The White Vixen (49 page)

Jo’s heart started beating a little faster. Could it be possible that he was going to let her go? This had to be a trick somehow. “What message is that?”

“Quite simply, that the Republic of Germany wishes to have peaceful relations with the United States, and with all nations, but we will tolerate no interference in our internal affairs.”

“Don’t you mean the Federal Republic?”

Bormann smiled. “A slight change. By the time you get to your embassy, you see, the Federal Republic will no longer exist. Nor will the German Democratic Republic. The new Republic of Germany will be one united nation, under one flag, one government. A nation that will be prepared to defend itself against aggressors, from any direction.”

Jo said nothing. Bormann waited a moment and then continued. “My decision to release you will be a sign of my good faith. We have no quarrel with the Americans.”

“Just the British, this time,” Jo said.

Bormann laughed, a deep chortle that sent a chill through her. “A means to an end. Of course, we speak of Argentina’s quarrel with the English. One way or another, that will be over quickly. I suspect that my good friend Leopoldo may have bitten off more than he can chew. Still, thanks to our help, he should prevail in this little dispute.” He picked up a glass from the table next to his chair, took a sip of the clear liquid. “You know, the real enemy is Bolshevism. Communism, as you say today. We should have fought them together, us and you Americans.”

“Oh, please.”

Bormann slammed the glass down on the table, spilling some of the schnapps. “You think not? Even as we speak, your country has thousands of nuclear weapons targeted on the Soviet Union. The Bolsheviks have thousands of their own targeted on you. Twenty years ago you nearly went to war when that fool Kruschev sent missiles to Cuba. Cooler heads prevailed then, but what of the next time there is a provocation? All of that could have been avoided had your President Roosevelt simply been reasonable.”

“Your government was a threat to the world. It had to be destroyed.”

“We offered the world order! Discipline!” Bormann glared at her, his face reddening. “You have no idea how things were. There was chaos in the streets. Money was worthless. People were starving. We changed all that. We rebuilt a nation virtually overnight, Major. We became strong and proud again. The Führer was ready to lead the world in the battle against the real enemy, Russia.”

Jo was surprised by how calm she was. Sitting not ten feet from her was a man who had been instrumental in one of history’s most monstrous crimes, a man who could end her life in an instant, yet her ki was at peace. “Your Führer was a madman. Six million Jews could testify to that, if they were still alive.”

Jo expected that to bring a strong response, but Bormann seemed to calm down. He smiled, and took another sip from his drink. “Ah, yes, the precious Jews. It always comes back to them, doesn’t it? You know, Major Geary, it amuses me to be lectured by an American. Your people, after all, enslaved Africans by the millions. How many, eh? Your country nearly tore itself apart over that. And your own Indians. How many did your people slaughter? Even today, your own native citizens rot on reservations, drinking themselves blind because they have no hope of becoming real Americans. And your Africans, can you honestly say they are equal to whites?”

“That’s not a fair comparison—“

“History is written by the winners, Major. Is it not just a matter of perception? What of your own heritage? Part Korean, I understand. What about the Asians in your country? Equal? Your country brought Asians in by the thousands to build your railroads and didn’t care whether they lived or died. When you fought the Japanese you rounded up all your own loyal citizens of Japanese descent and put them in concentration camps, did you not?”

That was too much for Jo. Her ki gave way to emotion. “None of them were led into gas chambers, you monster!”

“And I also find it interesting that your country can still lecture us Germans about what we did with our Jews forty years ago, when your own people today are allowed to kill their unborn children. Tell me, Major, how do you justify that, eh? How many millions of your own babies have your people murdered in the last nine years? In the name of what, convenience?”

Jo forced herself to calm down. “We could argue this for years and not change each other’s minds. I would rather spend the next three days locked in that bedroom.”

Bormann nodded. “I appreciate intellectual debate as much as the next man. Or woman,” he said, with a gleam in his eye. “One last point about the Jews, though. Something I would like you to keep in mind, because unlike me, you are young enough that you will see this day dawn.”

Still holding the Luger, Bormann rose and walked over to the fireplace. Jo saw him looking at a small photograph of what appeared to be some German soldiers. Bormann turned back to Jo, and his eyes were hard. “After the war you helped the Jews create their own nation, Israel. We all know what has happened since then. Four wars between the Jews and their Muslim neighbors.
Tens of thousands dead. Now we understand that the Jews have nuclear weapons. The Muslims know this, and so they make overtures for peace. They still want to destroy the Jews, of course, but from now on they will try different means, more subtle. Not as direct as military action, not as swift. The Muslims know they cannot defeat the Jews in battle, because they know you Americans will back Israel, you will allow her to use the nuclear option if she is pushed too far. At the same time, you make friends with some of the Muslims, the ones who have the oil, because their oil, you want that very much. The Muslim leaders hoard their wealth and treat their people like serfs. Already we see how their resentment of America is building. Their hatred of Israel translates into hatred for America. They consider you one and the same.” He wagged a finger at her. “Mark my words, Captain, your country’s blind support of the Jews will one day lead you into conflict with the Muslims, and that will be a very long and bloody conflict indeed, for there are a great many Muslims. They breed like rabbits and their priests teach them to kill the infidel. Are your people up to it? Will you have the discipline to prevail? I have my doubts. The Americans who fought us forty years ago, they could do it, they were tough and disciplined, but today’s Americans? Tomorrow’s? We shall see.”

Taurus went back to his chair and tossed down the rest of the schnapps. “You may go now. I will make your visit here as comfortable as possible. You understand, of course, that I
cannot allow you some privileges that my guests might normally have.”

Jo stood up. “I’m not asking for any.”

