Gesny took a couple of steps back, his eyes never leaving the forward portion of the boat. “Captain, your operations officer, Lieutenant Lebedev, would like to discuss next week’s planning board for training. Have you had an opportunity to speak with Lieutenant Lebedev yet, sir?”
“I met him yesterday. He seems to be a dedicated officer.” Anton nodded. “I think it would be a good idea, Commander. But only for a few minutes, as it has been a long day and Lieutenant Tomich has some party-political work for us.”
“I heard, sir,” Gesny said drily.
“Then a few minutes for Lebedev, then all of us need to have some sleep before tomorrow’s engine room drills.”
Gesny nodded. “Aye, sir. And we can discuss the drills for tomorrow.”
“XO,” Anton said in a low voice, “I saw trucks alongside the dock, and it looked as if—”
“Come to course three one two!” Gesny shouted. “Captain, with your permission, I have to concentrate on getting the Whale into her berth. The current can be trecherous here. Also, the evening brings Arctic winds, and you never know just when they will appear, but when they do, they will hit the sail of the Whale. Without our attention the currents and the wind could push us into the rocks.” Gesny pointed toward the beach running along the right side of the entrance. Huge rocks lined the coast, probably shoved there by ancient glaciers. Huge rocks also lined the channel leading to the facility, but there was little doubt they had been placed by human efforts.
Anton nodded, shocked over being interrupted. Maybe he was wrong about this Gesny. It was uncomfortable to have a subordinate interrupt him. So he watched quietly, acknowledging the slight course changes as Gesny aligned the prototype atomic submarine with the gaping mouth of the covered dock. Minutes passed before Anton grasped another alternative. Maybe Gesny was stopping him from asking his question about the trucks. There were things in the Soviet Union just as he supposed there were in America where some questions and curiosity were best left unasked and unsolved. It would explain the interruption. Anton promised himself to ask the question later, when the two were alone. Then again, even if Gesny seemed to be helping, it did not mean the man failed to have a hidden agenda. Survival was a hidden agenda when the party was involved, and everyone was fodder to be thrown between you and them.
Anton stepped onto the dock, glancing back at the submarine. Because it was not considered a fully operational warship, minimal crew was on board, primarily for security and fire watch. The XO saluted from the bridge. As soon as he closed the hatch leading away from the dock and into the main facility, those who stayed behind waiting for him to leave would be scurrying for home. He smiled at the deference showed to the commanding officer, but he knew how junior officers thought. Sure, by now all on board knew this was his first command, but it was his sixth submarine, and he had served with some of the best the Soviet Union had to offer.
If anyone was unable to sleep, all they had to do was attend one of Tomich’s party-political workshops. He was surprised his eyes were still open, even though it had been more than an hour ago.
Anton reached the end of the passageway, looked to his right, and turned left toward the exit leading away from the concealed dock and to home. He was near the last exit when voices drew his attention down the corridor. He looked at his watch: eight o’clock was not late for a Navy base. He grabbed the wheel to open the hatch when one of the voices rose to almost a shout and he heard, “We can’t keep doing this, Doctor Zotkin! We have had five die in two weeks, and all because—”
“Shut up, Danzinger! You are alive because of me—”
“I am alive because of what I know and what I brought with me from Germany. You are alive because of the KGB.”
Anton dropped his hand from the hatch and stepped into a nearby shadow. What were they talking about, and who was Danzinger? The voices lowered to where Anton could barely make out individual words, much less what they were talking about. He stepped to the hatch. Behind him he heard footsteps, turned, and saw Gesny approaching.
“Ah, Comrade Captain; I figured you would have been gone by now.”
Anton spun the wheel. The squeeking of uncared-for hinges reverberated down the passageway. Movement at the far end of the passageway drew his attention. Doctor Zotkin stepped into the doorway of his office. He looked at Anton and Gesny before wordlessly stepping back inside and shutting the door.
“Somewhere a village is missing a mad doctor,” Gesny said in a low voice.
The two officers stepped outside into the dark Arctic night. Freezing wind and the tingling of ice crystals pelting their cheeks greeted them.
“Glad it is a warm night,” Gesny offered.
“Comrade XO,” Anton said, “my thanks for your performance today. It is indeed a good first mate who makes the captain look good and hides the new captain’s lack of familiarity.”
Gesny nodded without smiling. “That is my job, Captain.” Anton’s eyes narrowed, and he bit his lip for a moment, debating asking about what he had seen on their way back into port and what he had heard in the passageway before his executive officer had stopped him.
“It is late,” Gesny said.
“Yes, it is,” Anton said, the moment lost.
Gesny saluted and said, “Captain, with your permission, I have a family waiting for me. Tomorrow is a busy day as we start preparations for our sea trials.”
Anton returned the salute and watched the stocky submariner amble toward a bus idling near the end of the short driveway. Looking around, Anton saw his car idling also, in the parking space reserved for him. A moment later he was opening the door and sliding into the warm air of the backseat.
“About time, Comrade Captain,” Popov said, grabbing the gear stick and jerking the car into reverse. Without waiting for a reply, the driver slid out of the parking spot onto the road. “It is going to be a slow, long ride home. Did I not tell you that to leave after six meant we might have to stay overnight?”
“There will be days that carry into evening here, Comrade.”
“I will give you the telephone number of my building. You call and tell my blushing virgin bride that her husband is not out drinking with his comrades nor spending the night with another blushing virgin.”
Anton saw the man shake his head.
“In the Arctic, when winter arrives, no man is out after dark without malice in his heart or his brains below the belt.”
FIVE
“Check the time again, XO!” Shipley shouted. “I don’t like being surfaced during the daylight hours.”
“Aye, sir,” came the muffled reply from the control tower below.
Shipley looked at the voice tube in front of him on the bridge. He flipped the voice tube cover open once again. “Can you hear me?” he asked into it. No reply. He slapped it shut. Damn thing.
Shipley raised his binoculars and scanned the horizon. On the left side of the bridge, one of the signalmen swept the horizon for contacts. A second sailor, in foul-weather gear, leaned against the railing encircling the bridge, sweeping the sea with his binoculars. Both had binoculars and both scanned the sea and the air for contacts.
Shipley had ordered several short radar sweeps — no more than thirty seconds — without any joy in detecting the surface ship that was to rendezvous with them north of Iceland. He took a deep breath. God! What were they thinking? Here he was on the surface, which all submariners hated — and it was daylight, no less.