"Aye, aye, sir."
Shadde dropped his voice. "Did you go through the motions of acknowledging that FOS signal?"
"Yes, sir."
Back in the control room, Shadde called into the voice pipe, "Bridge!"
Weddy's voice came back at once. "Control room!"
"Diving stations... clear the bridge! Open main vents!" Shadde barked. The klaxon sounded and the crew went into diving routine.
"Take her down to two hundred feet," ordered Shadde.
The submarine's bow slanted down and the slow pitch and roll ceased as she dived to the calm water below the surface.
"What's that course, Symington?" Shadde was irritable.
"Zero-five-one, sir," the navigating officer said quietly.
The captain looked at the coxswain: "What are you steering?"
"Two-four-six, sir."
"What speed, Symington? Come on! Shake it up!"
"About eight knots, sir. If we turn now."
Shadde's fingers tapped on the table. "What time's it dark?"
"Sunset's at twenty forty, sir. Nautical twilight ends at twenty-three fifty-eight."
"Dark at midnight. Good." Shadde stared at him. "When should we alter course if we're to be forty miles from the midnight position two hours before dark?"
"Forty miles away, two hours before dark." Symington worked at the chart while Shadde watched. "There's the point of turn, sir, off Kristiansand. We'll reach it at twenty-one hundred."
"And the course from there to the midnight position?"
Symington put the parallel ruler against the penciled course line and rolled it across to the compass rose. "Zero-six-one, sir."
"Good! We'll alter to zero-six-one at twenty-one hundred." Shadde penciled the time and course on the chart. "Now," he said, "how far is the nearest land from the midnight position?"
With one leg of the dividers on the midnight position, Symington swung the free leg until it just touched the Norwegian coast at Risor off Sandness Fjord. He transferred the dividers to the latitude scale and said, "A fraction under twenty-four miles, sir."
"I see," said Shadde. "And at two hours to darkness?"
Symington was puzzled. "Two hours to darkness?"
"Yes, yes." Shadde frowned. "Two hours before midnight. You know, forty miles away from the midnight position. How far off the land then?"
"Here, sir. Thirteen point eight miles off Homboro light."
"Hm. Good position for a radar fix. We'll surface off Homboro at twenty-two hundred." He went over to the first lieutenant and saw that the depth gauges were showing two hundred feet. "Trim all right, Number One?"
"Bang on, sir."
"Good! We'll go to periscope depth at twenty hundred—and every half hour after that. For W/T reception."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Come to my cabin, Number One," Shadde said.
He shut the door behind them. "Tell the officers to keep a sharp lookout for any odd behavior in the next few hours." His eyes held the first lieutenant's in a compelling stare. "Got that?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll talk over the broadcast shortly. Our saboteur friend may feel a bit queasy then. Might give himself away."
You poor bastard, Cavan thought, looking at the strained face with dark bags under the eyes.
"I've got a hunch he may," went on Shadde. "Now, kindly inform the officers. I'll talk to the crew in ten minutes' time." He rarely used the broadcast. It would be clear to all that these were very special circumstances.
In a few minutes the captain's voice sounded throughout the submarine. "This is the captain speaking. I want to tell you about a signal we've received from Flag Officer Submarines. It's a NATO operational order and requires us to be at a position in Bohus Bay, off Sandness Fjord, by midnight. It also orders Massive to clear Oslo by twenty thirty and reach a position about twenty miles north of ours by midnight. Finally, it orders Deterrent to a position off Alesund by midnight." He sounded tense. "Orders of this sort suggest that an unusual situation may be developing. But there's nothing to be gained by conjecture, so don't indulge in it."
The captain cleared his throat. "To arrive by midnight in the position assigned to us, we'll alter course to o-six-one at twenty-one hundred. That'll more or less reverse our present course. We'll continue at twenty knots, and go to periscope depth for W/T purposes at half-hour intervals. At twenty-two hundred we'll surface for a few moments off the Homboro light on the Norwegian coast. I'll keep you informed of any further developments. That is all."
All over the submarine the captain's broadcast was the burning topic of conversation. Conjecture, of course, was rife. A theory which found a good deal of, favor was that this was an exercise laid on by bored staffs at NATO headquarters anxious to justify their existence. Another, less widely held, was that an ultimatum of some sort was due to expire at midnight, and that this stationing of the Missile-class submarines was a precaution in case the balloon went up. But underlying the conjecture there was a rumbling of displeasure because of the threat to arrangements for leaves, and the ears of FOS/M's and NATO's staffs would have burned had they heard what was said about them.
Soon after half past eight Symington went to Cavan's cabin for a hurried consultation. It was their first opportunity since the captain's broadcast.
"Have to make it snappy," Cavan said. "Skipper's on the prowl. Let's have a quick recap. The skipper's given two signals to Gracie. The first's been received"—he drawled the word—"and the second's due at about twenty-one thirty. So the exercise is launched. By the way, what did you think of the broadcast?"
Symington shrugged his shoulders. "Very good. And you?"
Cavan made a circle with his thumb and index finger. "Superb!"
"He sounded excited, I thought."
"Probably is exciting for him. Don't forget he's the principal actor in this little drama."
Symington folded his arms. "And his motives now, Number One?"
"Ah! The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Well, we know he intends to shake up the ship's company and that he knows that Kyle's not the saboteur. Apparently he believes the exercise may produce ..."
"That's moonshine," Symington said. "Why would a saboteur give himself away because he's suddenly confronted with what Shadde calls the real thing? Doesn't begin to make sense."
"Couldn't agree more, George. But everybody, including Shadde, keeps quoting it as one of his motives. Anyway, we've done the right thing."
"We?" said Symington dryly. "That's rich."
Cavan frowned. George was getting too big for his boots.
At nine o'clock the captain went into the control room and course was altered to 061°. Two minutes later the submarine came to periscope depth, and after a careful sweep around the horizon Shadde reported rain and poor visibility. Soon afterward they returned to two hundred feet.
It was past nine o'clock that night when the engineer officer told Mr. Buddington that Finney said he had thrown his piece of silk over the side in Stockholm harbor soon after they had finished working in the steering compartment.
"Threw it over the side?" Mr. Buddington said. "That's interesting. Could you take him down to the steering compartment? I'll be there waiting for you." The little man was eager now, like a terrier after the bone. Rhys Evans looked puzzled, but he nodded.
Mr. Buddington was indeed waiting for them. The chief came in first, followed by a fresh-faced young man with blue eyes set wide apart. When he saw the air-conditioning man from the Admiralty, the blue eyes showed surprise.
"This is Engineering Mechanic Finney." Evans sounded bleak. He liked Finney and wasn't happy about the situation that seemed to be developing.
"Ah!" said Mr. Buddington. "Perhaps he can help me."
"Aye, sir. If I can." Finney smiled.