Майкл Ридпат - Launch Code

‘I see.’

‘Let me buy you a drink? There is a hotel a couple of blocks away. Their bar will still be open.’

‘Haven’t you had enough to drink?’

The man laughed. ‘I’m Russian. I have not had nearly enough to drink.’

The hotel bar was indeed open, although empty, and Sapalyov bought us both single-malt whiskies. Glenfiddich.

‘I love this stuff,’ said Sapalyov with a grin. ‘I think it is the one thing I enjoy most about trips outside Russia.’

The melancholy seemed to have left him. It was if he was a different person. As if he had been acting before.

‘Are you a physicist too?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Yes, just like Irena.’

I doubted that, somehow. The guy just didn’t look like a physicist. ‘What is your field?’ I asked. I was a nuclear engineer and I had majored in Physics at the Naval Academy: I was planning to ask questions.

‘I’d rather not say,’ said the Russian.

‘You work for the KGB, don’t you?’ I said.

‘Of course not,’ said Sapalyov. ‘Why do you Americans think all Russians work for the KGB?’

‘All Russians outside the Soviet Union.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

I didn’t care about this joker. But something else caused me much more concern. ‘Is Irena in the KGB?’

Sapalyov had intelligent eyes. Not the kind of intelligence that can immediately grasp negative probabilities in Quantum Mechanics. They were shrewd. They could read people. No way was this guy a nuclear physicist.

‘Irena is not in the KGB,’ Sapalyov said. ‘She is a devoted worker for peace and a good friend of mine. The information you gave her has made its way to people who can influence our nuclear policy.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘We would like to introduce you to Pavel. You may have heard of him?’

‘Yes, Irena mentioned him. He is an officer in your navy.’

‘That’s correct. Like you he is concerned about nuclear accidents. He knows of a similar event on one of our submarines that happened two years ago in the Pacific.’

Despite myself, I was intrigued.

‘How do I get to meet this Pavel? He’s a serving officer, right?’

‘A neutral country. You would have to fly there, but that shouldn’t be a problem for you now you have left the Navy.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘What have you got to lose? Just talk to him.’

‘To a serving officer in the enemy’s navy?’

‘But that’s the point, isn’t it, Bill? He has the same doubts you do.’

I drained my whiskey. ‘No, Mr Sapalyov. I have done all I’m going to do. I’m not a spy, or at least I don’t consider myself a spy, and I won’t become one. I won’t have any more contact with you in the future, or Irena Boyarova.’

‘But there is so much more you can do for the cause of peace,’ said the Russian.

‘No. That’s it.’ I stood up.

‘You have already betrayed your country,’ said Sapalyov. His voice was low, a growl.

I sat down again and leaned over towards the Russian. ‘Don’t try to threaten me.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t care. I don’t care if you expose me. I don’t care if you assault me. I don’t even care if you kill me. You don’t know what it’s like to stare the end of the world in the face, like I’ve done. I don’t care what the consequences are: I will not betray my country. Is that clear?’

And at that moment, I truly didn’t care.

‘If you can use the information I gave you to make a nuclear war less likely, all well and good. If you want anything else from me, you won’t get it.’

Sapalyov’s shrewd eyes assessed me. He decided I wasn’t bluffing.

‘I have no intention of making you do something you don’t want to,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to meet Pavel, that’s fine. I — we — are grateful for what you have already told us.’

‘And by “we”, who do you mean?’

‘The Gorky Trust Group. The Soviet peace movement, such as it is.’ The Russian reached out his hand and touched my sleeve. ‘I just have one last question for you.’

‘Yes?’

‘Would any of the other officers on the Alexander Hamilton be willing to speak to us? After all, they saw the world come to the brink of destruction just like you.’

I thought of Lars. Of the XO. Of Commander Driscoll. Then I thought of the KGB.

‘No.’

The Russian let his disappointment show, but after a moment’s reflection seemed to accept my refusal. ‘I understand. Goodbye, Lieutenant Guth. And if you change your mind, just tell Dr Greenwald.’

As I walked downtown towards the subway, I was worried. I knew nothing about spies, but there had to be a good chance that Vassily Sapalyov was one. Which meant that Irena Boyarova was probably a spy also. Maybe even Pat Greenwald.

I was still happy with what I had told Irena. Part of the reason for doing it was that the Soviet leadership would know the US had nearly launched nuclear missiles at them accidentally. That had been the XO’s rationale, and I thought he was right. But no more. They would not get anything more from me.

I supposed I had laid myself open to blackmail. But I didn’t think it would be in the Russians’ interest to expose me and what I had done. They wanted me a willing cooperator. And they had nearly persuaded me.

Of course, it wasn’t just me, it was Donna. They could try to claim she was a spy as well. I would have to tell her about the evening.

I was willing to risk exposure to draw a line. The best way to extricate myself from this little mess was firmness and courage. I could do it.

And I suspected Donna could too.

‘Hey, Bill! How are you doin’, man?’

I turned to see the familiar figure of Lars fighting his way through the crowd to the bar where I had nabbed a seat for him. We were in an Irish pub in the East Village, and I hadn’t seen Lars since he had left Groton for Wisconsin three months before.

‘Good, Lars, good. Can I get you a Rolling Rock?’

‘You want me to drink that Pennsylvanian shit?’

‘It’s good beer. You know that. I’ve seen you drink enough of it.’

Lars perched himself on the bar stool. ‘Hey. We’re in an Irish bar. Get me a Guinness.’

So I got him a Guinness. ‘What’s the beer like in Brazil?’ I asked him.

‘Nothing special. They have this stuff they call “beach beer”. Tastes like piss, it’s very weak, but you can drink a lot of it, especially when it’s hot. Which it is. A lot.’

Lars was on his way to Brazil. He had decided to travel via New York, so he could see me. And I had been looking forward to seeing him.

‘What are you going to do when you get there?’

‘I’ll crash with my grandparents in Rio to start with. Then I’m going to get a job on the water. Sailing if I can. I should’ve done that in the first place rather than join the Navy. It’s got to be possible: there’s a lot of water around Rio.’

‘Do you speak much Portuguese?’

‘A bit. I’ll learn. It’ll be fun.’

‘What’s cheers in Portuguese?’

‘Damned if I know. Wait. Felicidades ?’

‘ Felicity Tarts! ’ I raised my glass and drank my beer. Deeply.

It was good to see Lars. It was really good to see Lars. Although I was enjoying living in New York, and I loved living with Donna, I missed male friendship. I missed Lars. I missed living cheek-by-jowl with a hundred and forty men in the Hamilton . How sad was that? Pretty sad.

One day I would get to the point where I had gotten the Navy out of my system, where I had my own friends, male and female, and my own career that had nothing to do with blowing the world to smithereens. I was looking forward to that point, but I wasn’t there yet.