Sea Leopard

'Ethan, it is not an old man's vanity, or sense of hurt pride — or even senility. I am asking a serious question. Could someone get into Pechenga and destroy “Leopard” before the Russians can examine or dismantle it?'

'You're crazy, Mr Aubrey. In twenty-four hours the Russians will have that submarine turned around and on her way. There's no time to do anything.'

'I'm not sure about that.' Aubrey looked up from the narrow camp bed where he sat perched like a tired, dishevelled prisoner under the hard strip-lighting of the cupboard-like room. Clark leaned against the door, dressed like a golfer in sweater and slacks. Clark's increasing informality of dress during the past days had been a badge of defeat and of defeatism. Aubrey felt tired, directionless; yet at the same time he was possessed by the quick seductive glamour of a counter-operation. 'I'm not sure about that,' he repeated.

'You don't even know it's Pechenga,' Clark persisted.

'Satellite and Nimrod suggest it might be. There are signs of what might be preparations for Proteus's arrival at Pechenga, but not at Murmansk.' Aubrey rubbed his hands together in a washing motion. To Clark the activity suggested a pretended, mocking humility. The room was coffin-like, stale and dead, and pressed in on him uncomfortably.

'Maybe. Look, these quick-burn operations always look good on paper. Our intelligence is nil, Mr. Aubrey, and there's no time or capacity for back-up. Face facts — the Russians have Proteus on their ground, on their terms. They'll give her back.'

'I realise that,' Aubrey snapped, 'but I am not prepared simply to wait until she is handed back like a toy that no longer works!'

'Listen, Mr Aubrey,' Clark began angrily, turning from the door which he had been facing as Aubrey spoke, as if to hide the expression on his face, 'I can't give you what you want. I don't know enough about “Leopard” to be able to tell you how to destroy it effectively without blowing up the damn boat, too! The Russians may have their superman in Ardenyev, but don't put the role on to me. I can't help you.'

'Someone at Plessey, then,' Aubrey murmured disparagingly.

'You need Quin.'

'I realise that. If I get you Quin, can you do the job?'

'What?'

'I said — if I get you Quin, will you do the job? Can you do the job?'

'Job?'

'Don't be dense, dear boy. You would have to do it. You are familiar with the whole operation, you are familiar with the equipment, you are in naval intelligence, you have a great deal of field experience. Who else would I consider sending?'

'One man?'

'One particular man, yes.'

'And all I have to do is get into Pechenga, board the Proteus, destroy the equipment, and get out again with no one any the wiser?' Clark raised his hands in the air. 'You' ve really flipped, Mr Aubrey. It can't be done.'

'It must be attempted.'

'I'm not on your staff.'

'I'm sure I can arrange your temporary assignment.'

'There's no time.'

'We must try!'

'So where's Quin? Your house of cards falls down without him.'

Aubrey's face became saturnine. 'I don't know. Hyde should have arrived at Manchester airport by now. He has not done so.'

'Then he's in trouble.'

'You think so?'

Clark paced the tiny cubicle. 'You' ve spent all your time dreaming up this crazy scheme instead of worrying about realities. Your guy has to be in trouble, and you haven't even given him a thought!'

Aubrey's face registered an expression of rage, directed at Clark. Then, in admission, his look turned inwards. He had been taking an afternoon nap of the intellect. Clark was perfectly correct. He had ignored Hyde, and Hyde must now be in trouble. He clenched his fists in his lap, then got up and opened the door.

'OS map of the Coniston Water area!' he shouted into the underground room, directing the order at every one of its occupants. Pyott looked up, startled, and then reached for a telephone. 'Quickly!' He slammed the door and looked steadily at Clark. 'You are right. I have been foolishly, dangerously remiss. But if we get Quin here, we shall talk again. You are not off the hook, Ethan!'

'Neither are your guy and Quin.'

* * *

The Proteus reached a moment of equilibrium after her seeming rush from snorkel depth to the surface, and then the motion of the waves began to affect her. Ardenyev watched as the hatch above them slid back. Water dripped on him and Lloyd and the armed guard, and then the platform of the bridge was raised electronically until their heads rose above the fin of the submarine. The Proteus rolled gently in the swell of the outer harbour of Pechenga, the adjusted buoyancy bags at the stern maintaining her at the correct depth but impairing her stability.

Ardenyev smiled, and waved an arm towards the low shoreline.

'Welcome to the Soviet Union, Commander Lloyd.' Rain whipped into their faces, and fuzzy lights glowed through the dark late afternoon. Low submarine pens lay ahead of them, beyond the harbour wall with its guard towers and its anti-submarine net. The rain was chilly, mingled with sleet which numbed the side of Lloyd's face as he studied the scene with the hunched shoulders of a prisoner. The rescue ship Karpaty made cautious headway, still towing the Proteus. He turned to look back aft of the sail. Huge jellyfish bags surrounded the stern of the submarine like splints on a damaged limb. He could make out, through the white-edged spray and the driving rain, the scars and the rough repairs that had been affected beneath the surface by the rescue team. The bow of the Proteus was still angled slightly below the horizontal because of the crudity of measurement employed in inflating the bags. A bow-wave surged along the forward deck as Lloyd turned his gaze back towards Pechenga. The Karpaty had passed through the gap in the harbour wall where the net had been swung electronically away to allow her access, and Proteus was slipping, in an almost lurching, ungainly fashion between the towers on the wall. Lloyd could see faces looking from the towers; they all seemed to be grinning, and an arm waved. The sight created a sense of humiliation in him.

Ardenyev was speaking.

'I'm sorry — you were saying?' he said, indulging his sense of defeat and self-blame. He had made mistakes, fatal ones for 'Leopard'. Because the situation was so unreal, and its consequences dangerous only for a lump of inoperable equipment in the bowels of his vessel, his mind was more keenly aware of errors of judgement and tactics. He should not have been so slow in realising their danger, he should not have settled on the bottom. There seemed no limit to the catalogue of blame.

'I intrude upon your self-examination?' Ardenyev asked lightly. 'But there is no danger. No cause for alarm.'

'That's the most unreal thing of all, isn't it?' Lloyd replied.

Ardenyev ignored the reply. 'As I was saying, we will have the submarine docked in two or three hours. Of course, we will not delay you more than is necessary. Your reactor will not be run down, you will be docked in a wet dock — we can manage the repairs quite adequately without a dry dock — and you will be ready to sail in no more than forty-eight hours. That I promise you.'

'You would be able to make such a promise, of course,' Lloyd replied acidly, 'since the damage to my ship was quite precisely calculated, no doubt.'

'I'm sorry—?'

'Forget it. It was all an accident, a most unfortunate accident.'

'Of course.'

The swell was hardly discernible inside the harbour wall. Lloyd was uncomfortably aware, however, of the forward motion of the submarine and of the other vessels in the harbour basin. Pechenga was unsubstantial still,