The First Team

19

In the budding first light of the very early morning the U.S.S. Dolly was moving forward slowly in a gentle sea. She was in far northern waters, a long way from her home port, her holds partially filled with the catch of the past many days. Her luck had been only fair, which made it very clear why she had sought out fresh grounds if anyone was curious.

The water was an iron gray, devoid of color and seemingly without an end to its vastness. The Dolly rolled slightly under a leaden overcast sky, a cumbersome and unsophisticated vessel built for prosaic work and unendowed with glory. On this morning, despite her plodding nature, there was a fresh trimness aboard her; her entire crew was up and briskly about. On the bridge her navigator was keeping his chart minutely up to date. He had made his last celestial observations some hours before, then the overcast had forced him to continue on with dead reckoning and LORAN. Despite the almost limitless expanse of water that surrounded him in every direction, he was holding the ship to very close tolerances with the maximum accuracy that his available resources would permit. On the fantail the Officer of the Deck held his binoculars before his eyes; standing to his left a signalman was ready, his two flags in his hands.

Overhead, on top of the mast, the radar antenna revolved relentlessly, sweeping both the surface of the ocean and the sky above it with unbroken diligence. On the bridge the captain and his executive officer were both on hand. The captain too was maintaining a lookout while Lieutenant Jimmy Morton, all business at this critical time, kept a close watch over the ship’s chronometer and the navigator’s chart directly below it. Lieutenant Hanson stood by, waiting as was everyone else with everything for which he was responsible in readiness. The Dolly rolled steadily, making only five knots at reduced speed.

“Minus ten minutes,” Lieutenant Morton reported.

The captain heard, but gave no acknowledgment as he continued to study the sea around him. Every few moments he glanced at the radarscope; once he was uncertain and looked inquiringly at the operator.

“No contact, sir,” the man responded without taking his attention off the face of the tube for more than a second or two.

The ship’s cook arrived on the bridge with fresh coffee and a plate of rolls. Morton accepted a cup automatically and sipped from it as he watched the navigator plot a minute change in the ship’s position. The near scalding brew that he drank black awakened his throat lining, then he could feel it enter his stomach. He set the cup in its rack, looked once more at the chronometer and waited a few seconds more. “Minus five minutes, sir.”

“Pass the word,” the captain directed.

Lieutenant Hanson heard him and responded. “Minus five minutes,” he called down to the deck. The signalman standing close to the stern shrugged his shoulders to loosen the muscles in his arms. His feet were carefully planted to absorb the rolling of the ship, his attention kept fixed on the surface of the water.

The Dolly plodded on, quartering the gentle wind that was moving the water. Everything else aboard her seemed still, only the steady turning of the radar antenna gave a definite sign of life. The officer of the deck removed his binoculars for a moment to wipe his eyes with his sleeve; then resumed his watch.

“Three minutes, sir.” Morton reported to the captain.

“Position?”

“Within five hundred yards, sir,” the navigator answered. He did not qualify it; the captain knew that his celestial work had been forestalled by the overcast.

“Carry on.”

“Ay, sir.”

The sweep second hand of the chronometer began another measured circuit of the dial.

“Contact!” the officer of the deck shouted without removing the glasses from his eyes.

The signalman leaned forward and strained his vision; it took him several seconds until, far back in the path of the wake, he was able to make out what could have been the tip of a periscope.

“Identify,” the OD ordered.

The signalman snapped his arms up and crossed his flags above his head. Then, rapidly and precisely, he wigwagged out the letters L-O-W-B-L-O-W.

Three seconds later through his binoculars the OD began to read out the first of a series of irregular flashes of light that appeared close to the top of the periscope tube. When he had finished he turned and carefully avoiding dramatics called forward. Lieutenant Hanson relayed the message to the captain. “Sir, the OD reports confirmation, it’s Magsaysay.”

“Radar?” the captain asked.

“Negative, sir.”

“Keep your eyes on that tube.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Hanson, advise Magsaysay that the radar shows all clear.”

“Ay, sir.” The word was passed and the signalman spelled out the message. Presently the reply came back. “Magsaysay will surface, sir, and come alongside.”

