‘Thank you, sir.’ The commodore seemed happy. ‘You won’t forget about HM ships in the area? And the bodies we’ll need?’
‘No. I’ll have a word with C-in-C Fleet, Northwood, and the Naval Secretary. By the way have you thought up a code name for this?’
‘We have. Daisy Chain.’
‘Operation Daisy Chain. I rather like that,’ said the VCNS. ‘Very Enid Blyton.’
‘Glad you like it, sir.’
The admiral looked at the commodore speculatively. ‘I suppose I needn’t tell you that this will have to be done at the double. The Zhukov news is out now. The Soviet Navy will be rushing to help their comrades on the rocks. I imagine high altitude air space over Vrakoy will soon look like Piccadilly Circus. You know — the Russians, US, French, British, NATO, the lot. All busy clicking their little shutters. Not to mention some shady characters on the ground — no offence to your lot, Rathouse — casting for a scent.’
The commodore nodded. ‘Yes, sir. We do realize that speed is the essence of the operation.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hjalmar Nordsen, a saturnine man still in his dressing gown, removed the traces of an interrupted shave and gestured his visitors to sit down. It was a largish room with its books, files and typewriters — more like an office than a study.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately I do not speak Russian. You speak Norwegian?’
‘I do, Ordforer,’ said Krasnov introducing Milovych and the sub-lieutenant.
‘Well, now. What can I do to help you?’
‘Tell him,’ said Milovych, ‘that a technical problem and subsequent failure in communications systems obliged us to put our submarine aground off Knausnes. We tried to reach Uklarvik but this proved impossible. Explain to him that the submarine is a first generation nuclear boat, used now only for training purposes. Emphasize that we were on a training cruise, outside Norwegian territorial waters, when the trouble occurred.’
Krasnov, speaking fluent Norwegian, reported this to the Ordforer who replied, ‘Please tell your captain I am extremely sorry to learn of this misfortune.’ He dabbed his face with a shaving towel. ‘What does he wish me to do?’
The lieutenant translated. Milovych said, ‘In the name of the Soviet Union we ask for every possible assistance from the Norwegian Government. First, we must request that this…’ he took from his pocket the coded message he and Yenev had drafted, ‘… be dispatched at once to the Soviet Embassy in Oslo.’
Krasnov translated and handed the message to the Ordforer, explaining what Milovych had said. Hjalmar Nordsen pointed to the clock on his desk. ‘It is now seven-twenty in the morning. Our postmistress comes on duty at eight-thirty. The message will be sent as soon as she arrives. She is the only person able to transmit.’
Milovych spoke again to Krasnov. ‘Tell him that we wish the news of the stranding of our vessel to be kept confidential as long as possible. We must ask him to take immediate steps to keep sightseers away, both to landward and seaward.’
When Krasnov repeated this in Norwegian, Nordsen’s response was guarded. ‘Tell your captain that we will do what we can. There are already rumours in Kolhamn that a submarine has gone aground on the Dragetennene — the rocks off Knausnes. I heard them early this morning. There is no law in Norway which forbids citizens to look at ships which have stranded on our shores, nor any censorship of such matters. However, I will communicate with the authorities to whom I am responsible and act in accordance with their instructions. You must understand,’ he spoke with some asperity, ‘that this is a small island. We have only four hundred people here. Mostly fishermen and their families. We are a herredskommuner — a rural district — and I have very limited facilities. Only a bailiff, a policeman, a harbourmaster and a part-time postmistress.’
Krasnov translated. Milovych said, ‘Ask him who is actually in charge of this island.’ Krasnov put the question, the Ordforer answered and the lieutenant explained. ‘He says there is a herredstyre — a council — over which he presides. They are the local authority. They in turn are responsible to the Nordland Fylker — the county council — in Bodo.’
During the course of further conversation it was agreed that the Russians should accompany Hjalmar Nordsen to the council office, the radhus, when he had completed dressing.
While he was doing this Mrs Nordsen, a large pink and white woman with a deep voice, gave the uninvited guests fillets of cod, mugs of coffee and buttered rolls. She wasn’t very pleased about this because her hair was still in curlers and she didn’t like Russians, particularly the plump man with the high pitched voice who seemed to have so much to say.
On arrival with Milovych and Krasnov at the radhus the Ordforer called in Odd Dahl, the bailiff, Olaf Petersen, the harbourmaster, and Dr Gustav Kroll, his deputy, the vise-Ordforer. Bluff, genial, bearded and rotund, Kroll was a retired teacher of mathematics. He had lived on the island for many years.
Krasnov, an observant young man, soon gathered that Hjalmar Nordsen was not only Vrakoy’s leading citizen but represented important fishing interests on the mainland. He was responsible for buying the catches and arranging their shipment. In an aside to Krasnov, Kroll had said, ‘We call Hjalmar Nordsen “the little king”.’ He looked at the Ordforer with admiration. ‘He owns or has a say in just about everything on Vrakoy.’
Before the discussions ended it was agreed that Krasnov and the sub lieutenant would remain in Kolhamn at least until replies were received from the Soviet Embassy in Oslo and the Norwegian authorities on the mainland.
The Ordforer pointed out that the westerly end of the island where the Zhukov lay was too mountainous for human habitation. It was unlikely that many people, if any, would see the submarine there. They learnt from him, too, that the island enjoyed a daily air service from Harstad. This brought mails, passengers and urgent supplies. Other supplies were brought by the inter-island coaster service.
The Russians left the radhus early in the forenoon and returned to the harbour. There attempts were made to establish communication with the Zhukov by means of the walkie-talkie berthing sets but although the distance was under ten kilometres the high mountain between Kolhamn and the Knausnes rocks made this impossible.
Milovych and Krasnov discussed the communications problem. Eventually Milovych said, ‘I will go off to the Zhukov now and send the skimmer back to you. As soon as a reply is received, or you have other important information, send it out.’
‘Yes, commissar.’
‘In the meantime,’ Milovych dropped his voice and looked round the quay where fishermen were coming and going. ‘You and Gerasov must get to know the town. Find out where the locals gather. Particularly the fishermen. Listen to their conversation. Find out what they know about the Zhukov and her stranding. Take every opportunity to stress that she is an unimportant vessel. One of the first generation ballistic missile submarines, no longer operational. You know the story. Never mention her name. Be discreet in all things. Trust no one. Remember…’ the commissar ran his tongue round thick lips, ‘you represent the Soviet Union.’