ICEBOUND By Dean Koontz

“But we’d need permission from Moscow.”

“Of course.”

“To get the quick answer you need, you’ll have to send your request by satellite relay. And to use that equipment, we’ll have to surface.”

“I’m aware of that.”

The laser transmission funnel and the collapsible reception dish were mounted atop the submarine’s sail, that large finlike projection on the main deck, which also supported the small bridge, radio and radar masts, periscopes, and snorkel. They had to surface before the tracking gear could fix on a series of Russian telecommunications satellites and before the laser could operate properly. But if this breach of secrecy was a disadvantage to a ship like the Pogodin, the incredible speed of laser transmission outweighed the negatives. From practically anywhere in the world, one could send a message to Moscow and immediately receive an acknowledgement of its receipt.

Emil Zhukov’s long, saturnine face was suddenly lined with anxiety, because he realized that he was going to have to choose to disobey one authority or another—either the captain himself for the captain’s superiors in Moscow. “We’re on an espionage run, sir. If we surfaced, we’d compromise the entire mission.”

With one finger, Gorov traced a painted latitude line on the lighted surface of the electronic chart table. “This far north, in the middle of a raging winter storm, who’s to see us? We should be able to go up, send, and receive in total anonymity.”

“Yes, all right, but we’re under orders to maintain strict radio silence.”

Gorov nodded solemnly, as if to say that he had thought about that issue and was conscious of his awesome responsibility. “When my son was dying, Moscow broke our radio silence.”

“That was a matter of life and death.”

“People are dying here too. Certainly we’re under orders to maintain radio silence. I know how serious a matter it is to set aside such orders. On the other hand, in an emergency, a captain is permitted to disobey the Ministry at his discretion.”

Frowning, the lines in his long face cutting so deeply that they began to look like wounds, Zhukov said, “I’m not so sure you could call this an emergency. Not the type of emergency they had in mind when they wrote the rules.”

“Well, that’s what I’m calling it,” Gorov said, issuing a quiet but not particularly subtle challenge.

“You’ll have to answer to the Naval Board of Inquiry when it’s all over,” Zhukov said. “And this is an intelligence mission, so the intelligence services will have some questions.”

“Of course.”

“And half of them are staffed by former KGB men.”

“Perhaps.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m prepared,” Gorov said.

“For an inquiry. But for what the intelligence services might do with you?”

“For both.”

“You know what they’re like.”

“I can be tough. Mother Russia and the navy have taught me endurance.” Gorov knew they were approaching the last sixteen bars of the tune. The crescendo was near.

“My head will be on the block too,” Zhukov said morosely as he slid the printout across the table to Gorov.

“No one’s head will be on the block.”

The first officer was not convinced. If anything, his frown deepened.

“They aren’t all fools at the Ministry,” Gorov said.

Zhukov shrugged.

“When they weigh the alternatives,” Gorov said confidently, “they’ll give the permission I want. I’m absolutely positive of it. Clearly, Russia has more to gain by sending us on this rescue mission than she does by insisting upon the continuation of what is, after all, nothing more than another routine surveillance run.”

Emil Zhukov still had his doubts.

Getting up from the stool, rolling the printout into a tight tube, Gorov said, “Lieutenant, I wan the crew at battle stations in five minutes.”

“Is that necessary?”

Except for the complicated or dangerous maneuvers, the regular watch could surface or dive the submarine.

“If we’re going to break a Ministry rule at our own discretion, we can at least take all precautions,” Gorov said.

For a long moment they stared at each other, each trying to read the other’s mind, trying to see the future. The first officer’s gaze was more penetrating than ever.

Finally Zhukov stood up without breaking eye contact.

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