Nimitz Class (39 page)

“From the Turks’ point of view it will provide them with some very valuable new information, should we wish to share with them.

“And, in the long term, the Americans will be pleased to see the Turks increase security around the Bosporus. You never quite know when the Russian Navy might rise again.

“I’d say there was much to gain and little to lose—for everyone, especially us.”

“Well, sir,” said Captain Greenwood, “we could lose a brand-new submarine and maybe a lot of people.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Dick,” replied the Flag Officer. “I think we’d survive a ramming from one of those shallow-draft ferries. Might knock off a mast, maybe a fin. Expensive, but not terminal. And a lot of the chaps would get out. The water’s not that deep.”

“Sir, they would not survive a bad underwater collision in the dark with a wreck or a rock, nor would they survive colliding with one of those really big freighters which run through those waters.”

“True. But we’re going to lose the submarines anyway, even if we sit here and do nothing.”

“Actually, sir, it was the chaps I was more concerned about.”

“Yes, quite so, Captain, I see that. But I do not want to turn my back on an opportunity to retain possibly three of the Upholders for the Royal Navy. And without this mission, they’re history.”

“Yes. But also, sir, there is the question of Johnny Turk,” said Captain Greenwood. “Are we going to tell him?”

“I don’t think the President wants to tell him,” said Bill. “But since it’s your boat, you’d better decide. We would prefer to say nothing.”

“Let me remind you of one possible scenario,” said Captain Greenwood. “It’s the middle of the night. For whatever reason we are driven to the surface by either a collision, or by shallow water. Johnny Turk’s radar spots us. We go back to periscope depth and he comes out in a patrol boat, panics, and drops in a half-dozen depth charges which blow the submarine in half, causing most of the crew to drown. Should we not attempt to avoid that?”

“Yes, I think we should,” said Admiral Elliott. “We’re not at war with anyone, and we shouldn’t lay ourselves open to that kind of reprisal. Johnny Turk is not going to be too cheerful about this, mark my words. So we are going to have to find a way to retain the integrity of the mission, by telling him, but not telling him, if you see what I mean.

“And there I might be able to help.”

Captain Greenwood averted his eyes. He knew when his boss was going to play a major card. And this was it.

“A few years ago,” said his boss, “I had the happy privilege of being selected from a large group of non-applicants to escort an important visiting officer from Turkey on a sightseeing tour down the River Thames. It had all the makings of a total bloody disaster. He could not speak a word of English, and I could not speak a word of Turkish. I was told to settle for French, which I also hardly speak. Anyway, I stayed up all night with a couple of guidebooks until I was an expert on the historic sights up and down the river.

“The Turk and I made it through the day. Had a very good time, and after dinner at the club, I fixed him up with a hostess from the Stork Room. As I remember, Al, the proprietor, let him have one on the house. That Turk owes me, and that particular officer is now CNS of the Turkish Navy. How’s that?”

“Brilliant, sir,” said Baldridge. “Maybe we should send him a rain check for the Stork Room?”

“No good, I’m afraid. It closed several years ago. Too many freebies, I suppose.”

Captain Greenwood chuckled, and Bill Baldridge laughed out loud. But the Flag Officer was all business. “I propose the following. I’ll have a very quick word with my old Turkish buddy, in French. Bill
here will head to Scotland immediately and talk to his new friend Admiral MacLean. I’ll speak to him first.

“Then Dick can get on to the dockyard in Barrow-in-Furness and find out the precise state of readiness of that boat which is being sold to the Brazilians,
Unseen
, isn’t it?”

“
Andrew!
Get the First Sea Lord on the line, will you. I’ll get this past the MoD. I believe the Prime Minister has been alerted. The politicos have no objection, and would wish to help our American friends if at all possible. Can’t have some half-assed tribesman blowing up the U.S. Navy, what?”

The admiral stood up and suggested Bill go next door and check if it would be okay to stay with the MacLeans again, and perhaps take a run down to Barrow tomorrow with Sir Iain, have a look at
Unseen
.

