Sea Leopard

confined to the wardroom and crew quarters 'for security reasons'.

Ardenyev had watched Lloyd come round, come to an almost instant wakefulness, and he had immediately warmed to the man and granted him his respect and his wariness. Lloyd would now sabotage 'Leopard' in a moment, if he could. Ardenyev stood before the captain of the submarine and his two senior officers at attention, like a junior officer presenting his compliments. It was part of the charade he was now required to play.

'As I was saying, Captain,' he began again, having been interrupted by an expletive from Thurston, 'we very much apologise for the manner in which we were required to board your vessel. However, it is lucky that we did. Your purification system had developed a fault that would almost certainly have proved fatal had we not arrived.' He said it without a flicker of amusement or self-mockery. The truth did not matter.

His men, his team were missing, presumed dead. Vanilov, brokenly, had told him he had seen Kuzin catch a whipping, freed tendril of steel cable across his back, and he had seen him flung away into the dark, his body tumbled and twisted in a way that would have been impossible had it been unbroken. Nikitin had fallen beneath the weight of the Proteus, forgetting in surprise to loosen his hold on the cutting gear. Stabs of blue flame had come from the cutting-pipes as the silt had boiled round, and swallowed, Nikitin. Shadrin he had not seen at all. Teplov and Vanilov alone had clung to the submarine, been dragged through the water and the boiling mist of silt and mud, rested dazed and exhausted and were slowly being poisoned by nitrogen in the blood until Teplov had trawled back to the stern and found Vanilov and boarded the Proteus through the aft escape hatch, into the electric-motor room. They had waited in the slowly-draining compartment for five minutes, until it was safe to emerge into the submarine. Dizziness and exhaustion, yes, but not the bends. Teplov had put the neutralising agent through the aft purifiers, and then come seeking his commanding officer.

Ardenyev felt his left cheek adopt a tic, the last, fading tremors of weariness and shock. These men in front of him had killed three of his men, indirectly killed Blue Section. The knowledge that he would have done precisely the same, threatened as they had felt they were, intruded upon his anger, dimming it. Lloyd, the captain, was watching him carefully, weighing him, the expression on his face like a suspicion that they had met before, or always been intended to meet.

'Fucking piracy, that's what it is,' Thurston offered into the silence, and Hayter rumbled his agreement. 'How do you explain the guns if you're here to help us?'

Ardenyev smiled innocently. “We understand your concern with security. We would not wish to be blamed for any — mistakes you might make, any damage you might cause to sensitive equipment. It is merely a precaution.'

'Locking up my crew is just another precaution, I presume?' Lloyd asked sardonically, sitting in a relaxed manner in one of the sonar operators' chairs, which he swung to and fro slowly, almost as if he intended mesmerising the Russian. A relaxed, diffident, confident child. Ardenyev was pricked by his seeming indifference to the fate of Nikitin and the others.

'Captain, I would understand, even expect, some reaction such as that of Commander Thurston translated into action, either from one of your officers, or some of your men. That would only complicate an already complicated situation. We are here to help you — ' Here, sincerity seeped into his voice in a measured, precise dose —'because it is our fault that you are in this situation.'

'You admit it, then?'

'What else can we do? The captain and officers of the submarine Grishka will be severely disciplined for their provocative action.'

'This is unreal —!' Thurston exploded.

'Not at all — is it, Captain?' Ardenyev said with a smirk. 'It will be the agreed version of events.'

'How do you explain the cuts and bruises on two of my officers?' Lloyd enquired. 'The air purifiers struck them, I suppose?'

'Falling to the deck, I suppose,' Ardenyev replied, 'overcome by the lack of oxygen. I came aboard when your signals from inside stopped — you tapped out one word, HELP, before that happened. You don't remember?'

Lloyd shook his head. 'No, I don't. Oxygen starvation plays tricks with memory, obviously.'

Ardenyev sighed with pleasure. 'I see we understand each other. Captain.'

'What happens now?'

'From the damage report, there will be some repairs, to your buoyancy and to your hydroplanes. Then you will be towed back to Pechenga, our nearest naval base, for sufficient repairs to allow you to return to Faslane under your own power.' He spread his hands innocently in front of him. 'It is the least we can do, apart from the sincerest diplomatic apologies, of course. It will take little more than a day or two before you are on your way home.' He beamed.

'If your mission is so humanitarian, why is your petty-officer carrying a Kalashnikov with the safety-catch in the “Off” position?' Thurston remarked sourly.

'Security.' Ardenyev sighed again. He was tiring of the charade. It was not important. Everyone knew the truth. 'Now, I will have to contact the rescue ship Karpaty and arrange for divers and equipment to be sent down to us.'

'I'm sure you're reasonably familiar with our communications?' Lloyd remarked with forced lightness, as if his situation had come home to him in a more bitter, starker way.

'Thank you, yes.' Ardenyev's hand released the butt of the Makarov pistol thrust into the belt of his immersion suit. He tousled his hair in an attempt to retain the mocking, false lightness of his conversation with the British officers. He wanted to clamber back into the fiction of a terrible accident, a life-saving boarding-party, apologetic repairs in Pachenga, as into a child's tree-house. But he could not. Whipping steel cables, boiling flame from a crashed helicopter, accompanied him vividly to the communications console.

As if admitting that the fiction could not be sustained, he drew the Makarov and motioned the three British officers to the far side of the control room before he seated himself in front of the console.

* * *

'These pictures were taken forty minutes after the previous set,' Aubrey remarked. 'You are telling me, Captain Clark —' the excessive politeness seemed designed to stave off any admission of disaster — 'that since no divers have resurfaced, they must be on board Proteus'?

'Right.'

'Why?'

'They couldn't stay down more than ten minutes at that depth. Then they'd come back up slowly, but by now they'd be back on board the launch. Sure, the launch has returned to take station on the port beam of Karpaty —' Here Clark nodded in Copeland's direction — 'but as far as I can make out, they're loading heavy cutting gear from the rescue ship. And these men on deck. More divers. In full rig, not scuba gear. They're going down. Therefore, you can bet Ardenyev's men are on board.'

'But why and how would Lloyd have allowed him on board?' Aubrey asked in exasperation. He was baffled and plagued by the murky high-resolution and light-intensified photographs transmitted from the Nimrod. Clark seemed to be reading tea leaves. The whole matter seemed like a fairy tale.

'He wouldn't need to —'

'The escape hatches,' Copeland blurted out. 'After Phaeton went down a couple of years ago, all the hatches had to open two-way. They'd know that, dammit!'

'Exactly,' Clark said drily. 'Ardenyev would have let himself in.'

'Eastoe reports a change in position of Proteus.'

'Lloyd trying to get rid of his guests,' Clark commented acidly. 'Someone's in there, you can bet on it.'

'Then none of our messages got through?' Aubrey asked forlornly. “Leopard” will not have been destroyed.'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Clark — what will they do now, for heaven's sake?' Aubrey's eye rested on Giles Pyott's expressionless face with a glance of pure malevolence. Pyott's implacability refuted the accusation of the gaze. Clark cleared his throat, breaking the tension between the soldier and the intelligence agent. Aubrey shrugged.

'Raise her — depending on the damage, or simply take what they want down there. The situation's complicated by the fact that “Leopard” isn't operational at present. I guess they'll raise her and tow her into port.'

'What?' Pyott asked in disbelief. 'That would be piracy. The international repercussions would be —