“Good,” Anton said. It helps when you have competent people who do what needs to be done with you telling them only once. “Has Doctor Zotkin been briefed yet?”
With a pained expression, Gesny replied, “I am sure it will salve his sense of security, Comrade Captain. But if not, it at least makes me happy.”
Anton turned to leave. “Good job, XO. Two days to go.”
“Two days,” Gesny replied as he followed Anton along the narrow passageway. “We are lucky you were able to convince him to delay the testing.”
Anton grunted. “One day is not much of a delay. Besides, Commander Gesny, I think the weather may control the at-sea testing more than anything we do. Even our esteemed scientists are unable to control the giant of the North when it roars down on us.”
“Captain, you are a poet and don’t know it.”
“I don’t think I will give up this job yet.”
To the right of the narrow passageway was the reactor room, a steady hum emanating constantly from behind the bulkhead, providing nonintrusive background noise in the area. Anton wondered how much of that steady hum emanated into the waters. Would it be something the Americans could track when the Soviets’ atomic Navy sallied forth into the world’s oceans?
The meeting two days ago with Admiral Katshora would have been routine except for how it had been accomplished, under an atmosphere of secrecy. It made Anton nervous. Katshora never asked him to keep a meeting secret between them, but Anton’s pol itical sense and survivor instinct told him that Zotkin would be furious to learn of the two Navy officers getting together without his knowledge. Anton had seen the pol itical games at the Kremlin. The winners moved up. The losers tended to disappear.
Crashing sounds came from ahead, immediately followed by screams of someone in pain.
What now? Anton asked himself. He ducked his head, moving forward as fast as the narrow confines of a submarine allowed. Ahead, sailors were shouting at each other. Someone had fallen.
The watertight hatches were all open while the boat was tied to the pier, expediting his race. Behind him he heard the XO hurrying. Gesny would not have to watch his head as they moved like he did.
The radio shack was on his left. He nearly hit the radioman, who was leaning into the passageway looking toward the crowded control room. “Out of the way!” he shouted as he neared, pushing the sailor back into the small confines of radio.
Sailors were grouped around someone on the deck of the control room.
“Make a hole,” Anton commanded as he entered.
Lebedev squatted, holding the hand of the man on the deck.
“What is it?”
Lebedev looked up and stood, dropping the hand.
On the deck was the man Anton had seen more than a week ago being carried away on a stretcher. A few tufts of hair dotted the top of the man’s bright red face. Numerous open sores covered his lips.
“Who is this?”
“Chief Ekomov, Captain.”
Ekomov! He was the first person Anton met when he reported on board the facility. He had been sitting at the end of the hallway, reading a newspaper. Anton looked closer, aware of how much the man had changed.
“One of our engineers until a month ago, when he came down. .” Lebedev paused, looking over Anton’s shoulder at Gesny.
Anton turned and saw Gesny shake his head so slightly it was barely discernible, then looked back at the operations officer. “And what?”
Lebedev looked down at Ekomov, whose eyes were closed. The man’s chest barely moved. “He came down sick. Probably the Arctic weather.” Lebedev touched his chest. “Lung disease most likely.”
“Make way! Make way!” came a shout from the forward end of the control room. It was the new surgeon, Doctor Forov.
Forov pushed his way through the crowd, squatting quickly, his growling stomach resting slightly on his thighs. He reached out to touch the injured chief but quickly withdrew his hand. "Blyad!” the surgeon shouted, standing up. He took a step back. “Who has touched this man?”
Forov revolved in a circle, looking at each person. He was a couple of steps away when his gaze turned on Anton. “Comrade Captain, have you touched this man?”
Forov’s breath hit Anton. The stale, dank odor of vodka caused his nose to wrinkle in disgust. So this was why Forov was in Kola Bay?
“I am the only one,” Lebedev answered before Anton could reply. “He was one of our—”
“Quick,” Forov interrupted, pushing Lebedev toward the forward part of the boat. “Get in the head, take your clothes off, and scrub every part of your body.”
Lebedev raised his hand toward his head. Forov grabbed the hand roughly, pulling it down. “Do not touch your face until you have washed your hands.” He shoved the hand away from him. “Do you understand me?” Forov asked, his face close to Lebedev’s. The doctor’s head turned from side to side as he looked into the operations officer’s eyes.
Lebedev turned his head to the side, trying to avoid the man’s breath.
“Don’t touch your face,” Forov said, his voice lower.
Forov looked at Anton. “Comrade Captain, I recommend everyone here — including you — do the same thing.”
“Doctor, I have an injured man on the deck.”
Forov looked down. “You have a dying man on your deck, Comrade Captain, and we do not want others to join him.”
A few sailors started to ease out the forward hatch. Without turning, Forov shouted, “And that goes for you sailors also! You understand?”
“Yes, sir!” several cried, then bolted forward, where the crew had a smaller berthing area than the large crew quarters located just prior to the reactor room.
Forov looked at Lebedev. “I thought I told you to go scrub yourself. Scrub the skin red, young man.”
Lebedev looked past him at Anton, who nodded. Lebedev turned and quickly left the control room.
“You need to help Chief Ekomov, Doctor,” Anton said.
Forov looked down at the man. “Ekomov — is that his name?”
“Yes, he was one of our engineers—” Gesny started.
“Then, he worked in the reactor room,” Forov finished.
“Yes.”
“Then there is nothing I can do.”
By now there were only Anton, Gesny, and Forov standing in the control room with the dying Ekomov. Forov’s urgent orders to the crowd had sent them scurrying away quickly.
“You have to do something,” Gesny said.
Forov shook his head. “The man is as good as dead.” Forov ran his hand through his beard, then realized what he was doing and quickly removed it. “I must shower myself,” he muttered. “What is wrong with him?” Anton asked.
“Radiation poisoning,” Forov answered.
“Radiation poisoning?”
Forov nodded. “Doctor Zotkin and his scientists are still experimenting with the lead shielding. Too much lead and the submarine becomes too heavy — its center of gravity shifting too much for the design controls to compensate.” With his left hand raised and palm straight, Forov drove his hand downward like an arrow. “It would cause the submarine to sink like a stone.”
“But too little?” Gesny asked.
“Too little is what we had when this chief was in the reactor room. Too little lead lets the radiation escape. That is what happened to this man. Too much radiation has penetrated his skin. This radiation is destroying his insides.” Forov licked his lips. “It is a painful death.”
Anton and Gesny exchanged quick glances.
Forov saw them and shook his head. “It is all right now. The current engineers have been working the reactors for more than a month. None of them has suffered the unexpected consequences of the first group. We can thank Doctor Zotkin for that.”
“I saw this man when I arrived nearly two months ago,” Anton said. “He was up, moving, talking, reading.”