In the frigate the upper deck had once again been cleared for a nuclear fall-out exercise — ‘We ought to be bloody dead by now,’ remarked a disgruntled seaman — and only the flight deck officer saw the helicopter’s arrival over the flight deck. It hovered there winching down its passengers. They were greeted by the ASW scientists from Portland who’d transferred to the frigate the day before. They helped Krasnov, Brough and the others from the winching harness, led them aft, down the ladder to the mortar well and along into the laundry, now innocent of any signs of its function. Broadcast speakers aft of the hangar had been switched off, screen doors shut and all other necessary steps taken to suppress the sounds of the ship. This, the captain explained by broadcast, had been done at the request of the scientists whose acutely sensitive equipment required a minimum of ‘on board’ noise during testing.
In the laundry all lights had been switched off but for one red globe. On arrival there, Krasnov was placed in a chair, the bandages and ear plugs were removed, a black hood slipped over his head and secured with a light chain under his chin. His wrists were secured by metal straps to the arms of the chair, his ankles to its legs. The only people who spoke were the Liang Huis: to each other in Chinese, to Krasnov in Russian. From time to time he heard other Chinese voices. He could not know that they came from a high fidelity speaker behind a screen at the after end of the laundry.
Soon after they had strapped the Soviet lieutenant into the chair the Liang Huis were startled by his sudden cry, ‘Oh God, what’s going to happen to me?’ It was the first time he’d spoken since they’d given him the Sodium Pentothal tablets back in the rorbu in Kolfjord.
Instinctively Tanya put her hand over his. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’
Her brother quickly remonstrated.
‘I had to,’ she said. ‘I hate what we’re doing to him.’
Liang Hui said, ‘Do it again and you’ll be in trouble.’ She knew from the hardness of his voice that it was a threat, that he meant it.
It was understood by the frigate’s crew that the latest arrivals were more ASW scientists from Portland come to take part in the secret equipment trials.
The first-lieutenant came up the starboard ladder on to the bridge two steps at a time. Seeing nothing but the glow of instrument dials he made for the dark shape on the pedestal seat. ‘They’re all on board, sir.’
‘Everything all right, Number One?’
‘One of them, Norton, has some sort of injury. Head’s bandaged. McGhee says it’s okay. Slipped down a ladder in Belligerent yesterday. Otherwise everything seems go. The accommodation problem’s a bit dodgy. Got nine of them now, one a woman.’
‘What’s her name?’ The captain, usually a silent man, seemed to perk up.
‘Miss Tanya Liang Hui, sir.’
‘Chinese. What’s she like?’
‘Rather a dish. Cantonese actually. Their secretary bird, note-taker and general what not.’
‘I want none of that in this ship,’ said the captain severely. ‘We’re Mary Whitehouse fans, we are. What about accommodation?’
‘With the two spare cabins — and getting the midshipmen to give up their cabin and sleep in the wardroom — we’ve managed to look after yesterday’s party. This lot’s more difficult. The girl’s a problem.’
‘My day cabin perhaps?’ suggested the captain.
‘Sir!’ mocked the first-lieutenant. Then more hopefully, ‘I thought the settee in mine might do.’
‘I’m sure you did, Number One. Think up something else.’
‘I’ll get one of our subs to give up his cabin. He can join the midshipmen in the wardroom when he’s not on watch and wants to get his head down.’
‘Sounds reasonable. Thank God we’ve only got them for the duration of the exercise. About twenty-four hours.’
‘Yes. That helps. Another thing is that McGhee, the boss boffin, says the latest arrivals will stay in the laundry, fiddling with their nuts and bolts. If they need kip, he says, they’ll take it on stretchers and blankets we’ve put down there.’
‘You’ve let him know they can use the wardroom if they wish to?’
‘Yes. I’ve done that, sir. And made arrangements for coffee, sandwiches, whatever, to be taken aft when needed.’
‘By whom?’
‘One of their own party, sir.’
‘Splendid.’
‘Anything else, sir?’
‘Yes. You might let McGhee know that I’d like him to take a glass of sherry with me at noon tomorrow.’
‘Aye, aye, sir. I’ll see to that.’ The first-lieutenant made for the ladder.
‘One other thing. Number One. Tell McGhee that if he cares to bring Miss Liang Hui I shall be delighted.’
The first-lieutenant said, ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ and smiled in the darkness.
As the effect of the Sodium Pentothal wore off and increasing awareness returned, Krasnov tried to put together the bits and pieces. The motion, the vibration, told him he was in a ship. From beneath the chair came the feel and sound of churning propellers, so he knew he was in the stern. He was aware of other things: the hood over his head, the chain round his neck, the steel straps fastening his wrists and ankles to the chair, the sound of voices. Some near, some far, speaking an Oriental language. At first he took it to be Japanese, but later knew it was Chinese. The man and woman had talked to him briefly in Russian when they took him down ladders, led him into this place and put him in the chair. Otherwise they spoke Chinese.
Where was he? Why was he here? What would they do to him? Were they about to torture him? These questions kept repeating themselves.
He groped in his memory for familiar things. His parents. His brothers and sisters. Nasha Simeonov, the girl he hoped to marry. The small apartment in Kuslaya overlooking the Neva. The local primary school. The Leonin Govorov secondary school. Then on to Leningrad State University. Leningrad Naval Academy, Frunze Naval College. The training cruiser. What was its name? No. It wouldn’t come. The submarine training course. That was it! Submarines. The Zhukov. His ship. An explosion in the forward torpedo-compartment. The struggle to beach her. It was coming back. The little harbour town on the island. Kolhamn. What had he been doing there? Leonid Gerasov? Yes, of course. They’d been in the kafeteria together. That was it. He’d gone to the lavatory.
Gerasov should have come too, but there was the English girl and he’d not insisted. The lights had gone out. Two men had grabbed him. He remembered the terror of that moment. They’d poked guns into his back and neck. Frog-marched him along a dark passage. Out by a door at the back. Handed him over to two other men. He could remember them. Faces seen dimly in reflected light. Peaked caps, drooping black moustaches, white teeth, menacing eyes. Funny what you could remember from just a glimpse. They had pistol-marched him down to the harbour. What happened after that? A dark damp place, sitting in a corner. Vomiting. A man and woman speaking Chinese? How had he got there?
It didn’t make sense. There were too many vague, uncertain, unrelated recollections. Like a half-remembered dream. The noise of an engine. Bumping along, a violent repetitive motion. Pushed and pulled by strong hands. An odd feeling in his head: thick, muzzy. Touching it to find a bandage over his eyes. Hitting out with a flat hand against a cold metallic wall. Realizing with a shock that he couldn’t hear the sound of the slap. Thinking he had a head injury. Had he?