The captain of the Dolly received that decision with gratitude, it would make things a little easier, although he had been prepared to go either way. He checked first that his ship was maintaining course and speed, reaffirmed the radar finding, and then allowed himself the luxury of watching aft for a few moments.

In the wake of the fishing vessel the tube of the periscope grew taller. Then there was a break in the pattern of the water and a black object could be seen slowly appearing. It grew higher until numbers appeared and it could be identified as the sail of a submarine. As the captain of the Dolly watched, the black object continued to emerge from beneath the water like a process sequence in a science fiction movie. Then the water broke well forward of the sail as the main hull began to appear; nearly four hundred and forty feet long, the Magsaysay contrasted almost violently with the unimaginative but sturdy Dolly.

As she began to close the distance between herself and the Dolly, the Magsaysay sliced through the water as though the minor swell did not exist. Presently men appeared on her bridge, men who in no way suggested that they had had no food for more than three days. They looked crisp and professional in the poopie suits which had been developed for comfort during long submerged cruises.

As the Dolly held her heading with all of the precision of which she was capable, the Magsaysay gradually overtook her on the starboard side until the bow of the submarine almost reached amidships of the fishing vessel. Because of the very low profile of the nuclear ship there was no venturi effect to draw the two of them together, but the maneuvering was delicate nonetheless. On the Dolly the crew was rapidly uncovering the hatches; the derrick operator readied his equipment.

On the curved, black, wet deck of the submarine a forward hatch came open. Three men came out rapidly and positioned themselves around the opening. One of them threw a light line expertly across the Dolly; it was retrieved and a telephone cable was pulled across the short distance that separated the two ships.

From the galley of the Dolly the cook appeared carrying a large kettle. He was followed by three other crewmen, all heavily burdened with containers of food. As soon as the telephone connection had been made, the captain of the Dolly spoke to his opposite number. “Congratulations, sir, we’re glad to see you. We didn’t know until we saw you that you’d made it. We have hot chow, and plenty of it, ready and waiting.”

“Outstanding, send it over. We only verified your position a short while ago.”

The captain of the Dolly spoke to his exec. “Start the stuff moving, Jimmy.”

“Ay, sir.” Lieutenant James Morton had been waiting for this moment from the first time that he had set foot onto his ship and he needed no urging. He called to Hanson on the deck; moments later the derrick went into action. There was no way to rig a high line between the two ships plus which the movement of the water kept them both rocking gently, but the derrick operator was up to the challenge. As soon as the prepared food had been set down on a waiting pallet he picked it up and swung it expertly across the narrow strip of water and onto the deck of the submarine. It was a tricky business, but he had a very long boom; the longest in fact that the outfitters of the Dolly had dared to install. In addition, it had a telescoping feature which gave it an additional, normally invisible twenty-four feet. The fishing vessel, despite its size and bulk, heeled over considerably as the transfer was made, but that had been calculated in advance too.

“Do you need some extra hands?” Magsaysay asked.

“Negative, we’re in good shape. Enjoy your chow.”

“We’ll start feeding right now; keep the stuff coming.”

The pallet lifted off the deck of the Dolly once more, this time carrying supplies which had been specially packaged to fit through the thirty-inch-in-diameter hatchway, which was the largest opening in the pressure hull of the submarine. As fast as the pallet was unloaded, more prepared loads were brought up onto the deck of the Dolly from the holds below. Had it been necessary, the whole operation could have been done while the Magsaysay was well under the surface, but it would have been more difficult and the hot meal which had been prepared would have had to have been put into waterproof containers. Overhead the steadily revolving radar antenna kept watch over the surrounding sea and the air. Very low-flying aircraft could have defeated it and surprised the operation, but that was a calculated risk which had been accepted as too unlikely to be a genuine hazard.

In two hours’ time the Dolly had been emptied of all of the carefully prepared materiel which had been brought on board her in a dozen different disguises. Food, medical equipment, critical spares — all were transferred and passed below by relays of men on Magsaysay. As the process was nearing its finish, the captain of the submarine used the phone link once more. “Is there anything we can do for you?” he asked.

“Negative, sir, we’re in good shape.”

