Майкл Ридпат - Launch Code

‘Isn’t it?’ said Lars. ‘Because it seems to me that the communists are trying to take over the whole world and have been ever since the Russian revolution. “Workers of the world unite.” That’s the whole world.’

‘Sure, that’s how it started,’ said the XO. ‘But then Stalin changed the slogan to “Socialism in one country.” Not the whole world.’

‘He was happy to swallow up Eastern Europe. And what about Vietnam? And Syria? And Africa? What about Cuba?’

‘We have been just as aggressive as the Soviets in all those places,’ said the XO. ‘More so, really. All those dictatorships we have propped up in South America. Fidel Castro didn’t even know he was a communist until we told him he was.’

‘That can’t be right,’ said Lars. ‘Are you trying to tell me Castro isn’t a communist?’

‘He is now,’ said Robinson. ‘I’m just saying maybe we made him that way.’

‘We are only protecting ourselves and the free world,’ said Lars. ‘Hell, that’s one of the reasons I joined the damn Navy.’

‘Yes,’ said the XO. ‘I get that. But I wonder if the Russians think we are an equal threat to their socialist world. In fact, now I believe they think we are a bigger threat. I think they are more scared of us than we are of them.’

‘Is this your CIA friend at the Pentagon?’ I said.

‘Yeah. And he is convincing. Ronald Reagan is talking about the arms race as a race the US can win. And the Soviets are asking themselves the question, what does losing the arms race mean? What does losing the Cold War mean? Does it mean the US launches a nuclear decapitation strike?’

‘I’m with Craig on this,’ said Lars. ‘That just doesn’t sound right to me.’ He leaned forward. ‘That’s not why I took a swing at Commander Driscoll. I wasn’t thinking about the rights and wrongs of my country’s nuclear strategy. I was just taking the only chance I could see to stop the world from blowing itself up.’

‘Me too,’ I said.

‘Yes, yes, I’m really glad you did it,’ said the XO. ‘But the more I think about it, the more I think that deterrence only works when we and the Soviets understand what we are doing, and trust each other.’

‘ Trust each other?’

‘Yeah. They trust us to be ready to press the button if they launch missiles, and we trust them to do the same thing. Result: nobody launches anything.’

‘Except we nearly did,’ I said.

‘That’s right,’ said the XO. ‘And one day there will be some Russian crew on a submarine or in a missile bunker who might nearly make the same mistake. All I’m saying is that it might be better for trust in each other if we told each other all about it.’

I understood what the XO was saying. I wasn’t sure I agreed with him, but I understood him.

‘That’s why this Able Archer exercise was so screwed up,’ the XO went on. ‘All it did was make them think we had the capability to launch a pre-emptive strike. It may even have made them think that that’s what we were actually doing. It brought nuclear war closer, not further away.’

‘So what should the exercise have done?’

‘Been more open. Not used new codes or such widespread radio messages. Showed them and us that NATO could defend Europe. That if the Soviets attacked, we would respond. But that we had neither the interest nor the capability to attack them first.’

I glanced at Lars. The XO had a point.

‘So are you saying you are not going along with the cover story?’ Lars asked.

The XO smiled. ‘Oh, no. In the real world, that’s the best option. And it’s also the best way of making sure that you guys don’t get court martialled.’

Lars nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘XO?’ I asked.

‘Yes?’

‘Are you going to stay in the Navy?’

Lieutenant Commander Robinson smiled. ‘I’ve been thinking about that too. And yes. If they’ll allow me, I’ll stay. Now. Let me tell you how Weps fell down that ladder.’

January 1984, New York City

New York looked spellbinding in the snow. The north-east of the United States had spent three days in a blizzard, but the storm had spun off into the Atlantic overnight, leaving the city glistening brilliant white.

My train down from New London had been delayed three hours, but had eventually pulled in to Penn Station. I wandered through the streets, passing rosy-cheeked New Yorkers gazing in dazed wonder at their city’s new cloak. And the odd wad of cardboard and blankets in doorways, beneath which other New Yorkers, whose cheeks were grey and black, burrowed.

I made my way to St Mark’s Place, and stood to one side as a woman bundled up in scarf and greatcoat emerged from Donna’s building, her scalp pink in the cold beneath her green Mohawk. The East Village was the East Village, even at ten degrees below freezing.

I pressed Donna’s buzzer.

‘Hello?’

I swallowed. ‘Hi. It’s Bill. Can I come in?’

Silence.

‘Donna?’

‘Bill. You shouldn’t be here. We agreed not to see each other anymore.’

‘Well, I am here. And I have something to tell you.’ More silence. ‘And it’s freezing.’

The door buzzed and I pushed my way into the building.

Donna’s apartment was warm and she was wearing an old green Joni Mitchell T-shirt I recognized. Her honey-blonde hair had been cut shorter, but the little notch was still there in her chin. It was more than three months since I had seen her, and she looked more beautiful than I remembered. I just wanted to grab her and kiss her.

But I stood in the doorway. ‘Hi,’ I said, smiling. Hoping to coax out that familiar lop-sided hint of amusement.

I failed.

‘You had better come in,’ she said, looking away from me. ‘Do you want coffee?’

‘Please.’

She busied herself with the coffee maker. I took the opportunity to stare at her back while she couldn’t see me. I wanted to wrap my arms around her so badly.

‘How’s the stapling going?’ I said.

‘It’s OK,’ she grunted.

‘Just OK?’

‘No,’ she said, a hint of bitterness in her voice. ‘I’ve decided it’s a waste of time. I’m going to law school in the fall. Penn, if I can get in.’

‘I’m surprised,’ I said. ‘I never thought of you as a lawyer.’

‘Not that kind of lawyer,’ Donna said. ‘I’ve realized that if you want to actually help people, you need the law on your side. Protesting can only get you so far.’

‘I see.’

She poured two cups of coffee and gave me one. No milk — she remembered that.

‘I know about Craig,’ she said. ‘Vicky told me.’ Her voice softened a touch. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thanks.’

‘OK,’ she said, sitting on her bed and pointing to the one armchair in her studio. ‘Say what you’ve got to say and then go.’

‘Can’t I drink my coffee?’

‘Say what you’ve got to say, drink your coffee and then go.’

I sipped from my mug. I had expected a small protest from Donna at my appearance. It’s true she had insisted we shouldn’t see each other again. But not this hostility. It was as if she hated me.

I wanted to ask why. But I decided to say what I had come there to say.

I had agonized over whether to come. The captain and the XO had concocted a story for what had or had not happened on the Alexander Hamilton , and how Craig had died. The other officers had bought into it, as had the crew — and the Navy. And we had all sworn not to tell anyone.

And here I was planning to speak with Donna.

But I couldn’t help it. She was why Lars and then I had questioned orders and then disobeyed them. She was why the USS Alexander Hamilton had not launched those three missiles at Moscow, Leningrad and Berlin.