Torpedo! (The Silent War Book 3) Read online

  “Yes,” Tolar said. “That is, the Americans will know the minute any Soviet submarine tries to get out into the Atlantic. The net east of the Sea of Okhotsk is not as tight, the area is more open than the route from the major missile submarine base on the Kola Peninsula so a few might get out into the Pacific.”

  “Once they start to move out to sea the underwater listening devices pick them up and then the mines get them, is that the way it works?” Bernstein asked.

  “That’s the principle,” Tolar said.

  “I’d like your opinions of what would happen if the major powers lose their heads and begin a nuclear war. Lev, you first.”

  “Both sides lose,” Tolar said. “Neither can neutralize the other’s counterstrike capability. Both lose.”

  “Where does that put Israel?” Bernstein said. “Where would we be in relation to the Arab World?”

  “At war,” Moise Shemanski said glumly. “At war with an enemy that outnumbers us twenty or more to one. Without any doubt, most of the Third World nations would come in on the side of the Arabs.”

  “Japan?” Bernstein said softly.

  “They’d wait, with China, until the Third World nations had mopped us up and then China would move in and dominate what was left of the world. Japan would be China’s ally, without doubt.” Naomi and Tolar nodded their heads in agreement.

  “My assessment is that the Soviets will do nothing for a while,” Bernstein said. “They have too much on their plate at the moment, no matter what their hardliners say.

  “They’ve got this new trouble on the border with China. Their satellite states in Eastern Europe are uneasy; the invasion of Czechoslovakia is only a year old, Poland has been restless since they returned Gomulka to power back in Fifty-eight. The grain crop this year is below expectation. There are meat shortages in the countryside. They have a lot on their plate.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk.

  “But that notwithstanding, we have to assume that the Soviets might move to retaliate against the American destruction of their submarine. Their missile submarines may not be as bottled up as the Americans think they are. When the Egyptians mined the desert approaches in the 1947 war how did we break through the mine fields? We sacrificed the lead tanks to the mines and went through the mine fields along the path of the sacrificed tanks.” He looked at Lev Tolar. “Couldn’t the Soviets do the same thing, run one small submarine out through the mine fields and then follow the cleared path with the rest of the missile submarines?”

  “It’s not quite like a desert mine field,” Tolar answered. “The mines the Americans use are not mines in the true sense of the word. They are modified torpedoes that lie on the bottom, inert. They have to be activated by a sonar signal and after that is done when a ship passes over them they rise from the bottom and go to full speed and chase down the ship, using a sonar device in the nose of the torpedo that homes on the noise of the ship’s propellers.

  “That leaves a gap in the mine field, yes. But an American submarine lying well clear of the mine field can energize all the other passive torpedoes with sonar signals and set them free of the bottom to sink any other ships that go through the mine field.”

  “Interesting,” Bernstein said. “Do the Soviets know of this?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Tolar said. “It is a very deep secret. We found out about it when they began to modify their older torpedoes to turn them into passive mines.”

  Bernstein massaged his small gray goatee with the fingers of his right hand. “It might be a good idea to let the Soviets know about this,” he mused. “It might be something that would give them cause to be very cautious.” He looked at his people, his face grim.

  “Our best national interest is quite clear. It is to prevent a nuclear war between the two superpowers. I must think about it some more but I think the Soviets should know about the torpedo mines.”

  “If you decide to tell them, how will you do it?” Naomi asked.

  “Shevenko,” Bernstein said.

  “He can’t be trusted,” Shemanski growled.

  “True,” Bernstein said. He smiled faintly. “None of us can be trusted by someone from another nation, not if we think first of our own nation. But in all the years I have known Igor Shevenko I have never known him not to pay back a favor or a debt. If he has this information it will give him another lever to use in his disagreements with the Soviet admirals and their hardliner backers in the Politburo.” He rose from his chair.

  “Thank you,” he said. “We all have work to do.”

