export, one that had U.S. technology for sound quieting and weapons control onboard it. Not to mention reactor safety standards. What do you think that would do for the Russians?'
The treadmill spun down to a slow amble, and I started thinking out loud. 'The Russians would surely love to get their hands on one of our Los Angeles-class fast-attack boats,' I said, just doing stream of consciousness without trying to bring any analytical capabilities to bear on it at this point. 'It would make a world of difference in their own programs and, you're right, the export programs as well. But right alongside us?' I shook my head. 'Commander, that would be the height of foolishness. We'd have to kick their asses over that, no way around it.
Besides, the submarine has some defenses itself, doesn't she?'
'Only some small-caliber handguns and shotguns,' Lab Rat said. 'I'm not claiming it's probable ? just a possibility we haven't really allowed for yet. And I'm not suggesting that we don't do this, Admiral. The chief of staff explained his reasoning quite cogently. However, we ought to make some preliminary preparations just in case.'
'Like what.'
'Destroy all old classified material onboard the submarine, sir.
Crypto codes, that sort of thing. Personally, I'd like the entire crew standing by for self-defense and emergency destruct, but I don't think that will be possible.'
I sat down on the edge of the treadmill, started stretching to keep my muscles from tightening up. If there is anything I hate, it's going to the trouble of trying to fight off the fat and then feeling stiff the next day.
'Taken in conjunction with the other danger signs, Admiral, we have to prepare for this,' Lab Rat said. His tone of voice came as close to insisting as I'd ever heard it.
Sure, we'd had the MiGs making their runs on us, but so far we weren't at war, although I had to admit that I'd come damned close to starting one.
I examined my intelligence officer closely, wondering what other secrets he was keeping.
Like I should talk, after keeping the deployment of our own submarine secret from him and my staff.
The look on his face told me there was more to the story than he was letting on. 'Commander, come on. Out with it.'
Lab Rat took a deep breath. 'Before Admiral Magruder left, he made certain… arrangements… with me. Arrangements for a code in his daily intentions message, in his status reports. He asked me not to tell you, but gave me the discretion to do so if I felt it was necessary in my judgment to fulfill our mission. His last message used the code word to indicate he was in danger. I suggest that whatever it is might extend to the battle group as well.'
Now that was a stunner. I was supposed to keep secrets from him, not the other way around. Another flash of anger. This was my intelligence officer, damn it, Tombstone. Not yours ? not anymore. And what the hell business did he have making plans about anything operational behind my back? There were going to be some serious words exchanged when he got back, not between a one star and a three star, but between lead and the man who used to fly wingman on him.
'And?' I loaded the one word with as much of a threat as I could.
'The admiral's in trouble. He had time to get off one message to me before he left Ukraine, but not much at that. The Russians are kicking them out of the country.'
'Kicking them out?'
Lab Rat nodded. 'It's not being put that way, of course. And I don't understand all the ramifications. Admiral Magruder barely had time to get the message off to me, and it was obvious he was in a hurry. But yes, there are problems ashore. And why would this surface now, with U. S.-Russia relationships breaking new ground in free trade? Why all these mistakes in the war games scenarios? Why the MiGs? To me, Admiral, it all adds up to something going on. Just what, I don't know, but it's why I'm worried about the submarine.' Lab Rat was speaking rapidly now, as though if he could get the words out fast enough it would make up for not telling me before. Both he and I knew it wouldn't.
'So what are you suggesting?' I said finally, leaving behind the question of what I would say to Tombstone and how I would deal with Lab Rat later. The mission had priority over my own annoyance at this point.
Lab Rat, like the chief of staff, is a nasty, devious man. He started explaining, and I forgot to keep stretching. By the time he was finished, my muscles were as stiff as wood.
13
We weren't under arrest, but neither were we ever left alone. During the entire transit back to our war gaming base in Russia, there were always two, usually more, armed guards within an arm's reach of me. They had a hard, lean look, and I decided immediately that they must be Spetznaz, elite Russian special forces. They were men on a par with our SEALS, and given the right equipment, they probably could have done just as good a job.
We left Kursk almost immediately, and I was just given enough time to shuffle my belongings into a duffel bag before I was hustled to a transport aircraft. The engines were already warmed up and turning as we boarded, and we were given immediate clearance for takeoff. We climbed, banked, then turned north.
It's my custom on long flights to take the opportunity to catch some sleep. It's a skill you learn early as a Navy pilot because time to sleep and meals are all too rare some days.
I fidgeted until I found a relatively comfortable position, then shut my eyes and tried to doze.
Of course, there was little way I could under the circumstances. The conditions of our departure, as well as the welfare and well-being of my people back in Russia, was of serious concern to me. I silently damned the impulse that had led me down south, the one that involved paying homage to a man I had never known but who was my blood. Where do our loyalties lie, in a situation such as this? To the dead, or almost dead? Or to the living, the men and women who depend on us to keep them alive? Who had trusted me, who had followed me to this godforsaken frozen land. Had I let them down at the expense of a ghost?
And to what end? I was no further along in getting hard proof of my father's death in Russia than I ever was, although admittedly I was convinced myself on a personal level. He had died here, and I had touched and seen the grave that held his body, although I would never be able to fully describe it to another person. Even my mother… I let that thought hang for a moment, trying to decide what and how I would tell her about these events.
And what of Russia herself? The war games that had begun as covert intelligence-finding opportunities on both sides had quickly turned into something more ugly. There was no way a few years of outwardly friendly cooperation on international matters would ever really erase the decades of Cold War scars that existed between our two nations. To have thought they could was the ultimate in political navete.
And had Commander Busby intercepted my message? No doubt he had ? Lab Rat was good about things like that. Still, would he understand the phrases I cobbled together so hastily, and be prepared to take appropriate action? I hoped so, not so much for my own sake as for that of my men.
Finally, despite the turmoil filling my mind, I did drift off. I awoke when we began a long, slow bank that brought us in on an approach profile to the field. The terrain below me was familiar, recognizable from our departure just days before.
I was not surprised to see Gator, Skeeter, and Sheila, and the rest of the remaining flight crew standing along the side of the runway waiting for my return. There was every evidence that our aircraft had already been serviced and were ready for immediate takeoff. As I watched, the COD taxied over to them and they started loading out. I checked the wings of the Tomcats. Good, they'd loaded the remaining live fire weapons onto the wings. Safer than carrying them back in the COD.
I walked up to the group and exchanged a hasty salute.
'Admiral, I can explain,' Skeeter began. I saw Gator elbow him sharply in the ribs. Skeeter grunted, shot the
