handkerchief, and return it to a zippered pocket of his coat before answering the question. “You must have read some of the newspaper stories about him. Spain… Africa… all over, he's been risking his life for a lark.”
“So?”
“Suicidal,” Lin said, as though it should have been obvious to them.
Harry was astonished and not a little angry. “You're saying he stayed behind to die?”
Lin shrugged.
Harry didn't even need to think about that. “Good God, George, not Brian. What's the matter with you?”
“He might have been hurt,” Pete said. “A fall.”
Claude Jobert said, “Fell, hit his head, unable to cry out, and we were so eager to get out of there and back here, we didn't notice.”
Harry was skeptical.
“It's possible,” Pete insisted.
Dubious, Harry said, “Maybe. All right, we'll go back and look. You and me, Pete. Two snowmobiles.”
Roger stepped forward. “I'm going with you.”
“Two can handle it,” Harry said, quickly fixing his goggles in place.
“I insist,” Breskin said. “Look, Brian handled himself damn well out there on the ice today. He didn't hesitate when he had to go over that cliff to get a line around George. I'd have thought about it twice myself. But he didn't. He just went. And if it was me in trouble now, he'd do whatever he could. I know it. So you can count me in on this whether or not you need me.”
As far as Harry could remember, that was the longest speech that Roger Breskin had made in months. He was impressed. “Okay, then. You'll come along. You're too damn big to argue with.”
The
He had already begun to make fish
When Gorov entered the room, Sergei Belyaev, the diving officer on duty, said, “Captain, will you help me talk sense to Leonid?” He gestured at a young seaman first class who was monitoring the alarm board.
Gorov was in a hurry, but he did not want Belyaev to sense his tension. “What's the trouble?”
Belyaev grimaced. “Leonid's on the first mess shift, and I'm on the fifth.”
“Ah.”
“I've promised if he'll change shifts with me, I'll fix him up with an absolutely gorgeous blonde in Kaliningrad. The woman is nothing short of spectacular, I swear to you. Breasts like melons. She could arouse a granite statue. But poor, dumb Leonid won't deal with me.”
Smiling, Gorov said, “Of course he won't. What woman could be more exciting than the dinner prepared for us? Besides, who would be simple-minded enough to believe that an absolutely gorgeous blonde with breasts like melons would have anything to do with you, Sergei Belyaev?”
Laughter echoed in the low-ceilinged chamber.
Grinning broadly, Belyaev said, “Perhaps I should offer him a few rubles instead.”
“Much more realistic,” Gorov said. “Better yet, U.S. dollars if you have any.” He walked to the chart table, sat on one of the stools, and put a folded printout in front of Emil Zhukov. It was the message that he had run through the coder and communications computer only a few minutes ago. “Something else for you to read,” he said quietly.
Zhukov pushed aside his novel and adjusted his wire-rimmed eyeglasses, which had slid down on his long nose. He unfolded the paper.
MESSAGE
NAVAL MINISTRY
TIME: 1900 MOSCOW
FROM: DUTY OFFICER
TO: CAPTAIN N. GOROV
SUBJECT: YOUR LAST TRANSMISSION #34-D
MESSAGE BEGINS:
YOUR REQUEST UNDER CONSIDERATION BY ADMIRALTY STOP CONDITIONAL PERMISSION GRANTED STOP MAKE NECESSARY COURSE CHANGES STOP CONFIRMATION OR CANCELLATION OF PERMISSION WILL BE TRANSMITTED TO YOU AT 1700 HOURS YOUR TIME STOP
After he had chewed on his lower lip for a moment, Zhukov turned his intense stare on Gorov and said, “What's this?”
Gorov kept his voice low, but he tried not to seem secretive to any crewmen who might be watching. “What is it? I think you can see what it is, Emil. A forgery.”
The first officer didn't know what to say.
Gorov leaned toward him. “It's for your protection.”
“My protection?”
Gorov plucked the printout from his first officer's hands and carefully refolded it. He put it in his shirt pocket. “We're going to plot a course and set out at once for that iceberg.” He tapped the chart table between them. “We're going to rescue those Edgeway scientists and Brian Dougherty.”
“You don't actually have Ministry permission. A forgery won't stand up to—”
“Does one need permission to save lives?”
“Please, sir. You know what I mean.”
“Once we're under way, I'll give you the forged communique that you just read. It will be yours to keep, your protection if there's ever an inquiry.”
“But I saw the real message.”
“Deny it.”
“That might not be easy.”
Gorov said, “I am the only one aboard this ship who knows that you saw it. I will tell any court-martial magistrate that I showed you the forgery and nothing else.”
“If I'm ever interrogated, there's a chance drugs would be used. Besides, I just don't like going against orders when—”
“One way or another, you'll be going against orders. Mine or theirs. Now, listen to me, Emil. This is right. This is the thing we should do. And I will protect you. You do feel I'm a man of my word, I hope?”
“I have no doubt,” Zhukov said immediately and finally broke eye contact, as though embarrassed by the thought that he should ever doubt his captain in any way.
“Then? Emil?” When the first officer remained silent, Gorov said quietly but forcefully, “Time is wasting, Lieutenant. If we're going after them, then for God's sake let's not wait until they're dead.”
Zhukov took off his glasses. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to them. “I've served with you how long?”
“Seven years.”
“There have been tense moments,” Zhukov said.
Like this one, Gorov thought.
Zhukov lowered his hands from his face but didn't open his eyes. “That time the Norwegian corvette dropped depth charges on us when it caught us in Oslo Fjord.”
“Tense indeed.”
“Or that cat-and-mouse game with the American submarine off the coast of Massachusetts.”
“We made fools of them, didn't we?” Gorov said. “We've made a good team.”
“Never once have I seen you panic or issue orders that I thought were inappropriate.”
