Ultimate Issue (3 page)

On the Sharkfin, the crew had been on war alert since they entered the Baltic. The search periscope swept the surface, the sonar and sensor operators watching, probing, listening They could detect the sound of waves breaking on a beach a hundred miles away.

They also knew the Russians were listening too.

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Thursday, June 15,1961 Switzerland

AT noon the two men met at the secluded villa overlooking Lake Geneva. They arrived within four minutes of each other in cars not even displaying diplomatic plates.

The Russian looked like the chairman of a successful business corporation, in a smartly cut suit and a snowwhite shirt. His tie, like himself, was immensely discreet.

The American had rimless glasses and was rather more casually dressed. But his clothes were expensive. Had he been sitting in the Polo Bar of the Beverly Hills Hotel he could have been taken for a successful film producer.

The villa was neutral ground. It belonged to a Swiss millionaire who enjoyed playing a back-room role in the intrigues of the super powers.

“We have two of the bodies,” said the Russian, after the polite preliminaries. The two men were sitting, facing each other alone. On the polished table between them was a bottle of Vichy water and two glasses.

“Only two?” The American frowned.

“The other crew members….” The Russian paused briefly. “I am sorry. There wasn’t much to pick up. It was a nasty accident.”

The American’s face remained bland. It wouldn’t be playing the game to point out that the air force had been monitoring the Soviet MIG-l9 that blasted the RB-47 out of the sky at forty-one thousand feet.

Instead he said quietly, “We would like the bodies.”

The Russian nodded understandingly. “Of course. They will be handed over. I suggest at sea.”

Circumspection was the order of the day. Neither side wanted prying eyes to see what would happen.

“Very well,” agreed the American.

“Good.”

The Russian opened a silver cigarette case. It had been given to him by Gromyko during a session of the U.N. in New York. He had been rather useful to Gromyko.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked courteously. He didn’t offer a cigarette to the American; he knew he didn’t

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use them. They were wed acquainted with each other’s idiosyncrasies.

“Perhaps your submarine could take the bodies aboard,” he said, lighting his cigarette.

“Submarine?” echoed the AmeAcan, apparently startled.

“The one you have in the Baltic.” The Russian shook his head regretfully. “It was really a very rash thing to send her.”

“I haven’t been briefed about this,” lied the American.

‘fit doesn’t matter,” said the Russian tolerantly. “I suppose she was ordered on a search mission. To see if she could find anything left of your unfortunate plane. Military people have such crazy ideas, don’t they?”

“As I say, it’s news to me.” The American looked him straight in the eye.

“Our navy has had her pinpointed for the last twentyfour hours. At this moment she is surrounded by our ships. They are poised to … deal with her. You know how neurotic our admirals get about any of your nuclear submarines in Baltic waters. But don’t worry. Our governments hardly want a naval confrontation on the high seas, do they?”

“You have my assurance,” said the American, as he had been instructed to say when the matter was raised.

“Of course they don’t,” said the Russian. “Well, that’s settled then. You get your people to send a signal, ordering her to surface, and a launch win bang over the bodies from one of our ships.”

“And then?”

The Russian smiled benignly. “We will escort your submaAne out of the Baltic.” He saw the American’s expression. “Oh, relax, she can submerge. Her dignity will not be bruised. We will escort her on the surface.”

“Is that really necessary?” asked the American.

“We want to make sure she gets home safely, don’t we?” purred the Russian. “I am told that the Baltic can be quite treacherous. We will see to it that she does not meet with an accident.”

“Okay,” the American agreed. “I’ll tell Washington.”

“Excellent,” said the Russian. “Isn’t it marvelous how we can cooperate? Have you ever thought how easy it is to reach agreement if only we are left to ourselves? Look how quickly we’ve been able to resolve this little problem.”

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He reached over for the Vichy bottle and looked at it in disgust.

“Our Swiss host is very prim. I would like to toast the successful outcome of our meeting, but this stuff….”

He pulled a face.

“You guarantee secrecy?” asked the American. “No cameras at the exchange of bodies, no announcements?”

The Russian laughed. “Of course not. Who needs to know?”

