Deep Lie (44 page)

The bullet had seared the back of his head as he had turned, and taken away his cap. Now, even the enraged Kolchak turned to look at the approaching boat. He rushed to the rail beside Helder.

It was coming dead at them at what seemed an impossible speed. The crew of the deck gun, as a man, flung themselves forward or overboard to escape the onrushing white projectile.

Helder saw the shotgun microseconds before it went off.

It seemed to fire at the same moment the hurtling boat struck the deck of the sub.

RULE. with the others, gaped as the uplifted prow of the powerboat struck the low-lying, sloping deck of the submarine. The boat reared at a steep angle and shot across the sub’s decks like a waterskier over a jump. It struck the water, perhaps thirty yards the other side of the sub. its stern landing first, then the full length of its bottom slamming into the sea, throwing water to all sides.

It barreled on toward the island, and, seconds later, drove straight up through shallow water onto the beach, skidding sideways and coming to rest on the sand. Rule thought she could see a man lying in the back of the boat.

“Pilot,” the minister said, “set down on the beach.”

HELDER thought he must have been out for only a few seconds. He came to, lying on the sole of the conning tower, the exec bending over him.

“Captain! Captain, can you hear me?” the exec was saying.

Helder got up onto one elbow, and immediately was struck by pain from his jaw.

“You’ve taken a couple of pellets in the neck,” the exec said. “and two or three more in the face. I don’t think it’s bad.”

Helder thought it hurt like it was bad; his jaw seemed to be broken. Not as bad as Kolchak, though. He had taken the full force of the shotgun blast in the face. and there were brains and hair spattered over the red star and the numbers painted on the conning tower.

Helder, with the help of the executive officer, struggled to his feet and leaned on the rail of the conning tower. He looked toward the beach, where a helicopter was landing, and people were running toward the big powerboat, now high and dry. A light breeze had sprung up, and the wind ruffled his hair.

“I don’t know who that fool was,” he said to the exec, “but I hope his are the only shots fired in this ridiculous war. Run up the fucking white flag, and be quick about it!” RAGULIN watched, with the others. flabbergasted, as the big, white powerboat flew over the submarine. The Swedish television camera angle changed to a closeup of the sub’s conning tower. She saw Helder, blood streaming down his face. struggle to his feet and bark an order to another officer.

Moments later, a white flag appeared above the sub.

Majorov was on his feet again.

“Dammit, Jones. I ordered you to send that signal!”

“It was sent. sir,” Jones came back. “and confirmed electronically. But we’ve had no contact with the buoy via satellite.”

“The sub has not sent the sonar signal!” Majorov said. banging a fist on his desk.

“Contact them on the radio—do it in the open. if you have to!”

“But sir.” Jones said.

“They are under radio shutdown. and on your orders. They will not be listening. Their radio is switched off.”

“Damn Helder!” Majorov shouted, hammering repeatedly on the desk.

“Damn him! I want him shot! Contact Group One in Stockholm. I want him found and killed before he can talk! He has flagrantly disobeyed my most specific orders! He did not signal the mine!”

“Mine. sir?” Jones asked, looking bewildered.

“Contact Group One!” Majorov shouted.

“We can’t sir; they will have already followed their t1A contingency plan in case of a Swedish alarm. They will already have dispersed.”

“I want Helder back here! Contact the Stockholm Station, and have them put their men on it!”

“We have no way of directly contacting Stockholm Station, Colonel,” Jones replied.

“Any contact with the embassy will have to be through Moscow Central.”

It was the first time Ragulin had ever seen Majorov other than perfectly composed. She looked back at the screen. Swedish sailors were swarming over the Soviet submarine, and she saw a stretcher being handed down from the conning tower. She could see Holder’s face, still bloody, being dabbed at by the other Russian officer. He was in Swedish hands, now. They would never let him go, not after this incident.

The white telephone rang. Majorov stood, apparently trying to compose himself, while it rang again and again.

The whole room had stopped, and all eyes were on the Colonel.

Finally, he sank back into his seat and picked up the telephone.

“Majorov,” he said.

“No, Comrade Chairman, we have confirmed that the alarm was not a hoax. I have given the order to stand down from the invasion plan.

No, Comrade Chairman, not a single man has fallen into Swedish hands… yes, except for the submarine crew.

They had no alternative, of course, but to surrender. I request that the Foreign Ministry begin negotiations at once to recover them, especially the captain. He is one of our best men… you met him in Moscow. Yes, Comrade Chairman, tomorrow morning, I shall be there.”

Majorov hung up the phone and slumped in his chair.

“Give the order to stand down from the invasion plan,” he said to Jones.

“I have been called to Moscow for a meeting tomorrow. The plan is not dead, Jones, merely postponed. You will see.”

“Yes, Colonel, of course,” Jones replied quietly.

Ragulin stood and watched the big screen. The green symbols, one by one, changed to red, then went out. The atmosphere in the theater had changed from enthusiasm to depression. Quietly, people went about the work of clearing up. Soon, the main screen went dark, and only the television screen remained on. Ragulin watched as the stretcher was handed into a boat and driven toward the island in the background. Helder would not come back, she knew, even if the Soviet diplomats were able to negotiate his release. He had disobeyed some important order of Majorov’s, and he could not now come back. She was alone again, and more so than ever before.

Lights began to go off in the theater. A soldier in uniform came up to the galley where Ragulin stood.

