“Same thing goes for our ballistic missile submarines,” Olsen said dryly. “The Soviets can pinpoint the source of their missiles and destroy them.” He got to his feet. “Submarine war isn’t like it used to be when you and I fought in World War II, Mike. Now if you fire sixteen ballistic missiles at an enemy you got to know that you’re dead right after your last missile is airborne. Isn’t a nice thing to think about, you know?”
“I know,” Brannon said. “I guess everyone on missile submarines knows that. Sometimes I wonder how we get men to serve on them, knowing that they won’t live very long if they ever have to fire their missiles.”
“Must be a thing called patriotism,” Olsen said. “Not a popular word, now, what with Vietnam and all that. But I think it’s the only thing that keeps those sailors on submarines.” He looked at Brannon.
“Any word from Admiral Benson?”
“His last call to me said they had solid evidence that the Russians are in a dozen fire fights along the Chinese border. Not little fights, either, pretty good scrambles. Soviet planes are overflying Chinese territory and there’s been some bombing raids on Russian posts by Chinese aircraft. Benson says it’s a damned serious situation.”
“The Chinese must know something,” Olsen said. “Let’s hope they keep nipping at the Russian heels. Might convince whoever ordered the Sharkfin to be sunk that they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.” He stopped as the phone rang. Brannon picked it up and listened and grunted a “thank you” and put it down.
“Bob Wilson has told Admiral Benson that the Israeli intelligence has picked up information that the Soviet Union is going to a full submarine war alert.”
CHAPTER 13
Stefan Lubutkin entered Igor Shevenko’s office in response to the buzzer Shevenko had pushed, his gold Cross pen and a notebook in his hands.
“Yes, Comrade Director?”
“Is that report from Department V on the plans to disrupt the British Railway System still in the office?”
“No, sir, after you initialed it two weeks ago I sent it to Files.” He looked pointedly at his wrist watch. “It’s almost five, sir. The Files people shut up shop at four-thirty each day. We can’t get a file until after five and with only one person on duty in Files after five that will take some time.” He looked again at his watch.
“You have a date this evening?” Shevenko asked.
“Yes, sir,” Lubutkin said.
“You must be a regular dog with the girls,” Shevenko said, grinning. Lubutkin blushed. “Don’t bother with the files, call Simonov and tell him I want to see him at once. One of these days we’ll go to lunch with your girl friend, agreed? I’d like to meet her.”
“As you wish, Comrade Director. I’ll make the call at once and thank you for being understanding.” He went into his office and Shevenko heard him talking on the telephone. Lubutkin stuck his head around the corner of the door.
“He will be here in five minutes, sir. I’ll go now, and thank you again.”
Anton Simonov walked into Shevenko’s office and extended his hand. Shevenko shook hands with him and pulled the other man close to him.
“Go back to your office,” he whispered. “Bring one of your sweepers back with you.” Simonov nodded and left. He returned with a stolid man who carried a box in his hand. He nodded his head to Shevenko and put the box on Shevenko’s desk and opened it. He took an electronics device out of the box and hung it around his neck and began to sweep the office for electronic bugs. When he had finished he stood in front of Shevenko’s desk and packed his box.
“One tape cassette hooked up to your telephone, Comrade. The cassette is in the next office. Nothing else.”
“I know about that one,” Shevenko said. “I ordered it installed. Thank you.” The man left and Shevenko opened the front of a dummy set of filing drawers, revealing a small General Electric refrigerator. He took two glasses and a bottle of American vodka from the refrigerator and poured two drinks.
“How does it go since the reorganization of the department?” Shevenko asked. Simonov lifted the small glass of vodka in salute.
“Good and not so good. Mostly good,” Simonov answered. “Some of the holdovers from Department Thirteen, the Wet Squad people, are bored. Planning sabotage of the London subway system is not as exciting as assassinations, in their minds. Some of the people who worked on the desecration of synagogues in West Germany, that was at least ten years ago, still think that is what we should be doing today. But on the whole, things go well. And with you?”
“Like you, good and bad,” Shevenko said.
“There must be some bad or you wouldn’t have asked for a sweeper after your aide had left for the day.”
“I have been told a reason to suspect him,” Shevenko said slowly.
“Can I help?” Simonov asked.
Shevenko poured another drink and looked at the man sitting in front of his desk. He and Anton Simonov had been schoolmates when they were children and later in the Academy. Shevenko had joined the KGB several years before Simonov had been recruited and had risen within the ranks rapidly. When the Kremlin leaders decided in the mid-Sixties to eliminate the dreaded Department Thirteen because of unwanted publicity, Shevenko had prevailed upon the Politburo to shift the emphasis of the department from assassination to the planning of sabotage of military and civilian installations in the West. He also suggested that Department Thirteen be renamed Department Five and that it assume a very low profile. When those suggestions were given formal approval Shevenko had raised Anton Simonov from an administrative job in Department Thirteen to be chief of the new Department Five.
“Yes, you can help,” Shevenko said. “I want a twenty-four hour surveillance put on my aide, Stefan Lubutkin. The same surveillance put on Admiral Zurahv, if you still have agents in your department who can do this without detection and who are trustworthy.”
“No problem,” Simonov said. He tossed off his vodka, inhaling sharply, savoring the bite of the liquor against the back of his throat. He grinned. “I had decided today to come to you tomorrow about Lubutkin.”
“Why?” Shevenko said.
“First of all, he’s a homosexual. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“I had heard that only recently. That’s why I called you. Is it common knowledge?”
“I don’t think so,” Simonov said.
“But you knew,” Shevenko said softly. Simonov raised his hands and waved them.
“Don’t misunderstand me, old friend. I was asked to do surveillance on a certain person to discover if he had normal sexual desires. I carried out the surveillance, it is still going on, and we found that this certain person does not have normal sexual desires. He prefers young men. He prefers your Stefan Lubutkin.” He smiled and when he spoke his voice was very soft. “The certain person is, as you probably suspect, Admiral Zurahv.”
“Why didn’t you come to me when you got this request?”
Simonov shrugged his shoulders. “Comrade, the request came from very high up, too high for me to take that chance. But I did intend to ask to see you tomorrow, to warn you about Lubutkin.” He sat back in his chair. “I do not concern myself with internal politics, as you know, but I have heard that you and the Admiral are not the best of friends.”
“One could say that,” Shevenko said. Simonov smiled faintly.