Straits of Power

“Come with me, please,” Johansen said.

Ilse made sure the people near her had things well under control, then silently followed the captain. His manner suggested that he didn’t want to talk. He waved for the marine bodyguards to accompany them.

Johansen positioned the two marines outside a metal door that was posted with security warnings. He led Ilse inside. The small room had a workstation like her other one.

“We’re putting you on something else, Lieutenant.”

Ilse was puzzled, then annoyed and angry. “Is this about my security clearance?”

“First of all, that sort of attitude won’t help anyone.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“More to the point, we need you at the moment for something new and different. Too new and different, is the problem.”

“Sir?” Now Ilse was confused.

“The Russians have deployed the first in a new class of nuclear-powered fast-attack submarines.”

“I thought their fleet was mostly defunct.”

“When you start out with a few hundred operational subs at the end of the Cold War, and are down to a couple of dozen twenty years later, mostly defunct is mostly accurate.”

“So…”

“The two dozen SSNs they’ve got left are among the best in the world. They’ve had decades now to perfect the lessons they learned from the Walker spy ring, and from other spies we probably still haven’t caught.”

“You’re saying two dozen very good subs is a lot?”

“It’s a lot when they’re playing at being neutral, while they hold over us the threat of joining the Axis side. It’s bad enough they announced after your last trip on Challenger that they’d consider any American use of hydrogen bombs on land in the Eastern Hemisphere as a direct attack on Russia herself, and retaliation in kind would be swift and merciless.”

Ilse nodded.

“We need to know everything we can about this new sub. The code name we gave it is the Snow Tiger class.”

“Like with the old NATO names, Golf or Delta or whatever?”

“Correct. The Russians themselves we do know designate it the 868U, and they call the class the Malakhit-B, after the Malakhit Design Bureau, their people who came up with the thing.”

“Where do I come in?”

“You’re aware that since the war broke out and Russia declared her supposed neutrality, we had to stop sending American spy subs into the Barents Sea?” The Barents lay north and east of Norway, and led to the Russian Northern Fleet ports and supporting maritime-bomber airfields.

“Too provocative if one was detected?”

“Exactly. But a submarine like the Snow Tiger isn’t built to rust at a pier, like most ex-Soviet Navy hulls are doing. This one came out, just a little while ago. It went through the G-I-UK Gap according to standard procedures for innocent passage. While verifying that it wasn’t actually a German unit, we got to look and listen…. This console has access to everything we have on the Snow Tiger so far, which isn’t much. We want you to go through the sound profile, the visuals, tell us everything you can about this ship.”

“Don’t you have experts who are much better at this sort of thing?”

“Of course. You’re not the only person on this.”

Ilse winced.

“But the admiral wants your conclusions. You have a unique perspective, from working with the sonar people on Challenger, and from your experiences on her in combat against advanced new Axis submarines. You’re available, whereas battle-seasoned sonar men are deployed fighting other battles.”

“Understood, sir.”

“The admiral does not expect miracles. He does want a second opinion.”

“About what, exactly?”

The captain pointed at the console desk. “That manila folder has your instructions. Basically, tell us everything you can about the Snow Tiger’s hull design and materials, propulsion system, sensors that you see or suspect, and anything else you can think of. It’s open season. Give us all you’ve got.”

“How long do I have?”

“I need your initial findings by eighteen hundred.” Six P.M. “Food, drink, coffee will be brought to you. There’s a rest room through this side door here. You need anything, or see anything important you think I should know before eighteen hundred, call me. The green handset is my direct line; the staff will find me if I’m not in my office. The other phones aren’t live, by the way. Your console does have access to a walled-off portion of one of the basement supercomputers.”

“When will I go back to helping Challenger?”

“Between you and me, Lieutenant, I’ve no idea if there’s even an if, let alone a when.”

“But you said—”

“Just stick to the Snow Tiger until you’re instructed otherwise. Step one, sign these receipts and security forms.”

“But what about my team outside in the war room?”

“They’ll be perfectly fine without you. METOC has plenty of bench strength, believe me.”

“Why do I have the feeling I’m being locked up and shunted aside?”

The captain stared at Ilse. “You tell me. From what we do know, the Snow Tiger design is very good, and more are being built. We can’t afford to have Ivans trailing our fast-attacks in a war zone, putting our boomers under greater threat, snooping outside our submarine bases, gathering intell for Moscow to pass to Germany. To me this sounds like a choice assignment for someone with your credentials and rank. If you think you’re being locked up, maybe you’ve got a persecution complex. Outward paranoia is often a warning sign of a guilty conscience. Ever since that U-boat cruise-missile attack against Newport News, questions are being asked everywhere about how the Germans could have known Challenger’s sailing time so exactly.”

“That wasn’t a nice thing to say, sir. With all due respect.” Actually, Ilse found the comment stinging.

“I’m not nice, this war isn’t nice, the Snow Tiger isn’t nice, and most of all counterespionage isn’t nice. If you like, think of this as a test of your loyalty as well as your skill.” Johansen pointed abruptly at the console again. “Come up with some good stuff for Admiral Hodgkiss in your written report by eighteen hundred. Hold back, throw in red herrings, we’ll know. Like I said, other people are looking at the same data.”

“What if I—”

“Draw a blank? Your value to us will be called into question.”

“You know I’m not a specialist at this kind of work.”

“Commander Fuller’s reports say you’re adaptable and smart. I certainly hope he didn’t exaggerate for personal reasons.” Ilse held her tongue with difficulty. Johansen knew it. “Private acts have public consequences. You’re an adult, you should know that without being told….” The captain looked impatiently at his watch.

“This is—”

He waved a hand forcefully to cut Ilse off. “Look, the admiral has many demands on his time. Fighting with the FBI over you could become a distraction. More and more signs do point to there being a mole. The FBI is under tremendous pressure to find the culprit and halt the leak. The sheer weight of personnel numbers versus a suspected junior navy staffer is on their side, and the politics and jurisdictional issues remain in flux. If Admiral Hodgkiss starts to get too much heat from above, he’ll only stick his neck out so far.”

“But he’s a four-star admiral!”

“One of several, and not the most senior. Every one of whom wants to be the chief of naval operations before they retire. And each of whom has to please civilian Pentagon and cabinet secretaries, and the U.S. Senate, to ever get that top-most uniformed job…. Being familiar with the admiral as I am from two solid years as his right-hand man, if your utility declines, so will his support.”

“Then what? I’m thrown to the wolves? To that lynch mob of so-called special agents?”

“Again, Lieutenant, you said it, not me.”