“We’ll send a Navy chopper in to meet your flight and get you over to Inveraray, if that’s okay with the MacLeans,” he said. “If not, you can camp overnight at the Faslane base, and meet Iain tomorrow. You’d better get on your way, and we’ll have a talk on the phone tonight, check that all the ends are coming together, as they surely will. Generally speaking we do not like disappointing the Pentagon. Especially when they’re paying, and we have something to gain.”

Bill Baldridge ran down the stairs and boarded the admiral’s staff car. The driver already knew the American was on his way to Scotland, and they left for Heath row immediately. It was raining in Northwood at midday and the traffic was awful on the M25. But they sped under the tunnel into the airport with time to spare for the Glasgow flight at 1440.

“Stores looking good. About another thousand gallons of fuel, Georgy. You’ll be on your way in a half hour.”

“You really not come, Ben?”

“I can’t come. I have to get off here and get on the oiler. And I
have to get to our meeting point, because you cannot just unload fifty renegade Russian sailors and leave them in some South American village with a half million dollars apiece. I need to get us a boat. And we need to ferry these men away from the submarine two or three at a time, over a three-week time span. That’s what we agreed. Slowly, carefully, and safely, the way we’ve done everything.”

“But, Ben, what if I get to our place and you not come? You never show up? What then for me?”

“Georgy, you know where the final fueling point is. Nothing has gone wrong so far. And you have a Samsonite suitcase under your bunk, in which you have four million American dollars in cash.

“You also have the full documents for the bank account in Chile. You even have their fax confirming your right to operate the account and a letter of credit for a further 5 million from that bank. Your money is safe. The biggest problem you have is getting off the submarine without being seen. That’s what I’m now doing for you. I have to go.”

“Ben, I can’t let you go. The crew want you stay.”

“Georgy, you cannot leave this boat without me there to meet you with a launch.”

“I can beach it on one of those islands. Then I’ll share out the other money in the other case for the crew, and I’ll get away, in small life raft, through shallow water, with my case and documents.”

“Georgy. There are too many of you. And they’ll find the submarine within hours. We have to keep it hidden while we evacuate. I insist you stick to the plan.”

“If you go, Ben, I might be a dead man. With you here I think I survive.”

“If I stay, Georgy, we’ll both be dead men. You must do as I say.”

“Ben, if I have to, I’ll have you held here at gun point. The crew won’t let you get off. They told me that two days ago. As
soon as I told them what we had really done. Some of them are pretty upset. Even if we didn’t hurt Russia.”

“Georgy, don’t be ridiculous. Bring to me the four senior members of your crew and let me speak to them. Let me explain the importance of the plan. My objective is that no one gets caught. You beach this thing on some island, we’ll all get caught. If the Americans are onto us, they’ll have everyone extradited to the U.S.A., and put to death for the mass murder of the crew of the
Thomas Jefferson.”

“Okay, Ben, I get them. But they not change their minds. They want you on the journey. So do I. You stay.”

“Georgy, before you even consider brandishing a Kalashnikov at me, remember one thing. I was perfectly happy to die for my country on this mission. I still am.”

Bill Baldridge gazed down from the helicopter onto the shining waters of Loch Fyne. To the northeast of the MacLean house he could see the little town of Inveraray. From the air it was dominated by some kind of a castle, or at the very least a fine manor house, with four round towers, surrounded by great lawns and gardens, Inveraray Castle, home to the Dukes of Argyll.

The chopper came clattering down onto Sir Iain’s lawn, and Bill stepped out into a sunlit late afternoon in the west of Scotland. He carried his case to the door, and was greeted by Lady MacLean, who shook his hand warmly and announced that her husband had been held up in Edinburgh and would be back in a couple of hours.

They walked into the hall, where the faithful Angus wished Bill good afternoon, and took his case upstairs. Lady MacLean led the way into the drawing room overlooking the loch and told him they would have tea in a few minutes. They sat on opposite sofas and exchanged formal pleasantries, during which the Scottish admiral’s wife implored him to call her Annie. It took a while before she ventured, “I believe you are planning to take my retired husband on a little holiday to Turkey.”

