To most of the slides Briggs provided the running commentary. For those of Vrakoy, the late arrival was commentator. Stephen Nunn did the commentary on ballistic missile submarines and their technology.
The slides, the running commentaries, the questions and answers and Briggs’s summaries provided the hard core of the Zhukov briefing.
The last slide had been shown, the penultimate question answered, when the inevitable came from Stephen Nunn. ‘Who’ll lead Daisy Chain once we’re on the ground?’ Briggs, nettled at the forestalling of his pièce de résistance, looked aggrieved. ‘I was about to deal with that,’ he said. ‘You’ll be led by a man who has considerable knowledge of the terrain…’ he paused. ‘And other things important to Daisy Chain,’ Briggs pointed to the late arrival. ‘His name is Gunnar Olufsen.’
The beaky nose and questioning eyes of the late arrival encompassed them all, the sensitive mouth and eyes crumpled into a smile. ‘Hullo,’ he said.
One way and another it was after four in the morning when members of the Daisy Chain party climbed back into the van. All except Gunnar Olufsen. He and Briggs stayed in the farmhouse with McGhee after the others had left. Later they said goodnight to the superintendent, climbed into the Rover and followed winding lanes down through West Clandon to the A3. Once on it, Briggs pointed the car’s nose for London and hit the accelerator hard.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As the skimmer drew away from Kolhamn and headed for the open sea, Milovych was unusually thoughtful. He was not sure about Hjalmar Nordsen. The Ordforer had been studiously polite but at no point had the man dropped his guard. That he would not bend the rules for the Zhukov was evident. Everything would have to be referred to higher authority and that meant delay. Milovych, by nature and training suspicious, mistrusted Norsden, sensed a lack of sympathy. It was calamitous indeed that all communications had to be passed through Vrakoy’s post office. Norsden would have access to them. So would Norwegian Intelligence. The code was no protection. Had Zhukov’s transmitters been working there’d have been no problem. Computer-scrambled high-speed transmissions couldn’t be deciphered. For those reasons the message to the embassy in Oslo had not been anything like as explicit as Yenev and the commissar would have wished, but Leningrad would understand. The response would be immediate and effective. Of that Milovych had no doubt.
The skimmer cleared the headlands at the mouth of the fjord, bumping and spraying its way past the bay at Uklarvik and on towards Fyrbergnes. The sky was grey and oppressive, and the mountain which dominated the western end of the island loomed darkly under snow-capped peaks. Beneath them steep flanks led to cliffs rising vertically from the sea.
No wonder Norsden had said the western end of the island was uninhabited, difficult of access. At least that was something in the submarine’s favour, decided Milovych. The lighthouse at Fyrbergnes, its black and white ringed tower stark against the mountain, came up to starboard and passed astern as the skimmer rounded the point. It was only then that the submarine, a few kilometres away, came into view. The glistening black fin and hull were scarcely visible against the jagged rim of the Dragetennene and the clouds of spray which leapt skywards as seas broke against them. A knot formed in Milovych’s stomach. It was a mind-bending spectacle. This marvellous product of USSR technological genius stranded like some dying whale on a foreign shore. There would be a court martial of course. Would the court take the view that Zhukov should have been abandoned and destroyed? That he, Milovych, should never have agreed, however reluctantly, to Yenev’s proposal?
As Milovych tussled with this problem the high whine of the skimmer’s engine dropped to a lower pitch. Soon afterwards it coughed and died as the little rubber craft entered sheltered water in the lee of the submarine and drifted alongside. Milovych climbed a rope ladder and went down to the control-room through the free-flooding door at the foot of the fin.
In the security of the captain’s cabin the commissar reported on the morning’s events. He finished by outlining the arrangements made with the Ordforer for Krasnov and Gerasov to remain ashore for the time being.
Yenev in turn told of the work done that morning, of progress made with emergency repairs, with containing flooding and controlling radiation and chloride contamination. ‘We’ve got some of the radar on stream again,’ he said. ‘And Uskhan has rigged an emergency radio receiver. It’s a small set. Brought on board by a seaman and impounded. Otherwise there has been little change in the electronics situation.’
‘The forward torpedo-compartment?’ Milovych ran his tongue round his lips.
‘Completely flooded. We can’t risk opening the W.T. doors and vents. Nor can we enter by the forward escape hatch. It’s awash most of the time.’
‘The men there?’
‘We can do nothing for them. All must have been dead for a long time. Outside assistance is essential to deal with that compartment.’
‘The salvage vessels?’
‘Of course.’
‘By now Leningrad will have had our signal from Oslo. They in turn will have passed it to C-in-C Northern Fleet. How long have we to wait, comrade Yenev?’
‘A Nepa class submarine rescue and salvage ship can make eighteen knots. The Fleet salvage tugs a little more. If they clear Polyarnyo by fourteen hundred today, and the weather holds, they should be here within thirty-six to forty hours.’
Milovych looked at his watch. ‘That means some time tomorrow night.’
Yenev nodded. ‘We should have a reply from Oslo shortly. I have given instructions for the skimmer to make the trip to and from Kolhamn at two-hourly intervals, at least until we receive it.’
‘How are the injured?’ For reasons probably known to psychiatrists Milovych’s inquiry was accompanied with a smile.
‘There are seven receiving treatment. Three for burns, three for minor fractures — and Kossuth of course. He has been decontaminated but still suffers from shock.’ Kossuth had been on duty in the emergency communications room at the time of the explosion.
Yenev scratched his head. ‘The doctor says none are serious. We can treat them better on board than would be possible on the island. And it mustn’t be known ashore that there’s been a radiation leak.’
Milovych crossed his legs and sat back in an easy chair. Yenev, at a small desk beside the bunk, sat facing him. ‘There is something I do not like, Commissar. Our radar and research receivers picked up several reconnaissance aircraft this morning. Uskhan identified four of them by their radar signatures.’
‘They were?’
‘One was US. Probably a Lockheed SR LA from the Keflavik Air Base. Operating at 22,000 metres. The first to arrive was British. Almost certainly a Nimrod. It did some low flying to the west. We couldn’t see it for cloud. There was one of ours. A Tupolev TU-16. Operating at about 16,000 metres. Probably on surveillance patrol. There was also a Breguet-Dassault at about 15,000 metres.’
‘It may be chance,’ said Milovych. ‘The US, British and French may also have been on routine patrols.’
Yenev shook his head. ‘Radar tracking shows they were concentrating on this area. Photographing, I expect. I’ve no doubt we’ll be receiving more attention during the day. The Norwegians are not going to stop their own military flights. I’m only surprised we haven’t seen more of them.’