“I have a problem; we have two political refugees on board. They came with us uninvited at the last moment.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Considering what we have ahead of us, I’d rather not have them on board. On the other hand, I don’t want to wish them onto you either; you don’t have the facilities.”

“We’ll take them, sir — no problem. Send them over. What is their attitude?”

“Satisfactory, I’d say, particularly now that their bellies are full. But if you’re found with them, it could be the end. That’s the problem.”

“I think we can handle that, sir. We have some well-concealed compartments if we need to use them.”

“If you’re willing, it would be a big help to us.”

“No sweat; we’re glad to do it.”

On its last trip the pallet brought back Kepinsky and the man called Clem. After that final greetings were exchanged and the two Navy ships wished each other well. The phone line was cast off and Magsaysay began to drift slowly away from her supply ship. As soon as there was enough water between them the submarine began slowly to add speed; the slight wave at her bow increased as she pulled ahead. Then the wave began to creep backward as the bow dipped downward. The men of the Dolly watched as the powerful warship gradually disappeared under the surface. When the sea once more showed no sign of her presence, the captain of the Dolly spoke a silent prayer. That done he turned to Lieutenant Morton. “Carry on, Jimmy.”

“Ay, sir.”

As the sun reached its zenith Dolly was busy fishing, heading as she did so in a southwesterly direction. In another three days she would be in safer waters where she could more easily play her new role of a Japanese fishing ship headed back to her home islands. Lieutenant Hanson, the Japanese language officer, moved his bunk into the radio shack where he would be on hand to handle any unexpected message traffic. All that the Dolly and her crew asked for then was the mercy of God and, if possible, another day and a half free of observation.

To Erskine Wattles the injustices which had been heaped upon him and his people were compounded by his own long detention after the nation’s new masters had taken over. Every inmate of Leavenworth knew that there was a new warden from overseas and that she was a woman, but the routine of the prison continued almost unchanged. As the days made their dreary pilgrimage, one after the other, he waited — with fuming impatience and, at last, with a burning sense that something had gone radically wrong. He was a dynamic leader of the new movement; the movement had triumphed but his reward, the fame and the power that were now rightfully his, had been much too long in coming.

Then, at long last, two men arrived at his cell with the information that the warden wanted to see him. He stepped forward eagerly, his head suddenly high; he discarded the prison shuffle and tried to begin to walk with the swagger he had cultivated long before.

When he reached the warden’s office he was put into a chair well back from the woman who studied him from behind her desk. As she did so he judged her, deciding in his mind what disposition he would make of her once he was outside.

She spoke to him, in English. “You are loudly asking to see me. What is it that you want?”

Wattles had little time to waste on her. “I want to get out of this Goddamned stinkin’ hole,” he almost shouted. “Do you know who I am?”

“I know very well who you are.” She surveyed him dispassionately, as though he were a laboratory animal she was observing. “You are a murderer, a rapist, an arsonist, and you have made mayhem upon a federal judge in his court.”

“Goddamned right I did!”

“Your sentence is not up. When it is, I will decide whether to let you go or not.”

He started to rise out of his chair, but he was thrust back down again by one of the two guards who stood watch over him. He looked again at the woman behind the desk; she was not too old and she was good looking. Instantly his mind froze on his plan of vengeance: she would pay with her body. He would have her held down by the same two apes who were beside him now, then he would climb on her and stick it in so far and so hard she would feel it in the back of her throat.

His common sense told him that he would get nowhere abusing her now — he would have to play it cool. “You know why you’re here?” he asked. “Me, that’s why. You ask the bosses where you come from.”

In answer the woman picked up a folder from her desk, opened it, and studied the contents once more. It was for his benefit; she knew what it contained in fullest detail. “I am aware,” she said when she had finished, “you are criminal — nothing more. Your politics, it makes no difference. You are a bad, dangerous man.”

She was going to say more, but he would not let her. Raising both fists, he slammed them onto the arms of the chair. “Your boss will kill you,” he yelled.

Calmly she shook her head. “To me this prison was given to run,” she said. “It is to me to decide what to do. I tell you now that I alone am in charge; it is how we do things. You have made much trouble screaming in the night that you must be let out quickly. I send for you to tell you that it will not happen. You do not love us, you do not love me. You love only yourself.”

