Samuel Edwards - Neptune

‘Indeed I haven’t, Frank. You are Project Neptune, and that’s what makes this so difficult. I’m not doubting the authenticity of Marie’s message. I’m not even hinting it might be other than what it is. I still can’t permit it to be sent. The KGB could not only pick it up, but they could get an immediate fix on the location of the Neptune. If they know anything about what we’re doing, they’ll put every tracking vessel they own on our trail, and they’ll find us.’

He wasn’t accustomed to being denied, and his face was fiery. ‘In principle I’m forced to agree with you, Adrienne. But I don’t see how one harmless message could cause trouble.’

‘I do, Frank, and that’s why I’m here. I didn’t come along for the joyride. Have me fired and put off the ship the minute we hit Hawaii on our way home, if that will salvage your pride. Until then – no private messages!’

Richards stared at her for a long moment, turned on his heel and stalked out.

Adrienne sat still for a time before fishing in her shoulderbag for a cigarette and matches. It was a rule of thumb that problems often arose on a job when they were least expected, and she just wished Marie Richards hadn’t been involved. She had expressed her own certainty that Marie wasn’t in touch with any foreign government, and she still found it hard to believe that the wife of the man responsible for Project Neptune could be disloyal to him, much less to her adopted country. All the same, Adrienne was shaken.

The lieutenant commander looked in. ‘All clear?’

‘The rules still stand,’ she said. ‘Only you, Captain Humphries, and the executive officer are permitted to send wireless messages, and you’re restricted to such official business as the Captain deems vital for the safety of his ship and the success of his mission. There will be no exceptions!’ She left the cabin without waiting for a reply.

The lieutenant commander watched her as she made her way through the outer office, and all of his staff members were looking at her. Corporation employees were a strange breed. This one was exceptionally attractive, marvellously feminine, but the lieutenant commander didn’t believe she even thought of herself as a woman.

Papua New Guinea, one of the newer nations on earth, occupied about half of the world’s second largest island, the other portion belonging to Indonesia. Although only one hundred miles separated New Guinea from the Australian mainland, Papua was still in the Stone Age. And Port Moresby, its capital, was the hellhole of creation.

Porter stood on the balcony of the hotel suite he and Nancy occupied and, clad only in his shorts, looked out across the roofs of the thatched huts of the town at the jungle, which stretched as far as he could see. Even on the outskirts of Port Moresby it looked like a dense, impenetrable green sea.

The equatorial heat was almost unbearable, the humidity made it seem even worse and the ceiling fan that turned lazily overhead did nothing but blow a gentle stream of searing air at his back. Even the smell of rotting vegetation that was so common in the tropics was overwhelming here. Air conditioning was still unknown in this primitive land, and the hotel, supposedly one of Port Moresby’s best, was so decrepit it looked as though a typhoon wind would destroy it. By some miracle of balance unique in the south Pacific, it continued to stand.

There was mould on the bathroom tiles, what was left of the paint on the walls was flaking, and a lizard with a flicking tail, slowly making its way from floor to ceiling, did not bother to change its colour as it climbed. Porter absently brushed away a fly intent on investigating his ear, and reminded himself that, heat or no heat, it would be necessary to close the shutters before turning on electric lights after nightfall. There were no screens in the hotel, presumably none anywhere in town, and swarms of mosquitoes would be attracted by lights, as would the invisible gnats that moved into the city from the jungles in huge droves.

One of the advantages of being on the second floor was the absence of snakes in the suite, and for that much Porter was grateful. On his one previous visit to the island he had seen several species, all of them poisonous.

The ever-present heat and humidity were the least of his concerns, and as he stood on the balcony he wondered, as he had been doing for hours, why the KGB had elected to break his journey for an indefinite period of time. Perhaps submarine experts who had been studying the photographs of the dummy Neptune suspected that a ship of that size was not feasible. On the other hand, it had just been announced recently that the United States intended to build a Trident atomic-powered submarine for use in the 1980s that had a gross weight of 18,000 tons, and as the dummy supposedly would weigh only 4 tons more, he thought it unlikely that Moscow would catch on to the deception.

So many things could have gone wrong with his scheme and there were so many angles to be considered that Porter told himself to put the whole matter out of his mind. Experience had taught him to deal with the realities of such problems as they arose.

If the KGB had decided to dispose of him, his escorts would wait until they resumed the flight, and it would be no mean trick to put a bullet through his head while flying at a high altitude, then weight his body and drop the evidence into the Pacific. If they killed him he imagined they would murder Nancy, too.

What became of him was primarily of interest to him. He had to believe his ruse had been successful so far, and each day he remained alive Project Neptune was shielded that much longer. If and when the Russians discovered he had tricked them they would find it difficult to locate the real Neptune in the vast Pacific, even though they maintained a whole fleet of ships loaded with listening devices and other detection gear. They wouldn’t be impelled to conduct a massive search unless and until they discovered the purpose of the Neptune’ s extraordinary voyage, and he felt reasonably confident that, so far, the secret had been kept.

Only once before in history had leaks been prevented in a hush-hush enterprise of this magnitude. No outsider had ever learned the purpose of the Manhattan Project, the original development of the atomic bomb during World War Two. Wartime conditions had made it far easier to impose censorship, exclude unauthorized personnel, and trace possible leaks in those days.

If he and Adrienne succeeded in their present task, they’d have cause to congratulate themselves. Provided he remained alive long enough to receive his commendation from the Director. If not, Adrienne could bury it with him.

What he couldn’t quite understand was why he was risking his life in so spectacular and reckless a manner when all he could possibly receive in return was another mealy mouthed letter of commendation. He had enough of them already to paper the walls of a large room, for whatever good that would do him. The Corporation didn’t believe in handing cash rewards to its own senior operatives.

It would be absurd to tell himself he was taking outlandish risks out of patriotism. He was a naturalized citizen of the United States, to be sure, but that was no more than the legal requisite necessary for him to hold a job on his level. He was fond of America, just as he was still equally fond of Great Britain, but he had no desire to die for either country.

He might claim, of course, that he was taking chances because of a burning desire to preserve the personal liberities that free men everywhere regarded as their natural heritage. Three cheers for the Magna Carta, Parliament’s 1689 Bill of Rights and the first ten amendments to the American Constitution drawn up precisely one hundred years later. But it would be ridiculous for someone in his position to wave the flag for personal liberties and civil rights. A man who had worked for the Corporation for a number of years had violated every last one of them. Frequently.