Anton bumped through Danzinger and the other man, whom he also recalled being at the meeting this morning. The meeting seemed so long ago — it could have been weeks instead of hours, since time had elongated with the fire.
Zotkin stopped at a small hatch with a large porthole in its center. “Look.”
Anton bent down to peer through the porthole. Another, smaller compartment of comparable pristine condition was visible on the other side. Zotkin bent down, looking into the compartment with Anton, their cheeks nearly touching.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
“This is the reactor?” Anton asked.
Zotkin reached down and twisted his lapel, looking at what appeared to be some sort of litmus patch. Anton’s curiosity was focused on the compartment on the other side.
“So this is—” Anton started to repeat.
“Yes, yes,” Zotkin replied with enthusiasm. “It is the atomic reactor. See the glow around the edges of the top?”
Anton nodded.
A broad smile stretched across Zotkin’s face. “The reactor was never disturbed by the fire. It is a great tribute to my — to Soviet science. It never stopped running.” Zotkin straightened. “This is good news.” His lips pursed, and he shook his head. Then he raised his hand and twisted it in the air. “Feel that? That’s the ventilation system designed to circulate the air within the engineering spaces, filtering out impurities.” A curt smile spread across Zotkin’s face. “I see nothing to stop us from conducting the test on time, Comrade Captain. That is the good news I tell you. I know it is something that would have worried you as it has me.”
Anton straightened. “I am glad, Comrade Doctor, that the atomic engine is okay, but—”
“Reactor, Captain Zegouniov, not engine. What we have here is a reactor.”
Anton stopped, frustrated at the imperious manner of the doctor. Civilians never seemed to see past the skin of the onion. Zotkin might be the smartest scientist in the Soviet Union, but he was not a sailor. Zotkin might be the father of the atomic reactor on board the Whale, but Anton was the master of the boat. Zotkin probably had less sea time than those who sailed the ferry between Severomorsk and the facility. Anton took a deep breath, holding it for a second.
“I am glad, Comrade Doctor, that the atomic reactor is okay. Fortunately for us, and everyone else, the fire was just aft of the atomic reactor. It was in the torpedo room.”
“See! I told you so.” Zotkin looked at Danzinger, then back to Anton.
Ignoring Zotkin’s comment, Anton continued, “We won’t know the condition of the aft torpedo room for hours; may even be days. We first must wait until it cools. Then we can put men in there to start cleaning it up, checking everything, and discovering what caused the fire.”
“We can always seal it until after the test,” Zotkin offered.
“It would be a poor test if we submerged and discovered the aft torpedo room flooding, pulling the Whale to the bottom,” Anton said. Did not these mad scientists understand the rules of submerging or what the ocean could do with a single, small defect in the watertight integrity of a submarine hull?
“He is right,” Danzinger said from behind the two, his heavy accent and deep voice easily filling the compartment. “We will have to delay the test until we are sure the damage will either permit it, or is repaired.”
Zotkin whirled. “I told you we would discuss the test later.” Danzinger fanned the air in disgust. “You are not listening, Doctor Zotkin,” he said, accenting the lead scientist’s name as if it were a curse word.
“Doctor Danzinger, you are not that valuable to me,” Zotkin warned. “We need to do this test, on time.”
Danzinger opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it, and instead looked down. “Yes, Herr Doktor.”
“And don’t call me that!”
Danzinger said nothing.
“We will have our first assessment by morning,” Anton said, turning his attention back to Zotkin. He nodded to Gesny. “The XO is already working on a team to start the inspection.”
Gesny’s eyebrows rose at this first-heard order.
“Once we are done, we will provide a verbal report to you, Doctor Zotkin.”
Zotkin turned to the white-cloaked individual standing alongside Danzinger. “Ivan, tell the Navy engineers they can return to their stations.”
He turned back to Anton. “Captain, the primary purpose — no, the only purpose — for you and your sailors is to prove atomic power as the way ahead for our submarine force. If we are unable to succeed, then there is little need for any of us to continue this work.”
Most threats were veiled and sometimes missed. Not this one. “I understand, Doctor Zotkin. Like you, I intend to ensure that the test is a success. For me to do my job, it is necessary for me to ensure that the K-2 is capable of performing like a submarine is supposed to perform. I know that in the Kremlin there are many people watching the progress here. I am sure they had rather see us delay for a few days than risk losing everything.”
Zotkin looked at Anton for several seconds before his face seemed to relax and a smile broke across the coarse features of it. The gray hair stuck out in many directions, as if static electricity drew it.
“K-2 is the right name for the submarine, Captain,” he said, reaching forward to grab Anton by the shoulder and playfully tug it a couple of times. “I have no idea where the crew came up with this name ‘Whale.’ ” Zotkin raised his hands and made quotation marks in the air. “I will wait for your report in the morning. We both want the same thing, Captain, and together we will deliver a great achievement for the party and the Soviet Union.”
Anton’s arm was bumped as Ivan reached out and touched Zotkin. “The patch,” Ivan said in a soft voice, almost inaudible against the background of a steady hum from inside the sealed reactor room.
Zotkin flipped up his lapel, looked at the litmus patch, and grunted as he dropped the lapel back into place.
The steady hum continued, and riding on top of, through, and sometimes below the hum was the oscillating noise of the compartment electronics. He imagined that the sailors and the engineering officer cramped into this area would grow used to it, as he already had.
Zotkin nodded. “We must leave, Captain, so your engineers can return to their posts. I look forward to your report first thing to night.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Okay; first thing in the morning. Six o’clock.”
Anton nodded. “By zero six hundred we should be able to provide a verbal debriefing on what we know.”
Zotkin stood. “Doctor Danzinger, would you do me the honor of accompanying Doctor Moskum and me back to the laboratory so we may further discuss how this incident may affect our timetable?” Both the young scientist and Danzinger acknowledged Zotkin’s orders. Moskum and Danzinger walked through the hatch, leaving the engineering compartment.
When Anton and Gesny stayed put, Zotkin glared at Anton. “Well, Captain, I will follow you out.”
“I would like to check the aft bulkhead of the compartment from this side to ensure that there has been no damage.”
“That is good, Captain Zegouniov,” Zotkin replied, glancing over his shoulder at the aft bulkhead. “It looks good to me.” He reached up and touched Anton on the shoulder, the pressure trying to turn him toward the forward hatch. “Why don’t we let my people work with your chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Tumanov, and have them provide you with a full report? I think it would be best.”
Anton turned toward the front hatch and took a couple of steps until Zotkin’s hand dropped. Then Anton turned. “Doctor Zotkin, this isn’t an atomic reactor or power issue. This is a hull integrity issue, sir. If the hull is damaged between the aft torpedo room and the atomic engineering spaces, then the risk of flooding to the torpedo room is risk of flooding to these spaces. It won’t take long.”