After the launch had left, Yenev sent for the executive officer. When he arrived the captain pointed to the empty chair. ‘Sit down, Lomov.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t much like having that launch alongside. Most unfortunate.’
Lomov nodded. ‘I agree, Captain. But we had no option. In any case they’ve only seen something of the hull and superstructure above water. No more than the men in the minesweeper have already seen, and the soldiers on the cliff will see when daylight comes.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Yenev. ‘But all the same! don’t like it.’
‘Our divers are checking along the hull and over the sea bed beneath where the launch was,’ said Lomov. ‘They’ve found nothing so far.’
Yenev scratched his head absent-mindedly. ‘Good. The anti-swimmer patrol is of exceptional importance, Lomov. Make sure it’s maintained at a high level of efficiency.’
‘I will do that, Captain.’
There was a knock on the door and Uskhan, the communications officer, came in. ‘I’ve deciphered the Oslo signal, Captain.’ He handed the message sheet to Yenev who read it. He passed it to Lomov. ‘Our people are not wasting time. They’ll be here soon.’
In the Ordforer’s office Milovych, through Krasnov, was expressing his displeasure that the Oslo reply had been taken out to the submarine by Martinsen instead of being handed to the Russian officers who had been left in Kolhamn expressly for that purpose.
‘Major Martinsen had instructions from Oslo to visit the submarine to discuss security arrangements with your captain,’ said the Ordforer. ‘It seemed only sensible to hand him the reply for delivery. Your officers were not here at the time. It avoided delay.’
‘Tell him,’ Milovych said to Krasnov, ‘that in future all communications intended for our ship must be handed to you or Gerasov We are not permitted to allow foreign vessels of any sort alongside the submarine.’
Krasnov conveyed this to Nordsen. Milovych then said, ‘Tell him that we wish to protest most urgently at the action of US, British and French aircraft in carrying out reconnaissance flights over Vrakoy today. This is a flagrant disregard of Norwegian air space by the imperialist capitalist powers.’
While Nordsen listened to Krasnov’s translation his saturnine features betrayed no emotion. But he was not accustomed to being rebuked, least of all by a shipwrecked foreigner, Russian or any other nationality, and he disliked the man’s squeaky plaintive voice.
‘Tell your commissar,’ he spoke with asperity, ‘that the necessary protests have already been made by my government, including one in respect of violation of Norwegian air space today by a Soviet Tupolev reconnaissance plane. Inform him that Norwegian military aircraft will, as a result of these violations, be carrying out patrols over the area from daylight tomorrow.’
On hearing this the commissar realized that the ball was in his court. The prospect of Norwegian military aircraft patrolling air space above Vrakoy — no doubt photographing the submarine for NATO at the same time — was an unwelcome one but there was nothing he could do about it. In an attempt to mollify Nordsen’s evident displeasure he put on his most engaging smile. ‘Tell the Ordforer,’ he said, ‘that we will be grateful if he can arrange suitable accommodation ashore for you and Gerasov for the time being. Possibly for several days.’
Krasnov, who had difficulty in concealing his pleasure, passed the news to Nordsen.
‘Facilities here are very limited,’ said the Ordforer. ‘There is only the Kolhamn hospits — a boarding house with rooms for a few visitors. It is clean and reasonably comfortable. For meals you have to go to the kafeteria. I will see if there is a room available.’ He picked up the phone and asked for a number. They heard a woman’s voice. After a brief conversation he replaced the receiver. ‘They can give you a double-room.’
‘We thank you,’ said Krasnov, who then explained the arrangements to Milovych.
‘That is satisfactory,’ said the commissar. ‘Now make it unmistakably clear to him that you will call regularly at the radhus for messages. They must on no account be sent off to the ship.’
Krasnov reported this to the Ordforer who reminded him that messages could only be transmitted and received during the hours the telephone operator was on duty — eight-thirty to noon and three-thirty to five. Which wasn’t quite true.
Down on the quay, well away from strangers, Milovych and his young officers sheltered from the rain in the lee of a warehouse. ‘It is common knowledge,’ said Krasnov, ‘that our ship is aground off Knausnes. Nothing that we have heard suggests it is known that it is the Zhukov. We have spread it about that she is old and obsolete now used for training only.’
Milovych dried the wet pouches under his eyes with thumb and forefinger. ‘We shall have to leave you and Gerasov ashore for some days I’m afraid. We cannot take the risk of giving these people excuses to send boats on to the ship again.’
‘We can manage, commissar.’ Krasnov pulled up the collar of his oilskins. ‘And while here we can keep in touch with what is being said and done locally.’
‘That, too, was in my mind,’ said the commissar. ‘You have done well.’ He looked first at his watch then through the rain at the dark banks of cloud moving in from the west. ‘Our salvage experts will be arriving by Soviet helicopter late this evening. The Ordforer will give you their ETA as soon as he receives the signal from Narvik. You are to meet them at the landing strip. Immediately on arrival send them off in the skimmer.’
Krasnov said, ‘I will see to that, commissar.’
‘They are to spend the night with us on board so that we lose no time in discussing the problem. On arrival of the salvage vessels tomorrow they will probably be accommodated there.’
Once again the commissar looked at the threatening sky. The wind was freshening and the rain came in stinging sheets. He didn’t relish the skimmer journey. The sooner it was over the better. ‘Well, I must be getting back. It is important that I see the Oslo reply without delay.’ He puffed his cheeks as if to emphasize the importance. ‘I’ll send Leading-Seaman Lenkin back with your shaving gear and other needs for the night. Never discuss the ship in your room or in any place where you can be overheard. Never, you understand.’ Salutes were exchanged and he climbed into the skimmer. The Soviet officers watched it until it was well down the fjord. Then Gerasov, bursting with laughter, clutched Krasnov’s arm. ‘Needs for the night,’ he mimicked. ‘Oh, comrade. If only he knew what I needed.’
Krasnov pushed him away. ‘Stop arsing about,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Those men over there are watching.’
Gerasov said, ‘Sorry, comrade Lieutenant. In the excitement of thinking about their women I forgot their men.’
‘You’re a lecherous bastard,’ Krasnov said. ‘If you feel that way why don’t you get married?’
‘I do feel that way and I intend to get married. That’s why I’m keen on getting practice now.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Let’s get out of the rain.’
From the windows of his office in the big complex which housed the CIA, Rod Stocken, assistant to the Director of External Operations (Western Hemisphere), looked out on what he could see of the Virginian landscape in the late twilight. ‘So Joe gets it from Karen and she gets it from Martinsen and we know he’s Roald Lund’s front runner.’ The man opposite him nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘So why does Martinsen have to tell Karen that it’s the Zhukov?’ Stocken looked at the men sitting round the large scale map of the Lofoten and Vesteralen Islands.