Джон Болл - The First Team

She paused in case he had anything to say, but he chose to wait.

“To put your mind at ease, let me assure you that I know all about you and I have had very complimentary reports concerning your work from Percival.”

“I see.”

“Do you recall his telling you one evening a short while ago that if he were ever to be replaced a person answering to a certain code name would take over?”

Hewlitt opened his mouth to say yes, and then realized that it would be an open confession. “Please continue,” he said instead.

Mrs. Smith nodded. “You are indeed very careful and I fully approve of it. Let me assure you that Percival is perfectly all right, but I have come into the picture for a very good reason. I work for the First Team, Mr. Hewlitt. I am Rodney.”

He recalled the code name at once; the fact that it was a woman who bore it was surprising, but no more than that. Percival had specifically mentioned that the code name could be applied to either a man or a woman.

“How do you do,” Hewlitt said.

If she noted his careful restraint, she did not comment. “Mr. Hewlitt, the last time you talked to Percival he asked you if you were willing to take a more active role closer to the center of our operation and you accepted. After he cautioned you that it would involve a considerably increased risk he asked you again if you were still willing and your exact words to him, I believe, were ‘I think so.’ Is that correct?”

He had to believe her then. There were only three possibilities: the obvious one, that she was genuine; the second, that in some way Percival had been captured and made to talk; or that the safe house had been bugged. If either of the last two was the case, everything had gone to hell in a rocket anyway and he might as well speak freely.

“That is quite correct,” he said. “Are you a member of the First Team, Mrs. Smith?”

She shook her head. “No, Mr. Hewlitt, I am not, but I work directly for them.”

“You have my admiration,” Hewlitt said.

“Thank you. Now let me get down to cases; you are at this moment a very vital element in our planning because of your position and your exceptional ability to talk with our enemies in their own tongue. Also your integrity and judgment are both highly rated; in the opinion of some of our key people you have come a long way since the night that you identified Philip Scott — who was, incidentally, the person who betrayed Bob Landers; we know that definitely now.”

“What do you want me to do?” Hewlitt asked.

“Mr. Hewlitt, you already know about the escape of the nuclear submarine Ramon Magsaysay from Hunters Point. I am prepared to give you quite a bit more information about this operation. For example: she has successfully rendezvoused with a large cache of supplies that was positioned some time ago. She is now fully provisioned and equipped for a long voyage. She has fuel enough to steam more than a hundred thousand miles, and the crew manning her is made up entirely of hand-picked volunteers who are prepared to remain at sea almost indefinitely.”

“This is most interesting.”

“It most certainly is. This submarine is armed with sixteen Poseidon missiles of the latest type. It is commonly understood that each of these missiles is equipped with six separate nuclear warheads, all of which can be targeted and directed separately. A more accurate figure is ten. And she has other combat resources. The amount of firepower that she represents is so great that literally no nation on earth could stand up under it, and there is no nation that is not within her range. She is a fearful weapon.”

“All this being true,” Hewlitt said, “the enemy must be mustering every resource he has to find and sink her.”

“Of course, but with their present capabilities they probably cannot; they don’t have the technology. We have very accurate and up-to-date reports on what they can and cannot accomplish.”

“They may try hostages, then. I have heard a great deal about a Colonel Rostovitch; he is supposed to be totally ruthless.”

Mrs. Smith nodded. “He is, that is unquestionably right. But if he tries that, Magsaysay will fire at his homeland. I dislike to refer to it, but two nuclear explosions of very low yield compared to what Magsaysay can deliver brought Japan to her knees when she was prepared to fight fanatically to the very end.”

Hewlitt had a question. “Mrs. Smith, I take it that the submarine is operating under the orders of the First Team, is that right?”

She nodded.

“Not the Navy.”

“No.”

“And the Navy men operating her are agreeable to this.”

“Entirely so; at the moment I would say that the First Team is the Navy — among other things.”

“This understood, Mrs. Smith, why am I here?”

“If you are willing, to be the go-between, the bridge between our organization and the enemy. It is quite a sensitive assignment; you cannot afford to make any mistakes.”

Hewlitt remembered something. “Mrs. Smith, when I talked to Zalinsky today he told me that he knows the name and identity of one of our key people who occasionally visits Davy Jones’ place. That could only be Percival.”

“If he told you that, then there is little cause for concern — he was probing. As a matter of fact, Percival has an excellent alibi for tonight if he should need it.”

“I think he should be warned, though.”

“He will be, naturally. Now, if you don’t mind, I have arranged for you to remain in this house at least overnight — it may be longer depending on certain other events. I’m sure that you will be quite comfortable. These premises are considered very secure.” Hewlitt looked at her again. “Am I likely to miss work tomorrow?”

Mrs. Smith got up. “At the moment that is quite possible. If so, it will probably be to our and your advantage.”

“As long as they know that I’ve been kidnapped I presume it will be all right.”

“Oh, they know — we saw to that.” She walked toward the bar. “Before I go on, would you care for a drink now?”

“I think it would be a very good idea,” Hewlitt said.

Deep down in the quiet dark waters of the northernmost Bering Sea the U.S.S. Ramon Magsaysay moved forward at reduced speed. For several hours an invisible but persistent tension had been slowly building throughout the whole ship; there was not a man on board who had not felt it in the air. At sixty-five degrees north latitude the speed had been cut for the sake of greater quiet. All of the ship’s acute sensing devices were operating, but there was no sweep of radar, no pinging of sonar. All detection was passive. To the best of her ability she was hiding, for immediately before her was the narrow passage of the Bering Strait.

Inside the submarine only the navigator’s chart and the readouts from the inertial platform and other positioning devices gave any visible clues to her position. On the con, the nerve center from which the ship was controlled and operated, the captain stood waiting, listening to every report given and reading the faces of the instruments that supplied continuous vital data. All contact with the outside world was indirect and appeared largely in the form of numbers. Human senses as such had little to go on; there was nothing to see apart from the largely unchanging interior of the submarine, no way physically to sense the climatic cold of northern Alaska or to draw even one lungful of the Arctic air. The Seward Peninsula lay off to the right, but it was a textbook fact only — detached and remote. Yet the knowledge that it was there gave rise to the awareness of danger, and Walter Wagner, who was on the con by special permission of the captain, could feel it like a living thing.