  The weather in Moscow had turned unseasonably warm and a soft, misting rain was falling, blurring the sharp icy edges of the snow piled along the sides of the sidewalks. Igor Shevenko left his office and walked the two blocks between his office and the Kremlin with long, firm strides, breathing in the warm, moist air with relish. At the Kremlin he turned north and slowed his pace, heading for a worker’s cafeteria near Sverdlov Square. He pushed through the door of the cafeteria and his nostrils were assaulted by the heavy, warm smells of rain-soggy clothes and the odors of cooking. He shouldered his way through the early lunch crowd and found a table back in a corner of the room. Anton Simonov entered the cafeteria a few moments later and stood looking around the room. He saw Shevenko and joined him.

  “A good change,” Shevenko said as Simonov sat down. “A little warm rain is better than a lot of wet snow.” He looked up at the waiter who was standing near the table.

  “Cabbage soup, a cold pork sandwich, and beer.” The waiter looked at Simonov, who nodded and said he would have the same.

  “This break in the weather probably means we will be freezing our asses off this time next week,” Simonov said. “I like to see winter stay winter until it is over and done with. I don’t like these little periods of warm weather.”

  “Did you like it in Egypt when you were there?” Shevenko grinned at the other man. He broke a piece of bread into chunks and began to chew one of the pieces.

  “No. Too damned hot there. Day and night no relief from that damned muggy heat. And filth? Cairo has to be the world’s dirtiest city.” He pulled his chair into position as the waiter put two bowls of steaming cabbage soup on the table.

  “Anything happen last night, after we talked?” Shevenko asked.

  “The usual thing,” Simonov said. He blew on a spoonful of soup and tested the temperature with his tongue before putting it into his mouth. “Your boy, excuse me, your aide was picked up in an alley near your office by his friend in his official car. We have pictures of that. We have pictures of the two of them getting out of the car in front of the friend’s apartment. The friend must like your aide, he patted him on his ass on the way to the apartment door.

  “Your aide came out of the apartment at one this morning and the friend’s car took him home. The film taken at his apartment shows the same routine.” He bent his head to his soup bowl and spooned up the savory liquid. He finished the soup and shoved the bowl away as the waiter put two plates, each with a thick sandwich of coarse bread and cold pork, on the table with two steins of beer.

  Simonov grimaced, his open lips showing a tooth capped in stainless steel. “It’s a damned disgusting business, you know that? Your aide gets buggered and then he comes home and buggers his roommate.”

  “Did you get pictures last night?”

  “Oh, sure. We took over the apartment next door to your aide’s apartment. The pictures are in my briefcase.” He raised the case from the floor and put it back down. “Also cassettes, copies of the cassettes we made over the past three weeks in your aide’s apartment. Turns your stomach to listen to them.”

  “The friend’s driver,” Shevenko said.

  “We own him,” Simonov said. “He’s a sailor. Charged once with sodomy. The man he drives for got him off. I think the whole Navy is homosexual.”

  Shevenko grinned. “You know what Winston Churchill said when he was in charge of the English Navy? He said the quote unquote glorious days
of wooden ships and iron men were really days of beatings and buggery. How do you own the driver?”

  “You start following one lead and you uncover six others,” Simonov said. “You know how it is. The driver has a little friend, a little fop who writes about the ballet for magazines. We took pictures of the two of them and then leaned on the driver. He will co-operate. His boss lets your aide play with him in the back of the car. The driver knows what goes on. If necessary he’ll testify to save his own skin.” He looked at Shevenko as he washed down a mouthful of the coarse bread and pork with a swallow of beer.

  “It’s a damned dangerous situation, my old friend. With a snake in your grass such as you have you’d better be damned careful where you step.” He raised his hand and the waiter brought two more steins of beer and took away the empty plates.

  “If I may suggest it, old friend, let me eliminate your aide and his roommate. With apartments as scarce as they are, two animals like that don’t deserve to have their own quarters. With a bath and a kitchen.”

