The media men had resolved their accommodation problems in various ways: some were making do with rented rorbu — fishermen’s cabins not used at that time of year — others, more fortunate, had made arrangements for bed and breakfast with local householders.
They then joined in the frenetic hunt for information but soon found that to get anywhere near the stranded submarine was impossible. The Royal Norwegian Navy had reinforced its minesweeping patrol with a Storm class gunboat, and the cordon of soldiers precluded any approach to the cliffs above Knausnes — even for those not daunted by climbing the mountain in mist and rain. The Norwegian Air Force was operating fighter patrols over the island and its territorial waters, these having been declared prohibited air space. All aircraft wishing to land on Vrakoy had now to obtain preflight clearance from Royal Norwegian Air Force H.Q. in Bodo. This in effect ruled out just about anything other than Norwegian military aircraft and normal commercial flights operated by Wideroe’s.
The weather was deteriorating. The Zhukov shook and trembled as the seas struck her, notwithstanding the partial breakwater of the Dragetennene. So mentally did Milovych. ‘What’s your opinion, comrade Feodor?’ he asked. Dark bags had formed below the small eyes. Milovych was a tired man.
The salvage expert fingered the plans on the desk in Yenev’s cabin. ‘I don’t yet know enough about the damage to form one. But it’s obviously serious. A difficult salvage task. Worse than your message suggested.’
Milovych stared at Yenev. ‘It would have been better perhaps not to have stranded her.’
Feodor regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I believe the decision had your approval, comrade Commissar.’ He turned to Yenev. ‘Your divers report a good deal of damage forward where the explosion occurred, but they don’t find much evidence of other external damage. We know it’s there of course The flooding tells us. But we haven’t the facilities for a thorough check.’
‘We need the salvage vessels for that,’ said Milovych.
‘Of course,’ Feodor disliked the obvious. ‘They’ll be here in the morning.’
‘I don’t like the look of the weather. The glass is still falling,’ Yenev looked at him gloomily. ‘Wind and sea rising.’
Feodor said, ‘These October gales usually blow themselves out in forty-eight hours.’
‘It’s a long time,’ said Yenev.
‘The weather’s too much for the skimmer,’ said Milovych. ‘All right once round Fyrbergnes, in the lee of the island. But from the lighthouse to those rocks… phew!’ He shook his head. ‘We should hire a local fishing vessel.’
‘Yes,’ said Yenev, who’d proposed this the day before only to have Milovych turn it down. ‘And man it with our own sailors. I’m not having foreigners alongside again. No knowing who they are or what they’re after.’
Feodor said, ‘I agree. It won’t be as fast as the skimmer, but it’ll operate in all weathers. Commissar Milovych will no doubt make the necessary arrangements when he visits Kolhamn this afternoon. Once the Nepas arrive we can use one of their motorboats.’
Milovych smiled uneasily. He didn’t relish travelling in the skimmer in bad weather. ‘Wouldn’t you like to go into Kolhamn this afternoon, comrade Feodor? See what salvage facilities they have.’
‘None that could help us. I checked that before I left. You know the Ordforer. I suggest you go.’
‘You’ll be able to get Krasnov’s latest report,’ suggested Yenev hopefully.
That gave Milovych an idea. ‘What about you, comrade Yenev?’ His small eyes brightened. ‘Isn’t it time you met the Ordforer?’
‘Dealing with the authorities ashore is a political task,’ said Yenev. ‘I don’t leave my ship while she is aground.’
‘I see.’ Milovych stood up. ‘Once again the task of extricating us from this…’ He hesitated. ‘… this difficulty falls on me. I shall go now.’
‘Take enough men to man the fishing boat. Say three. One of them a diesel mechanic.’ Yenev yawned. He too was a tired man. ‘Leave the skimmer in Kolhamn until the weather improves.’
Milovych didn’t like the edge of authority in the captain’s voice. He stared back to show his disapproval. When he’d gone Feodor looked at Yenev thoughtfully. ‘A difficult man?’
‘Not one I like,’ said the captain.
The Ordforer was co-operative and after some minor delays Milovych got the fishing boat; a sturdy craft, flush decked, high bowed, a comfortable wheelhouse and sound diesel engine. The Russian crew took it over and the skimmer was secured alongside in Kolhamn. Having seen to this, Milovych went for a walk to the fish racks accompanied by Krasnov and Gerasov. It was cold and uncharitable, rising wind moaned through the saplings of the racks, rain fell steadily and the Russians’ oilskins gleamed wetly.
‘What news?’ Milovych wiped the water from his face with the side of his hand.
‘A number of Western media people have arrived. Press. TV, cameramen. But they’re not getting results. They can’t get near the Zhukov.’
‘Don’t call her that,’ said the commissar testily. ‘You are never to refer to her by name.’
Krasnov accepted the rebuke in silence, the forward and upward thrust of his chin the only sign of the irritation he felt.
‘Have they spoken to you?’ Milovych gave him a sharp look.
‘They’ve tried. We say nothing.’
‘Good. Anything else?’
‘A Norwegian press and tourist agent from Bodo — Olufsen by name — has taken a room in the hospits. He seems well-known in the village.’
‘Anyone else of interest there?’
‘Two Americans. Ornithologists from New York. Booked in by their society. They have the room adjoining ours.’
Milovych looked alarmed and the high pitch of his voice became almost a squeak. ‘Watch them. What do ornithologists come here for at this time? I’ll send Uskhan in later today. He’ll fix a surveillance mike in your room. Gerasov, you speak English, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Commissar. I took it at university. I’ll listen of course, but I think they’re genuine.’
‘You have no means of knowing,’ said Milovych. ‘Treat everyone as suspect. That way you avoid mistakes. And remember — never discuss the ship in your room or near other people. Never.’
Krasnov nodded. ‘It has been on the Norwegian news broadcasts that our tugs and salvage vessels are on the way from Polyarno. They call our ship “the Soviet Navy’s ballistic missile submarine 731. A first generation nuclear vessel, believed to be used now for training purposes”.’
‘I know.’ Milovych smiled smugly. ‘We heard it.’
‘Where are they now, Jim?’ The speaker was lying full length on the floor beside the wall, almost under the bed he’d just pulled clear.
The man at the window said, ‘Walking along the quay by the fish sheds.’
‘All three?’
‘Yeah. Milovych, Krasnov and the young guy. What’s his name?’
‘Gerasov.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘Up-dating each other on news, I guess.’
‘They’re welcome to it. It’s heavy rain, Jim.’
‘We should have brought a directional mike.’
‘They’re too far for that.’
‘Think so, Ed?’
‘I know. I’ll put the needle through at floor level.’
‘Got the thickness of the wall?’
‘Sure. Turn up the volume on the radio.’
The man at the window turned it up.
The man on the floor chose the spot, triggered the drill and the thin bit ate into the wood. When the bit-check reached the wall he stopped with the bit just short of breaking the wall on the far side. He withdrew the drill, inserted the needle aerial, pushed it home and fitted the wooden plug into the wainscoting. When he’d rubbed it over with shoe polish he cleaned up the wood dust and moved the bed back against the wall. ‘That’ll do,’ he said. ‘We can take out the plug, clip on the leads anytime. Listen or tape.’