Authors: David Poyer
The Passage (69 page)
Harper swung back, tone crisp. “Anyway, we've got the ship now. We have all the small arms. We got the bridge and Main Control. Just a couple loose ends and we'll be ready for an orderly turnover.”
A shadow. “Call for you,” it said in a muffled growl. Part of the disguise, Dan guessed.
Harper took the proffered phone. “Yeah. Here. What? He's not in his stateroom? Well, track him down. We don't want him roaming around ⦠. Yeah, sure, if he resists ⦠okay.” He hung up.
“Who was it?”
“Vysotsky. We'll get him, though.” Harper was silent a moment, then cleared his throat. “Well, what do you say? Gonna help us out?”
Dan had been thinking furiously during the interruption, putting things together. It enraged him that Harper thought he'd betray his country. But he didn't want to get locked below. It wasn't an attractive prospect, being battened down in a magazine while a scratch-manned ship felt her way into an unfamiliar port.
And he was beginning to realize something else: That heâand maybe now the executive officerâmight be the only men uncommitted to Harper's plot still at large.
The more he knew, the better chance he'd have of limiting the damage. So he didn't answer directly. Instead he said, “I still don't quite get it. You're planning to turn the ship over to the Cubans?”
“Isn't that what I said?”
“But what do you get for it? And what do they want it for? Ohâwait a minute. The ACDADS.”
“ACDADS?” Harper sounded amused. “Shit, no. The other side
got a complete set of program tapes the first time I saw them, way back in precommissioning. How else you think they could have built the Crud?”
got a complete set of program tapes the first time I saw them, way back in precommissioning. How else you think they could have built the Crud?”
Dan stared at him openmouthed.
“Never mind. You don't need to know why they want it, okay? All you need to know is what I want you to do, and what you get out of it.”
“Yeah, that was my second question. Shit, mutiny's still a capital offense.”
“All taken care of.” The beam flickered around again, and yes, Harper was smiling. “Like I told you, all in the plan. Here's the scenario. The Cubans take the ship into custody. They take the crew off. But not everybody goes quietly. Some guys make trouble. And they're gonna get knocked around.
“Those will be
my
guys. Throw in with us, they'll beat you up enough to make it look like you were forced to conn the ship in. It'll hurt, but no permanent damage. What do you end up with? Later onâafter everybody's repatriatedâeach of my guys gets mailed fifty thousand dollars in an unsigned money order. Every year after that, you get another installment. Tax-free. Nobody ever knows.”
my
guys. Throw in with us, they'll beat you up enough to make it look like you were forced to conn the ship in. It'll hurt, but no permanent damage. What do you end up with? Later onâafter everybody's repatriatedâeach of my guys gets mailed fifty thousand dollars in an unsigned money order. Every year after that, you get another installment. Tax-free. Nobody ever knows.”
“That's for what? For turning the ship over?”
“That's right.”
“How about you? How much do you make?”
“Not a thing.”
“Come off it.”
“I'm serious. See, I won't be coming back,” said Harper. “Look, I can read the handwriting. I don't want to get left out in the cold. I'll be âkilled resisting boarding.' The body will be lost at sea. You get what that means.”
Dan said slowly, “You're a hero.”
“Bingo, you got it! Shit, they might even name a ship after me. Bonnie gets my pay, insurance, and allowances. Me, I go on to a privileged life with a changed name as an intelligence adviser, plus two million bucks in back pay they been holding for me.”
“What about your bars?”
“My what?” Harper stared, then burst out laughing. “My
bars
! You still don't get it, do you? I been working for the Reds for twenty years now, shipmate! There aren't any
bars!”
bars
! You still don't get it, do you? I been working for the Reds for twenty years now, shipmate! There aren't any
bars!”
Dan said slowly, “You're a spy.”
“Now you're hittin' on eight cylinders.”
“And you've been at this for a long time. Feeding them”âhe remembered Byrne's suspicions then, the hints and forebodingsâ“feeding themâwhat? Tapes for our fire-control systems. And what else?”
“Whatever I could get my hands on. A lot of stuff, when you're classified materials custodian.” Harper shrugged. “If you're gonna be a spy, shit, might as well be a good one.”
“How'd you get into this, Jay?”
“Back in Vietnam. When I was on the
Milwaukee.
One time in the radio shack, the guys were talking about what the stuff we had was worth. âThe Reds'd pay a bundle for this one'âthat kind of stuff. And it occurred to me that maybe they would. Only thing was, I didn't just daydream about it. And you know what? They did.”
Milwaukee.
