“And when will that take place?” Mikhail asked calmly.
“In five and a half days,” answered the admiral, who noted that Mikhail took this news without flinching.
“I feel the timing is most appropriate. The presence of the Royal Family will be a welcome addition, as the tragedy unfolds and the eyes of all the planet center on the waters of Scotland’s Firth of Clyde.”
“I agree,” replied Mikhail.
“Are these specially designed limpet mines that you spoke of ready to go?”
Igor Starobin nodded.
“Even as we speak, they are being flown up to Kronstadt from the test facility at Baku.”
“Then all I need are some charts and a schematic on where the charges are to be placed,” said the blond haired commando.
“Then you’ll accept the mission?”
“Of course I will, Admiral. Just like yourself, I have dedicated the better years of my life to Sea Devil, and this operation will be the pinnacle of my efforts. In my humble opinion it’s a brilliant plan that only one vessel in the world can successfully pull off. Since time is critical, is it okay if I undergo the mission with my current crew?”
Surprised with the young captain’s cool acceptance of this perilous assignment, Igor answered him.
“I see no reason why not, comrade, though you must make it perfectly clear to your crew that Sea Devil’s capture will not be tolerated. You will travel in civilian clothes, taking nothing on board that can be traced back to the motherland. In addition to the standard cyanide pills, the vessel will be rigged with a explosive charge that is to be detonated if capture appears imminent. I don’t have to remind you that these are some of the most closely monitored waters on the planet. We both are well aware of your vessel’s capabilities, but even Sea Devil is going to need a little additional luck on this mission.”
“My people will understand, Admiral. After all, we are Spetsnaz, and no challenge or risk is too great for us.”
“If only I had a few more like you, comrade,” reflected the whitehaired veteran.
“I am putting all my hopes in your capable hands. If I was only a little younger, I’d be going on the mission myself. But those adventurous days are long past for me. Soon I’ll be forced to retire, and at the very least I can meet this inevitable day with my head held high, knowing that my life’s work has been worthwhile. For this operation will signal the fruition of a long career that began in another era, almost five decades ago.”
“I’ll do my best not to let you down, sir,” offered Mikhail sincerely.
“I know you will, Captain. And just to let you know how appreciative we are of your effort, upon your return I’ve been authorized to give you an entire three months leave, plus the exclusive use of the defense minister’s own Black Sea dacha.”
A wide grin painted the captain’s rugged face as he lifted his brandy snifter.
“Three months and the use of the defense minister’s dacha, you say? I think that I can handle that. Admiral. I really think I can.”
Of all the inquiries Major Colin Stewart initiated in an attempt to locate the escaped terrorist, only one proved promising. Several hours after the shoot-out at Edinburgh Castle, an R.A.F Nimrod AWACS platform recorded monitoring a light plane crossing over the Scottish border west of Glasgow and headed toward the Irish Sea by way of the North Channel. This aircraft eventually landed at a private airstrip located northeast of the two of Dundalk in the Republic of Ireland. It was only later, when R.A.F intelligence could find no official flight plan for this unusual late night transit, that Major Stewart was notified.
With no other leads to follow, Stewart asked command for permission to investigate this suspicious flight more closely. Not the type who asked favors often, the commander of the 75th Highlanders received the okay to take a four-man squad into the Republic and attempt to locate this aircraft and determine its purpose.
It was with the highest expectations that Colin Stewart assembled his handpicked squad and loaded them into a Land Rover. Their immediate destination was Prestwick Airport, where the 819th Helicopter Squadron was based.
Here they left the confines of the Rover and boarded a Royal Navy Sea King helicopter.
“I see that you’re headed for our base in Northern Ireland at Armagh,” greeted the Sea King’s pilot as Colin Stewart strapped himself into the observer’s seat.
“You fellows wouldn’t be going to bandit country, would you?”
The Highlander met this innocent query with a sly grin.
“Let’s just say that me and the lads are on a little fishing expedition. Now if you’ll be so good as to get this whirlybird skyward, I’ll save a part of our catch for you.”
The nuclear-powered attack sub USS Bowfm put to sea at daybreak. The mirrorlike waters of Holy Loch were veiled by a thick shroud of swirling fog as the 292-foot-long Sturgeon-class vessel guardedly entered the waters of the Firth of Clyde. A foghorn sounded mournfully in the distance, yet the Bowfin carried no such device itself. To see through the blinding mist and keep from colliding with an oncoming ship, it relied on its sensitive BPS-15 surveillance radar.
From the sub’s exposed bridge, cut into the top part of its sail, Captain William Foard monitored their progress.
The forty-two-year-old Naval Academy graduate had been stationed at Holy Loch for over a year now, and was well acquainted with these waters. He knew the narrow estuary to be tricky even on those rare occasions when the weather was good. The morning fog only made his difficult job that much more of a challenge, and he scanned that portion of the Firth visible beyond the sub’s rounded bow with a vigilant intensity.
Behind him, two alert seamen did likewise.
“Sir, Commander Mackenzie would like permission to join you on the bridge,” broke the voice of the quartermaster from the intercom.
“Send him up,” replied Foard.
Soon after, a blond-haired, khaki-clad officer climbed out of the hatchway that was recessed into the floor of the exposed bridge.
“It’s damn chilly up here,” observed Mac as he zipped up his jacket.
“A typical spring morning in Scotland,” returned the Bowfm’s CO.
“Were you able to get settled in okay?”
“No problems. Captain,” answered Mac, whose gaze attempted to penetrate the thick mist.
“The XO was most gracious to offer me half of his stateroom as he did.”
“Though there’s a few on board that feel Lieutenant Commander Bauer is a bit cold and distant, he’s a pretty decent guy once you get to know him. I understand that you two have worked together before.”
“That we have, Captain. I was stationed at the Barking Sands Underwater Test Range on Kauai, and Lieutenant Commander Bauer was the XO of one of the subs we were working with.”
“I’ve worked Barking Sands. That’s some facility that we have out there.”
Any response on Mac’s part was interrupted by the activation of the intercom.
“Sir, we have a surface contact on radar bearing one-six-three, range one-zero nautical miles and closing. Looks to be a tug or a fishing trawler of some type.”
“Very good, Mr. Murray,” returned the captain.
“Most likely they’re headed towards Port Glasgow and should stay on their side of the channel. Let me know otherwise.”
“Will do, Captain,” retorted the ship’s navigator as the intercom was silent.
“The weather’s sure a bit different in Hawaii,” reflected Mac.
The CO grunted.
“Once we get to the fifty-fathom curve and go under, we could be cruising off the tropical shores of Barking Sands, for all I know. In another half hour or so, the weather topside will be the least of our concerns. That’s one of the benefits of traveling by submarine.”