At noon Symington and Keely took over the watch. To starboard the coast of Sweden rose out of the sea, a long, low rampart running north and south. Symington found it difficult to concentrate on his duties. At any moment he expected a summons to the captain's cabin. He could only pray that O'Shea had succeeded in persuading the engineer officer to say nothing.
Just before coming up to the bridge he had broken the news to the first lieutenant. "My God!" Cavan breathed. "Caught you in the act, did he?" For a moment his face seemed to fall apart and then he pulled himself together and clutched at Symington's arm. "You didn't let on that I knew, did you?" His voice was hoarse.
"I did not," said Symington. "Your yardarm's clear, Number One." There was contempt in his voice.
But Cavan looked relieved. "What's the chief going to do?"
"Check my story with the doctor and then decide."
"Good. That's why I told you to talk to O'Shea. So that you'd have that to fall back on if you were nabbed."
"Very considerate of you," said Symington dryly.
Now, standing on the bridge, filled with apprehension, Symington wondered why this all had to happen to him. Two more days and Shadde would leave them for good. Why had he hit on that fantastic idea? And what was going to happen now? That was the burning question.
In answer to the captain's bell, Miller slid the cabin door open and poked his head inside. "You rang, sir?"
"I shan't be lunching in the wardroom," Shadde said. "Just bring me a cup of tea and some biscuits... and that Danish Camembert."
Miller's eyes gleamed with apprehension. "Aye, aye, sir."
When he came back he found the captain looking at an atlas. To Miller's surprise he smiled. "This is a great day, Miller. The sixteenth of May. On this day in 1803 England declared war on Napoleon . . . the archtyrant. He held a dagger at the heart of England, Miller. He would have destroyed our people."
Miller was surprised again. The captain had never spoken to him like this before. But Shadde didn't look at him, and Miller had an unpleasant feeling that the captain didn't know he was there.
"Yes," said Shadde. "A man had arisen to save England. Two years later Nelson at Trafalgar crippled the combined fleets of the French and Spanish . . . the threat to England was broken!"
Miller waited patiently. The captain drew his hand across his eyes, then looked up as if he were seeing the steward for the first time. "Ah! Miller." He smiled. "I'm tired. Not enough sleep, I daresay. But there's much to do. You can carry on, Miller."
The steward was about to slide the door open when he heard Shadde say curtly, "What cheese is this?"
"Piece of fresh cheddar, sir." Miller's voice was anxious.
Shadde glared. "That it's a cheddar is perfectly evident. Where's the Danish Camembert you got for me on Wednesday?"
Miller cleared his throat. "Haven't got it no more, sir."
"What the hell d'you mean, you haven't got it?"
Miller lowered his eyes. "Gone, sir. Eaten by mistake."
The captain's eyes flashed. ''Whose mistake, may I ask?"
"Wardroom officers, sir." Miller almost whispered the words.
"Eaten by mistake by the wardroom officers ... my cheese! I've never heard such goddam poppycock in my life." Shadde breathed heavily. "Eaten or not eaten, go and find that cheese and don't rest until you've bloody well found it." He took a step toward Miller, a towering, menacing figure. "And now get out!" he shouted.
Back in the pantry Miller told Target what had happened.
"Blimey!" breathed the wardroom steward. "Who lifted the flippin' cheese?"
"Lieutenant Commander Gallagher, the doctor, Lieutenant Symington and the Subby. Two o'clock this morning, when they come off shore."
"Cor, love a duck! 'Ow d'you know, Dusty?"
"Mr. Symington told me before breakfast. Said 'e hoped I 'ad no objections. I told him it was 'is lordship's cheese."
"Cor! What did'e say?"
"'E blooming near fainted."
Target looked at the captain's steward with a sympathetic eye. "Don't envy you, Dusty, I must say."
Miller took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. "Wish me mother'd never 'ad me," he said sadly.
When he came off watch Symington went to the doctor's cabin. "Has the chief seen you?" he asked anxiously.
The doctor looked at the pale, worried face and nodded. "Yes. Before lunch. Told me how he found you in the air lock."
"What's he going to do?"
"Keep it to himself."
Symington sighed with relief. "Thank God for that!"
"I put the wind up him," said the doctor. "Explained how a court-martial would probably finish Shadde."
The navigating officer looked puzzled. "Court-martial?"
"Yes—yours!" said O'Shea, and he told him what he'd said.
Symington smiled faintly. "Thank you, Doc. That was good of you." But in spite of the doctor's reassurance Symington went back to his cabin sick with a feeling of impending disaster.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon and the first lieutenant was due to go on watch at four, but rest was out of the question now; he was far too worried. It had been a devastating shock to learn that Symington had been found in the air lock. Although he had done everything he could to protect himself, Cavan wondered desperately if his complicity would be discovered. He was pretty sure of Symington. But the doctor might have his suspicions, and now Rhys Evans was to be reckoned with. Every new person involved added to the danger. If Shadde is genuine about his exercise, he thought, and my part in the plunger business comes out, I've had it. Their Lordships will have no mercy on a first lieutenant who has not only conspired against his captain but connived at interference with the main armament of one of Her Majesty's ships.
He had visions of arrest and court-martial. If it did come to that, the line he'd take would be that he was certain Shadde was exceeding his authority in using bogus signals for an exercise. It might be a bit tricky explaining why he'd not consulted Gallagher. Fortunately Gallagher was not the sort to make difficulties. Anyway, there was nothing to do now but wait and see. If Shadde was going to have his exercise, he'd have to have it soon.
When Cavan got to the bridge at 1600 they were steaming at twenty knots toward the deeper waters of the Skagerrak. The northwesterly wind had freshened and the submarine's movements were lively under a darkening sky and heavy banks of cloud.
Gracie was in the W/T office when the messenger came for him. With a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach, he knocked at the captain's door.
"Come in. Ah! Gracie, sit down." The captain leaned forward, hands on knees, and the telegraphist had to look away from the dark eyes—they did something funny to him. "What time are you on watch tonight, Gracie?"
"Eighteen hundred to twenty hundred, sir."
"Good. I've been working on those signals."
Grade's heart sank. "Yes, sir."
"Of course, they're in cipher. It's been a laborious job. Had to use the books." Shadde spoke quickly, as if there were little time. "I want the exercise to start at half past seven. I've penciled in under its date-time group the exact time you are to receive the first signal. That's on the signal marked 'A.' You'll see I've marked it 'emergency' precedence. I've put nineteen thirty-three as the time of receipt. We'll dive soon after it's received ... be in deep water by then. The first signal orders us to a position in the Skagerrak by midnight. To reach it we'll have to reverse our course."
The captain smiled, an impersonal smile. "I've added rather a clever little frill. The signal also orders Massive to leave Oslo before twenty thirty and to reach a position in Bohus Bay by midnight, to the north of us. Deterrent left Loch Ewe yesterday afternoon— you saw the signal?"