One time in the radio shack, the guys were talking about what the stuff we had was worth. âThe Reds'd pay a bundle for this one'âthat kind of stuff. And it occurred to me that maybe they would. Only thing was, I didn't just daydream about it. And you know what? They did.”
Dan still felt appalled. But now he'd had time to think, he realized there was only one thing for him to do. He had to try to take the ship back. He didn't know how. But he seemed to be the only one in a position to do anything. His mind kept coming back to that. The loyal men, if what Harper was saying was true, were all locked below. Anyone else abovedecks was one of his evil dwarfs. Could he figure a way to wreck Harper's plan? He'd have to pretend to cooperate, keep his eyes open, and hope an opportunity presented itself soon. The lights had separated, one drawing forward of the beam, the other aft. Soon they'd be under close escort.
It would be a dangerous game against armed men.
“Okay, enough questions,” Harper told him. “I can't wait any longer. You in or out?”
“You say we'll be paid?”
“Cash. No tracks.”
“And they'll never know I helped.”
“Right. All you got to do is play along, let them punch you around a little. Might even get a medal out of it. Help your career, you know? It hasn't been looking so good up to now, I hear.”
Dan kept his voice flat, trying to keep hatred and near nausea from showing in it. Minute by minute, he understood more and more. And saw ever more clearly how imperative it was that he stop the traitor and spy.
He said in an even tone, “Okay, sounds good. Count me in.”
A flash from the thinning darkness, and Dan jerked his eyes up, startled, to see a plume of white water collapse back into the darkling sea ahead. “Shit!”
“Take it easy! All in the plan. They'll fall in on the quarters at two hundred yards. Steady as you go. I'm glad you're with us ⦠. This is Mr. Harper. Mr. Lenson has the deck,” he shouted in. The helmsman nodded silently. Then, to Dan, he said, “Okay, shipmate. Set us a course for Santiago.”
Â
Â
HE stood by the chart table, sweat trickling down his back. Harper and the other man had left the bridge, herding the captives from the chart room below. Leaving him alone on the bridge with the mutineer with the riot gun. Harper hadn't offered Dan a weapon. Obviously, he didn't trust him that far. The growing light showed him the masked face behind the helm console. Dan had no idea who it was. A big guy, well built. Enlisted, apparently, but he'd taken off the dungaree shirt. All he wore was his white undershirt, tails out, and dungaree trouâthat and the mask.
“What's the course?”
“Uh, come left to two-three-zero.” He looked back at the chart, aligned the parallel rulers, and applied himself to navigation for a while.
Harper had told him to stay inside the twelve-mile limit. He struck off a track that would get them safely past Punta Negra. Then they could come right off Punta Caleta to shape a course for Santiago, the next Communist-controlled harbor past Guantánamo Bay. He walked out the distance with his dividers, realizing it wouldn't take long to get there. He hoped the Navy got their shit together, sortied whoever was pierside at Gitmo, came out to get them.
The only problem was, he didn't think they knew a mutiny and capture was in progress. He glanced around the bridge in the growing light, inspecting the radio remotes from the edge of his sight. Raw copper gleamed at each one. The cables had been snipped through. He didn't see any of the walkie-talkies; Harper had probably heaved them over the side.
Then he remembered with a truly doomed feeling that even if he could notify someone, there weren't any warships in Gitmo. They'd been suckered north, off Cay Sal. The big shell game, he understood it now; remembered an afternoon in the sun, too much beer, plastic cups on the cockpit seat. “Classic misdirection. Make 'em think they've won. Then, when they lift the last cupânada. They're dicked.”
Harper had been telling him all along what was going to happen. He just hadn't understood the code.
Barrett
was naked before her enemies.
was naked before her enemies.
He looked out to starboard, to see the little gunboat tucked in close, two hundred yards, like a guard escorting a prisoner. Another to port. Little guys, maybe
Zhuks
or P-4s. He wasn't as familiar with small craft as he was with larger combatants. But they had mean-looking automatic guns. This close, they could sweep
Barrett's
topsides with a withering storm of fire.
Zhuks
or P-4s. He wasn't as familiar with small craft as he was with larger combatants. But they had mean-looking automatic guns. This close, they could sweep
Barrett's
topsides with a withering storm of fire.
As he calculated the time to the next turn, he thought swiftly over what Harper had told him. How much of it should he believe?
Because some of it just didn't compute, once you thought about it. Such as, why would the other side need
Barrett
at all? If what he was saying was true, he'd already given the Reds everything they needed: design details, tapes, evenâhe tensed as another piece snap-fit into placeâyeah, even MAM cards, the actual tuning circuitry on their fire-control radar. He'd wondered who else could find something like that useful. How about ⦠somebody designing a way to jam it?
