Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about what I was going to tell the President. He’s leaving for the conference in a couple of weeks and I don’t have anything for him. I’ve failed in my mission to promote him as a champion of the environment.”

“Nonsense,” said Hardy sternly. “We’ve done more for him than you realize. I mean, we’ve successfully pulled off what the Jennifer Project back in the 1970s failed to do. I think that counts for a whole hell of a lot.” His reference to the attempted recovery of nuclear warheads by the Hughes Glomar Explorer from a sunken Soviet ballistic missile sub was not lost on her.

“I know, I know. It’s just that I told him there was a huge problem off the coast of Russia that could threaten prime fishing grounds and that the Russians couldn’t be trusted. Now after all this, I find out the Russians were telling the truth about the dumping of radioactive waste and he can’t even mention what we did find at the conference,” lamented Patterson.

“So you tell him the truth about what we found and that you were wrong. What’s so hard about that?”

“Lowell, you’re being naive. You just don’t do that in politics.”

“Argghh,” groaned Hardy in exasperation. “Look, there are two ways to champion a cause. One way is to identify a problem and bring it to the attention of others. That’s the route you’ve tried to take. But there is another route and that involves finding a solution to the problem. Now I’m sure you can come up with some pretty flowery phrases where the President can acknowledge the Russians’ honest efforts and then offer them money, technology, and international support to begin cleaning the mess up. There are plenty of precedents of previous administrations funding similar activities in Russia.”

Patterson’s mouth dropped open and she stared at him.

“You could even suggest trying out the cleanup procedures in a remote northern bay, you know, just in case something should go wrong, the impact on the environment would be minimized. Who knows what you’ll find when you start mucking around?” Hardy’s unspoken reference to the warhead barge was unmistakable.

A look of admiration lit up Patterson’s face. Awed, she said, “Oh, you’re good. Real good! I… I need to go below and do some typing. Thank you for your remarkable insight.” As she started to climb down from the flying bridge, she stopped, stood back up, and gave Hardy a peck on the cheek. “Thanks also for the beautiful evening.”

“Ohhh, don’t thank me yet, Doctor,” said Hardy with a playful glimmer in his eyes.

“What are you talking about now?”

“You’ll see.”

Confused, Patterson shook her head and started climbing down toward the control room. As soon as she was in the access trunk, Hardy sat down on the top of the sail, his legs hanging into the cockpit.

“You know, gentlemen, the human sense of smell is grossly underappreciated. Its powers of recovery from long-term abuse are simply astounding. She should be finding that out. right about now.”

Jerry looked perplexed, while Millunzi tried desperately to suppress his laughter. Then from below came a cry that could barely be heard by Hardy and the others. But it was unmistakably Dr. Patterson’s voice: “Oh my God! Ugh, it smells worse than a locker room in here! Hardy, you did that on purpose!”

Everyone on the bridge, Hardy included, roared with laughter.

As Memphis rounded the peninsula near the Scottish town of Gourock, they met a Royal Navy tug. Jerry, Millunzi, and the pilot stood elbow to elbow as Jerry made his approach. The breeze now worked for him, pushing Memphis onto the pier. The landing went smoothly, with Memphis lightly bumping up against the pier’s rubber camels. Bair gave Jerry a thumbs-up as the line handlers scurried about the deck, working feverishly to make Memphis fast to the pier.

Their reception committee filled the pier. Several military trucks, vans, and cars lined one side. Jerry could see Royal Marines scattered along the pier, establishing a security perimeter. Some blocked the access to the pier, while others took up positions along the seawall.

A medium-sized crowd was also waiting and started to file aboard as soon as the brow was put over. A knot of high-ranking naval officers and civilians led the way.

Jerry could see Hardy on the aft deck, nervously waiting to meet the first of the visitors, a vice admiral who saluted the ensign and then answered Hardy’s salute. “That’s the Director of the Submarine Warfare Division,” Bair told Jerry. He was smiling broadly as he greeted the Captain, so Jerry took that as a good sign. Jerry recognized the Squadron Commander following the Admiral, and the two senior officers were followed by a gaggle of aides and attendants.

Half a dozen armed Royal Marines, led by a junior officer, came next. They quickly took up stations in pairs, fore and aft on the hull and next to the Manta cradle. The officer tried to look fierce, but the rest managed the effect without effort.

They were followed by a group of workers in radiation suits. They headed aft toward the now-empty docking skirt, and even before they reached the aft deck, a wheeled crane rolled down the pier, lifting tackle already in place.

Jerry managed to observe all this as he finished supervising the rigging of Memphis’ mooring lines, hooking up shore power, and securing the bridge watch. Lieutenant Commander Bair nodded approvingly as Jerry finished the checklist and transferred the watch to the Command Duty Officer. “Nicely done, mister. Now get your butt down to the engine room. Mr. Ho’s waiting for you.” Mitchell badly wanted to watch as their hard-earned prizes were unloaded, but he had to work on his qualifications.

The engineers secured the plant, with Jerry serving as assistant Engineering Officer of the Watch. Like his stint on the bridge, he’d prepared by memorizing the many commands and procedures. He wasn’t perfect, but he managed to satisfy Lieutenant Commander Ho’s requirement to actually locate many of the controls and describe what had to be done with them to safely secure the propulsion plant. Ho was delighted when in the middle of the process, a pump bearing started running hot. Jerry dealt with the minor casualty correctly, if not swiftly. Both Ho and Jerry smiled as the Engineer signed off another section in his qualification book.

Once the maneuvering watch had been replaced by the inport reactor watch, Jerry hurried topside, planning to get his first look at the Manta cradle since they left New London. He stopped momentarily at his stateroom to drop off his qualification book and grab his jacket before heading up to the control room. There, he found Emily Davis, with a rating standing by to take her bags.

“They want us on the same plane as the weapons,” Emily explained hurriedly.

“And you’re okay with that?” asked Jerry, smiling.

“It’s got to be safer than being on this sub,” she retorted, but she was smiling.

Jerry was glad to see their mission finished successfully, but knew he’d miss them, even Dr. Patterson. It was hard to put his feelings into words, though. After a moment’s awkward pause, he asked, “How long until you have to leave?”

“Now,” Emily replied.

“We’ll take good care of Huey and Duey.” Jerry grinned. “I’ll read them a bedtime story every night.”

“You’d better. I’ll meet Memphis when she gets back to New London and I’ll take them back to Draper.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you, then.” Jerry realized he might have put more meaning in that than he’d planned.

“And I’ll look forward to seeing you and Memphis again,” she replied.