“A submarine imploded, Mr. Unruh.”
“Jesus! What sub? Not the Houston?”
Others in the room began to crowd the console. The National Security Advisor, Warren Amply, said, “Oh, my God!” The captain listened a moment longer. “No, sir. The Tashkent. They think she went too deep.”
Unruh had a flashback that included all those submarine movies he had watched as a kid. He could not remember their tides, but he recalled the images of steel plates buckling, water pouring in. Screams.
“Poor bastards,” someone said.
“What the hell, they were Russians,” a staffer from Senator Keedan’s office said.
Enraged, Unruh whipped around to face him. “Shut the fuck up!”
The man started a retort, then fortunately thought better of it.
Unruh said to Amply, “You’d better call the President, Warren. I’m going to check with the CNO.”
He went back to the table and grabbed a phone. It took several minutes before Delecourt was located, in his car en route to the Pentagon.
“You’ve gotten the word, Ben?”
“Yes. Sorry situation, Carl.”
“Do we have a tragedy compounded?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the Tashkent was a nuclear sub.”
“Oh. No. She was a Sierra-class boat. Two nuclear reactors, but they’re well-protected and designed to shut down in the event of a catastrophe. There is no immediate threat here, Carl.”
“Why wasn’t the Topaz designed to shut down?”
“We don’t know that it wasn’t, Carl, but hell, it was devised for space travel, not subsurface travel. I wouldn’t count on the same safeguards.”
“So you’re not worried about the sub?” Unruh asked.
“Not unduly. I’ll have my people double-check what we know when I reach the office, but we’ve got plenty of time, maybe years, in which to recover the remains of the sub. What you might do, Carl, is ask someone from State to convey our condolences to the CIS Foreign Ministry and, by the by, ask about the sub’s reactors.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Unruh said, turning to wave at Amply before the advisor hung up on the President.
Gen. Dmitri Ivanovich Oberstev sat deflated in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Timofey Olʼyantsev. He asked no one in particular, “How many men were on board that submarine?”
Leonid Talebov, who stood by the communications panel, was in contact with Admiral Orlov in Vladivostok, and he repeated the question on his microphone.
After three interminable minutes, Talebov said, “One hundred and twenty-three men, General Oberstev.”
Oberstev searched the silent bridge until he found Sodur. He glared at the officer, wishing to transfer the weight of those deaths to the slimy man. If it had not been for Sodur, he might not have…
No. It was his responsibility. He would accept it, just as he must eventually accept responsibility for forcing the launch of the A2e. His life was changing, prodded by one decision too quickly made. And now men had died.
It would never be the same, his ambition to reach the stars, to complete Red Star.
Sodur, for once, was noncommittal. His face was stoic, revealing little.
Col. Alexi Cherbykov, his aide, said, “General, not to change the subject, but there is the matter of making an announcement to the crew of the ship.”
“Announcement?” Sodur asked. “What announcement?”
“Captain Talebov’s crew does not live in a vacuum, Colonel Sodur” Gurevenich said. “They have heard reports from radio stations throughout the world. We must tell them the true nature of our mission.”
Talebov nodded his agreement.
Sodur yelped, “Chairman Yevgeni forbids it!”
Chairman Yevgeni lived in his own portable vacuum, Oberstev thought.
He said, “The rumors are rife throughout the ship. Morale suffers, and performance may be affected just when it is needed most. Am I correct, Captain Talebov?”
“Absolutely, General.”
“Then, with my recommendation, request permission from Admiral Orlov to disseminate to the crew the fact that our mission may involve hazardous operations.”
Leonid Talebov picked up his microphone.
Janos Sodur spun around and headed for the communications compartment.
Oberstev thought that it might take hours for Orlov and Yevgeni to debate the issue in Vladivostok. Perhaps wiser heads in Moscow would prevail. Yevgeni must eventually recognize that it was no longer possible to hide their defeats under the bed.
In the compromise Oberstev expected would be reached, he supposed that he would be allowed to inform the crew of the nuclear reactor, but not of the timelines involved.
A short time later, Captain Gurevenich of the Winter Storm reported finding some debris on the surface, but no survivors.
“A message for the Winter Storm,” Oberstev said. “Resume search pattern, including the Tashkentʼs responsibilities.”
“Do you wish to limit their depth, General?” Alexi Cherbykov asked.
Oberstev thought about it, then said, “No. We must find the rocket.”
Valeri Dankelov felt as if he were in a state of mourning. Not only were the victims of the Tashkent disaster his countrymen, but they were also members of the elite undersea fraternity to which he himself belonged.
And they had died while attempting to correct an abominable situation, the same mission upon which Dankelov found himself engaged.
Dankelov had gone down to the wardroom for breakfast earlier, heard the news, and returned to Cabin C, which he shared with Lawrence Emry. He sat on his bunk and stared out the single small porthole and allowed his mind to roam. The emotional upheaval he underwent shook his shoulders.
When the taps on his door came, it took a moment for him to compose himself.
“Yes?”
“Valeri? May I come in?”
“Yes, Dane.”
The door opened wide against the locker at the foot of the bunk and Brande slipped inside. He offered a weak grin to Dankelov, then sat on the opposite bunk.
“Did you know someone on the Tashkent?” Brande asked him. “No, I do not think so. Nevertheless, the accident is senseless and tragic. A microcosmic example of my country’s history and philosophy, I am afraid.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Valeri. There’s a damn good-size bonfire at the end of the tunnel. The changes taking place are all promising.”
“Perhaps. It is difficult to see at the moment.”
Brande sat leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, and his face appeared earnest. “Don’t forget the broader perspective, Valeri. What we’ve been doing this past seven years is going to reap benefits someday. For the world.”
“It moves very slowly, Dane. Our agricultural research is in its infancy, and the hungry of Ethiopia are still hungry. The oil we find does not trickle to Pakistan or Bangladesh.”
“Scientific research has not changed much,” Brande agreed. “But eventually, it has an effect. We will see the results of our work in our lifetimes.”
“I hope so. If nations do not intervene.”
“There are a few greedy and proud countries around.”
“As well as greedy and proud men,” Dankelov added.
“Yes. It is a problem here, I think.”
Dankelov understood the problem. “There is still no information from Moscow?”
“Not yet. I believe your president, or his advisors, could be categorized among those proud men, Valeri. They think they can do this on their own.”