“Mrs. Rule, Mr. Nixon would like to see you in his office.” she said.
Rule thought it odd that the woman would come for her. instead of telephoning.
“I’ll be there in two minutes.” she said.
“I’ve got some files to lock up first.”
“Please don’t be long,” the secretary said. and left.
Rule refiled the folders on her desk in the combination lock cabinet, then walked down to Nixon’s office.
“Go right in.” the secretary said.
Alan Nixon sat behind his desk. A man she didn’t know had pulled a chair around to Nixon’s side of the desk and sat next to him.
“Come in. please. Katharine.” Nixon said. “and close the door.”
Rule closed the door and sat in the single chair facing the two men.
“This is Charles Mortimer of internal Investigations.”
Nixon said.
“He has some questions to ask you. Are you willing to answer his questions?”
She regarded Charles Mortimer evenly for a moment Internal Investigations served much the same function in the Central Intelligence Agency as did the internal affairs units in big-city police departments. Mortimer hadn’t spoken yet, but Rule hated him already. Everybody hated Internal Investigations.
“Are you reading me my rights, Alan?” she asked.
Nixon flushed. Mortimer spoke quickly.
“Now, Mrs.
Rule, I don’t think that’s necessary at this point in time.
We can talk informally, here.”
“Informally?” Rule asked.
“Tell me, Mr. Mortimer, is this conversation being recorded?”
Nixon got even redder, but Mortimer did the talking.
“Would it disturb you if we were being recorded, Mrs.
Rule?”
Rule knew she was on shaky ground, here. Employees of the Agency had the same rights as other citizens, but to invoke them could be a very bad idea. She might end up suspended from her job for weeks or months, and the whole investigative weight of Internal Investigations might fall on her. She didn’t need that, just at the moment. She smiled slightly.
“If I were invited in for an informal chat by my immediate superior, and I learned later that the conversation had been recorded, that might disturb me,” she said, taking care to keep her tone even.
“Would you be disturbed, in the same circumstances, Mr. Mortimer?”
It was Mortimer’s turn to flush. He said nothing for a moment, then he reached forward, opened a drawer in Nixon’s desk, and pushed a button, making a soft click.
“This conversation is not being recorded,” he said.
“Now, I would like to ask you some questions, informally of course.”
“Of course,” Rule replied.
“What would you like to know?”
Mortimer leaned forward in his chair.
“Mrs. Rule, since you have been an employee of the Central Intelligence Agency, have you ever done anything to violate the terms of your employment contract?”
Tricky, Rule thought. A yes answer could get her suspended immediately; a no could lay her open for what amounted to an internal charge of perjury, never mind that she hadn’t been sworn. Who hadn’t taken a file home to work on, or leaked some tidbit over dinner or in bed?
Everybody did that stuff.
“That’s an awfully general question Mr. Mortimer.” she replied.
“Why don’t you be specific?”
Alan Nixon could contain himself no longer.
“You’re not making this easy. Katharine.” he blurted.
“What am I supposed to make easy. Alan?” she asked.
Mortimer held up a hand.
“All right, we’ll be specific.
Have you ever removed classified material from the Agency premises without authorization?”
Why were they picking at her like this when they knew she had left the country without authorization? At least Simon had told her they knew. Had he been bluffing? She couldn’t allow them to nail her with anything now; she had to fly to Stockholm tonight.
“Mr. Mortimer.” she said. allowing herself to sound a little exasperated.
“I am ; loyal citizen of the United States and a loyal employee of this Agency. If you have any charges to make against me. make them. and I will respond appropriately.” Put up or shut up. If he put up. she was suspended and grounded.
She held her breath.
Mortimer sat back in his chair, and she hoped that was body language for backing down.
“As I said, Mrs. Rule. this is just an informal chat among colleagues.” Swell. now they were colleagues.
“Let me put it this way: if I charged you with removing classified materials from Agency premises, would you deny it?”
“Hypothetically speaking?” she asked.
“Of course.” he smiled “Hypothetically speaking.” she said. “if you charged me with removing classified materials or. for that matter. with anything else. I would immediately request a formal hearing with counsel present.”
His smile disappeared.
“I see.” he said.
Quickly, before Mortimer decided to charge her with something, she turned to Nixon.
“Alan. I’m leaving on vacation tomorrow morning, a trip that you approved some time ago. and I’ve got a lot to do.” She pointed at Mortimer “If this jerk thinks I’m a Soviet mole. or something, tell him to arrest me now Otherwise. 1’in going home and pack.” She stood up.
Mortimer leaned over and whispered something to Nixon.
“That will be all. Katharine.” Nixon said. “For the moment. Have a nice vacation. We’ll see you when you get back.”
She turned and walked toward the door, breathing hard.
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said, without turning her head. She opened the door and closed, almost slammed, it behind her. Her heart seemed to pound two or three times for each footstep as she strode quickly to her office, grabbed her briefcase and walked out of the building.
That had been a near thing, she thought, as she made her way home through the rush hour traffic. They weren’t sure of themselves, yet, but they were leaning hard. By the time she got back, they might have something on her. Her only defense, if any, was to be right. She laughed nervously to herself. The only thing that could save her career was if the Soviet Union invaded Sweden! HELDER took the Whiskey boat out of Liepaja submerged and set a course north to intercept the Helsinki-Stockholm ferry. Some of his crew were familiar from the Juliet mother sub on his previous mission, one officer was not.
“My name is Kolchak,” the man said. He did not offer his hand.
“I am assigned as political officer.” He was taller than Helder and thin, with a bland, gray face, the sort of face that was difficult to read.