“Well …” said the American. “We haven’t got it made like you. It’s not easy for us to keep things under wraps.”

The Russian stood up.

“You’re doing all right, my friend,” he said jovially. ‘I remember your communique. ‘An air force plane is missing over the North Sea on a training flight’) Very good, very good indeed. It wasn’t the North Sea, and it wasn’t a training flight, but you didn’t tell them that. Very wise. You’re learning.”

His eyes twinkled. “You’re learning from us.”

Within half an hour, “eyes Only” code messages reached certain desks in Washington and Moscow, and shortly afterward a navy signal was sent to the Sharkfin.

The submarine surfaced at the prearranged rendezvous sixty miles off the Lithuanian coast, where the Soviet missile cruiser Kinda was already waiting with an escort of four destroyers.

A naval cutter came across carrying two metal caskets in which the Russians had thoughtfully packed the bodies of two Americans in dry ice.

The Shark7in loaded-them aboard and submerged again. It set course for the British Isles.

Three days later the widows of the two dead crew members were officially notified that the bodies of their husbands had been recovered from the North Sea not far from the British coast.

In all, the wing commander, Brigadier General Croxford, wrote six letters of condolence by hand. He paid warm tribute to the lost officers and regretted their accidental deaths.

The dead men’s replacements arrived at the plane’s base at Laconbury, England, thirty-six hours later.

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Monday, June 19,1961

= . _

Frankfurt

COLONEL Ochs, VlCorps staff judge advocate, preferred things neat and tidy. It was one of the reasons he didn’t like Captain Verago. Things had a habit of getting fouled up when Verago was involved.

“Sit down, Tony,” he invited cautiously. He had asked Verago to his office, and it was not a meeting he particularly relished.

“Thank you, sir,” said Verago politely.

The colonel’s desk was bare except for three things: his nameplate, complete with silver eagle; the mandatory photo of Mrs. Ochs; and a folder.

The two telephones were on a side table, at the colonel’s right hand.

“Well, how are things?” inquired the colonel.

Verago eyed him moodily. He was still feeling the aftereffects of a long session in the bar of the Casino offlcer’s club the previous evening.

“All right,” he said warily. The folder on the desk worried him. It spelled trouble.

“Remember the King trial?” asked Ochs.

“Indeed I do.”

“I’m getting flak over it,” said the colonel reproachfully.

‘`Oh?l’

“Strictly unofficial, mind you, but I don’t like complaints about my officers.”

“Who’s making them?” demanded Verago. He wished his tongue didn’t feel so thick.

“Dan Worden. He says you behaved in an uncalled-for manner after the trial. You apparently abused him and used highly improper language.”

Ochs regarded Verago severely. “It won’t do, Tony.”

“Captain Worden is a son of a bitch,” said Verago.

The colonel sighed. “Look, Tony, I’m trying to do this as painlessly as I can. You can’t go around calling a fellow officer the kind of things you did.”

“You know what he did, sir.”

Ochs shook his head. “I read your report. And your

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pleas to the reviewing authority. I do not think you have any cause for complaint. Captain Worden made no promise, gave no undertaking.”

“Yes, he did, Colonel.”

“Not as far as I am concerned. Anyway, your man’s sentence got reduced, so there’s no point arguing.”

Verago glowered at him, silent.

“Try to remember that we army lawyers over here are a tight little group, and we’ve got to stick together. It’s tough enough administering military justice without getting in each other’s hair.”

The colonel leaned forward in his chair. “You see that, don’t you, Tony?”

“I see it, sir, but I don’t agree.”

The colonel tightened his lips. “What don’t you agree, Captain Verago?”

Verago took a deep breath. “Your priorities. Depends which comes first. The military or the law. Being an offlcer or a lawyer. Are we here to see justice done or uphold regulations?”

Ochs flushed. “Both.”

There was a knock at the door, and a WAC put her head in.

“Excuse me, sir, would you and Captain Verago line some coffee?”

Ochs looked at Verago questioningly.

“Please,” said Verago. “Make it black and strong.”

She closed the door.

‘Us that why you wanted to see me, sir? To have a little debate about the conflicts between the Uniform Code and individual rights?”

“No,” snapped Ochs. “Not at all.”

