At least the man had shined shoes. Morale was always a problem with a new skipper. If the chief was an example of the level of morale he faced, then his work was going to be a challenge. Without speaking, Anton opened the wooden door. Behind him, Ekomov peeked from around the newspaper for several seconds before once again burying his head into the Pravda.
Anton stepped into the hallway; behind him he heard the chief mumbling complaints about something he was reading.
At the third door, he reached for the knob, but before he could open it, the door was jerked open. Before Anton could move, the man exiting bumped into him, knocking both of them backward.
“Who are you?” the man shouted, stepping back a couple of feet and brushing imaginary dust from his white smock.
Anton snapped to attention. “Sir, I am Captain Anton Ze-gouniov, reporting for duty.”
A tight smile crossed the man’s face. A stock of white hair cascaded along the sides, covering the top of the ears. “Captain, you are a day early. Did you not get the word?”
“What word, sir?”
“The word that you were to report tomorrow. Tomorrow— when Admiral Katshora would be here. Tomorrow is when we scheduled our indoctrination and project status brief.”
“Sir, may I assume you are Doctor Vasiliy Zotkin?”
The man’s eyes widened and the smile disappeared. “Assume? Of course you may assume I am Doctor Vasiliy Zotkin, because I am Doctor Vasiliy Zotkin.” He stepped forward. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a place that I need to be.”
Anton stepped aside, watching Zotkin march off down the long hallway. The unshielded single bulbs barely provided enough light to chase away the shadows of the interior.
Zotkin turned. “Well, are you going to stand there, Captain, or are you going to come with me? I can’t leave you here to your own devices. You sailors are too curious for your own good.” His hand motioned rapidly for Anton to hurry.
Anton walked quickly to catch up with the scientist. He found himself nearly running as the two men silently walked along the hallway. Such a long one, he thought.
“If you are wondering about the length of the hallway, it is because on that side of the wall — or bulkhead, if you insist like that grouch of a chief you have on your boat or ship or whatever you want to call it — is your submarine.”
Anton looked at the bulkhead as they continued walking. “May God save us,” Zotkin said. “You can’t see it, you know. We haven’t invented transparent walls in the Soviet Union.” A moment later Zotkin muttered, “Yet.”
“Will I get to see it?”
“See the K-2?”
Anton nodded, glancing over at the scientist.
Zotkin’s eyes widened and his lips pursed, as if trying to comprehend what Anton had asked. Several steps later, Zotkin waved him away and kept walking. Finally the hallway turned a ninety-degree angle to the right, and the men started down it. Halfway down, two of the bulbs were burned out, forcing the men to walk in darkness for nearly fifty meters.
“In answer to your question, Captain, no. I don’t think you will get to see your boat today. Then again, maybe you will. It’s not on the schedule, and my schedule is full today. Having you along is only going to make my schedule harder to keep. I don’t see any time available today for me to show you the boat.”
They reached the far end, turned right, and started down a hallway parallel to the long one they first entered.
“I am qualified in submarines, Doctor Zotkin. I am sure I will be all right finding my way around it.”
The man stopped so abruptly, Anton took two more steps before he stopped also.
“Listen to me, young man: no one goes aboard the K-2 until I have personally cleared him.” Zotkin started walking again. “Doctor, I am afraid I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand anything, Captain. It is not your fault, but the work we do here is for the good of the Soviet Union and the party. It is a step toward building the most powerful Navy in the world — to show the world what people working together for a more morally superior purpose can achieve.”
“But—”
“Did you know that Chairman Khrushchev himself gave me leadership of this project?”
Before Anton could answer, Zotkin continued, “But, of course, you would not. You sailors are the best the party has to offer, but you have little concept of what we in the party do for our country and our people.”
Zotkin stopped, his forehead wrinkling. He looked ahead, glanced back the way they came, looked ahead again, then glared at Anton. “Captain, I only have so many hours in the day, and you are slowing me up.” He pointed back down the hallway. “We were supposed to go up those stairs back there.”
What stairs? Anton thought. He didn’t recall seeing any stairs during their forced march through the hallways encircling what he believed to be a covered dock for the submarine.
Zotkin made a throat noise, then started back along the way they had come, his pace quickening. Anton was nearly running with the shorter man. Sweat was forming beneath the heavy bridge coat.
Suddenly Zotkin cut across the bow, snatched open a door, and disappeared through it. Anton hurried after the man, catching a glimpse of the white smock, as Zotkin seemed to flow up the zigzags of stairs. Anton passed one door, then a second on the ascent. He heard the scientist’s feet pitter-pattering on the steps as Zotkin hurried for whatever appointment the doctor was headed to. Several more doors passed and then suddenly Anton was at the top. Zotkin was gone. Anton tried to recall when he last heard the man climbing — the sound of boots on metal — but his own breathing was rapid from the exertion.
Anton stood for a moment. He lifted his hat from his head, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the sweat away. Maybe this mad doctor intended to lose him in the maze of the covered dock. He doubted Zotkin even knew he was missing. There were moments in their minutes together when Anton felt the doctor had forgotten he was walking alongside him as they made a mad dash around the dock.
The door burst open. Zotkin stuck his head inside the stairwell. “Are you coming or not, Captain?” Then the door shut.
Anton tucked the hat under his arm and hurried after the man, the door slamming behind him.
Zotkin was to his right and walking quickly away.
As Anton hurried to catch up, Zotkin spoke, his voice loud so Anton could hear him. “You will start your education at this meeting, Captain Zegouniov. This is the morning status report. If you have questions, don’t ask them. We don’t have time. Tomorrow is when I have time for you, but today I can only keep you with me so you don’t get into trouble.”
He was a captain first rank. Captains first rank don’t get into trouble.
THREE
“Comrade Captain Zegouniov, welcome to the ice hole of the world,” Admiral Katshora said, his raspy voice filling the office. The admiral extended his hand as he walked briskly across his office to greet Anton. “I am so glad you are here, Anton.” Kat-shora gripped Anton’s hand with both of his. “And how is that lovely wife of yours? Has she reached cabin fever yet? She was a pleasure to talk to the other day, and I am sure you both are finding Murmansk a far cry from the activities in Moscow.”