Torpedo!

CHAPTER 11

By any normal standard Captain Herman Steel was neither a social nor a sociable man. His life revolved around his work. His quarters in the BOQ, the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters, were small, sparsely furnished and in every sense an extension of his office in the Pentagon. Engineering texts were stacked neatly in piles on the one table in the small living room and on the table beside the metal military style cot that served as his bed. The kitchen in the quarters was small and the refrigerator and cupboards held only the foods the Captain used for his morning meal, which consisted of milk, two eggs, wheat germ and a banana whipped into a liquid concoction in an ancient electric mixer. Lunch was almost always taken at his desk, a double handful of nuts and dried fruits from a supply his Chief Yeoman kept in a drawer in his desk. Dinner was eaten at the BOQ Mess where out of long custom the stewards brought him either chicken or fish and two vegetables. He drank only water, milk, or fruit juices. Those officers who took tables near him at the evening meal refrained from smoking rather than risk his abrasive denunciation of tobacco and those who used it.

He sat at his desk after the meeting with Vice Admiral Brannon and Admiral Olsen, a pad of lined yellow paper in front of him. He lettered the name “Brannon” at the top left-hand corner of the page and slowly drew a box around the name. He could handle Brannon, he thought. It would mean calling in an IOU from the Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee. That worthy’s congressional district, thanks to Captain Steel, had been awarded a lot of military installations. Brannon was only a couple of years away from mandatory retirement for age, the Congressman could find cause for his early retirement.

Admiral John Olsen was another matter. If he got rid of Brannon there was little doubt that John Olsen would succeed him. The Navy’s rigid formula for promotion and succession could not be altered. John Olsen was, in Steel’s opinion, more intelligent than Brannon and therefore more dangerous. He made a small box next to Brannon’s name and lettered in “John Olsen,” recalling the single instance when he had fenced with Olsen.

The occasion had been shortly after Olsen had been assigned as Brannon’s Chief of Staff. Captain Steel had been called to Brannon’s office to discuss an appropriation he had requested for additional funds to build another nuclear training school. The very fact that his appropriation was being questioned had irked Captain Steel. He wasn’t accustomed to having his appropriations questioned.

During the discussion he had remarked that he had submitted the appropriation for the nuclear training school because it was logical to do so. Admiral Olsen, sitting on a sofa in Brannon’s office, had smiled and said, “As Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes once wrote, and I quote, The life of the law has not been logic: it has been experience.’

“The Navy’s experience, Captain, has been that it is not logical to build facilities when you don’t have sufficient men to utilize them. We don’t have enough volunteers for nuclear submarine schools to justify building another one.”

Captain Steel’s reply, as he remembered it, had been short. “And I will quote to you, sir, from Thomas Henry Huxley: ‘Logical consequences are the scarecrows of fools and the beacons of wise men.’ ”

Admiral Brannon had ended the discussion by tabling the appropriations request. That had been almost six months ago and the request was still tabled. What bothered Captain Steel was that Admiral Olsen had accurately quoted a Supreme Court chief justice. In Steel’s experience seagoing naval officers didn’t often read in those areas, let alone remember what they read. He drew a line between the boxes that contained the names of Brannon and Olsen. If he got rid of Brannon he’d have to contend with John Olsen. He thought a moment and then he drew an X across each box. If he moved carefully there was a possibility that he could get rid of Brannon and shunt Olsen off to another Flag job. Whoever succeeded the two men would know why they had been given the job. The Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee could take care of that small chore and the successors would know enough to stand well clear of Captain Herman Steel. He smiled gently and reached for his telephone and dialed the private line of Representative Walter W. Wendell, the venerable Congressman from Virginia and the long-time Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee.

Captain Steel met the wizened Congressman near the flame that burned at the burial site of President John F. Kennedy in Arlington National Cemetery. The two men walked among the small grave markers, Captain Steel keeping his pace slow to accommodate the old politician. Steel recounted the events from the sinking of the Sharkfin to the meeting with Admiral Brannon earlier that day in a succinct manner. Representative Wendell stopped at a grave marker and looked up at Steel’s face.

