Riding back to the Pentagon in Goldman’s car, Mike Brannon turned to the President’s Chief of Staff.
“Did you see the look that Captain Steel gave Wendell when he said that I had hit the Russians in the balls?”
“He just lost his war, Admiral,” Goldman answered. “The Congressman was his ace in the hole for riding you out of the Navy. Now, as far as he knows, you’re still in the driver’s seat and he’s sucking wind. Might be interesting to see what he does. I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything.”
Admiral Brannon’s Chief Yeoman stopped him as he walked toward his office door. “Captain Steel is in your office, sir.
“Very well, Chief,” Brannon said. He walked into his office and saw Captain Steel standing by the window. The lean Captain turned and laid a sheet of paper on Brannon’s desk.
“My request for retirement, Admiral,” Captain Steel said. “Effective as soon as I can carry out the request the President made of me. Sir.”
Mike Brannon read the paper and then twisted it into a ball and tossed it in the wastebasket.
“Request denied, Captain,” he said. “The Navy needs you. I need you. Get the hell out of my office. I’ve got work to do.”
CHAPTER 21
Far out in the mid-Atlantic a Soviet Golf Command and Control submarine nosed cautiously to the surface and extended its massive communications array above its Conning Tower. In the Radio Room of the communications submarine an operator began to tap out a long signal to the Soviet ballistic missile submarines in the Atlantic. When he had finished his transmission he turned on his receiver and listened for the acknowledgments.
“All ships acknowledge, sir,” he said to the Radio Officer who stood beside him.
“Good,” the Radio Officer said. He went out of the radio room and found the submarine’s Commanding Officer drinking tea in the ship’s tiny galley. The Commanding Officer looked at his wrist watch.
“It’s zero three hundred,” he said. “We’ve got almost two hours until dawn. Tell the Watch Officer we’ll dive fifteen minutes before false dawn. How’s the weather topside?”
“Clear night, Comrade Captain. Lots of stars. No moon. No wind. Sea is calm.”
The ship’s Captain nodded. “Pass the word to those people still awake that they can go up on deck for fifteen minutes at a time. Five men in each party. No smoking.”
Aboard the Orca, 400 miles off the East Coast of the United States, Captain Dick Reinauer studied a chart on the work table in the ship’s Control Room.
“There’s going to be hell to pay,” he muttered to his XO. “If we don’t find that son of a bitchin’ Russian submarine old Iron Mike is going to have me for breakfast. Of all the damned times to get a glitch in the sonar gear!”
“Maybe Devilfish is still with him,” Eckert volunteered. “He sure went to high speed and went down damned deep before the glitch happened. Devilfish should have been able to stay in contact.” Both men looked toward the loudspeaker on the port bulkhead as it rasped.
“Sonar report for the Officer of the Deck and the Captain. Sonar gear is now in full operation and we have contact with the target. Target has apparently reversed course and is coming toward us at high speed. Target depth is seven zero zero repeat seven hundred feet. Range is three zero, repeat thirty miles, sir.
Captain Reinauer reached for the telephone and dialed the Sonar Room.
“I want a full report on the glitch,” he said into the telephone. “And I want a footprint confirmation that we’re on the same target. I don’t want to begin following some damned electronic dummy that bastard might have fired to fool us.”
“We can confirm this is the same target, Captain,” the voice on the loudspeaker said. “We’re tracking a Soviet Yankee One Class ballistic missile submarine, sir. He’s making the same screw noise pattern and one of his circulating water pumps has got a bad bearing. We confirm same target, sir.”
“Very well,” Reinauer said. He turned to Eckert. “What the hell is he doing on a reverse course? He told us yesterday evening that he was ordered home. Now he’s coming back toward us. Why?”
“We know he got off a long message when he was surfaced,” Eckert said. He looked at the twenty-four hour clock on the bulkhead. “We’re due to surface in an hour for radio traffic. Maybe we’ll find out what the hell is going on.”
Reinauer nodded, studying the chart in front of him. “Let’s start a war problem on him. I want to run outboard of him and stay out in front of him. We’ll assume Devilfish is inboard and near him. Tell Communications to stand by for satellite transmission ten minutes before we go up. I want to go up and down as fast as we can. We lose too much time on the surface so work out the problem to stay well ahead of him, at least twenty thousand yards. By the time we go up and down we should still have some lead on him and then we’ll close on him and start staying close to the bastard.” He thanked the watch messenger for a cup of coffee and a fresh doughnut.
“I want the torpedo room on full alert, XO. If we hear that bastard opening his missile hatches we nail the son of a bitch!”
Sophia Blovin walked into Igor Shevenko’s office with a sealed envelope in her hand. She put it on the desk.
“This is a message the Navy sent,” she said. “One of Comrade Simonov’s men delivered it just now.”
Shevenko put a blunt thumb under the flap of the envelope and ripped it open. He read the message and Sophia saw his face harden.
“The bastard!” Shevenko muttered.
“Who?”
“Zurahv, that’s who!” he said. He tapped the message. “He’s ordered all ballistic missile submarines to stand by for an order to fire their missiles at Alpha Targets at fifteen hundred hours and thirty minutes, Greenwich Time.”
“Alpha Targets are what?” Sophia Blovin inquired.
“Military targets. Hardened missile sites in the United States.” Shevenko picked up a ball-point pen and began to make notes on a piece of paper.
“Fifteen thirty hours Greenwich Time, that’s five-thirty in the afternoon, our time. Today. An hour and a half after the Politburo meeting begins. If he wins the vote this afternoon he can do as he pleases. If he loses the vote. .” He paused.
“If he loses then he’s going to start a war anyway, is that it?” she asked.
Shevenko nodded. With the pen he drew a recognizable sketch of an atomic explosion. “And that is how it will end!”
“Unless you and Comrade Plotovsky can stop it,” she said softly. “I do not want to die now, not since I’ve found you.”
“Nor do I,” Shevenko said. “Get me through to Dr. Saul in Israel. I want a clear line, no taping. As fast as you can. If he’s not near a phone tell whoever answers that it is of utmost importance that he communicate with me at once.” Sophia Blovin nodded and left the office. She came back in five minutes.
“He is not in his office. They said they can reach him and have him return the call within the half hour.”
He nodded and dialed a number on his telephone. He listened to the phone ring at the other end, feeling the sweat gathering in his armpits. The ringing stopped.
“Comrade Plotovsky, please,” he said, crossing two fingers of his left hand as he said it, hoping that the old man would be in his office. He relaxed slightly as he heard the raspy voice on the line.
“Shevenko, Comrade. I must see you at once, sir. Yes, very important. Do I have your permission to have an overseas call placed to your private line? Good. I will be there in twenty minutes.”
He put the phone back in its cradle and turned to Sophia Blovin. “Get back to the person you talked to in Israel. Give them Comrade Plotovsky’s private line number. Tell them whose number it is, they know of him. Have Dr. Saul call me at that number thirty minutes from now. If he can’t do that let me know at once.” He got out of his chair and went to the coat tree and put on his coat and hat. His grin was lopsided as he looked at Sophia Blovin.