“Kolchak,” Helder said, nodding. He was surprised to find the man aboard. One of Malibu’s features had been the remarkable and complete lack of political officers.
Every military unit in the Soviet armed forces had a political officer, who reported not to the unit’s commander, but to his Party superiors. Political officers were a pain in the ass and were despised by every military commander, and Helder was no exception. Why, after all this time, had Majorov saddled him with a Party hack?
“My instructions are to remain with you at all times during this operation,” Kolchak said.
“I see,” Helder said.
“Why are you armed aboard my ship?” he asked, nodding at the pistol in the shoulder holster visible under Kolchak’s bridge jacket.
“I am instructed to be armed,” Kolchak replied.
Majorov obviously intended to see that Helder carried out his mission. Helder had little doubt that, if he varied from Majorov’s orders, Kolchak had been instructed to shoot him and complete the mission himself. Helder was in no mood for a political officer. If he completed his mission, he would be beyond the reach of such people; if he didn’t complete it. he’d be dead.
“Fine.” said Helder “Carry out your instructions, but stay out of my way. See that I don’t bump into you as I move about my ship.”
Kolchak blinked. He obviously was not accustomed to being addressed in this manner by military commanders.
“What is your course?” he asked.
“You worn about Party doctrine.” Helder snapped.
“I’ll worry about the course.” He pushed past Kolchak and went to the communications shack. The radio operator. in his tiny alcove, didn’t bother to rise. since he couldn’t.
“Sparks.” Helder said. “in certain circumstances you may be required to transmit a sonar signal on this frequency.” he handed the operator ‘the card Majorov had given him.
“Yes. sir.” the radio operator replied, glancing at the card.
“I have been told of this and of the special receiver. but I have not been told the codes.”
“I have the codes.” Helder said.
“You are to transmit on my order alone, as long as I am alive. Do you understand this?”
The man glanced over his shoulder at Kolchak and smiled.
“Yes. Captain. I understand. Only on your order.”
Helder clapped him on the shoulder “Good man.” He walked aft to where two young men. the helmsman and the planes man sat before two large wheels, watching dials before them.
“Helmsman, have you been told that we will follow the Helsinki-Stockholm ferry into the archipelago?”
“Yes. sir I was at the helm during your last mission.
Captain. I know the drill. The planes man too.”
“Good.” Helder motioned for the officers to gather round the chart table, then he explained the mission in detail to them.
“Any questions?” he asked.
No one spoke. Kolchak started to say something but stopped himself.
“Good. let’s get on with it, then.”
The sub continued north through the afternoon, staying in Soviet waters until they were past the Estonian island of Hiiumaa, nearly into the Gulf of Finland. At their rendezvous point with the ferry, Helder slowed the sub and used the periscope frequently, until he had the large ship in his sights. Issuing commands in a calm, quiet voice, he brought the sub into the ferry’s wake, then closed slowly on it until the noises of the submarine would be indistinguishable from those of the ferry.
“Number one,” he said to the executive officer, “take the conn; I’m going to my cabin for a while. The ferry will slow to six knots when it enters the archipelago. See you don’t stick this sub up her ass. Call me if anything even slightly unusual occurs.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the man said.
Helder stopped for a moment and studied the chart again, memorizing its every feature. With his finger, he traced the straight line from where he would ground the sub to where the navigation buoy lay on the seabed. He looked at the area surrounding the buoy. Stockholm lay five kilometers to the west, and the low-lying islands of the archipelago surrounded the site. The buoy was landlocked, except for the relatively narrow channel through which he had taken the mini sub Helder went back to the captain’s cabin, pulled the curtain shut and stretched out on the bunk.
Everything was in perfect order, he thought, except that some shadowy fear still gnawed at him, a fear not connected with the ordinary apprehension before a mission.
He did not like the feeling, and he tried to trace its origins through the maze of his mind. It was the buoy that bothered him. He had placed it himself, at great risk, and normally, when he had completed a task, the thought of it gave him satisfaction. But now, instead of satisfaction, he felt apprehension. Why? What was his subconscious telling him?
He dozed off and on, playing with the thought, letting it find its own way through the maze, then his eyes came open, staring. Three questions about the buoy nagged at him; together, they triangulated on a single answer. He dismissed the idea as insane, but when he ran through the process again, he was led to the same place. He had watched and admired Majorov’s determination through all of this, but now, he believed he had underestimated that determination. Helder suddenly knew that Majorov had not the slightest intention of halting the invasion of Sweden. surprise or no surprise. If the Swedes caught on too soon. and the Kremlin tried to back out, Majorov had a means of committing them irrevocably to the invasion, and he. Helder was Majorov’s instrument.
He remembered the yellow radiation badges worn by the men who had loaded the buoy at Malibu, and now he remembered finding one of those badges in the launching compartment of the Juliet sub. The badge had turned blue.
True. Majorov had told him that the buoy was ballasted with spent uranium 235. but that would have been insufficient to irradiate the badge. He had served aboard nuclear subs, and he knew what sort of radiation dose it took to change a badge from yellow to blue.
He remembered Majorov’s mistake, when he had said the buoy’s antenna was meant to receive satellite transmissions.
He had then corrected himself, and said the buoy would send. but a navigational buoy wouldn’t send to a satellite, but to ships in the area equipped to receive.
Helder remembered the satellite dishes on the roof of the headquarters building at Malibu. They could transmit signals to a satellite, which could then be received by the buoy. But only after Helder had ordered the sonar transmission that would release the buoy’s antenna and allow it to surface.