“No one has told me yet whether he has agreed to come,” said
Bill. “I was at the meeting when Admiral Elliott was informed that
he
could not go. Next thing I knew, they were planning to contact Admiral MacLean. They were supposed to have had a talk while I was on the plane.”

“Well, I believe they did talk. And I also believe they have the matter under consideration, and I think we all know what the outcome will be. Iain will take his place on that journey as the senior officer on board, and end up taking all of the responsibility, just as he has done all of his life.”

“Annie,” said Bill quietly, using her name for the first time, “do you not want him to go?”

“Of course not. I have been a Navy wife for almost the whole of my adult life. I’ve waited for him for years. Sometimes I’ve waited for him to come home for months at a time, when he was out in the Atlantic or in the Barents Sea, risking his life every moment of every day, hundreds of feet below the surface. Right in the Russians’ backyard. The weeks I was by myself, never hearing, always wondering.

“I think of the hours and hours I have spent in this house, in the night, wandering around, always alone, just praying for news of him. Any news. All through the Cold War, all through the Falklands War. Until last year, I finally got him back. And now this. Some kind of suicide mission in a submarine, in waters not much bigger than a wide ditch.”

Bill looked thoughtful. “I suppose, if you talk to him, he might decide not to do it. I have to be there myself, under orders.”

“But, Bill, you are so much younger, and I don’t believe you have a wife, do you?”

“No, ma’am, I do not. But I’ve got a stack of very close relatives back in Kansas, and we’ve just lost my brother Jack, who was really the head of the family. I guess my mother might feel the way you do.”

“Navy wives and mothers have a very lonely and worrying time. And it lasts for years. I suppose I am just a little bit shocked. I had believed it was over.”

“Well, at least no one’s going to shoot at us. We’re just going to make the trip. It’s only about sixteen miles. Won’t take more than
about four hours, once we get set up. I don’t think you should worry. We’ll be fine. And if Sir Iain decides to come, we’ll be really fine. Because he believes it can be done. And he’s the best.”

“Oh, he will definitely be on that submarine,” said Lady MacLean. “Whatever I think or say. He’ll actually enjoy it. Because it will take him back to his happiest, most exciting days in command. Doing the things he believed only he could do.”

“A lot of people seem to think he was the best submarine commander the Navy ever had. Maybe this is part of his destiny. Do you believe in destiny, Annie?”

“Yes, Bill. After all of these years, I’m afraid that I do.”

Angus brought in the tea, and when he had gone, Baldridge and Lady MacLean sat and sipped in silence for a while. Finally Bill said, “How long does it take to drive to Edinburgh from here?”

“About an hour and a half to Glasgow, then another hour to Edinburgh if the traffic’s reasonable. It’s less than fifty miles between the two cities, straight along the M8.”

“Still, that’s five hours behind the wheel,” said Bill. “Guess you wouldn’t want to make it every day.”

“Oh no. It’s hardly commuting distance. Really it’s right across this narrow part of Scotland, west to east. Still, it’s not too bad for him today. He’s got Laura driving him.”

Bill looked up sharply, smiling to disguise the heartbeat of excitement he felt. They had not spoken since they parted on the lawn of this house three weeks previously.

He tried to slow the conversation down, and very nearly succeeded. “Oh, I had no idea I’d be meeting one of my chief informants again,” he said, grinning.

“And, I believe, one of your fellow opera enthusiasts,” replied Lady MacLean. But she betrayed no sense of knowing, nor sly insight, when she added, “My daughter liked you very much.”

“Does she have the little girls here—the ones I never met?”

“No, Bill. They’ve gone off with their father for a few days, up to his brother’s grouse-moor. The season starts next week, and everyone gets frightfully busy in the days leading up to the first shoot. Laura hates the ritual of it.”

“So she comes over here for a few days on this spectacular loch,” said Bill.

“Yes. Actually we’ve seen quite a bit of her just lately. She’s never really been content living in Edinburgh. And her husband’s charming. Of course she’s never got over that frightful Adnam boy. She told me you knew all about that.”

“Yes. She was amazingly helpful about him. If we get him, she’ll probably never know how important a part she played.”