Майкл Ридпат - Launch Code

‘I killed my best friend. I saw the world almost blow itself up. The Navy can’t deny that happened. I can’t deny that happened. We have to tell someone.’

‘I can see why I might think you should,’ said Donna carefully. ‘But why do you say that?’

‘It’s just too big a deal. The world has to know about it so it can react. Take steps to deal with something similar occurring in future. If something like this happened on the Hamilton it can happen somewhere else. It will happen somewhere else. And we won’t be prepared.’

‘So who do you want to tell?’

‘The American government — I bet the Navy won’t inform Congress. The American people. Maybe even the Russians. After all, they are the guys who will be deciding whether to retaliate next time.’

‘So why don’t you do it?’

‘Because I’m a coward. They would call it treason and I’d go to jail for the rest of my life. And — don’t laugh at this — because I gave them my word.’

But Donna laughed. ‘You are such a boy scout!’ She squeezed my hand. ‘But that’s OK. I admire honesty; I like people you can trust.’

I smiled. We were at the entrance to the station. I actually felt better having shared my worry with Donna. It hadn’t gone away; it would probably never go away. I was going to have to learn to live with it, and maybe she could help with that.

When we parted I promised to see her in two weekends’ time. She smiled broadly when she heard this, a smile I held in my mind the entire train journey back to Connecticut.

February 1984, New York City

I shivered as I stood on the small rise overlooking the model boat pond in Central Park. Scraps of brown snow clung to tree trunks and the ankles of Hans Christian Andersen on the far side of the water. The temperature had wavered within a degree or two of freezing for the past week, and the thaw had been slow. What remained of the snow, which had been so pristine when I had visited the city two weeks before, was now grey, shot through with streaks of brown.

I watched as a black poodle lifted its leg a few yards away. And yellow.

‘Got a cigarette?’ said Donna, threading her arm through mine and huddling close, as much to make use of me as a windbreak as through a sudden burst of affection.

I lit one for her, shielding the flame from the cold breeze whipping through the streets of the Upper East Side into the park. ‘She’s late,’ I said, checking my watch.

‘She’s always late,’ said Donna.

‘You didn’t tell me that,’ said Bill. ‘And why didn’t she pick a cafe? It’s freezing out here.’

‘She wants to make sure she’s not being followed.’

‘People follow her?’

Donna shrugged. ‘Maybe. From what you said, people follow me.’

I didn’t answer, but actually I was glad Pat Greenwald was taking precautions. I certainly didn’t want anyone to know I was meeting her.

It had been Donna’s idea. After that night together in her studio in St Mark’s Place, things had moved fast. As expected, I had failed the Personal Reliability Program, which meant I could no longer work on nuclear missile submarines. I had told Commander Driscoll that I had decided I wanted to leave the Navy. And I had sent off for information from business schools, in particular Wharton, which was affiliated with Penn where Donna was applying to law school. A new life was opening up for me, a life with Donna, and I was excited.

So was she.

And then it had all nearly gotten screwed up.

I had arrived in New York on Friday evening, and Donna and I had gone straight to a little restaurant in the West Village for dinner. I had managed to extend the weekend to Monday — Donna had negotiated to take that day off — and I was looking forward to it.

But as soon as we had ordered our food, Donna said she had something to tell me, and she thought she had better tell me right away.

She had told Pat Greenwald that I had been on board a submarine that had been ordered to launch its nuclear missiles.

I was furious. We argued. I announced I would take the first train back to Groton the following morning. I felt she had betrayed my trust. She agreed she had, but she had only done it because I had told her I knew the events on the Hamilton were too important to bury. She said Pat had promised not to tell anyone else, and anyway Donna hadn’t given her any details. It was entirely up to me what happened next.

What can I say? Donna won me over. I was falling heavily in love with her. The life that was suddenly appearing in front of me appealed so strongly, that I couldn’t contemplate losing it. And she was right: after what I had witnessed on board the Hamilton, after what I had done, I could never be in favour of nuclear weapons, or even neutral towards them. She was helping me do what I wanted to do, but was too afraid to.

So I had agreed to meet with Pat Greenwald at lunch time on Monday.

‘There she is,’ Donna said, pointing to a tall woman walking rapidly toward us with long strides.

Pat Greenwald was younger than I had expected — about thirty. She was wearing jeans, a black coat plastered with buttons and a green-and-white woolly hat, similarly splattered. Despite the buttons’ earnest exhortations, the effect was strangely childish, as though she had emerged from a kindergarten school yard.

‘You must be Bill.’ She held out her gloved hand, which I shook. ‘I’m Pat.’

Shrewd blue eyes smiled out of a long face, and dark curly hair leaked out of the hat. Her voice was deep and husky. She had charm — charisma even.

‘That’s me.’

‘Shall we walk?’

I couldn’t help scanning the pond for potential watchers, although I suspected that if they were any good I wouldn’t be able to spot them.

Pat noticed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve been careful. No one followed me.’ Then she grinned. ‘Actually, it’s good you are worried. Hold that attitude.’

She set off at a good pace. I walked next to her and Donna trailed a couple of feet behind us.

‘You should understand, Bill, that I won’t repeat anything you tell me without your permission.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’ I asked.

‘Fair question,’ said Pat. ‘I keep my word. And think about it: if I said that a sailor told me that a submarine had been ordered to launch its nuclear weapons, the Navy would deny it. You would deny it. No one would believe me. I would just lose all credibility.’ She turned to me. ‘I need my credibility. And we need for you to say it yourself.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘You must. Don’t you see that we can never know the true danger of nuclear weapons, or nuclear energy for that matter, because every time something goes wrong the authorities hush it up? This may not be the first time a submarine has been ordered to launch nuclear weapons. How would we know? If it had happened before it would have been kept quiet. Not just from the public, but within the Navy. It would be kept quiet from people like you whose job it is to use these weapons. Right?’

‘Right.’

She was undoubtedly correct. That was the trouble: that was the truth I wanted to hide from.

‘So how can we help you make this public? What support would you need?’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t.’

‘It would make a huge difference to the people’s attitude toward nuclear weapons. We have been searching for a way to make the ordinary person in the street realize that we all have to do something about the bombs. This could be it. Don’t you see?’

I saw. But. ‘Sorry, Pat. I just can’t do it.’

‘The public will be overwhelmingly on your side,’ Pat went on. ‘You will be a hero; the man who saved the world. They won’t be able to prosecute you — it would look really bad. We’ll whip up support for you, not just here but all over the world. If you prefer, you can make the announcement from somewhere else. West Germany, for example. Or Switzerland.’