run in the dark in this weather?' He gestured vaguely around him, encompassing the weather outside the stuffy reception hall. 'I really do think-' 'On the contrary, Admiral,' I said firmly. 'It is not everyone's idea of fun, but I am rather looking forward to a stiff workout in the morning.
Too many days of flying, of traveling ? perhaps we could finish with a sauna?' I turned my back to Vladimir. 'I understand that is a Russian tradition.'
Vladimir nodded vigorously. 'Of course. We have excellent facilities on the base itself ? if you have not experienced a true Russian sauna, you are in for a remarkable treat. It will be the highlight of your visit to Russia, I promise.' He beamed congenially, obviously delighted at my acceptance.
'At five o'clock, then,' I said.
Vladimir drifted back off into the crowd with one last friendly wave.
I heard the admiral grumbling beside me in Russian. Then he turned away from me and spoke with one of his aides. They held a brief, whispered conversation in Russian. 'Do not feel obliged, Admiral Magruder. Vladimir is well known to us for his obsession with running. But none of us would think the less of you if you decline.'
I regarded him levelly for a moment. Was there some reason the admiral wanted to keep me away from Vladimir? Or was Vladimir the contact man I had been seeking? If so, a morning run in this cruel climate was not too stiff a price to pay. 'On the contrary, Admiral. I'm sure it will help clear the cobwebs from my brain. Perhaps you would care to join us?'
I felt safe in making the offer, since the admiral was clearly not one of Vladimir's students. Probably the last time he had run had been when the limousine was too far from a heated walkway.
'We will provide security for you, of course,' the admiral said, a small bit of anger breaking through his mask of friendliness. 'I'm sure there are men among my guards who will be delighted at the prospect of an early morning run with Vladimir.'
I waved a hand grandly. 'I would not dream of imposing on them.
Surely we will be perfectly safe if we stay around the base. After all, in these days, what have we to fear from one another?'
'I cannot allow that,' the admiral said firmly. 'If anything happened to you, it would be my head.'
To the contrary, Admiral. I must confess, being constantly followed and escorted everywhere gets a bit weary for an American officer. I am sure you have had the same experience during your visits to America. Quite frankly, I relish the idea of spending some time alone running.'
'But what if-'
'Are you saying it is not safe on this base?' I let the question hang in the air, implying as it did a lack of diligence on his part.
'We are perfectly safe,' the admiral snapped, all pretext of bonhomie now gone from his voice. 'But surely you must know there are certain restrictions on all senior officers ? both in your country and in mine. One must not take chances.'
'Then perhaps that is something that you must learn from us as well,' I said softly. 'In my country, you would be quite safe walking alone on any military installation.' Privately, I was not as certain of that sentiment as I would like to have been, but I was not about to back down now. If Vladimir was my contact person, then I had to meet with him alone.
Had to.
'You will be followed by men in a transport, then,' the admiral said, his voice surly. 'Surely you cannot object to that. In case of a cramp, the effects of the weather ? for health purposes, you understand.'
'Very well, then. Now, the undersecretary for naval aviation ? I met him earlier, but I have not seen him tonight. I was hoping to discuss some of the finer points of carrier aviation with him.' The admiral relaxed visibly. 'Of course,' he murmured. A few quiet words to his aide and I was escorted off in search of the man.
In reality, I had no particular interest in speaking to the undersecretary. However, I had known the words that would arouse their interest. By this time, they were finding it tedious trying to get me talking about technical matters, and the possibility that I would divulge some interesting details on American carrier construction, particularly the catapults, was too tempting to bait.
I managed to finesse the rest of the evening without mishap, unless you count having to dance around the finer details of catapult construction with the undersecretary. As I smiled, made small talk, and tried to keep names associated with faces, one thought kept intruding. Who was Vladimir?
Was he who I hoped he was?
8
Trouble rarely begins during the daylight hours. Even as humans lose track of their circadian rhythms, confusing day and night in the endless cycle of watches, duty, and meals onboard a carrier, disaster always seems to know precisely what time it is. It happens in the early morning hours, and more often than not, the people that must deal with it are awakened by watch-standers pounding on their doors. This time, it was different. And that worried me.
It was nine o'clock in the morning, and I had been at my desk for almost three hours after a hasty breakfast consisting primarily of cinnamon rolls and coffee. The sugar and caffeine were beginning to wear off, and I was starting to count the hours until an early lunch. I had the speakers in my office turned low, merely background noise. The normal tactical chatter surrounded me, filtered out of consciousness by my brain.
Ever since the first detection of our Russian submarines, we had kept a continuous antisubmarine patrol in the air. One of my speakers was dialed up on that circuit.
It was the tone of the pilot's voice more than the words he said that first caught my attention. I knew him, as I knew most of the pilots, and it wasn't often that he got excited. Not in public, at least.
Commander 'Rabies' Grill was one of the most experienced S3 pilots onboard. While we were in the Spratly Islands, we had had our first encounter with an enemy submarine firing surface-to-air missiles. He rotated off Jefferson a few years ago, and had returned just two months ago, selected for full commander and headed toward the prospective executive officer ? PXO ? slot with VS29. His flight crews complained about his love for country music, and said he was fond of singing to them during extended flights. I had heard Rabies singing, and I pitied them.
Even now, I wouldn't have called his voice excited. Just out of character ? enough to catch my attention.
'Home Plate, this is Hunter 701. Is our bird sweet?'
Rabies was asking if his data link with the carrier was up and working. An odd question, since aircrews usually didn't worry about data links unless the carrier was bugging them. I glanced over at the data console to see for myself.
The symbol for the antisubmarine warfare aircraft was clearly displayed, moving in a circular orbit approximately forty miles northeast of the carrier. There had been some concerns earlier that day about the ice moving and the meteorologist had recommended moving to the north to stay in open water. If ice started forming, the sonobuoys must be able to break through it to reach the water, but the ice would prevent the antenna from deploying and transmitting the information back to the aircraft.
When Rabies had reported on station, he had noted that the water was essentially open at that point. However, the ice did indeed appear to be forming up to the south of his briefed pattern, and he was worried about problems later in the mission.
Now it looked like he had other things to worry about.
'Roger, Hunter 701. Good data link.' The operations specialist's voice was calm and unconcerned. 'Problem on your end?'
'No. Just wanted to make sure it was good for you, too.'