Wattles turned livid despite his dark skin.

“You have yet eight years to serve. You have this time to learn that you are nothing, that we do not desire you. If you do not learn, we will keep you longer. As long as we wish. If you more trouble make, I will put you in solitary. That is all.”

Back in his cell Erskine Wattles sat on the edge of his hard bunk and cursed the name of the God who had betrayed him.

On Unimak Island in the Aleutians the operator of a secret electronics communications facility listened carefully to WWV and once again checked the accuracy of his chronometer against the time tick broadcast. It was precisely on. That verified, he turned his attention to a specialized receiver that was crystal-controlled and to the backup unit which was its exact duplicate and which operated from an entirely separate power circuit. Both pieces of equipment had built-in checkout circuits which continuously monitored their performance; both read out that their parent circuitry was working perfectly.

At minus ten minutes the operator started the tape recorders, sensitive instruments that could detect and preserve the faintest sounds captured by the receivers. The highly directional antennae were properly positioned and tuned; everything was in readiness. Then, carefully and methodically, the operator checked everything once more. He knew the importance of what he was doing and he was taking no chances. Even he did not know that at another site, of which he was not aware, similar precautions were being taken for the same purpose; Colonel Prichard was not a man to leave anything to chance.

Precisely on the second that it was expected a very short, unreadable three-second transmission was received. It came and went so quickly it was almost like the winking of a flashbulb without the brilliance to announce its presence. To hear it, anyone for whom it was not intended would have had to have had the necessary underwater antennae properly tuned and precisely aimed; the chances of that happening by accident were mathematically almost invisible.

As soon as the message had been recorded the operator on Unimak relayed it on by secret circuit; it was received and transcribed in the underground headquarters of Thomas Jefferson very shortly thereafter. The news that it conveyed gave Admiral Barney Haymarket the greatest emotional lift he had known since the first indefinite messages had been received from San Francisco which indicated that the Magsaysay had probably made good her initial escape. All that he had had to go on at that point had been the likelihood that he had a ship at sea, but within vulnerable range of the enemy, unprovisioned, and with a highly hazardous at-sea supply operation setup which would depend to a large degree on luck — sea conditions and the lack of enemy interference. He had gambled with those odds because it was the best that he had been able to do, but he had not liked it and it had worried him out of two consecutive nights’ sleep.

The message he had in hand now was enough to make him call together all of his immediate associates who were available. Major Pappas had been asleep; the distinctions between night and day in the underground facility had been erased and the clock had become the sole arbiter of time. It had taken the major almost four minutes to rouse himself, get out of bed, dress, and report to the coffee bar where the admiral and the rest of the members of the First Team, with the exception of Walter Wagner, awaited him. He apologized for his late appearance.

“As far as I am aware, Ted,” the admiral said, “that’s the first time that you’ve been in the sack for the past three days. Now here’s the word.” He looked around at the small group on which he relied so much. “We have a report from Magsaysay.”

He stopped long enough to let his team understand the full meaning of his words. “She rendezvoused with the Dolly and resupplied successfully. There was no interference, and she reports no ill effects; all hands are well.”

“Three to one she unloaded her refugee passengers,” General Gifford said.

“I’d go stronger than that,” the admiral answered. “I’m sure of it. Anyhow, she is presently on her way north and at least she is in better trim than she was.”

“Have they had a chance to check out the armament?” Ed Higbee asked.

“No definite word on that, but I’m certain she wouldn’t have reported all well unless.

“Of course; sorry.” Higbee resorted to his coffee cup; he didn’t often make mistakes like that. “It’s good to know that Walter’s all right.”

“No reason he shouldn’t be,” Prichard said. “He told me when I asked him that he’s done a hundred and twenty-five feet and apparently it didn’t bother him a bit.”

Stanley Cumberland shook his head. “Specialized ability, I never cease to marvel at it. You find it all over the place and there’s no real explanation. Training and practice, of course, but I wanted to be a violinist and after three years I gave it up as hopeless. It’s got to be born in you.”

Major Pappas did not comment on that; he contented himself with drinking his coffee.