Because some of it just didn't compute, once you thought about it. Such as, why would the other side need
Barrett
at all? If what he was saying was true, he'd already given the Reds everything they needed: design details, tapes, evenâhe tensed as another piece snap-fit into placeâyeah, even MAM cards, the actual tuning circuitry on their fire-control radar. He'd wondered who else could find something like that useful. How about ⦠somebody designing a way to jam it?
Marion Sipple's death made sense now. The former department head had probably caught on somehow, stumbled over Harper or one of his associates in some situation beyond plausible denialâand been killed, slugged and dumped off the brow in dry dock. The thefts had been cover, a smoke screen Harper had deployed to shift any suspicion to the dead man himself.
Just as, he realized with a chill, it was perfectly possible for Harper to use him to put
Barrett
alongside the pier in Santiago, then kill him. And orchestrate his men to shift all the blame to Dan Lenson, already suspected by NIS, already known as a disgruntled and insubordinate junior officer.
Barrett
alongside the pier in Santiago, then kill him. And orchestrate his men to shift all the blame to Dan Lenson, already suspected by NIS, already known as a disgruntled and insubordinate junior officer.
He jerked his mind back from his personal problem to the bigger one at hand. There had to be some reason they wanted the ship itselfâsomething Harper could not photocopy or photograph or walk off the brow with. But what? Not nuclear weapons;
Barrett
didn't carry any. But why else would you actually want to capture a Navy ship? The last time that had happened, it was the
Pueblo
â
Barrett
didn't carry any. But why else would you actually want to capture a Navy ship? The last time that had happened, it was the
Pueblo
â
Dan gripped the edge of the chart table, suddenly dizzy. Yes, the
Pueblo
.
Pueblo
.
Just as Jack Byrne had said that day at the squadron headquarters, sitting in his office after they had met Commodore Niles. You needed two things to read encrypted message traffic: the key list
and the encrypting equipment
.
and the encrypting equipment
.
In 1968, the North Koreans had captured USS
Pueblo
, claiming she'd violated their territorial sea. He'd only been a midshipman then, but he remembered. There'd been a KW-7 aboard her. Her crew had been repatriated, eventually, but
Pueblo
had never been returned to the United States.
Pueblo
, claiming she'd violated their territorial sea. He'd only been a midshipman then, but he remembered. There'd been a KW-7 aboard her. Her crew had been repatriated, eventually, but
Pueblo
had never been returned to the United States.
And Harper had had access to KW-7 key lists.
Conclusion: The Soviets had been reading U.S. message trafficâfor years. No wonder their AGIs always turned up for fleet exercises!
But now the KW-7 was obsolete. The Navy was phasing in new systems. If the Soviets got them, they could keep right on reading Navy comms into the next century.
If there was a war, they'd win it.
But those weren't Soviet ships out on their quarters; they were Cuban. He could see the flag now as the sun rose. Cuba was a satellite, but they weren't puppets. Seizing a U.S. warship was a major risk. What did they get out of it? He didn't have an answer to that, or even a suspicion.
His thoughts, running like a rogue torpedo, circled back again now to the
Pueblo's
capture. He remembered how contemptuously Navy people had talked about it. Why hadn't her skipper fought back? they'd asked one another. Or scuttled his ship? Where were his guts, his brains, his balls? Well, now he was in the same situation, and so far he wasn't doing any better. Technically, he had the conn, but any order he gave to increase speed or attempt to break away would be futileâunless he could overcome Riot Gun somehow. And as for scuttling â¦
Barrett
had destruct charges. But with the crew locked below â¦
Pueblo's
capture. He remembered how contemptuously Navy people had talked about it. Why hadn't her skipper fought back? they'd asked one another. Or scuttled his ship? Where were his guts, his brains, his balls? Well, now he was in the same situation, and so far he wasn't doing any better. Technically, he had the conn, but any order he gave to increase speed or attempt to break away would be futileâunless he could overcome Riot Gun somehow. And as for scuttling â¦
Barrett
had destruct charges. But with the crew locked below â¦
“Steady on two-three-zero,” the man behind the helm told him. “Are you navigating?”
Dan cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. He bent to the pelorus and sighted along it at the left cut of the headland, swiveled to take a bearing on the light. It was fading as day grew but still visible. Holding both bearings in his mind, he went to the chart table. The fix showed them due east of Punta Negra. Two-three-zero looked good for at least the next twenty minutes.
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