Liam hesitated a moment before relocking the hold and handing over the key.
“Good,” replied the physician as he pocketed it.
“And one more thing, Liam. You’ve got to swear to me that you’ll keep this whole thing an absolute secret. You’re not even to tell Annie about it. Negotiations of this type demand secrecy, and you could spoil everything if word gets out to the wrong person.”
Thankful to have the services of the worldly physician, Liam decided to trust his old friend. After all, what did he know about negotiating with the superpowers?
He was but a humble fisherman whom the hand of providence just happened to pay a visit to on a night he’d long remember.
Chapter Seven
Captain Mikhail Borisov’s gut tightened as his command entered the waters of the Skagerrak. Such tension was always present whenever he prepared to initiate the final phase of a mission. The blond-haired Spetsnaz commando scanned the interior of the mini sub and saw that his crew were perched before their stations, ready for action. At the Sea DeviFs helm, Chief Engineer Yuri Sosnovo gripped the airplane-style steering column that activated both their hydroplane and rudder. The thin, moustached Ukrainian’s glance was riveted on the fathometer, and the captain knew that he was very fortunate to have the services of this hardworking, dedicated sailor.
Beside him, the warrant officer held onto the joystick that controlled their trim. Oleg Zagorsk was a Siberian by birth. He had been born deep in the Taiga, and like the frontiersman that he was raised to be, he was tightlipped and liked his privacy. This was fine with Mikhail Borisov, who felt a bit more confident, knowing that he had the services of one of the Rodina’s best.
At the stern of the fifteen-meter-long vessel, electronics mate Tanya Olovski was busy wiping the condensation off the diving lock’s circuit board. Tanya was their newest crew member, and though she wasn’t much to look at, she performed her demanding tasks most efficiently.
Satisfied that the boat was ready to get on with its mission, Mikhail looked over to the gyro compass and spoke firmly.
“Comrade Zagorsk, bottom us out. Chief Engineer, prepare to activate crawlers.”
The sound of onrushing ballast rose with a roar, and as the tanks filled with seawater, the mini-sub began to sink. At a depth of one-hundred-andfifty-three meters, there was a noticeable bumping sensation as the rounded hull struck the sandy seafloor. This was the sign for Yuri Sosnovo to trigger the battery-operated motor that ran the vessel’s track drive mechanism. Designed much like a tank’s, the dual treads bit into the sand and proceeded to propel them along at a speed of three knots.
The captain double-checked the chart that lay wrapped in oilskin before him. Drawn up by a Spetsnaz intelligence team, the map showed a detailed rendering of this portion of Oslo Harbor. Only minutes before, they had ascended to periscope depth to take a final bearing. After a quick course adjustment, Mikhail ordered them back down to the protective depths, calculating that their goal lay on the seafloor only seven and a half kilometers due west of them.
During this brief periscope sweep, he had spotted several Norwegian naval corvettes on patrol topside.
Such ships were fast and heavily armed, and could be effective ASW platforms if pursuing the right quarry.
But Mikhail knew that the vessel he commanded was not just any ordinary submarine. The mere fact of its condensed size almost guaranteed that the enemy’s sonar would never detect them. Even if such sensors did manage to chance upon them, the Sea Devil’s hull was covered with sonar absorbent, rubberized tiles known as Clusterguard. Since this hull itself was made out of non-magnetic reinforced plexiglass, not even a magnetic ana moly detector would be able to locate the mini sub
“Comrade Olovksi, please join me in the bow turret.
It’s time to ready the articulated manipulator arm,” ordered the captain.
A narrow bench spanned the forwardmost portion of the vessel’s pressure capsule. Mikhail Borisov seated himself on this perch and was soon joined by the boat’s electrician.
“I’ll begin arming the circuitry, Captain,” offered the brawny brunette.
Mikhail watched her efficiently initiate this process.
He had to admit that he had been genuinely upset when he first learned from Admiral Starobin that they would be assigned a female crew member. The interior of Sea Devil was severely cramped, and privacy was at a minimum. Even the crapper was out in the open, set on the metal plates that covered the battery well.
The whitehaired admiral countered Mikhail’s protest with an eloquent speech centered around the place of the Motherland’s female citizens in the military. Since Socialism meant that all were equal, it would be against the basic tenets of Marxist ideology to bar women from active combat duty if they so desired.
Tanya Olovski was duly qualified, and the admiral had no choice but to assign her to the Sea Devil when the slot became available.
Mikhail had only to look at the electrician to know that any sexual tension that he might have feared wouldn’t be an issue. The big-boned native of Irkutsk was not the type of woman who turned men on. More mannish than feminine, she had a physique that was firm and muscular. And one didn’t have to look closely to see the black moustache that covered her upper lip.
This was certainly not the type of girl Mikhail Borisov found attractive. He liked his women soft, fair, and busty. Still a bachelor at forty, Mikhail had his fair share of lady friends. Most were attracted to his thick blond hair, steel-grey eyes, and solid build. A jagged scar that extended the length of his left cheek gave his ruggedly handsome face character. This mark was the byproduct of a bar fight in Odessa, and if nothing else, served as an interesting conversation piece.
“We’re approaching the final coordinates, captain,” observed Yuri Sosnovo from behind.
“Very good, Chief Engineer. Bring us down to loiter speed.”
The captain’s instructions were instantly carried out, and the soft hum of the tracked drive system lessened noticeably.
“We should be close,” reflected Mikhail Borisov.
“Comrade Olovski, activate the bow spotlights and open the forward viewing port.”
The electrician addressed the console, and in response, a circular metallic curtain slid back, revealing a clear plexiglass porthole. Mikhail leaned forward to look out this opening. A turbid expanse of seawater met his glance.
“Comrade Olovski, angle those spots down toward the sea bed,” ordered the captain in a bare whisper.
As this directive was carried out, the floor of the harbor came into view. It primarily comprised ridged sand and an occasional clump of swaying sea grass. As the mini-sub slowly crawled over this flat expanse, Mikhail spotted an empty Pepsi can. Strangely enough, he didn’t spot a single fish.
“Perhaps we’re searching the wrong quadrant,” offered Tanya Olovski.
“Do you think we should rise to periscope depth to take another bearing?”
Mikhail smelled her sour breath and curtly responded.
“Have faith, Comrade. Just ready that manipulator arm.”
Deciding not to press her point, the electrician reached into the rubberized gauntlet that was set into the console. On the other side of the porthole, an elongated steel appendage suddenly came into view.
This arm had a single joint in its center and was tipped by a clawlike pincer.
Mikhail looked down at his watch, then readdressed the electrician.
“Position the edge of the claw so that it penetrates the uppermost strata of the seafloor, Comrade.”
By grasping the manipulator device that was set inside the gauntlet, Tanya guided the claw so that it began carving a U-shaped wedge in the sandy bottom.