“Did Captain Ramius act strangely?” a KGB major asked Petrov.
“Certainly not!” Petrov answered quickly, defensively. “Didn’t you know our submarine was sabotaged? We were lucky to escape with our lives!”
“Sabotaged? How?”
“The reactor systems. I am the wrong one to ask on this, I am not an engineer, but it was I who detected the leaks. You see, the radiation film badges showed contamination, but the engine room instruments did not. Not only was the reactor tampered with, but all of the radiation-sensing instruments were disabled. I saw this myself. Chief Engineer Melekhin had to rebuild several to locate the leaking reactor piping. Svyadov can tell this better. He saw it himself.”
The KGB officer was scribbling notes. “And what was your submarine doing so close to the American coast?”
“What do you mean? Don’t you know what our orders were?”
“What were your orders, Comrade Doctor?” The KGB officer stared hard into Petrov’s eyes.
The doctor explained, concluding, “I saw the orders. They were posted for all to see, as is normal.”
“Signed by whom?” .
“Admiral Korov. Who else?”
“Did you not find those orders a little strange?” the major asked angrily.
“Do you question your orders, Comrade Major?” Petrov summoned up some spine. “I do not.”
“What happened to your political officer?”
In another space Ivanov was explaining how the Red October had been detected by American and British ships. “But Captain Ramius evaded them brilliantly! We would have made it except for that damned reactor accident. You must find who did that to us, Comrade Captain. I wish to see him die myself!”
The KGB officer was unmoved. “And what was the last thing the captain said to you?”
“He ordered me to keep control of my men, not to let them speak with Americans any more than necessary, and he said that the Americans would never get their hands on our ship.” Ivanov’s eyes teared at the thought of his captain and his ship, both lost. He was a proud and privileged young Soviet man, the son of a Party academician. “Comrade, you and your people must find the bastards who did this to us.”
“It was very clever,” Svyadov was recounting a few feet away. “Even Comrade Melekhin only found it on his third attempt, and he swore vengeance on the men who did it. I saw it myself,” the lieutenant said, forgetting that he never had, really. He explained in detail, to the point of drawing a diagram of how it had been done. “I don’t know about the final accident. I was just coming on duty then. Melekhin, Surzpoi, and Bugayev worked for hours attempting to engage our auxiliary power systems.” He shook his head. “I tried to join them, but Captain Ramius forbade it. I tried again, against orders, but Comrade Petrov prevented me.”
Two hours over the Atlantic the senior KGB interrogators met aft to compare notes.
“So, if this captain was acting, he was devilishly good at it,” the colonel in charge of the initial interrogations summarized. “His orders to his men were impeccable. The mission orders were announced and posted as is normal — “
“But who among these men knows Korov’s signature? And we can’t very well ask Korov, can we?” a major said. The commander of the Northern Fleet had died of a cerebral hemorrhage two hours into his first interrogation in the Lubyanka, much to everyone’s disappointment. “It could have been forged in any case. Do we have a secret submarine base in Cuba? And what of the death of the zampolit?”
“The doctor is sure it was an accident,” another major answered. “The captain thought he had struck his head, but he had actually broken his neck. I feel they should have radioed for instructions, though.”
“A radio silence order,” the colonel said. “I checked. This is entirely normal for missile submarines. Was this Captain Ramius skilled in unarmed combat? Might he have murdered the zampolit?”
“A possibility,” mused the major who had questioned Petrov. “He was not trained in such things, but it is not hard to do.”
The colonel did not know whether to agree. “Do we have any evidence that the crew thought a defection was being attempted?” All heads shook negatively. “Was the submarine’s operational routine otherwise normal?”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel,” a young captain said. “The surviving navigation officer, Ivanov, says that the evasion of imperialist surface and sub forces was effected perfectly — exactly in accordance with established procedures, but executed brilliantly by this Ramius fellow over a period of twelve hours. I have not even suggested that treason might be involved. Yet.” Everyone knew that these sailors would be spending time in the Lubyanka until each head had been picked clean.
“Very well,” the colonel said, “up to this point we have no indication of treason by the officers of the submarine? I thought not. Comrades, you will continue your interrogations in a gentler fashion until we arrive in Moscow. Allow your charges to relax.”
The atmosphere on the aircraft gradually became more pleasant. Snacks were served, and vodka to loosen the tongues and encourage comradely good fellowship with the KGB officers, who were drinking water. The men all knew that they would be imprisoned for some time, and this fate was accepted with what to a Westerner would be surprising fatalism. The KGB would be working for weeks to reconstruct every event on the submarine from the time the last line was cast off at Polyarnyy to the moment the last man entered the Mystic. Other teams of agents were already working worldwide to learn if what happened to the Red October was a CIA plot or the plot of some other intelligence service. The KGB would find its answer, but the colonel in charge of the case was beginning to think the answer did not lie with these seamen.
The Red October
Noyes allowed Ramius to walk the fifteen feet from sick bay to the wardroom under supervision. The patient did not look very good, but this was largely because he needed a wash and a shave, like everyone else aboard. Borodin and Mancuso assisted him into his seat at the head of the table.
“So, Ryan, how are you today?”
“Good, thank you, Captain Ramius.” Ryan smiled over his coffee. In fact he was hugely relieved, having for the past several hours been able to leave the question of running the sub to the men who actually knew something about it. Though he was counting the hours until he could get out of the Red October, for the first time in two weeks he was neither seasick nor terrified. “How is your leg, sir?”
“Painful. I must learn not to be shot again. I do not remember saying to you that I owe you my life, as all of us do.”
“It was my life, too,” Ryan replied, a little embarrassed.
“Good morning, sir!” It was the cook. “May I fix you some breakfast, Captain Ramius?”
“Yes, I am very hungry.”
“Good! One U.S. Navy breakfast. Let me get some fresh coffee, too.” He disappeared into the passageway. Thirty seconds later he was back with fresh coffee and a place setting for Ramius. ‘Ten minutes on the breakfast, sir.”
Ramius poured a cup of coffee. There was a small envelope in the saucer. “What is this?”
“Coffee Mate,” Mancuso chuckled. “Cream for your coffee, Captain.”
Ramius tore open the packet, staring suspiciously inside before dumping the contents into the cup and stirring.
“When do we leave?”
“Sometime tomorrow,” Mancuso answered. The Dallas was going to periscope depth periodically to receive operational orders and relaying them to the October by gertrude. “We learned a few hours ago that the Soviet fleet is heading back northeast. We’ll know for sure by sundown. Our guys are keeping a close eye on them.”
“Where do we go?” Ramius asked.
“Where did you tell them you were going?” Ryan wanted to know. “What exactly did your letter say?”
“You know about the letter — how?”
“We know — that is, I know about the letter, but that’s all I can say, sir.”
“I told Uncle Yuri that we were sailing to New York to make a present of this ship to the president of the United States.”
“But you didn’t head for New York,” Mancuso objected.
“Certainly not. I wished to enter Norfolk. Why go to a civilian port when a naval base is so close? You say I should tell Padorin the truth?” Ramius shook his head. “Why? Your coast is so large.”
Dear Admiral Padorin, I’m sailing for New York… No wonder they went ape! Ryan thought.
“We go to Norfolk or Charleston?” Ramius asked.
“Norfolk, I think,” Mancuso said.
“Didn’t you know they’d send the whole fleet after you?” Ryan snapped. “Why send the letter at all?”
“So they will know,” Ramius answered. “So they will know. I did not expect that anyone would locate us. There you surprised us.”