him. “Is that who you’re working for?”
“This is Greer. Your name Skip Tyler?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have that information for me?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Where are you?”
“In the Pentagon, sir.”
“Okay, I want you to drive right up here. You know how to find the place? The guards at the main gate will be waiting for you. Get moving, son.” Greer hung up.
“You’re working for the CIA?” Dodge asked.
“Sir — I can’t say. If you will excuse me, sir, I have some information to deliver.”
“Mine?” the admiral demanded.
“No, sir. I already had it when I came in here. That’s the truth, Admiral. And I will try to get this back to you.”
“Call me,” Dodge ordered. “We’ll be here all night.”
The drive up the George Washington Parkway was easier than he expected. The decrepit old highway was crowded with shoppers but moved along at a steady crawl. He got off at the right exit and presently found himself at the guard post for the main highway entrance to the CIA. The barrier was down.
“Your name Tyler, Oliver W.?” the guard asked. “ID please.” Tyler handed him his Pentagon pass.
“Okay, Commander. Pull your car right to the main entrance. Somebody will be there to meet you.”
It was another two minutes to the main entrance through mostly empty parking lots glazed with ice from yesterday’s melted snow. The armed guard who was waiting for him tried to help him out of the car. Tyler didn’t like to be helped. He shrugged him off. Another man was waiting for him under the canopied main entrance. They were waved right through to the elevator.
He found Admiral Greer sitting in front of his office fireplace, seemingly half asleep. Skip didn’t know that the DDI had only returned from England a few hours earlier. The admiral came to and ordered his plain-clothes security officer to withdraw. “You must be Skip Tyler. Come on over and sit down.”