H.M.S. Unseen

much to talk to him about. Iain MacLean was one of the very few people in any navy to whom he was prepared to defer in matters of strategy, history, and intention. They were both thoroughly learned men in the art of Naval warfare, its execution, and its prevention.

Dinner that evening was substantial. They began with wild, local smoked salmon, served with a white burgundy. Then Angus brought in a large, hot, baked Scottish game pie, which Kathy thought was about the best thing she had ever tasted. She could not identify its contents, but according to Sir Iain neither could anyone else. “I’ve always thought it was grilled stag with slices of barbecued golden eagle,” he said. “Annie’s got a warlock in the village who makes them.”

“Don’t listen to him, my dear,” said Lady MacLean. “It’s a perfectly normal game pie, made by Mrs. MacKay. She also makes them for The George. I expect some of the meat has been frozen, but it’s got some pheasant, grouse, and venison…and I think a few oysters.”

“Well, I think it’s delicious,”, said Kathy. “And so does Arnold. I think that’s his twelfth slice.”

“Eighth,” muttered Admiral Morgan, chewing luxuriously and sipping a glass of velvet 199 °Chateau Lynch Bages.

Sir Iain went out and produced a bottle of chilled sauternes, a 199 °Chateau Chartreuse, which they sipped with the poached pears Lady MacLean served for what she referred to as “pudding.” Which her husband took pains to point out was a particularly “bloody silly English phrase for dessert…used mainly as a way for pretentious middle-class snobs to differentiate themselves from the riffraff.”

“Well, I’m not a pretentious middle-class snob,” said Lady MacLean with an edge of indignation.

“No. I know you’re not, since your father’s a ninth generation Scottish earl. That’s why I said mainly. I mean…‘pudding.’ What kind of a word is that? Bloody ridiculous.”

“Well that’s what our schools taught us. That’s what everyone I know says.”

“Most of ’em probably only say it because you do. That’s what snobbery is…. Kathy…how about some sauternes…with your pudding?”

By 2230 the party was drawing to a close. Lady MacLean announced that she was on her way to bed, and Kathy said she thought that was a sound plan. Admiral MacLean said he thought he and Arnold might wander over to the study for a medicinal glass of port before retiring and chat about old times for a half hour.

They walked across the hall together, and Sir Iain closed the door behind them. He put another dried log in the dying embers of the fire and poured them each a glass of Taylor’s ’78 port from a decanter. The log crackled into life, and they sat among the admiral’s collection of books, in deep leather armchairs. Sir Iain touched a button on a music system to his left, and the unmistakable sounds of Duke Ellington drifted around the room.

“Goddamned Brits,” said Admiral Morgan. “You guys have a real way of living life, which I sometimes think we have not quite mastered in the U.S.”

“We’ve just been at it a bit longer,” said the Scotsman, smiling. “Probably learned a bit more about what’s important. We’re not here that long, you know.”

“We’re too busy being successful,” said the American. “Still, I guess we might get there in the end.”

“Actually, I’d rather like you to get there now,” said Sir Iain. “What is it, Arnold, that really brings you here? As if I don’t know.”

“If you do, tell me.”

“It’s that damned submarine, isn’t it.”

“Yes, Iain. Yes it is.”

“And what is it that you want from me? I’m long retired as you know. Very out of touch, really.”

“I know one thing. Your brain’s no more out of touch than mine is. I just want to know what you think. Is it still floating? Or is it history? Is everyone really dead?”

“Well, Arnold, I thought after two weeks that they would have found it. And I’m now drawn to the conclusion that it isn’t there. Look here, they found the bloody Affray after five weeks, without any modern equipment. My opinion is that Unseen is not wrecked and did not destroy herself. No one hit her with a torpedo. Otherwise, something would most definitely have been found.”

“Well, where is she?”

“Three possibilities. The crew went berserk and stole her to get away from their wives. But you might have thought they’d have run out of fuel by now. The second is that the ship was hijacked, for political purposes. The third that she was stolen.”

“Which one do you like best?”

“Don’t like any of them. But I don’t believe she’s sitting undiscovered somewhere in the English Channel. And, if you press me, the third. If she’d been hijacked for some political purpose, I guess we’d have heard. So I think she was boarded and stolen, and that she’s out there, and that the crew are dead. I do not believe Lieutenant Commander Colley would have left the training area. But I am 99 percent sure that submarine is not in the training area anyway. So someone else must have driven the submarine out.”

“That’s precisely what I think, Iain. But my real question is firstly…who? Who’s driving her with such skill she’s never been caught for nearly two months? And where did she get her fuel from?”

“We’re dealing here,” replied Sir Iain, “not just with a competent submariner. We are into the realm of sheer daring, ruthlessness, originality, illegality, and, not least, specialized competence in the Upholder-Class.

“There’s only one man in all the world to fit that list. But, if I am to believe my American friends, that man’s dead.”

“If I believed that, I would not be sitting here with you. Iain, I think he’s still alive, and I think he’s out there, driving Unseen.”

“So, since you mention it, do I. Have for some time now. How about another glass of port?”

“I think we may need another glass of port. Since we have more or less established that some kind of an Arab homicidal maniac is riding round in a silent submarine waiting to do something big. I cannot tell you what it will be like back home if he strikes again. It will finish this Republican administration.”

“Shouldn’t wonder. Trouble is, I don’t know how to catch him. We don’t know where he is within 10,000 miles. Still, she was only on safety workup…she would not have much on board in the way of serious weaponry.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Dick Birley and I came to much the same conclusion. But it’s kinda tiresome, just sitting still, waiting for something to happen.”

“I don’t really think you have a choice, Arnold. What can anyone do? Unless he makes a mistake. But judging by his track record, he’s not especially prone to those.”

“I can get the Navy to put everyone on a heightened alert, for some spurious reason. But my fear remains, despite the apparent lack of weapons, that Adnam plans to hit another aircraft carrier.”

“You think his luck might hold that long? I doubt it. I think if he tried again, you chaps would probably get him. Nonetheless, it is a worry. But there’s not much to be done…we just have to hope to God he makes a mistake.”

The two admirals retired for the night at 2330. And Arnold Morgan lay next to the sleeping Kathy, trying to think of the glorious stretches of water they would see the next day on Sir Iain’s boat. Trying to cast from his mind the specter of Ben Adnam at the helm of another rogue submarine.

201200MAY05. 15.52S, 55.10E. Course 360. Speed 9.

The Santa Cecilia refueled Unseen for the final time shortly after midnight, 200 miles off the Bay of Antongil on the northern coast of Madagascar, close to the remote French Island of Tromelin. There remained just seventeen days of the journey back to Bandar Abbas, running deep up the Indian Ocean to the Gulf of Iran.

The submarine had run perfectly all the way, but they were very short of food and water, and Commander Adnam was pleased to restock the galley.

Back at Bandar Abbas, eagerly awaiting the arrival, was Admiral Badr. His plans to get the submarine home, without the prying eye of the U.S. satellite seeing them, were well in place. He was confident no one would see Unseen enter the new dry dock, and confident no one could possibly photograph her once she was inside.

The Iranians had a very good hold on the U.S. satellite patterns and were able to predict accurately enough the gaps in overhead coverage. The submarine must make its 14-mile surface run across the shallow water to the