The Hunt for Red October

“Name’s Dwyer. They took him right to sick bay, Admiral. He’s out of action. Tell Washington. Whatever this operation is supposed to be, we have to rethink it.”

“Roger. Out,” Admiral Blackburn said.

“Whatever we decide to do,” Admiral White observed, “it will have to be fast. We must get our helo off to the Pigeon in two hours to have her back before dawn.”

Ryan knew exactly what that would mean. There were only four men at sea who both knew what was going on and were close enough to do anything. He was the only American among them. The Kennedy was too far away. The Nimitz was close enough, but using her would mean getting the data to her by radio, and Washington was not enthusiastic about that. The only other alternative was to assemble and dispatch another intelligence team. There just wasn’t enough time.

“Let’s get this case open, Admiral. I need to see what this plan is.” They picked up a machinist’s mate on the way to White’s cabin. He proved to be an excellent locksmith.

“Dear God!” Ryan breathed, reading the contents of the case. “You better see this.”

“Well,” White said a few minutes later, “that is clever.”

“It’s cute, all right,” Ryan said. “I wonder what genius thought it up. I know I’m going to be stuck with this. I’ll ask Washington for permission to take a few officers along with me.”

Ten minutes later they were back in communications. White had the compartment cleared. Then Jack spoke over the encrypted voice channel. Both hoped the scrambling device worked.

“I hear you fine, Mr. President. You know what happened to the helicopter.”

“Yes, Jack, most unfortunate. I need you to pinch-hit for us.”

“Yes, sir, I anticipated that.”

“I can’t order you, but you know what the stakes are. Will you do it?”

Ryan closed his eyes. “Affirmative.”

“I appreciate it, Jack.”

Sure you do. “Sir, I need your authorization to take some help with me, a few British officers.”

“One,” the president said.

“Sir, I need more than that.”

“One.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll be moving in an hour.”

“You know what’s supposed to happen?”

“Yes, sir. The survivor had the ops orders with him. I’ve already read them over.”

“Good luck, Jack.”

“Thank you, sir. Out.” Ryan flipped off the satellite channel and turned to Admiral White. “Volunteer once, just one time, and see what happens.”

“Frightened?” White did not appear amused.

“Damned right I am. Can I borrow an officer? A guy who speaks Russian if possible. You know what this may involve.”

“We’ll see. Come on.”

Five minutes later they were back in White’s cabin awaiting the arrival of four officers. All turned out to be lieutenants, all under thirty.

“Gentlemen,” the admiral began, “this is Commander Ryan. He needs an officer to accompany him on a voluntary basis for a mission of some importance. Its nature is secret and most unusual, and there may be some danger involved. You four have been asked here because of your knowledge of Russian. That is all I can say.”

“Going to talk to a Sov submarine?” the oldest of them chirped up. “I’m your man. I have a degree in the language, and my first posting was aboard HMS Dreadnought.”

Ryan weighed the ethics of accepting the man before telling him what was involved. He nodded, and White dismissed the others.

“I’m Jack Ryan.” He extended his hand.

“Owen Williams. So, what are we up to?”

“The submarine is named Red October—”

“Krazny Oktyabr.” Williams smiled.

“And she’s attempting to defect to the United States.”

“Indeed? So that’s what we’ve been mucking about for. Jolly decent of her CO. Just how certain are we of this?”

Ryan took several minutes to detail the intelligence information. “We blinkered instructions to him, and he seems to have played along. But we won’t know for sure until we get aboard. Defectors have been known to change their minds, it happens a lot more often than you might imagine. Still want to come along?”

“Miss a chance like this? Exactly how do we get aboard, Commander?”

“The name’s Jack. I’m CIA, not navy.” He went on to explain the plan.

“Excellent. Do I have time to pack some things?”

“Be back here in ten minutes,” White said.

“Aye aye, sir.” Williams drew to attention and left.

White was on the phone. “Send Lieutenant Sinclair to see me.” The admiral explained that he was the commander of the Invincible’s marine detachment. “Perhaps you might need another friend along.”

The other friend was an FN nine-millimeter automatic pistol with a spare clip and a shoulder holster that disappeared nicely under his jacket. The mission orders were shredded and burned before they left.

Admiral White accompanied Ryan and Williams to the flight deck. They stood at the hatch, looking at the Sea King as its engines screeched into life.

“Good luck, Owen.” White shook hands with the youngster, who saluted and moved off.

“My regards to your wife, Admiral.” Ryan took his hand.

“Five and a half days to England. You’ll probably see her before I do. Be careful, Jack.”

Ryan smiled crookedly. “It’s my intelligence estimate, isn’t it? If I’m right, it’ll just be a pleasure cruise — assuming the helicopter doesn’t crash on me.”

“The uniform looks good on you, Jack.”

Ryan hadn’t expected that. He drew himself to attention and saluted as he’d been taught at Quantico. “Thank you, Admiral. Be seeing you.”

White watched him enter the chopper. The crew chief slid the door shut, and a moment later the Sea King’s engines increased power. The helicopter lifted unevenly for a few feet before its nose dipped to port and began a climbing turn to the south. Without flying lights the dark shape was lost to sight in less than a minute.

33N 75W

The Scamp rendezvoused with the Ethan Allen a few minutes after midnight. The attack sub took up station a thousand yards astern of the old missile boat, and both cruised in an easy circle as their sonar operators listened to the approach of a diesel-powered vessel, the USS Pigeon. Three of the pieces were now in place. Three more were to come.

The Red October

“There is no choice,” Melekhin said. “I must continue to work on the diesel.”

“Let us help you,” Svyadov said.

“And what do you know of diesel fuel pumps?” Melekhin asked in a tired but kind voice. “No, Comrade. Surzpoi, Bugayev, and I can handle it alone. There is no reason to expose you also. I will report back in an hour.”

“Thank you, Comrade.” Ramius clicked the speaker off. “This cruise has been a troublesome one. Sabotage. Never in my career has something like this happened! If we cannot fix the diesel…We have only a few hours more of battery power, and the reactor requires a total overhaul and safety inspection. I swear to you, Comrades, if we find the bastard who did this to us…”

“Shouldn’t we call for help?” Ivanov asked.

“This close to the American coast, and perhaps an imperialist submarine still on our tail? What sort of ‘help’ might we get, eh? Comrades, perhaps our problem is no accident, have you considered that? Perhaps we have become pawns in a murderous game.” He shook his head. “No, we cannot risk this. The Americans must not get