  “When do you have to show your evidence to the man who asked you to do the surveillance?” Shevenko said.

  “No fixed time,” Simonov said. “Listen to me, Igor. Let me take care of this snake in your office. I’ll arrange it so you will be in the clear, depend on me for that. You don’t have to say who your aide’s friend is. You can simply say that you suspected your aide and that his death came before you could bring charges against him. With both of them eliminated part of your problem goes away. With what I have got, while it’s only circumstantial, the driver and the death of your aide makes what I do have damned heavy circumstantial evidence. Enough for the man who wanted the surveillance done to use his weight. And he is one who knows how to do that.”

  “How would you do it?” Shevenko asked.

  “A simple wet job. I’ve got people in my department who have made a career out of that sort of thing. It would appear to be a lovers’ quarrel between two homosexuals. Not uncommon, not even for Moscow.”

  “Weapons?” Shevenko asked.

  “Probably kitchen knives. A dual stabbing. We’d wait until after your aide had buggered his friend. The medical examiner could be coached to examine the artist’s bunghole for semen. Simple.”

  Shevenko pushed back his chair and looked at the bill the waiter had laid on the table. He put some money on top of the bill and took the briefcase Simonov handed to him. He stood up.

  “Tonight,” he said.

  “Agreed,” Simonov said. “But we may have to wait a day, wait until your aide does his job on his little friend so the medical examiner will be able to find the evidence.”

  “I’ll owe you for this,” Shevenko said as the two men walked toward the door of the cafeteria. “I always pay my debts, Anton.”

  “There will be no debt,” Simonov said firmly. “I can never repay you what I owe you. For many things. Not the least of which is my wife’s peace of mind. Her mother is safe and happy in Israel, thanks to you. She and my wife pray for you each night. Think no more about it. Think about finding someone to be your aide.”

  “I have someone in mind,” Shevenko said as the two men walked slowly along the sidewalk. The misting rain had stopped and a cool wind was blowing. “It will freeze by tomorrow,” Shevenko said.

  “Who do you have in mind?” Simonov said. “I have a good man in my department who might be the man for you.”

  “Sophia Blovin,” Shevenko said.

  “Sophia?” Simonov grinned. “A man would be a fool not to bring that one along, to raise her up. And to lay her down!” He banged on Shevenko’s shoulder with a heavy fist and laughed.

  “You never change, old friend! You know what we used to say in the Academy, about the girls? We used to say that if you made it the first time with a girl then you could be certain that Igor had been there ahead of you!”

  Shevenko shook his head, smiling. “Those were good days. Tonight, if you can.”

  “Leave it to me,” Simonov said.

  CHAPTER 14

  The early morning winter winds rattled a loose window in Captain Steel’s office and he went over to the window and pulled the drape across the glass, shutting out some of the cold air that came through the loose-fitting window frame and muffling the noise of the wind. He went back to his desk and sat down and watched as a Chief Electronics Technician patiently searched for hidden electronic bugs in his office. The Chief finished and packed away his gear in a box.

  “Not a thing, sir,” he said to Captain Steel. “Everything’s as clean as a whistle.” Steel nodded and the Chief left the office. He stopped at the desk of Captain Steel’s Chief Yeoman, looking back over his shoulder to make sure the door to the office was closed tightly.

  “What’s with him, he paranoid? Every other week he wants this place swept. Who the hell is going to bug an office in this area of the Pentagon?”

  “Someone did, about eight years ago. Before I got here. He found the bug under his desk. That was back when he was fighting for appropriations for his submarines. He’s never forgotten it.”

  “Why didn’t you get yourself a transfer,” the Chief Electronics Technician growled. “Got to be better billets than this one for a Chief with as many years in as you got.”

  “It’s not too bad. He’s hard but he’s fair. Worst thing about him is you can’t drink coffee or smoke during working hours. He says coffee and cigarettes are poison. He might be right. I feel a hell of a lot better, not smoking or sucking up coffee all day long.”

