“Let us assume that the target you tested your weapon on was an American submarine. The Americans will know, soon enough, that one of their submarines is missing. They will search for it, won’t they? And if they find it and determine how it was lost do you think they will blame the North Vietnamese?” Plotovsky began tapping the table top with a thin forefinger. The clicking sound of his brittle fingernail hitting the table hung in the air.
“What interests me, Admiral, is the price of your omelet.”
“The test site was carefully chosen, Comrade.” Admiral Zurahv’s heavy lips parted and showed a row of tobacco-stained teeth. “As Captain Kovitz said, the target is on the bottom in two thousand fathoms of water.”
“Two thousand fathoms is twelve thousand feet,” Plotovsky’s voice was soft, pedantic. “The oceans have been explored, by the Americans among others, to much greater depths, to depths three times two thousand fathoms. In a submersible vessel with windows and lights and manned by men, Admiral, men who can see and evaluate what they see.
“One must then assume that the Americans have the means to find their submarine and once they find it to learn how it was sunk.” He paused, his lizardlike eyes staring at Admiral Zurahv. When he spoke his voice was like the crack of a whip.
“You have committed an act of war, Admiral! You have acted politically and you have no authority to make political decisions or acts! That is the province of the Politburo!”
“The Politburo authorized the test,” Zurahv said.
“For some years now,” Plotovsky’s voice was again soft, “we have had eleven members in the Politburo. There is wisdom in the odd number. If a vote results in a tie, five to five, Comrade Brezhnev as First Secretary can cast the tie-breaking vote. When your project was voted on one member was sick and did not vote. The vote was five to four in favor of the test. Comrade Brezhnev did not choose to vote and cause a tie.” He stood up, his hands braced against the top of the table.
“I led the minority, sir. I will call for a special meeting of the Politburo to consider the situation you have created. If I were you I would not depend on a confirmation by vote of your action. You will be given the opportunity to explain your actions.” He turned to look at Captain Kovitz.
“I advise you, Captain, to read the accounts of the Nuremberg War Trials. Blind obedience to orders from a superior can be dangerous.” He turned and shuffled out of the room. When the door closed behind him Admiral Zurahv shrugged and smiled at the people around the table.
“Once he was a great hero, a fearless man. Now he is old. He fears progress and the changes it brings, the technology that gives us progress.” He stood up and smoothed his uniform jacket over his vast belly, smiling at Sophia Blovin.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, young lady. I hope to see you again. Captain Kovitz, I would like you to come with me to my office to discuss your report. We have made arrangements for your lodging tonight. You will be flown back to your ship tomorrow.” He smiled genially at Shevenko and bowed slightly toward Sophia Blovin. He left the room followed by the other admiral with Captain Kovitz bringing up the rear.
Shevenko pushed his chair back and stood up and pulled Sophia’s chair back as she stood. “You have made an impression on Admiral Zurahv,” he said with a grin. She shook her head, her smile faint.
“I trust that you won’t consider this meeting a waste of your time,” Shevenko said. “Without doubt you will be called on to appear before the meeting that Plotovsky mentioned to give your impression of what effect this incident will have on the American political and popular mind. I reasoned that if you could see the shape of the clouds that are forming you could better prepare yourself for that meeting.”
Sophia drew a deep breath and the fabric of her sweater stretched dangerously. “I appreciate your concern for me, Comrade Director. I would like to talk to you about what areas of research I should follow.”
“Dinner this evening?” Shevenko whispered as he pushed the chairs back to the table. She smiled and nodded and Shevenko went to the door and held it open for her, letting his elbow brush gently against the swell of her breast as she passed him.
Captain Steel’s office was as austere as the man. A battered desk stood at one end of the room. Although the Captain’s office was in the E-Ring he had resisted the efforts of the GSA to furnish the office according to the GSA directives. When meetings were held in Captain Steel’s office his Chief Yeoman brought in folding metal chairs and lined them up in front of the desk Captain Steel had first sat behind when he had been ordered to Washington.
Vice Admiral Brannon and Rear Admiral John Olsen were waiting in Steel’s outer office when Rear Admiral Benson arrived with Bob Wilson, his senior aide. The three admirals shook hands and Benson introduced Bob Wilson to Brannon and Olsen. The Chief Yeoman in charge of the office looked agonized as he glanced at his wrist watch.
“It’s thirteen fifty-seven, Admiral Brannon. Captain Steel told me your appointment was for fourteen hundred hours, sir.”
“It’s all right, Chief,” Brannon said. “We don’t mind waiting.” He turned to talk to the other men as the Chief Yeoman watched the second hand on his Rolex click slowly toward two P.M. At thirty seconds before the hour he opened the door to Captain Steel’s office.
“Vice Admiral Brannon, Rear Admirals Benson and Olsen and Mr. Robert Wilson, civilian aide to Admiral Benson, sir.” He stood to one side as the party entered the office and then closed the door. Mike Brannon chose a metal chair at the end of the row of four chairs and sat down cautiously, testing the chair to see if it would hold his bulk.
“Good afternoon, Captain,” Brannon said. “As you know, Sharkfin is seventy-four hours overdue with her regular position report.
“Several possibilities exist as to why Sharkfin has not reported. One is that she suffered a communications breakdown. That is not a very solid assumption since all nuclear submarines have ample redundancy in communications. Another possibility is that she may have suffered a breakdown in her nuclear power plant and is on the bottom, trying to make repairs.”
“No nuclear power plant in any nuclear submarine has ever failed.” Captain Steel’s voice was dry, rasping.
“Acknowledged,” Brannon said. He drew a long breath. “There is also the possibility that Sharkfin was attacked by the Soviet submarine that tracked her.”
“You can assume anything you wish,” Steel said. “I am an engineer. I am not a gossip or a rumor monger. If Sharkfin is down the probable cause of her being down is a manpower failure. We have too many enlisted men on nuclear submarines who have not been through my training schools. Any one of those enlisted men could have made a fatal mistake that could cause the loss of the Sharkfin. Or any other nuclear submarine.”
“That ground has been gone over time and again,” Brannon said. “You know why every enlisted man aboard nuclear submarines is not a graduate of the Navy’s nuclear training schools. We can’t recruit enough men who are able to pass the tests to qualify for the nuclear schools. We can’t even coax enough qualified submarine men to go to the schools. We are forced to fill out the crews on the nukes with men who even if they haven’t been to a nuclear school are damned good submariners.”
“I know how many times that specious argument has been raised and I know who is chiefly responsible for raising it,” Steel said. “I presume you didn’t come here to resume that argument. Please get to the point.”
Brannon sensed John Olsen tensing beside him and cleared his throat.