Kirov (34 page)

“We
are already at war with the British,” said Volsky. “Yes, this plane may spot
us, but they will tell the British little more than they already know. It is obvious
to them that we are running the Denmark Strait. I do not think we need to
engage the Americans here. Let it pass.”

As
the contact did not appear threatening, and because he believed the British
already had a fix on his position, Admiral Volsky elected not to engage the
plane. He was gratified when Rodenko reported it had turned and was now heading
back to Iceland.

~
~ ~

Vosseller
was lumbering along in his big bullfrog
of a plane, a flying boat with a thick hull for water landings and a small
pontoon dangling from each wing. He had first seen the contact on a new British
radar set that had been installed in his PBY a few weeks earlier, but he found
the reading was soon awash in static and interference. He shook his head,
writing it off to bad workmanship by the Brits. Yet he had been curious enough
to continue on his heading, hoping to take a look himself the old fashioned way.
Vosseller soon had had an eye full of the ship he was still scratching his head
about.

When
his radio report came in at Reykjavík, it sounded much like that given by the
British patrols that had first managed to lay eyes on the Russian battlecruiser.
“Sighted what appears to be a large cruiser, or a large commercial ship
steaming south to the Denmark Strait.”
He gave his best estimate of
position course and speed, and then banked into a low drift of clouds, heading
for home. At least he had the presence of mind to flip on his forward cameras
as well, and got several decent pictures of the contact that would confound the
analysts for days to come.

~
~ ~

At
his
communications post aboard
Kirov
, Lieutenant Isaac Nikolin heard the
American’s radio message in the clear, as Vosseller had stupidly made no effort
to code it. “We've been spotted again, sir,” he notified the Admiral, relating
what the American pilot had said.

Volsky
smiled. They still have no idea who and what we are, he thought. All the
better, though he realized the situation would likely change, and very soon.
Mister Fedorov had reminded him of something else—the American president was as
sea.

The
previous day, on August 3rd, Franklin Delano Roosevelt had set out on the
presidential yacht
Potomac
for what was described as a fishing trip. In
fact he had secretly boarded US heavy cruiser
Augusta
and was even now
headed for the new American naval base at Argentia in Newfoundland. The President’s
yacht returned via the Cape Cod Canal with a fireman, presidential aide, and an
army general dressed out in summer whites and posing on the forward deck lounge
chairs with a pipe as if they were FDR and his party. They waved at a curious
public lining the banks and gawking at them from overhead bridges as they
passed, quietly enjoying their mission. The deception kept the lid of secrecy
on Roosevelt's planned meeting with Churchill in just a few days time.

Not
only would these two remarkable men be present, the meeting was also attended
by the heads of the Army and Navy on both sides, a gaggle of high-ranking
officers and other dignitaries. The gold on the hat bands, collars and cuffs
would be fairly thick, as the British were intent on engaging in negotiations
with the Americans.

The
Prime Minister had already boarded the battleship
Prince of Wales
at
Scapa Flow earlier that morning, and the ship slipped quietly out to sea with
only the very highest senior ranks in the Navy and War Cabinet aware of what
was happening, and many of them were aboard. Volsky was still considering what
to do about this meeting, and weighing his options if they held to this course.

That
same morning another man on the ship was exploring the same corridors of
thought, though with a very different mind on the matter. Captain Karpov had
cornered Fedorov below decks while the Admiral was on the bridge. He marched
him into the officer’s ward room and, to the navigator’s surprise, he locked
the door.

“All
right Fedorov, what is this book you’ve been reading from and bending the
Admiral's ear with these last several days?”

“Sir?
It's a naval history, a chronology of the war at sea that has fairly detailed
information about operations conducted during this time, throughout the whole
of the war in fact.”

Karpov
eyes narrowed. “And where is this book?”

“At
the moment, the Admiral has been reading it in his cabin,” said Fedorov.

“I
would like to have a look at it. After all, I am Captain of the ship even if a
fleet admiral is aboard. How is it you did not think to inform me as well?”

“I'm
sorry, sir. You seemed unwilling to consider the possibility early on, and I
did not want to offend you by pushing the matter. The Admiral was particularly interested
in what I had to say, so I loaned him the book at his request. I meant no
disrespect, sir.”

“Of
course not,” said Karpov, changing his tack somewhat. He clasped his navigator
on the shoulder. “Very well, Mister Fedorov, as you were. I will ask the
Admiral about it myself.” He went to the door, opening the latch. “Dismissed,
Lieutenant. That will be all.”

“As
Fedorov edged past him, the Captain spoke again. “One other thing, Fedorov,” he
said. “The next time you contradict me in front of the Admiral…” He gave the
Navigator a hard look that finished the sentence well enough.

Fedorov
went on his way, and so did Karpov, but the Captain had no intention of asking
the Admiral a thing. He made his way directly towards the senior officer’s
quarters, intent on finding this book and having a look for himself while the
Admiral was busy on the bridge. The situation reminded him of his days in the
university library, where he jealously guarded the reserved stacks, controlling
access and doling out volumes to those he favored while denying them to others.
A brash young
arbitúra
, a freshman, had the temerity to sneak into the
reserve vault and take out a reference volume while he was busy with another
student. At first he thought to severely punish the lad for trying to bypass
his authority, but inwardly, he admired the student’s initiative and guts. The
boy saw an opportunity and he took it. It was something he might have done
himself, he knew. So he let the matter pass.

Now
Karpov would do a little snooping around on his own to see what was on the
Admiral’s mind. He had mentioned the Atlantic Charter in their initial
briefings, this secret meeting between Churchill and Roosevelt. That had to be
uppermost in Volsky’s mind now, but what was he planning? Karpov intended to
find out. There were some things, he thought, that were simply a Captain's
prerogative.