“How about some coffee?” he asked, leaning his weapon against the counter. Ragulin poured the coffee and looked at the weapon. It was the submachine shotgun she had heard about from Helder. She looked at it closely, found the bolt, located the safety. There was a clip already in the weapon. RULE and Lee were standing on the front porch of the beach house on Hoggam when the submarine commander was brought in on a stretcher.

The house had been turned into a command post by the Royal Navy and the press and was teeming with people.

The bemused owners were trying to help by making coffee and sandwiches. The place was buzzing with the story of Oskar Oskarsson, the fisherman, who was now inside. holding court for the press.

Two sailors set the stretcher gently on the porch while waiting for instructions. Rule looked down at the bloody and swollen face. which had not yet been bandaged. The man was trying to speak. She bent down. but he seemed to be looking past her.

“Hello, Lee.” he managed to say.

“Good God.” Will said, bending down.

“It’s… Helder. isn’t it?”

The submariner’s eyebrows went up.

“How did you know my name?”

Lee smiled.

“The sketch you drew in Stockholm, the one you gave me; you signed it “Helder.”

” The man managed a kind of laugh.

“Oh, no! And I worked so hard on my cover!”

“Your cover was great,” Will said.

“I didn’t notice the signature until yesterday.”

Rule gaped at the two men.

“What is going on here?”

“I’ll explain later.” Will said.

“Lee, I am not going back to the Soviet Union,” Helder said.

“I will ask to stay in the West.”

Will fished his Senate business card from his wallet.

“Here’s where you can find me. Let me know if I can help.”

Helder looked at the card.

“A country lawyer, eh? Your cover was pretty good, too. You fooled Majorov.”

“I didn’t lie to him,” Will said.

“I just didn’t tell him the whole truth.”

“Just as he didn’t tell me all the truth,” Helder said.

“He didn’t tell me about the bomb.”

“Bomb? What bomb?” Rule asked.

“There is a bomb, a nuclear mine, in the archipelago, not far from here.”

“Minister!” she called through the front door.

“You’d better come out here.”

The minister joined them, and Rule listened while Helder explained and gave him the longitude and latitude of the bomb and the frequency of the sonar signal that would release its antenna.

“Don’t worry,” Helder said to the man, “I think it cannot be detonated until the antenna is released.”

The minister disappeared into the house.

A man wearing a press badge approached Rule and Lee.

“Aren’t you Will Lee?” he asked.

“That’s right,” Lee replied, surprised.

“I’m Fred Alien, Scandinavian correspondent for Cox Newspapers, which include the Atlanta Constitution. Don’t you work for Senator Carr in Washington?”

“Uh, yes, but I’m just on vacation at the moment.”

“Vacation?” the reporter snorted.

“What kind of vacation would dump you in the middle of all this?”

The minister walked up.

“Oh, this young man is the hero of the story,” he said. “and…”

Rule caught his eye and shook her head.

“Well look,” the reporter said, “I want to hear all about this.”

“Not now,” Will said.

“Why don’t we talk about this later, okay?”

“Only if you promise me not to give it to somebody else first. I want the whole thing from the horse’s mouth.”

“I promise, nobody else first.” He turned to the minister.

“Mr. Westberg, I understand all the airports and ports have been sealed. Do you think you could assist us in getting on a plane to New York tonight? I think there’s an SAS Hight at seven o’clock.”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the minister replied, “I’ll send someone with you to the airport to clear the way.” He pulled Rule and Lee away from the reporter.

“Miss Rule,” he said quietly, “I’ve had a report that there is an Italian at the Grand Hotel in Stockholm holding some sort of auction of what he claims is the Soviet plan to invade Sweden. Do you know anything about this?” IRINA RAGULIN looked around the theater. It was nearly deserted, now, and without the illumination of the center screen, the lights were low. A few more people shuffled out, and only Jones, Majorov, and the guard were left in the large room with her. The guard had turned to watch the television screen.

Helder was gone from the screen, taken away by the Swedes. He was gone from her, too, and she was left with Majorov.

Majorov spoke into the silence, seeming to think himself alone with Jones.

“By this time next week. I would have been elected to the Politburo,” Majorov said.

“It had been promised to me by the Chairman, himself.”

“I am sorry, sir.”

“Oh, it will still happen,” Majorov said.

“But not next week. Tomorrow, I will go to Moscow and stand before the Politburo and put the best face possible on what has happened. I will launch an investigation of how the Swedes learned of our plans, and that will occupy me for some time.”

“You don’t fear…”

“Punishment for failure?” Majorov interrupted.

“Certainly not. I will have the protection of the First Secretary, and of two other members, about whom I have, shall we say. interesting documentary information. Anyway. I have achieved an expansion and upgrading of SPETSNAZ forces that would not have been possible under any other Russian.

That will not be forgotten, especially by Admiral Gorshkov, who is the immediate beneficiary of this achievement.

No, Jones, I have a great deal in my favor. I still have Ferret, in Washington, and I have run him personally.

Ferret alone, with his high position in the C1A, would be enough to guarantee any man’s career. I will survive and prosper, Jones, and I will take you with me, fear not.”

“You will not survive,” Ragulin said, and she immediately had everyone’s undivided attention. The soldier came at her, and she shot him once. It was quite enough. She stepped away from the galley, holding the submachine shotgun. Jones had frozen, and now Majorov had stood and was turning to face her.

“Ragulin,” Majorov said, quietly, “put down that weapon now, and nothing will have changed. The soldier is of no consequence; I can fix that. You will still have your place here.”

“Do you believe that I still want my place here?”

Ragulin asked. She turned slightly and shot Jones. He tumbled over the railing behind him and landed on a desk on the next tier down.