The young man nodded. Shadde's eyes were riveted on his.
"For the purposes of this exercise," went on Shadde, "we'll assume she's somewhere near the Shetlands now. The point is, signal 'A' orders her to be in a position off Alesund by midnight. What do you think of that?"
Gracie shivered as if someone had walked over his grave.
"The object, you see, is to suggest a situation that requires all available Missile boats to be alerted and ordered to special positions. That should impart a touch of realism, don't you think?"
He didn't wait for Gracie to reply. "The second signal." He took it off the desk. "This one—is marked 'B.' When you receive it, we'll go to periscope depth. I want you to receive it at twenty-one twenty-nine. I've penciled that in below the date-time group. Got that?"
"I come off watch at twenty hundred, sir," said the telegraphist. "Cartwright will be on twenty to twenty-two hundred."
"I've thought of that. You must tell Cartwright—once you've got the first signal—that you're going to remain on watch for the time being. Important occasion, you know. Tell him you'll send for him when you want to be relieved. D'you understand?"
The young man nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."
"Good! Now signal 'B': like signal 'A' it's addressed to Retaliate, Massive and Deterrent. It's commendably brief." There it was again, that impersonal smile. "It orders the first degree of missile readiness." Shadde spoke so quickly that Gracie could hardly follow. "That'll impart more reality to the exercise. It'll be interesting to see how the crew react to what they believe to be the real thing. Buck up their ideas a bit."
He jumped up, folded the signals and handed them to Gracie. "Put these in your pocket, Gracie. Mustn't be seen carrying them. You've been in here discussing W/T refit matters. Got that?"
"I have, sir."
"One final thing, Grade. When that first signal has been received and the word has got around"—his eyes were mysterious—"keep a sharp lookout for odd behavior. See what I'm getting at?" "Yes, sir."
From the captain's cabin Gracie went for a minute to the W/T office, then on to look for Symington.
"So it's tonight, is it?" Symington was thoughtful. "Jolly time we'll have." The CPO telegraphist looked worried. "I'll say, sir." "First signal comes about nineteen thirty, and the next about twenty-one thirty?" "That's right, sir."
"And we're to reach the position in the Skagerrak at midnight?" "That's what the captain said, sir. Uh, one thing, sir." The navigating officer's left eyebrow lifted. "Yes, Gracie." "Now that you know about the signals... what will you do?" Symington shook his head. "Leave that to me. Don't worry."
When Gracie had gone, Symington went to the wardroom. It was nearly five o'clock. He was anxious to talk to the first lieutenant, but he would have to wait until Cavan came off watch.
Soon after half past five Shadde made another visit to the bridge. He was cheerful and communicative and there was no trace of the gloom of recent weeks. The coast of Sweden was out of sight now and they were well into the Skagerrak, pitching and rolling. To the west lightning played against the horizon.
Using binoculars, Shadde made a careful examination of everything in sight. Then, after studying the chart for some time, he said, "Ask the control room for a line of soundings."
The first lieutenant went to the voice pipe and asked for the soundings while Shadde's finger beat a tattoo on the chart table.
"Tell them to shake it up." His voice was impatient.
"Stand by," said Cavan. He looked at the captain and Shadde nodded. The first lieutenant repeated the soundings as they came up the voice pipe: "122—120—123—126—126—128—130—"
"That'll do." Shadde rejoined Cavan at the front of the bridge. "I see we're to alter course to the southwest at eighteen forty. Who relieves you at eighteen hundred?"
"Weddy, sir."
Shadde's voice went on. "Lot of cloud about. Might be a storm."
"Yes, sir, looks like it."
"Glass is dropping slowly but it doesn't make any odds." The captain looked aft. "We're in deep water now. We'll dive at twenty hundred. I'm all for a quiet night."
Out of the corner of his eye Cavan looked at Shadde's rugged face. If he's acting, thought the first lieutenant, he's certainly shooting a hell of a convincing line.
The captain went below and the rest of the watch passed quickly. At six o'clock Weddy took over.
Cavan had just taken off his jersey and begun to wash when there was a knock on his cabin door. Symington came in and looked at him coolly. "Skipper's handed the signals to Grade."
Cavan stopped in the middle of toweling his face. Why he was so surprised he couldn't imagine. He'd been expecting this all day, and yet it hit him now like an open hand. Perhaps because of Shadde's remark about diving for a quiet night.
"Good God! He has, has he? Any details?"
When Symington had told him of Grade's report Cavan said, "A stickler for realism, isn't he? Reversing our course for a few hours will cost the British taxpayer a quid or two."
"Odd business, isn't it?" Symington shook his head. "But he's an odd chap, let's face it."
"I asked Shepherd," said the engineer officer, "and he says he gave the other piece to Finney in the steering compartment the day before sailing from Stockholm. Said he tore it in two and gave one piece to Kyle and the other to Finney. To wipe their hands."
Mr. Buddington rubbed his chin. "Very interesting. Did Shepherd seem at all... er . . . put out when you asked him?"
"No, he did not."
"I think we're getting somewhere at last." The watery eyes turned away shyly. "Would you mind making another small inquiry for me? Ask Finney what he did with his piece?"
The metallic clatter of the teleprinter stopped for a moment and the carriage slid back to the left; then the keys rat-tat-tatted to life again and in their wake followed the date-time group.
Gracie tore the paper off against the cutter bar. Before logging the signal he looked again at the unfamiliar address and prefix groups and the precedence and security classifications. In the wardroom the officers were at dinner, with the first lieutenant at the head of the table. Gracie went up to him.
"Beg your pardon, sir. Emergency signal for deciphering."
Keely got up and took it. "I'll whack it through, sir."
The first lieutenant's face was drawn. "Yes," he said. "Do that." He looked to see how Rhys Evans, Symington and O'Shea were taking it. None of them seemed happy.
Keely, at the cryptograph, whistled softly. "NATO ops signal from FOS. Wonder what's cooking?" He knocked on the door and went into the captain's cabin.
"What is it?" snapped the captain. As he read the signal, the bushy eyebrows lifted. "I'm going to the control room. Tell the navigating officer I want him there."
When Symington got to the chart table Shadde showed him the signal. "Read that," he said in a strained voice.
Big act, thought Symington, but he noticed that Shadde's hands were shaking. The signal was from FOS/M addressed to Retaliate, Massive, Deterrent, repeated SACLANT[2] and NATO and Admiralty.
It read:
Retaliate to position 58° 30' N: 09° 52' E by midnight Stop Massive to clear Oslo by 2030 and to position 58° 50' N: 10° 12' E by midnight Stop Deterrent to position 62° 40' N: 03° 00' E by midnight Stop Proceed submerged and with dispatch Stop Execute
"Very interesting, sir." Symington had to say something.
"Give me course and speed to reach that position by midnight."
Symington got busy with the dividers and parallel rulers, and Shadde switched on the fathometer. He watched the trace for a moment and then went to the W/T office and told Grade to make a diving signal to FOS/M. "Diving time nineteen forty-one. Surfacing twenty-two hundred."