He looked at her, and Jo saw the eyes of a man who was quite sane, and quite dangerous. “Tomorrow morning we will talk again.” He smiled, once more the charming host. “I hope that by the time you leave here, we shall have become, shall we say, better acquainted?”

“Don’t count on it.”

***

HMS
Cambridge
, southwest Atlantic

Sunday, April 25th, 1982

“I have the bogey, Captain!” Sonarman 1st Class David Sanders yelled with something akin to delight. Everyone in the CIC heard him.

“Very good, Mr. Sanders,” Captain Stone said. “Are you sure it’s the Russian?”

Sanders’ fingers danced over his computer keyboard. On a monitor screen, jagged lines seemed to match. “Definitely, sir. It’s our friend Ivan, all right.” Soviet submarines had their own definitive sonar signatures, distinct from those of NATO submarines. Royal Navy computer technicians were working on software that would enable sonar operators to fine-tune their readings and identify individual signatures, once a database had been built up. Right now, though, Stone could be sure that this particular boat was the one which had shadowed him all this way south, and that was enough for him.

“Very good. Send his coordinates to the ASW station. Mr. Bender, you may begin your pursuit when ready.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Lieutenant Philip Bender was the ship’s antisubmarine warfare officer, and would direct the engagement from his station. Stone, Bender and their counterparts on
Reliant
had already discussed the operation. “Helm, make your course 047. Mr. Fields, increase speed to one-third, please.”

The destroyer and its companion submarine now began an intricate and hazardous dance. With the Russian boat’s position pinpointed, the British vessels would attempt to outflank the target. Once in position, they would be ready to implement the next phase of the operation, something they hoped Ivan would not find to his liking.

Captain Mikhail Govanskiy of
K-251
was dining with Lieutenant Commander Nevsky in his quarters when there was a rapid knock on his cabin door. Before Govanskiy could give permission, the door opened and a man leaned inside. “I beg your pardon, Comrade Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Boris Myshkin said. His eyes were shining.

“What is it, Boris?”

“The English vessels are both moving, sir. They have reversed course and are heading in our direction.”

The captain wiped his lips with his napkin. He understood his executive officer’s excitement, but he had played with the NATO navies more than a few times. “Indeed. What is their range?”

“Six kilometers and closing, sir.”

Govanskiy set his napkin down on the table and took one last sip of his vodka. He noticed the political officer staring at him. “Well, comrades, it appears our Sunday evening will not be a dull one. Boris, bring the boat to general quarters, please. I’ll be at the conn shortly.”

“Yes, Comrade Captain.” Myshkin nearly slammed to door behind him.

“What do you intend to do, Captain?” Nevsky asked.

“I will follow my orders, comrade,” Govanskiy said, rising. “Moscow was quite specific. I am not to fire on the Englishmen unless fired upon.”

“And if they shoot first?”

Govanskiy shot the man a glance he normally reserved for imbeciles and fresh-faced officers. Nevsky, he had long ago decided, qualified on both counts, although he made pleasant dinner conversation. “Then I shall sink them, of course. Would you care to join me in the control room?”

“The Russian is diving,” Sanders said. “Passing one hundred meters.”

“He’s going for a thermal layer,” Fields said. The ocean was not simply one vast container of water. It was layered, like a cake, with temperature variations, ranging from twenty-five degrees Celsius at the surface in the tropics to ten degrees a kilometer down. If a submarine could get underneath a layer of colder, denser water, into what was termed the “shadow zone”, it could more easily hide from sonar searches. Provided, of course, the sonar doing the searching was above the layer, such as aboard a destroyer on the surface.

“
Reliant
is diving as well,” Sanders said. “She is at 150 meters, staying below the Russian.”

“Good man, Tom,” Stone said.
Reliant
’s sonar, not having to go from warm water to colder, would be more effective at depth than
Cambridge
’s. “Active sonar, if you please, Mr. Sanders.”

“Aye aye, sir!” Sanders punched a command into his panel, sending out a powerful pulse of sound toward the position of the Russian submarine at a speed of 1.6 kilometers per second. The men could hear the “ping”, but that was a sound effect added by the computers for their benefit. The men on board the submarine would hear the real thing.

Almost immediately, Sanders yelled, “Got him!”

The sound reverberated throughout
K-251
. “Are we below the layer yet?” Govanskiy asked calmly.

“Not yet, Comrade Captain,” his sonar officer said. “Another hundred meters, perhaps.”

“And what of the English submarine?”

The sonarman swallowed. “I lost contact with her a few seconds ago, sir. I believe she is under the layer.”

Govanskiy made a decision. “Diving officer, level off. Make your depth 175 meters. Helm, come to course 165.”

“The destroyer has us pinpointed, Captain,” Nevsky said nervously. At that moment, another ping echoed through the boat. “Will you not go below the layer to evade him?”

Govanskiy didn’t look at the political officer. “That is where the English submarine is waiting, comrade, perhaps with a torpedo ready to fire at us. Sonar, what is the range to the destroyer?”

“Four kilometers and closing, sir. His course is 047 degrees.” The English destroyer was sailing in a northeasterly direction, and the Soviet submarine was moving to the south-southeast. Within a very few minutes, their paths would cross, giving the Englishman a good opportunity to launch depth charges, if he was one of the few NATO destroyers that still used those weapons. More likely he would fire a torpedo. Govanskiy, however, would have a very poor angle from which to counterattack. Then there was the matter of the English submarine. Her last known position was five kilometers to the southwest of
K-251
. Then she had gone below the layer.

The Soviet captain realized that his position was quickly becoming untenable. He could evade a destroyer on the surface, something he had practiced many times, and he could also dance with an enemy submarine below. But both, at the same time?