“We have to get these lights out,” Gromeko said, ignoring Dolinski’s tone. “No one is going anywhere unless we do.” He pointed at Fedulova. “Take Zosimoff and work your way to the right. Look for the main electric box.”
“Yes, sir,” Fedulova answered, stepping quickly to the right, tapping Zosimoff on the shoulder. “Come, comrade.”
“Malenkov, come with me.” Gromeko looked at Dolinski. “Wait until the lights are out.”
“Takes too long,” Dolinski said. “Wait here in the shadows, provide backup.” Without waiting for the others, he stepped into the opened lighted area and crossed toward the building.
Gromeko looked to where Fedulova and Zosimoff had disappeared. Arguing with Dolinski was bad for the team. Everyone needed to know who the central authority was so they knew whom to obey. Dolinski was usurping the chain of command.
When the Spetsnaz lieutenant was halfway across the opening, Gromeko said, “Let’s go. Spread out.”
He stepped out into the light and started to follow. He and Malenkov separated right and left. To the right Fedulova and Zosimoff had disappeared around the ring of light, probably hidden on the other side, near the next row of silent warehouses.
Dolinski walked up to the entrance door to the small telephone exchange. A light overhead lit up the white Dixie-cup sailor hat that had tilted downward to stop at his eyebrows.
Gromeko licked his lips. A whistle broke the silence for a moment, causing him to flinch. It came from the left, far away, and then went quiet. He assumed it was some American sailor trying to get the attention of another. Suddenly the lights went out.
“Govno!” Dolinski said aloud.
Gromeko looked around, his eyes still adjusting to the sudden darkness. Dolinski turned on his flashlight, the light shining on the locked door. Gromeko rushed forward to join the other lieutenant.
“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.
“I am doing not so well, comrade. My eyes are blind.”
“Mine, too. But we’ll adjust quickly.” And they did. First the background light began to be discernible, followed quickly by the starlight. Gromeko squinted when he looked at the door where Dolinski had his flashlight pointed. A red lens covered the flashlight, producing a red light to work by.
“Here,” Dolinski said. “Hold the light.”
Gromeko took the flashlight and focused the beam on the locked door.
Dolinski unzipped the small pouch he had and pulled out two small tools. “Locksmith tools,” he mumbled.
He slipped a small, flat metal tool out and flipped it open. A tiny round wire-like protrusion clicked into place. The end of the wire bent around at a slight angle. Dolinski pulled another tool out.
This one was straight with a slight flat blade on it — reminded Gromeko of a tiny screwdriver.
Dolinski worked both tools into where the key would go, slid them around, and a slight click could be heard as the door unlocked. “We can go in now, comrade,” Dolinski said, pushing the metal bar up and out of the way. “But once I open this door, most likely an alarm will sound somewhere on this base, telling someone that the door is ajar. We can expect company soon afterward.”
“How long?”
Dolinski shrugged. “How do I know? I don’t even know what I will find when I do open the door. If the banks of switches are secured behind another door, then most likely we will be pressed to finish before we have company.”
“I will deploy the men.”
Dolinski shook his head. “As much as I would like to show the Americans how Russians are prepared to die for their country, I don’t think we would accomplish anything by doing it here.”
“I will still deploy the men,” Gromeko insisted.
“They are deployed. Tell them if the Americans show up, it is better that one or two of us are captured than everyone. They are to warn us, then slip away to warn the submarine.”
Gromeko agreed. He disappeared into the shadows. Dolinski waited. Within two minutes he was back. “Fedulova and Zosimoff found the main fuse box and pulled the lever. Chief Fedulova understands.”
“Then you should go join them.”
Gromeko shook his head. “No, you will need someone to hold the light and to help.”
Dolinski nodded. “Okay, here we go.” With that he turned the knob and pushed the door open. Row upon row of switchboards with cables running from one female plug to another were revealed as the light moved along the bay of equipment. Dolinski stepped inside, the light continuing to move back and forth across the switchboards. “I am looking…,” he mumbled.
Gromeko turned at the door and pulled his pistol. “You have twenty minutes.”
Dolinski chuckled. “Not hardly. Don’t forget that somewhere on this base someone is looking at the alarm and wondering why it went off. Eventually they will send someone. Fifteen minutes if we are lucky.”
“Then, hurry.”
“There it is,” he said, the light focused on several pieces of equipment with no plugs in them. He laughed. “Five minutes is all I am going to need here. It will take longer to string the antenna. Give me five minutes. Looks to me, Motka, that we may be out of here in fifteen minutes.”
Gromeko nodded, unseen by the other lieutenant.
“Hey, Chief!” Turnipseed, the petty officer at the security consoles, shouted. “I got an alarm on the telephone center.”
Chief Bellis tossed the latest issue of Sports Illustrated onto the table, pulled his legs off it, and stood up. “It ain’t raining,” he said, walking to the front door and opening it. The humid heat of the Philippine night hit him in the face.
He shut the door, letting the air-conditioning wash over him. “Though it’s humid enough to be raining over there. Anything else lighting up?”
“No, Chief,” Turnipseed answered. “Nothing else. If it’s a rain short, then it’s raining only near the warehouses.”
The front door opened and Petty Officers Forster and Meeks stepped inside.
“Wow!” Forster said. “That feels good.”
“Didn’t you two just come from the warehouse side?” Bellis asked.
Forster nodded. “Sure did.”
“Was it raining?”
“Naw,” Meeks answered, as he opened the nearby refrigerator and pulled a bottle of Coca-Cola out. He grabbed a nearby church key and pried the top off. “Only thing we saw was a chief and a couple of sailors taking one of his drunks back to the Kitty Hawk.” He turned the drink up and chugged.
“Don’t forget to put your quarter in the tin,” Turnipseed said.
“You’ll get your money.”
“Kitty Hawk?” Bellis asked.
“That’s what the chief said,” Forster answered.
“What were they doing over there?”
“Like Meeks said, Chief, they were taking a drunken sailor back to the ship.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” Bellis answered, stepping away from the front of the air conditioner. “The Kitty Hawk is way over on the other side, nowhere near the warehouses, so how in the hell did the chief find his drunk over there?”
“Had to be lost,” Turnipseed offered.
“Or taking a night walk for the solitude,” Meeks put in with a laugh. “There were five of them.”
“Five? What are five sailors doing in the oh-dark-thirty hours of the morning over there? Better yet, answer me how in the hell did they get over there?” Chief Bellis finished. He pointed at Forster. “You two get back in the patrol car and get your butts over to the telephone switching building and check on it. Wouldn’t surprise me if your sailors decided to take a leak and are trying to find a head. If they are, you bring them back to Security so that chief and I can have a friendly chat.”