Sea Leopard

I am anxious to see our prize, too?' Then he laughed again.

The hand of the clock on the wall clicked again. Six o-five.

* * *

Clark moved the rotary switch on the test kit for the final time, the needle on the dial flickered away from zero, and he cursed as he unclipped the kit's leads from the last of the test pins on the power supply units. Each and every one of them worked, gave a positive reading, had nothing wrong with them.

'Okay, that's it,' he said, glancing at his watch. Seven o-two. Another hour had passed, and he was still at the moment before beginning. Everything he had done during the past three hours had been necessary, and pointless.

'Very well, Clark, you'd better run a check on the power lines, from TP Seventeen, Eighteen and Twenty- Four, using the cable adaptor with the yellow sleeve, marked BFP 6016—'

'I got that,' Clark snapped, wiping his forehead, then letting his hand stray to his eyes. He rubbed at them. They felt gritty with tiredness and concentration. He squeezed them shut and opened them again. He wanted another perspective. 'Hold it, I want to talk to Lloyd again.'

He took the R/T from his pocket, and pressed its call button.

'Yes?' Lloyd said quietly a moment later. Clark pressed the R/T to his cheek.

'What's happening?'

'I' ve just been on my rounds,' Lloyd almost chuckled. There was a crackling, electric excitement in the man. He had swung away from the helpless depression of the prisoner. Now he was the schoolboy escapee. 'I managed to brief one of my chief petty officers while I was doing it.'

'What about the gates?'

There's a minimal guard outside, always has been. The repair crew won't be here before eight. The gates can be opened by two men, one to throw the switches, the other to guard him. I'll detail men as soon as we free the wardroom. Then they can smash the switches so the gates can't be closed again.'

'I agree.'

'Clark — can you give me “Leopard”? I can't risk my men and my vessel unless you do.'

'Can you kill the first guard, Lloyd, the one outside your door?' Clark snapped back at him. 'Because if you can't, then Proteus goes nowhere!' Clark, in the silence which followed, imagined Lloyd reaching under his pillow for the tiny Astra pistol he had left with him. Everything depended on Lloyd being able to kill the guard outside his cabin, retrieve the man's Kalashnikov, and release his officers from the wardroom along the corridor from his cabin.

'I — think I can,' Lloyd replied eventually. 'I'll have to, won't I?'

'And I have to repair “Leopard”, don't I?'

'Very well. Rumour has it that Panov, the scientist, is expected at any moment. The technicians on board have been informed to that effect. No later than eight o' clock.'

'It's all coming right down to the wire, uh?' When Lloyd did not reply, Clark merely added, 'I'll call you.' He replaced the R/T in his pocket. Even as he did so, he heard Aubrey's voice in his ear.

'Clark, you must begin preparing to abort “Leopard”. It will take you at least thirty to forty minutes to place the charges. You must begin at once.'

'No, dammit!'

'Clark, do as you are ordered.'

'Mister Quin gave me a job to do — maybe after that.'

'Now!'

'Not a chance.'

Rapidly, he fitted the cable adaptor to the first of the power lines Quin had designated. Positive. He cursed under, his breath. Then the second. Positive. Then the third. Positive. He sighed loudly, in anger and frustration.

'Fit the charges, Clark — please begin at once,' Aubrey commanded with icy malice.

* * *

Ardenyev watched the MiL-8 transport helicopter sag down towards the landing pad. The down-draught, exceeding the wind's force, stirred the dust on the concrete. Behind it, the sky was beginning to lighten, a thin-grey blue streak above the hills, almost illusory beyond the hard white lighting of the helicopter base. Ardenyev glanced at his watch. Seven-ten. The admiral and Panov were almost an hour early. Viktor Teplov — face-saving, loyal Teplov — had picked up the information somewhere that Dolohov was on his way, and revived his officer with coffee and one large vodka, which Ardenyev had felt was like swallowing hot oil. Then he had commandeered a staff car and driver and accompanied Ardenyev to the helicopter base. The MiL-8 hovered like an ungainly wasp, then dropped on to its wheels. Immediately, ducking ground crew placed the chocks against the wheels, even as the noise of the rotors descended through the scale and the rotor dish dissolved from its shimmering, circular form into flashes of darker grey in the rush of air. Then they were individual blades, then the door opened as the rotors sagged into stillness. Dolohov's foot was on the ladder as soon as it was pushed into place for him. He descended with a light, firm step, inheriting a kingdom. Men snapped to attention, saluting. A smaller, more rotund figure in a fur-collared coat stepped more gingerly down behind him. Panov. Dolohov waited for the scientist, then ushered him towards Ardenyev.

Ardenyev sucked spit from his cheeks and moistened his dry throat. He saluted crisply, then Dolohov extended his hand and shook Ardenyev's warmly.

'May I introduce Captain Valery Ardenyev,' he said, turning to Panov. The scientist appeared intrigued, his face pale, almost tinged with blue, in the cold lighting. He shook Ardenyev's hand limply.

'Ah — our hero of the Soviet Union,' he said with evident irony. Dolohov's face clouded with the insult to Ardenyev.

'Thank you, Comrade Academician Professor Panov,' Ardenyev replied woodenly. He was enjoying fulfilling Panov's prejudices, meeting one of his stereotypes. 'It was nothing.'

Dolohov appeared bemused. 'Shall we go?' he remarked. 'Directly to the submarine pen, I think?'

'If you please,' Panov said primly.

'This way, Admiral — Professor. The car is waiting.'

'I'm sorry you lost so many men,' Dolohov murmured confidentially as they walked towards the car. Panov, who was intended to overhear the remark, appeared at a loss, even embarrassed.

'So am I, sir — so am I.' Teplov came to attention, then opened the rear door of the Zil. Ardenyev smiled wearily. 'A ten minute drive, sir, and you'll be able to see her. HMS Proteus, pride of the fleet!'

Dolohov laughed uproariously, slapping Ardenyev on the back before getting into the car.

Chapter Fourteen: RUNNING

Hyde woke, and reacted instantly to the cold air that had insinuated itself into their burrow. It was damp. He knew there was a fog or heavy mist outside, even though he could not see beyond the bush. There was greyness there, which might have been the dawn. He felt his shoulder protest with a sharp pain as he tried to rub his cold arms, and he stifled his groan as he remembered what had roused him. The running feet of deer along the track behind the rifle range, past the bush and the entrance into their hole. He looked immediately at the girl. She was soundly asleep.

He listened. And tested his shoulder, moving fingers and wrist and elbow and forearm. Slightly better. He touched the crude, dirty bandage. Dry and stiff. He investigated his resources. His body felt small, shrunken, empty and weak. But not leaden, as the previous night. His head felt more solid, too, less like a gathering of threads or misty tendrils. There was some clarity of thought, some speed of comprehension. He would have to do as he was. He was all he had, all they had.

The hoofbeats of the three or four deer who had fled past their hiding place died away, swallowed by what he was now convinced was a heavy mist. He listened to the silence, slow and thick outside the hole. He stretched his legs carefully, not disturbing the girl, felt the expected cramp, eased it away, rotated his pelvis as well as he