  Satisfied that his phone lines were electronically clean, Captain Steel dialed the private number of Representative Walter W. Wendell, Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee.

  “Us country boys get up early,” the old Congressman drawled into the phone. “Yeah, I can meet you at that place. In about twenty minutes. Can’t give you too much time. Got to call a committee meeting and sort of take a fall out of one of my new members. Damned fool thinks he’s gonna get a new Naval Reserve Armory for his district. Hell, the Naval Reserve is the biggest boondoggle we got and I ain’t releasin’ no funds for another pile of bricks. Twenty minutes.”

  The Congressman ordered coffee, ignoring the cold stare of disapproval from Captain Steel. He hunched over the table and dug a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack and straightened it between his arthritic fingers and lit it, not bothering to blow the smoke away from Captain Steel.

  “Had one of my best bird dogs do a rundown on Brannon,” he said. “The bird dog’s good at his trade. He can find rich black dirt where you and me see nothin’ but gravel. He couldn’t find nothin’ in Brannon’s life, official or private, we can use against him.”

  “Which means?” Captain Steel rasped.

  “Which means the easy way ain’t there. I even had a friend ask old J. Edgar if they had anything on Brannon in J. Edgar’s private files. Negative, as they say in the military.”

  “I gave you enough information to use, enough to haul him before a congressional investigation committee,” Steel said.

  “And I told you what I thought of that information. I know what he did was wrong. General MacArthur was wrong too, but Brannon’s smarter than MacArthur was. Brannon did something wrong that was so damned big and wrong that I’d say every mother’s son of a voter out there in this great nation would stand up and holler that this is what we should have been doing ever since the Roosians euchred us out of half of Europe after the war.” He sat back in his chair and sipped at his coffee and then he leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

  “The Roosians sank one of your missile submarines. And Michael P. Brannon gave the order to sink the submarine that sank our submarine. And he got that submarine sunk. And the Roosians ain’t done nothin’ in return. And probably won’t.”

  “The Soviet Navy has put all its submarines on full war alert,” Captain Steel said.

  “I know about that,” the Congressman said. “Used an old code, didn’t they? A c
ode that everyone can read without no trouble. They want everyone to know that they’re chompin’ at the bit, ready to go to war.

  “Well, shit! Reminds me of a bully we had in our town when I was a boy. He’d put a stick on his shoulder and dare the smaller kids to knock it off. If no one knocked it off he’d punch some of the littler kids and then laugh. Told my pappy about that and he told me that the next time it happened I should knock the stick off’n his shoulder and if I didn’t he’d whop me with his belt. My daddy could whop the shit right out of you with that belt of his.”

  “And I suppose you knocked the chip off the bully’s shoulder,” Captain Steel said in a bored voice.

  “I did and I purely kicked the shit out of that old boy.” The old man smiled at the memory. “I don’t know whether it was he couldn’t really fight or if it was that I was more scared of my daddy and his belt than I was of that bigger boy. Didn’t make no never mind. He never bothered us kids again.” He signaled the waitress for a refill for his coffee cup and lit another cigarette.

  “I know that you’re an engineer, Captain, and a damned genius and you can’t hardly keep your patience listenin’ to me tell you that story. That’s the difference between a good engineer and a good politician; politicians listen kinda close to people.

  “Michael P. Brannon, Vice Admiral of our Navy, did to the Roosians what I did to that bully. He knocked the chip off their shoulder and he whupped their ass. They understand that kind of talk, Steel. The country understands that kind of talk.” The faded hawklike eyes under the bushy gray eyebrows peered through the cigarette smoke at Captain Steel’s ascetic face.

  “Just mebbe, Captain, just mebbe you’ve misjudged the caliber of Michael P. Brannon. Mebbe he’s a mite too tough for you. Mebbe he’s got some ideas that I haven’t had a chance to hear. Think that could be so?”