The apparent comedy of errors was not as uncontrived as it appeared. On arrival in Nordsen’s office Martinsen had said, ‘My orders are to go at once to the submarine to discuss with Commander Yenev the steps we are taking to assist him. Can you arrange transport for me?’
‘Most certainly,’ said the Ordforer who’d already been briefed by telephone from the county governor’s office in Bodo. ‘The harbourmaster’s launch is at your disposal.’ He took a sealed envelope from a desk drawer ‘This coded message for Commander Yenev has just come in by tele printer from the Soviet Embassy in Oslo. Please hand it to Yenev personally.’
‘Of course.’ Martinsen pocketed the envelope. ‘I shall go at once.’
The Ordforer said, ‘Two officers from the submarine have been ashore all day waiting for this message. They call here regularly to see if it has arrived.’
‘Then they will no doubt be grateful to us for expediting its delivery.’
Nordsen’s serious face managed a smile. ‘No doubt.’
Martinsen knew that transmission of the message had been delayed by Norwegian Intelligence, that the Ordforer’s briefing from Bodo had included an instruction to hand it to him for delivery immediately on arrival. For their part the Russians, having no illusions about the integrity of foreign intelligence services, had couched the message in guarded terms. It did no more than inform Yenev that Soviet salvage experts would fly in to Kolhamn that evening, and that salvage vessels and tugs from Polyarnyo would arrive off Knausnes about midnight on the following day. It recorded also that a Norwegian minesweeper and military personnel were being sent to Vrakoy by the Norwegian authorities to assist in security measures.
These measures, concluded the message, have been agreed on a government-to-government basis and the authorities have been instructed to give you every assistance.
As the harbourmaster’s launch rounded Fyrbergnes it was intercepted by the Norwegian minesweeper on patrol and ordered alongside. ‘Who are you and what is your business?’ shouted the captain by loud-hailer.
Olaf Petersen cupped his hands. ‘I am the harbourmaster of Kolhamn. My passenger is Major Lars Martinsen from Oslo. He has instructions to visit the submarine and discuss security arrangements with the captain.’
‘Very well. You may proceed.’
The captain of the minesweeper had already been informed by radio that Major Martinsen would take general charge of security arrangements on Vrakoy. The minesweeper turned away and headed for Knausnes, informing the submarine by signal lamp of the launch’s mission.
The launch approached Knausnes and the submarine showed up suddenly through the rain. ‘Christ,’ said Petersen. ‘She’s as big as a cruiser. I never expected to see one of them on those rocks.’
‘Don’t suppose they did either,’ said Martinsen.
It was low water and a good deal of the submarine’s hull was visible. As the Norwegians drew closer they saw sailors on the casing hanging fenders over the side while armed sentries, automatic rifles slung over oilskins, stood at guardrails which had been tied on either side of the fin and the long hump which extended aft from it. The launch went alongside and two officers emerged from the door at the foot of the fin. They turned out to be the captain and his interpreter… Yenev and Gallinin. The latter spoke indifferent Norwegian but understood it well.
‘What do you want?’ he shouted to the Norwegians.
Martinsen said, ‘I wish to come on board. I am responsible for security arrangements to protect your ship and must discuss these with your captain. I have also to deliver a message to him from your embassy in Oslo.’ Martinsen held up the envelope. He was himself a fluent Russian speaker, but did not yet intend to let it be known.
Gallinin engaged in earnest conversation with Yenev. ‘My captain’s regrets,’ he said. ‘It is not permitted for you to come aboard. This would be contrary to Soviet security regulations. We shall come down into your boat.’
The Russians climbed down into the launch, Gallinin first, then Yenev. Martinsen handed over the sealed envelope. ‘I understand this message is from your embassy in Oslo,’ he said.
Yenev put it into his pocket unopened. No doubt he knew it was coded. Martinsen said, ‘My government has sent the minesweeper to patrol to seaward. It will keep away all unauthorized craft. In addition military personnel have been landed on Vrakoy. They will take up their station above you.’ he pointed to the cliffs. ‘To keep unauthorized persons away from this area.’
Gallinin translated this to Yenev. After a brief exchange with him Gallinin said, ‘My captain wishes to thank your government for this assistance. It is greatly appreciated.’
‘Is there anything else we can do for you?’ asked Martinsen.
Yenev and Gallinin conferred again in low voices. ‘The captain thanks you but there is nothing more at the present time.’ The Russians shook hands with the Norwegians and climbed back on to the casing. The launch cast off, drew clear of the big submarine and set course for Fyrbergnes. Rain was falling more heavily now and the sky had darkened.
‘Hospitable lot,’ said Martinsen, buttoning up the collar of his military raincoat.
‘A vodka would have been welcome,’ said Olaf Petersen, wiping the rain from his face with the back of his hand. He looked back at the submarine. ‘Sorry for that captain. He’ll finish up in the salt mines.’
‘D’you think they’ll be able to get her off?’
Petersen said, ‘It’s difficult to say. She’s hard and fast but it depends on the underwater damage, and what salvage assistance they get. There’s a spring tide in six days. That’ll be their best chance.’
Martinsen said, ‘I see.’ He couldn’t yet tell Petersen that salvage experts, vessels and tugs were on the way.
‘It’s a big job,’ said Petersen. ‘And a lot depends on the weather. I wouldn’t like to bet on their getting her off.’
Martinsen was silent. He was thinking of what he had seen. Nothing more than a huge steel hull, that towering fin, the long extension behind it. Norwegian Intelligence’s plan for getting him into the submarine had failed. The Russians weren’t going to let foreigners on board. He thought of the men in the helicopter on the tarmac in Kolhamn. A motor-boat from the minesweeper would go into the harbour after dark to embark them. They were nuclear scientists and had with them electronic and other equipment for measuring many things, including radiation. They had, too, cameras with high-powered telephoto lenses for obtaining close-ups of the submarine.
‘By the way,’ said Olaf Petersen. ‘Did you notice the trail of bubbles astern of her as we left?’
‘No. What of them?’
‘Scuba divers,’ said Petersen. ‘They’re operating an underwater patrol.’
‘You’re very observant.’
‘Spent most of my life fishing. Makes a man notice what’s going on in the water.’
‘What’s the purpose of that long extension — sort of deckhouse — on the after side of the fin?’
‘No idea,’ said Petersen. ‘Haven’t, seen anything like that before, even in pictures of nuclear submarines.’