“Anyhow, gentlemen,” the admiral continued, “the only question now is, do we start phase two immediately, or wait until Magsaysay is over the next hurdle?”

“I say we go,” Higbee said. “Every hour of delay now gives them more time to absorb and think. Let’s keep the pressure on.”

“He’s right,” Colonel Prichard agreed. He did not waste words.

“Those opposed?”

There was no response to that.

The admiral had a little more of his coffee. “All right, Ed,” he said to Higbee. “It’s your ball now, yours and Ted’s. Let’s see some action.”

Higbee rubbed his hands together. He was entitled to; he had waited a long time. “You will,” he promised.

Hewlitt noted the change of atmosphere once more as he answered the summons to the Oval Office. Usually Zalinsky continued with whatever he was doing and paid him no attention until it pleased him to do so; this time the administrator watched him as he came in and kept his eyes on him while he seated himself and waited.

After a pause of a few seconds Zalinsky spoke. “Today we will converse in my language; I do not desire to practice English.”

Hewlitt responded with an idiom which in essence meant, “That’s fine with me.”

“You have heard about the submarine?”

That called for an instant decision, and Hewlitt made it. “Rumors,” he said.

Zalinsky shook his head. “I do not understand you Americans. First, when you have everything, you refuse to fight back. Then, when you have nothing, you take desperate chances that cannot succeed.”

“We took a desperate chance in 1776,” Hewlitt said.

Zalinsky waved a hand. “A good slogan, I grant you, but what happened that far back is no precedent for today — you know that.”

While he was speaking Hewlitt saw the way out of a dilemma. “Let us talk about the submarine for a moment,” he said. “I have heard rumors, as I said, but they conflict. What happened?”

“Tell me first what you have heard.”

“One of our nuclear submarines is at sea manned by a Navy crew. She escaped in full daylight from the Bremerton Navy Yard. She is supposed to be fully armed with missiles.”

“That is all?”

“That’s enough, I would think.”

Zalinsky remained silent for a few seconds more. “I will give you some very good advice,” he said. “Stay out of this.”

Hewlitt looked at him. “How can I help it?” he asked. “I have nothing whatever to do with the Navy.”

Zalinsky returned his look. “It is good that you sleep with your girl friend; I approve of this. It is normal and healthy. But the house where you stay: there is a visitor sometimes who is part of your underground. This we know, and who he is. You understand?”

Hewlitt did not dare to reply. Instead he said, “I hope to marry her.”

Zalinsky nodded. “A good choice, I think — and very wise of you to try her out first. And she you, of course. In my country this attitude would not be approved, so you see I am becoming a little bit Americanized.”

“Congratulations,” Hewlitt said. “Thank you for your advice. Will there be anything else?”

“Only one thing — I am not feeling too well, find for me please a good doctor. Especially one I can trust — you understand.”

“Fully.”

“Thank you very much.” It was the first time that Zalinsky had been that courteous in either language. It could have been automatic, but Hewlitt thought otherwise. If the submarine never fired a round, at least she had proved something and the lesson could not be ignored. By Zalinsky or anyone else. The notorious Colonel Rostovitch had something new to think about, and catching a submarine at sea would not be an easy matter. Not if the crew knew what it was doing, and he was willing to bet, on the basis of performance already proven, that it did. He wondered if the rumor he had heard, and had not repeated, was true — that the captain was a Jew. Not that it made any difference, but it might make things more interesting.

As he climbed into Frank’s cab to ride home after work, his mood had changed somewhat. Zalinsky’s words about knowing the identity of an underground agent who came to the safe house from time to time came back to him and gave him cause for worry. Not for himself; he had progressed beyond that point, but Percival was a valuable man as all men were valuable, and his loss would be acute. As soon as they were out in traffic and sufficiently by themselves Hewlitt asked for and got the all-clear signal to talk. “I want to get word to Percival,” he said. “It’s urgent.”

“All right,” Frank said. “They’re giving me a rest right now. The idea is that when a guy’s been busy for a while they rest him just in case anyone’s tailin’ him. It throws them off. But I can get word to Percival. You wanna talk to him?”

“Better just give him the message. Zalinsky told me today that he knows an underground agent is calling at the house. He knows this and who he is.”

