Nevertheless, for Tanya who was very frightened and for his own peace of mind, he eased the throttle until the skimmer was doing twenty knots.
That would, perhaps, make them ten minutes late at the RV but the submarine would wait until shortly before daylight. There was plenty of time.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Olufsen waded ashore, stood waiting while the sound of the skimmer’s engine faded. When fog and distance had swallowed the last faint note he moved on. Using the torch sparingly he climbed clear of the high-water mark, stopped and unfolded the bundle of clothing: the faded denim jacket and trousers, the worn plimsolls and Krasnov’s uniform jacket. He arranged them among the rocks as if they’d been dropped, then kicked scuff marks in the sand-filled crevices. The makers’ tags revealed that the shoes and denims had come from China. The wallet in the jacket had in it the papers of a Chinese seaman.
He moved along the beach until he came to the stream which flowed down the valley into the bay. Beyond it lay a rough footpath which wound up between Bodvag and Landberg, dropping down into Kolhamn on the southern side. It was a journey of no more than two miles. He’d done it several times in the past with Inga Bodde but never at night or in fog. Even so he expected to reach her house by four. He would stay there until daylight, then after breakfast go down to the village.
Inga knew he was coming. She would if necessary testify that he had spent the night in her house after leaving the kafeteria. The alibi might be useful and would cause no surprise for he had on other occasions stayed overnight in the Boddes’ house.
At three o’clock in the morning Bluewhale was still running submerged at ‘snort’ depth when radar and sonar picked up a small fast-moving contact coming clear of the land echoes of Vrakoy. It was approaching at speed.
Boyd gave the order to surface. When the first-lieutenant reported ‘bridge clear’, the captain opened the hatches and climbed the steel ladders through the fin to the bridge. Bluewhale rolled lazily as she moved through the water, beam on to the swell. The fog writhed and curled about the navigation lights like smoke from an invisible fire, the deep-throated rumble of the diesels at slow speed drowning the sounds of the night but for the distant blare of foghorns.
Reports of the fast-moving contact continued to reach the bridge from the control-room. Before long Boyd heard the waspish buzz of outboard engines approaching. He ordered the signalman to train an Aldis lamp in the direction from which the sound came. The lamp was switched on, but a curtain of fog hid the skimmer until it stopped, held in the beam of light close to the submarine. There were three men in it.
A man in the sternsheets shouted through a hailer, ‘Strutt here. We’re coming alongside, Captain. Okay?’ The accent was North American. The skimmer moved forward until it was a few yards clear of the submarine and heading in the same direction.
Boyd picked up the loud-hailer. ‘Sorry, mate. I think you’re knocking at the wrong door.’
‘What’s that?’ came the puzzled reply.
‘You’re looking for Rockfish, aren’t you?’
‘Jesus! Isn’t that her?’ The shock in Strutt’s voice was like that of a man who’d entered the ‘ladies’ by mistake.
‘I’m afraid not. Your parent has been hanging around like a bad smell for the last few hours. She’s five miles to the north just now.’
A whistle of surprise came from the skimmer. ‘Guess there’s some confusion.’
‘Not up here, mon vieux. Would you like Father’s bearing? Or shall I tell him you’re with us? I’ve no doubt he’s got you on radar, sonar, whatever, in that old tech tank.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Strutt waved a hand. ‘That won’t be necessary. We’ll find our way back. Sorry to have troubled you.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Boyd. ‘We like it.’ He paused. ‘You boys are out late aren’t you? Been on the thrash?’ There was a pause before the man in the skimmer said, ‘Say again. I guess we don’t follow.’
‘Not to worry. Just wondered if you’d been on a run ashore. You know. Booze and boobs.’
‘No, sir. Wish it had been that way. We’re executing a radar exercise with Rockfish.’
‘Interesting. We’re doing an ASW exercise.’
‘That so? Well — we must get busy.’
‘Yes. Hurry along. Father’s sure to be watching. There’s no percentage in stopping here.’
‘You can say that again. Bye now.’ Strutt pushed the tiller over, opened the throttles and the skimmer high-whined into the night.
‘Just heard the Carpenters singing Close to You, sir.’ C.P.O. Blades, Bluewhale’s radio supervisor, grinned confidentially as he reported to the captain.
‘Lucky you,’ said Bill Boyd. ‘Done your Match of the Day stuff?’
‘Yes, sir. Three blasts on the ref’s whistle.’
‘Well done.’ Boyd looked at the first-lieutenant. ‘Some child at Northwood inventing new war games.’ It was said to satisfy the curiosity of the ship’s company. He thought it would. He turned back to the radio supervisor. ‘Right Blades, make a signaclass="underline" Immediate to Belligerent repeated Aries and C-in-C Fleet: Bluewhale in all respects ready to execute exercise Kilo Zulu… time of origin 0315.’
Before leaving the control-room he said, ‘Keep the hands at watch diving stations, Number One. We’ll be surfacing within the next half-hour.’
The Commodore (Intelligence) heard the discreet rat-tat-tat on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said, laying a mental 1,000 to 1 that it was Briggs. It was.
‘Bluewhale’s signal to Belligerent, sir.’ The lieutenant-commander handed him the signal clipboard and top secret file marked Daisy Chain. ‘Interesting,’ said the commodore. ‘What does it mean?’
At his old game, thought Briggs, he knows perfectly well what it means. ‘That Kestrel was clear of the island at about a quarter past three this morning,’ he said, ‘by which time the skimmer should have been well on its way to the RV with Bluewhale.’
‘Splendid. What a memory for detail you have, Briggs. What do we do now?’
‘C-in-C Fleet will instruct Belligerent, Aries and Bluewhale to search for survivors from a light aircraft reported down in the Norwegian Sea in area GVX.’
The commodore thumbed through the pages of the Daisy Chain file. ‘Priority and security classification for that signal?’
‘Immediate, sir. Squirt transmission, monitor proof, but plain language to HM ships reading. It’ll be a below decks buzz right away in all three ships. Which is what it’s intended to be.’
‘Thank you, Briggs. I recall suggesting that in the planning stage.’
Briggs’s left eyebrow rose perceptibly and he drew himself up to his full six feet four which always irritated the commodore who barely made five foot six. Briggs was pretty sure it had been his idea but he said, ‘So you did, sir.’ He was a man of considerable tact. It had been predicted that he would go far in the Service.