To Kill the Potemkin

19

Sorensen lay in bed listening to the sound of a maid slowly working up the marble stairs to the third floor. She lifted her pail of water one step at a time, set it down with a clang, dragged her heavy body after it, slowly mopped each slab of stone. She repeated the process two dozen times. When she reached the third floor she shuffled down the corridor, unlocked one of the rooms and banged the door behind her.

Somewhere in the hotel a radio came to life and a muffled female voice sang a slow ballad.

A pool of blond hair lay across Sorensen's chest. Rosa stirred, sticky with sleep, and sat up with a groan.

"Oh, por Dios, la cabeza." She got out of bed and went into the bathroom. Sorensen saw the marks of childbirth stretch across her belly. When she came out he gave her a fistful of pesetas and she left. He pulled on his clothes, went into the corridor and knocked on Fogarty's door. No answer. He put his ear to the door, smiled at the sound of huffing and puffing, went down to the Farolito for breakfast.

As the afternoon wore on, the Farolito was taken over by the crew of Vallejo. This was their last blowout before the big missile sub began a sixty-day cruise under the Med, and they pulled out ail the stops. A radio was going full blast, filling the room with Armed Forces Radio Network rock and roll. Two sailors were teaching a whore the dirty chicken. A group of civilians from Portsmouth clustered at one end of the bar, playing with a new rat trap. One of the welders was reading aloud the box score of a Red Sox-Yankees game from the Stars and Stripes.

Buzz poured Sorensen a beer.

Cakes sat in a corner, drinking alone. Sorensen carried his beer across the bar to the table.

"Want company?"

"Sure, Ace. Sit down. I'm ready. I'd just as soon get back on the ship and go home."

"What's the matter, you broke?"

"I think I got the clap. Hell, I know I got it."

"Luther will fix you up."

"That faggot corpsman? He loves to stick a needle in my black ass."

Sorensen drank beer for a while, then switched to brandy. About two o'clock he came out of the head and pushed up to the bar. Buzz pointed across the room and said, "There's a fella lookin' for you."

Sorensen looked around and noticed a tweed jacket sitting in a booth, away from the crowd.

It was Netts, sitting alone with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He gestured for Sorensen to sit.

"Evening, Admiral."

"Don't salute, Sorensen, I'm not in uniform."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to skip the bullshit. What happened down there?"

"You mean during the collision, sir?"

"Don't be a wiseass. Of course I mean during the collision."

"What exactly do you want to know, sir?"

"What was he up to, that damned Russian?"

Sorensen hesitated. By now he was stoned and drunk. A din from the rowdy sailors swirled around him. He caught a flash of Rosa dancing in a crowd.

"Have a drink," said Netts, pushing the bottle and a glass across the table. "I know you're on liberty and it looks to me like you're having a good time. Just tell me what you know about this Russian sub."

Sorensen poured some brandy.

"It's hard to say, sir. They seemed to be testing acoustical systems."

"Submarine disinformation, deception, fakery, tricks?"

"Yes, sir. That's about the size of it. Dirty tricks."

"We've got a few of our own." Netts looked around the bar, then back at Sorensen. "I listened to the tape you made for Commander Pisaro, but I don't quite know what to make of it. It's damned peculiar."

"I'd like permission to ask a question, sir."

"Go ahead."

"Have the Russians said anything about their missing sub?"

"No. To admit it's missing would be to admit it was there in the first place, and they aren't about to do that. As a matter of fact they aren't searching for it at all. Badger has been on station directly over the site of the collision, and the Soviets haven't even buzzed her with an airplane. No reconnaissance ships, nothing."

"Why not, sir?"

"That's what's under my skin. I don't know why not. You heard that sub implode. It's on the tape."

Sorensen drank his glass of brandy and poured another. "Admiral, I'm not convinced that boat sank. I mean, we all heard the implosions, but we heard a lot of things that turned out to be something else. Fact is, I think they faked it. I don't know how, I can't prove it—"

Netts cocked his eyebrows, questioning.

"Admiral, I believe what you hear at the end of that tape, what we thought at first was a torpedo, is the Russian sub bugging out on a tiny electric motor. She never sank."

"Sorensen, do you know what you're saying?"

"I think so, sir."

"That torpedo was four thousand feet deep."

"Yes, sir. Four thousand one hundred thirty-five to be exact."

A strange smile flickered across the admiral's face, a Cheshire-cat smile. Netts poured himself a drink. "You're saying the Russians have built a submarine that can go that deep. If so, it's a revolution in hull technology."

"Yes, sir, I know. It's bad news."

"Not only that, if she's still loose in the Med, it won't be long before she's in the Ionian Sea, threatening our FBMs."

"Yes, sir."

"If that's the case we need to know more about this submarine. Hull sections involved in the collision with the Russian sub have been cut out of Barracuda and sent to Washington for analysis. They may turn up something on a spectroscope but it will take a few days. Meanwhile Barracuda is going back to sea. You and Springfield are going to find this son of a bitch, record every sound she makes and then do everything you can to force her to the surface and take her picture."

Netts's face was flushed, he was speaking in a controlled shout. He poured and downed another shot of brandy.

"Do you know where she is. Admiral?"

"No. She got into the Med without our detecting her at Gibraltar, but she hasn't passed back into the Atlantic. The SOSUS net that Barracuda tested will pick her up right away. When she does go back into the Atlantic, we'll be all over her… If I had my way I'd come aboard Barracuda and shove a torpedo up her ass. But I can't do that. I have great faith in you, Sorensen. You're an asset to the navy."

"Thank you, sir. I'm flattered you would say so."

"Have you ever thought about accepting a commission?"

"No, sir. I like it fine where I am."

"You think about it."

Sorensen nodded, knowing he wouldn't think about it at all. Netts pushed the bottle across the table and stood up.

"Drink up, bucko. I'll see you in Norfolk."

Not if I see you first, bucko, thought Sorensen as he watched the admiral's back move away and out the door of the Farolito.