Frank digested that quickly. “If he told you that, then he had a reason. I’ll get it to Percival right away, but if he was plannin’ somethin’, he wouldn’t let the cat out of the bag like that.”

“I wondered about that,” Hewlitt said. “You tell him, but cover your tracks — they may be watching to see how I communicate.” “Right. I’ll be careful. We’ve got a way and it’s pretty foolproof. Holy hell!”

Hewlitt did not understand until he saw a sedan that had cut in front of the cab with scant inches to spare. Frank hit the brake and turned hard toward the curb to avoid a collision; the sedan led him, forcing him over. Within moments both cars were stopped; in the seconds that it took, Hewlitt understood that they were being intercepted, that he was undoubtedly the reason, and that Percival was not the only person whose disguise had been penetrated.

He felt a desire to panic, but he thrust it down. He had been living under tension for so long now he had his reflexes conditioned and his mind schooled. When he saw two men jump quickly from the sedan he knew that they were after him. Frank saw them too and quickly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender — exactly what he should have done, Hewlitt thought. There was no need to blow Frank in this operation.

When one of the men yanked the rear door open on his side Hewlitt knew Frank was out of it. He looked up into a cold, emotionless face that told him nothing. “Out,” he was directed.

As Hewlitt complied, the man showed him a gun and motioned to the sedan. Hewlitt walked to the car and climbed in as though it was his personal choice to do so. As soon as he was safely inside, the man jumped in beside him and the car took off with a burst of speed that left black rubber on the pavement behind it. At the first intersection the sedan turned right with screaming tires; Hewlitt was forced against the second of his captors. Then, unexpectedly, the man spoke. “Take it easy,” he said. “Percival sent us.”

It could be true or it could not. The man spoke in perfect American English, plus which he had volunteered the information and knew the code name. Against it was the fact that Percival was probably already blown, and there was nothing in the rule book that said the enemy always had to talk with an accent. There were plenty of good agents who were letter and accent perfect in languages other than their own. So Hewlitt sat back and waited as calmly as he could for whatever was to happen next.

The car swung into traffic and slowed down, inconspicuous once more in the mass of vehicles. Unless some witness had been quick enough to catch the license number and had reported it very promptly, there was almost no chance of effective pursuit. Furthermore, the police department was now under enemy control and was operating far below its usual level of efficiency.

As the minutes passed the car worked its way toward the Maryland border. That reminded Hewlitt of his meeting with Barbara in an unoccupied house; the first time that they had been together alone. He thought about her, wondering what she would do if she were in his position. The same thing that he was doing, he decided. His thoughts were interrupted when the car turned into the driveway of a private house. The man on his right got out, opened the side door of the building, and motioned Hewlitt inside.

It was clearly a better-class residence; the furnishings were of very good quality and the paintings which decorated the walls were original oils. That in itself was reassuring; the premises denied the thought of violence and spoke only of good manners and cultured people. When they reached the living room he was motioned to a chair; there was no hostility in it, but there was authority just the same. Hewlitt sat down and attempted to compose himself, he was certain that he had been brought here to meet someone, but if it was a member of the underground, there would have been no need for the peremptory manner in which he had been kidnapped. He confirmed his first impression when the three men who had brought him sat down too and waited. Then a woman came into the room.

Hewlitt stood up automatically. She walked up to him and held out her hand. “Mr. Hewlitt, I believe,” she said. “I am Mrs. Smith, do please sit down.” Hewlitt sat, and noted that the other men in the room had stood up too.

“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Smith added, “I think that Mr. Hewlitt and I would like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

That was the first thing that was really reassuring. Hewlitt did not suffer from the illusion that all comely women were automatically desirable people — even if they acted that way. But if she was willing to be alone with him when she had more than adequate protection available, it could be taken as a good sign. The three men who had brought him went out as Mrs. Smith walked to a corner bar. “A drink, Mr. Hewlitt?” she invited.

“Perhaps later.”

“Very discreet of you,” she said and resumed her seat. “Mr. Hewlitt, your invitation here was very abrupt for a definite reason; we had to establish the fact that you did not come of your own free will. You will see why presently.”

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.