exceeding your authority. In deference to your long service and good intentions, the court will not impose any jail sentence or fine. You will be discharged from the service without a pension.”
The former Commander of the Northern Fleet stood silently for a few moments, then said softly, “Thank you for not sending me to prison.”
“We owed you that,” Ventofsky replied, “but you owe the State for your actions as well. Use the time here to write your report. Do not communicate with Sergetev or anyone in your former command except through my office. I expect you’ll also want to make plans for your retirement.”
Inwardly, Kirichenko almost cheered. The Russian Navy did not want a long, public trial, and neither did he. They’d already finished the investigation, which meant that his secret was still safe, at least for a little while longer. The only unknowns were what did the Americans learn from their intrusion and would they announce their findings to the world? He doubted it, since they would then have to acknowledge their violation of international law and their involvement with the destruction of
He did have plans to make.
Jerry’s first breath of fresh air almost floored him.
As he filled his lungs with the stuff, he focused on the stern light of the minesweeper a thousand yards ahead of him. Looking at something in the distance helped quiet his stomach. The minesweeper was also his guide to Her Majesty’s Naval Base Clyde, or Faslane in Scotland.
Jerry swept the binoculars around the horizon. For the Irish Sea, it was good weather, with a solid overcast but a clear horizon. In the distance he could see Scotland to port, while Ireland lay to starboard. Looking aft, he could see a British Type 23 frigate following in their wake. Jerry could also see the warship’s helicopters searching on all sides of them, and
Their Royal Navy escorts had met them when they surfaced, just south of the Hebrides Islands. It was a carefully timed rendezvous that not only brought them in late in the day, but when there were no Russian satellites overhead. While it would have been preferable to return in darkness, it just wasn’t possible this far north so soon after the Summer Solstice. The sun was never far from the horizon and twilight lasted throughout the night. But as far as Jerry was concerned, that was just fine. He preferred navigating strange waters when he could see where he was going.
He’d studied the charts well enough to pick out the lights that marked the entrance to the Firth of Clyde. They were getting close to the turn.
“Bridge, Navigator. Mark the turn,” squawked the speaker on the bridge suitcase.
“Helm, bridge, left standard rudder, steady on course zero five zero.”
“Left standard rudder, steady on course zero five zero, helm aye.”
As
“Good evening, Captain, Doctor,” said Jerry.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” replied Hardy, in good spirits. “What’s our status?”
“We’re on track, Captain, and we’ve just entered the firth,” answered Millunzi. “We have good seas, good visibility, and lots of that hearty highland air.”
“Splendid! I was hoping to show Dr. Patterson some of the sights as we come into Scotland. Can you see Ailsa Craig yet?”
“Yes, sir,” Jerry responded. “You can just barely make it out, twenty degrees off the starboard bow.”
A craggy ocean pyramid, Ailsa Craig shoots up out of the sea to a height of over one thousand feet. It’s a small, barren volcanic island, only three-quarters of a mile long, in the middle of the Firth of Clyde. A spectacular sight, it is a favorite of mariners as they return home from the sea.
“Thank you, Mr. Mitchell. Dr. Patterson and I will be up here for a couple of hours, so carry on.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jerry and Millunzi.
As
Lowell Hardy felt content, for the first time in a very long while. His boat and crew had done everything he had demanded of them, and more. He looked forward to when both he and Memphis could finally rest. Looking over at Joanna Patterson, he saw that she seemed a bit gloomy. He’d seen that face once or twice before in the wardroom, usually after long hours spent on the patrol report.
“All right, Dr. Patterson. What’s with the long face?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about what I was going to tell the President. He’s leaving for the conference in a couple of weeks and I don’t have anything for him. I’ve failed in my mission to promote him as a champion of the environment.”
“Nonsense,” said Hardy sternly. “We’ve done more for him than you realize. I mean, we’ve successfully pulled off what the Jennifer Project back in the 1970s failed to do. I think that counts for a whole hell of a lot.” His reference to the attempted recovery of nuclear warheads by the
“I know, I know. It’s just that I told him there was a huge problem off the coast of Russia that could threaten prime fishing grounds and that the Russians couldn’t be trusted. Now after all this, I find out the Russians were telling the truth about the dumping of radioactive waste and he can’t even mention what we did find at the conference,” lamented Patterson.
“So you tell him the truth about what we found and that you were wrong. What’s so hard about that?”
“Lowell, you’re being naive. You just don’t do that in politics.”
“Argghh,” groaned Hardy in exasperation. “Look, there are two ways to champion a cause. One way is to identify a problem and bring it to the attention of others. That’s the route you’ve tried to take. But there is another route and that involves finding a solution to the problem. Now I’m sure you can come up with some pretty flowery phrases where the President can acknowledge the Russians’ honest efforts and then offer them money, technology, and international support to begin cleaning the mess up. There are plenty of precedents of previous administrations funding similar activities in Russia.”
Patterson’s mouth dropped open and she stared at him.
“You could even suggest trying out the cleanup procedures in a remote northern bay, you know, just in case something should go wrong, the impact on the environment would be minimized. Who knows what you’ll find when you start mucking around?” Hardy’s unspoken reference to the warhead barge was unmistakable.
A look of admiration lit up Patterson’s face. Awed, she said, “Oh, you’re good. Real good! I… I need to go below and do some typing. Thank you for your remarkable insight.” As she started to climb down from the flying bridge, she stopped, stood back up, and gave Hardy a peck on the cheek. “Thanks also for the beautiful evening.”
“Ohhh, don’t thank me yet, Doctor,” said Hardy with a playful glimmer in his eyes.
“What are you talking about now?”
“You’ll see.”
Confused, Patterson shook her head and started climbing down toward the control room. As soon as she was in the access trunk, Hardy sat down on the top of the sail, his legs hanging into the cockpit.
“You know, gentlemen, the human sense of smell is grossly underappreciated. Its powers of recovery from long-term abuse are simply astounding. She should be finding that out. right about now.”
Jerry looked perplexed, while Millunzi tried desperately to suppress his laughter. Then from below came a cry that could barely be heard by Hardy and the others. But it was unmistakably Dr. Patterson’s voice: “Oh my God!
