Mr. Buddington produced the oil-stained gray silk. "It's about this," he said apologetically. "Have you seen it before?"
"Yes, sir. That's a piece of Chief Shepherd's gray silk." Finney's eyes sought the engineer officer's. "Like the bit you asked me about just now, sir."
Rhys Evans nodded gloomily.
"There were two pieces, sir," the stoker explained. "The chief gave me one an' Kyle the other, for wiping our hands. Threw me piece over the side in Stockholm, sir." He seemed quite happy and confident, and Rhys Evans felt that the man from the Admiralty didn't quite know what to make of it. Mr. Buddington just stood there wiping his glasses with a silk handkerchief. When he had finished, he put them on again very slowly and carefully. "You're lying, you know, Finney, and that's a great pity."
The stoker smiled. "It's no lie, sir. That's the truth."
"I wish it was," said Mr. Buddington mournfully. "It would make my task much easier. Now see here, Finney," he said, and his voice made it clear that he wasn't going to stand any nonsense. "Since you won't tell the truth, I'm going to tell it for you." The watery eyes moved from Finney to Rhys Evans and back. "The afternoon before sailing from Stockholm you and Kyle, with Chief Shepherd, worked on the port ram of the steering gear. Right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the next day Retaliate was in a collision because her steering gear jammed in the hard-aport position. Yes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Immediately after that, Chief Shepherd was sent down here by Mr. Evans with you and Stokes to see what the trouble was?"
"That's right, sir."
"You found that the steering gear had jammed because the hydraulic fluid had drained out of the port ram cylinder. You all knew that, because you all saw the fluid covering the deck and you saw the drain plug lying there. Am I right?"
"Quite right, sir," said Finney.
"But you, Finney, saw something else. Something which the others didn't see. You saw the brass locknut lying there, the lock-nut which you were supposed to have tightened the day before."
Mr. Buddington's voice softened. "Then you got a terrible fright. You realized that you had forgotten to tighten the lock-nut, that it had fallen off, that the drain plug had turned in its slot as the steering gear worked, until it too fell off." Mr. Buddington sighed. "For your information, Finney, that must have taken about ten minutes. Then the fluid leaked out and the steering gear jammed. The collision took place a minute afterward."
Mr. Buddington blew his nose. "You realized all that in a flash, Finney, and then you did a very foolish thing. You picked up the locknut and hid it in the gray silk you had in your hand. Your last act was to push the piece of silk behind that cluster of pipes."
All the color had gone out of Finney's face, but he still shook his head. "Could be what happened, sir, but it wasn't me. I threw me silk over the side. That bit there must've bin Kyle's."
"No, Finney. It's not Kyle's. His piece is here." He pulled it out of his pocket. "It fits exactly here where Chief Shepherd tore it. See? Now if your piece had been thrown over the side we'd only have one half, wouldn't we? And that, Finney"—Mr. Buddington's eyes were mournful—"is why I knew you were lying."
Finney's face collapsed and he started to sob. To Evans' surprise Mr. Buddington went over and patted him on the shoulder. "Come, come, Finney. You were foolish, but it's not the end of the world. You got a bad fright because your mistake had very serious consequences. Then you tried to protect yourself, but you did it the wrong way. It's always better to tell the truth. But never mind, lad. It won't go too badly with you."
Finney shook his head, his arm still over his eyes.
"Carry on with your watch now, Finney," said the engineer officer. "We'll deal with this in the morning."
When he had gone, Rhys Evans said, "How do you know Finney made a mistake? That it wasn't deliberate?"
"Because he has an excellent record and because it's not the way saboteurs go about things. First of all, Shepherd should have checked that the locknut was tight. How could Finney know that Shepherd would forget to make that check? Secondly, the jamming wouldn't have been serious if there hadn't been a steamer in that position at that precise moment. Thirdly, Finney's motive in hiding the locknut was to cover up his mistake by giving the impression that it was sabotage."
When he had punched the second signal onto the tape, Grade fed it into the automatic transmitter. Then he turned the switch from "Antenna" to "Teleprinter," and saw from the clock on the bulkhead that it was 2128. He could hear Shadde's orders in the control room as they came to periscope depth. After the final "Up periscope!" he looked at the clock again, and at 2129 he switched on the transmitter and watched the teleprinter type the incoming signal onto the moving roll of paper.
It was, as the captain had said, commendably brief. The priority address and prefix groups were followed by only six cipher groups and then, in plain language, "Acknowledge" and the date-time group.
After he had logged it, he took it to Keely. "Signal for deciphering, sir. Same address and prefix groups as the last." Keely almost snatched it from his hand.
In the control room Shadde was standing by the periscope well, and the first lieutenant was behind the diving-plane operators. The depth-gauge needles were moving . . . 140 . . . 150 . . . 165 ... as they went deeper.
In the wardroom Keely muttered, "My God, this is getting serious."
"Indeed," Symington said coldly, and he trembled.
Shadde came in from the control room and went to his cabin.
" 'Assume first-degree missile readiness,'" Keely read in a hoarse whisper. He knocked on the captain's door. "Signal, sir. Emergency—operational.' '
Shadde took the signal, his hands shaking. "Tell the first lieutenant and the gunnery officer to see me at once."
When they arrived, Shadde passed the signal to Weddy. "Read that." He stared at Cavan, then at the gunnery officer. Weddy's eyebrows lifted. "Something serious on the go, sir?"
There was a steady one-two, one-two beat from Shadde's fingers on the desk. "Looks like it." He frowned at Weddy. "Means four missiles to be ready at three minutes' notice, doesn't it? What does that involve?"
The gunnery officer's face was pale. "We'll prime one and two in the starboard bank, sir, and fifteen and sixteen in the port bank. Activate their inertial-guidance systems, and couple them to the fire control."
Shadde's tense face was working. "Anything else?"
"Yes, sir. We'll have to build up pressures in the launching tubes, and check the ignition and control circuits on the motors and on the warheads and launching gear." He looked at Cavan. "And, of course, Number One will have to check the firing-plunger circuit."
Cavan's eyes flickered. "Of course," he said quickly.
The captain's eyes burned into Weddy. "How long'll that lot take?"
"Under ten minutes, sir."
"Get cracking." Shadde's voice was dry and husky.
Shortly afterward Shadde and Cavan heard Weddy broadcast: "Missile launching parties, close up."
Shadde smiled at the first lieutenant, a humorless smile with a shade of malice. "So much for your judgment, Number One."
"What was that, sir?"
"You couldn't believe Retaliate would ever be used in earnest." There was a note of elation in his voice. Cavan thought, Wait, my friend. We'll see whose judgment was at fault.
For the second time that night the crew heard the captain's voice over the broadcast. He spoke with great urgency and barely suppressed excitement. "We've just received a second NATO operational signal from FOS. It's very brief. It orders Retaliate, Massive and Deterrent to assume the first degree of missile readiness. This requires us to be ready to launch four missiles at three minutes' notice. The missile parties are now preparing numbers one and two and fifteen and sixteen."