Verago knew he was right. The reason was in the folder.

“I think you could do with a change, Tony,” said the colonel.

The WAC came back. She put a coffee mug in front of Ochs. It had “Ochs” and a colonel’s eagle painted on it. It would have, thought Verago.

She handed him his mug. “Hope it’s strong enough, sir.” She smiled.

‘Y’m sure it is,” said Verago. “Thanks.”

She closed the door, and Verago drank deep. The hot coffee flooded into him comfortingly. The hangover was passing.

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‘~at kind of change, sir?” he asked.

“Well,” said the colonel, “it so happens that your services have been requested. As individual counsel for the defenseatan air force courtmartial.”

Verago sat up. “Air force?”

“Yes, don’t ask me why,” said the colonel. His tone indicated that anyone who asked for Verago was crazy. “But as you know, it’s perfectly legal for an accused -t~request counsel from another service.”

Verago put his coffee mug down on the colonel’s desk. Ochs winced. It might leave a mark on the polished surface.

“What’s the charge?” asked Verago.

“Article one thirty-four.”

It was an old friend. The catchall. Prejudice to good order and discipline. Conduct of a nature to bring discredit upon the armed forces.

“And the offecse?”

Colonel Ochs sniffed. “Adultery.”

Suddenly Verago no longer had a hangover. ‘~You’re kidding.”

“It is an offence, Tony,” said Ochs primly.

“Colonel, in that case they ought to try half the army.”

Ochs was outraged. “That is not in good taste, Captain,” he grated.

But Verago’s mind was already on other things. “Who’s the guy?”

“The accused is an air force captain,” said Ochs stiffly..

”Why does he want me?”

“I suppose,” Colonel Ochs said meanly, “your reputation has spread to the other services. Maybe somebody heard of your enthusiasm for tackling lost causes.”

Verago felt his temper rising. “Who says it’s a lost cause?”

“I think you can take it for granted the military doesn’t charge an officer with adultery unless it has all the facts.”

“Well, I’ll have to see what I can do,” said Verago.

“Good,” said the colonel. He opened the folder. “The request has been formally approved. Your orders are being cut now. I don’t envy you, Tony.”

“Sir?”

“An army lawyer at an air force court, surrounded by blue suits. I imagine you’ll encounter a certain degree of, er, hostility.”

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Ochshad difficulty in concealing his pleasure at the thought.

“I’ll feel at home,” said Verago. “What’s the outfit?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention it?” Ochs opened the folder and peered at its contents. “You’re going to England.”

“England?” He was surprised.

“Yes. The accused is at an air base called Laconbury.” He shut the folder.

“I guess it’ll be a new experience for you.”

He appeared to relish that idea too.

Tuesday, June 20,1961

-frankfurt

FouR days after being lifted off the deck of the submarine Sharkfin by a navy helicopter, Clyde Unterberg entered an office building in the center of Frankfurt, off the Hauptwache.

He went to the second-floor office of Euram Marketing Inc., a business company incorporated in Wilmington, Delaware.

It was a comparatively shabby office, with a worn green carpet in the entrance hall, flat white lighting, and an anemic plant in a pot on the desk of the girl who served as receptionist, switchboard operator, and copy typist. Euram Marketing gave a distinct impression of watching the pennies.

Herr Weber, the caretaker downstairs, would tell callers who had time for a little gossip that Euram Marketing was pretty shaky financially. He believed it was a business venture started by a couple of Americans who had settled in Frankfurt with big ambitions but few resources. The company was so broke, he confided, that the staff even had to do the window cleaning.

And if anybody asked him what Euram actually marketed, he was rather vague.

‘] think they’re in the import business,” he’d say. “Or is it export? Something like that. I don’t think they make a lot of money. There’s only a handful of people working up there.”

Some shrewder characters suspected that Euram was

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probably the offshoot of a much bigger firm, and really a cleverly manipulated tax loss.

They were partly right. Euram Marketing Inc. was established in 1951, under a top-secret directive 10-2 of the National Security Council. It authorized the setting up of “special operations, always provided they are secret, and sufficiently diminutive in size as to be plausibly denied by the government.”