Karpov
was pleased to find the Admiral’s cabin door unlocked, and as this gangway was
for senior officers only, there was little risk that he would be seen by a
member of the crew. He slipped inside, flipping on a light and scanning the
room and desk for any sign of the book. It was there on the night stand, and he
was soon sitting at the Admiral’s desk, flipping to the bookmarked pages to locate
August of 1941, looking for information on the Atlantic Charter conference. It
was not long before he learned the details. Churchill and Roosevelt were at
sea, this very moment, and bound for a secret meeting in Newfoundland! It was
all there, the ships they would travel in, and their escorts, the timing of
their arrival.

The
Captain smiled, his eyes narrowing. All these high ranking officers in one
place. What a catch that would make, he thought. One well placed round, or a
well targeted missile barrage could take them all out in a single blow,
decapitating the American and British armed forces and eliminating these two
vital heads of state as well. Could the US and Britain recover from such a
loss? Would the men who replaced these giants have the courage and resolve to
prosecute the war as Roosevelt and Churchill clearly did? All he had to do was
get within firing range. A single missile could do all the rest, as long as he
chose the right warhead.

The
Admiral’s strict order prohibiting the deployment of nuclear weapons was
unwise, he thought. The impossible circumstances of this mission had to have
some meaning.
Kirov
was here for a reason. She was bearing down on a
time and place in history where her presence and firepower could make a
profound impact. He doubted that they would ever again have an opportunity like
the one that was before them now.

“I’ll
be damned if I’ll peck away at Royal Navy ships and then run off into the
Atlantic to hide,” he said aloud. No. This was the time and the place. Volsky
was correct that the judicious application of force was necessary here, but he
was too cautious, too slow to perceive the true nature of the opportunity now
before them. Yet he was the Admiral, and the men would follow his lead…unless…

That
pulse of anxiety leapt in his chest again with his next thought. His reflex
would have been to get a message through to Severomorsk and seek to bypass
Volsky by appealing to the Naval Board, or even to Navy Chief Suchkov himself.
But Suchkov was not there. Severomorsk was not even there, at least not the
same city he knew. There was no one senior in the ranks he could appeal to. The
matter had to be decided here, on this ship.
Kirov
was all that mattered
now.
Kirov
had the power to change everything, as long as she had the
men aboard her with the will to do what was necessary.

How
could he convince the Admiral? He could try to bring Doctor Zolkin around to
his point of view. The Admiral respected the Doctor’s opinion, and Zolkin was
actually a Captain of the Second Rank, one rung above Orlov in the chain of
command. He was not trained in the running of the ship, however, but his rank
gave him power, particularly as the ship’s physician. Yet the more he thought
on this the more he realized what Zolkin was likely to say to him. The man was
weak kneed. He was a healer and caretaker; a lamb and not a wolf. He realized an
appeal to Zolkin would be fruitless.

What
about Volsky’s new lap dog, Fedorov? The Lieutenant had maneuvered himself very
close to the Admiral in recent days. He dismissed him earlier, but it was clear
that Fedorov had one thing that was useful in this situation—knowledge. He was,
in fact, the keeper of the books now. Fedorov’s little library held information
that would be vital to them all in the days ahead. He was using that
information skillfully, doling it out, like honey in the Admiral’s tea. Perhaps
he had underestimated the Lieutenant. The man was demonstrating an understated craftiness
worthy of the Captain himself.

Menjá
nadúli!
He’s
fooled me, thought Karpov, realizing he had been duped by the young officer. I
warn him to watch his mouth and he gives me those big, innocent brown eyes. Yes,
Fedorov had been very clever, and very bold. He was naïve enough to believe
what his eyes were telling him from the very first look he had at that long
range video feed. Perhaps he saw what he wanted to see there, what he delighted
in with his bookish reading and study. But he was correct; he has been one step
ahead of me all along! He discretely fed this vital information to the Admiral
while denying me access. Now he was going so far as to insert his opinions on
the bridge, even contradicting me right in front of the Admiral.

The
Captain had overlooked the man before, thinking him to be no real threat, but
now he reconsidered the matter. Fedorov… What else did he have in his pockets?
Perhaps he should have another little chat with the man and sound him out a bit
more; see what else he knew. He might use Fedorov to help him persuade the
Admiral. But that failing…

Karpov
thought about that problem for some time. Then he closed the book, a wary and harried
look on his face. The thought in his head now was unlike anything he had ever
considered before. If he could not appeal to Severomorsk, and if there was no
one else on the ship he could use to bend the Admiral’s mind on this, then he
had no other choice but to act himself, boldly, directly. Somehow that thought
made him very uncomfortable. Yet he let his mind wander down that corridor for
a moment, considering his options. I will need Orlov, he thought, and Troyak.
The rest will be of no concern.

Chapter
20

Admiral
Tovey
was still
fretting over the fact that his Prime Minister was now at sea in an active war
zone as he sized up the situation. He realized that he may soon have a battle
in front of him in which the presence of
Prince of Wales
could prove
very valuable to him. But he could not afford to let that ship come anywhere
near the Denmark Strait now, in spite of his earlier bluster with Brind, and so
he strongly advised the Admiralty to route it by a more secure, southerly
course. In fact, almost every convoy scheduled between the United States and
Great Britain had also been deviously rerouted in the weeks from mid-July
through tenth of August so as to clear the seas along the intended route the
Prime Minister would travel. The logic was that if the convoys weren't there
the U-boats would not be there either.