“Can’t say I disagree with what the Admiral did, Captain. Can’t say that any patriotic American would disagree. Most people would probably want the Admiral to run for the Presidency. I know,” he stopped and raised a veined and gnarled hand as Steel started to speak.

“I know that what he did is an open act of war and against every rule in the book. Know that very well, sir. Know that before we get back from this little walk nuclear bombs might be falling all over the country.

“But I don’t think that will happen. Roosians respect strength. They even fear it.” He stopped and rubbed his chin with fingers that were misshapen from arthritis.

“And if the Roosians don’t do anything at all, and I don’t think they will, then your Admiral is going to be able to go to the President and while he may get his ass chewed off he ain’t gonna get fired from his job, Herman. That windbag we’ve got for a Secretary of State, Harold dee Antoine,” he pronounced the name with a downward twist of his long thin lips, “that big old windbag will get up on his hind legs and say that the Admiral done just what he would have done and the only fuss he’ll make is to ask why he wasn’t consulted so he could have advised the President to give orders to sink the Roosian submarine.” He grinned. “Not that he would have had the guts to do that.”

“That’s not the point, Congressman,” Captain Steel said. “Brannon has now become a dangerous man. He’s committed an act of war and if he gets away with it we don’t know what he’ll decide to do next. He might, to use your words, he might decide to run for President. There’re enough Conservatives in the country, enough worried Democrats that it might work.”

“Naw,” the Congressman scoffed. “You might be a genius, Herman, but you don’t know beans about national politics. You got to have an organization to get elected to any job. He’s got no organization. But I agree with one thing you said. If he gets away with this we don’t know what he might do next and I don’t like the idea of any admiral doing things with the military that I don’t first approve of. When he bypasses me he ain’t to be trusted, I’ll agree to that.”

Captain Steel walked a few yards in silence. The old Congressman looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Ain’t forgot that you’ve been very helpful to me, Herman. Let me think on this a little. If we don’t get burned up to a cinder by a nuclear bomb before we get back to our offices I’ll think on it real hard.”

“Thank you,” Captain Steel said. “I’d caution you, sir, that this is something that no one should know about.”

“You teaching an old dog how to suck eggs?” Congressman Wendell asked. “I got my own ways, Herman, you know that. You just go back to your office and figure out how we can scare the Roosians shitless with your nuclear submarines. Leave the politicking to me because that’s what this little job is, politicking. It’s something I’m pretty good at.”

“The one person we have to be careful to keep this from is Moise Goldman, the President’s Chief of Staff,” Steel said. “He hates me.”

“You boys ought to get along better,” Wendell said with a sly smile. “Made a big mistake, you did, not getting next to that Jew boy. He’s pretty near as smart as you are. Good politician, too. He’s pure burned the ass off some people in the Congress since old Milligan decided he had too much country boy in him to be a distinguished kind of President and hired the Jew boy to make him look like a real President.” He laughed silently, his thin shoulders shaking.

“Gets your cork, don’t it, me using them ethnic remarks? Keep in touch, you hear?”

He walked off, shuffling along in his black high-topped shoes. Captain Herman Steel watched him, fighting back the anger he felt at the Congressman’s words, realizing that the old man had deliberately baited him as part of the price he was going to have to pay to get rid of Mike Brannon.

Sophia Blovin got out of bed in an easy, fluid motion and walked to the window and scratched at the frost on the pane with a fingernail. She turned and smiled at Igor Shevenko, who was lying in bed with the down quilt pulled up to his chin.

“You’re an idiot, woman,” he said in an affectionate voice. “It’s like the North Pole out of the bed. Come back.” She smiled and walked slowly toward the bed, completely unconscious of her nudity. Shevenko watched appreciatively as she moved toward the bed, his eyes roaming over her full breasts, her rounded belly and the thick triangle of pubic hair. She slid underneath the covers and reached down and grasped him, giggling as he gasped at the coldness of her fingers.

“Make my hand warm, fill it, please,” she coaxed. She reached around with her other hand and pulled his head down under the covers and put his face against one of her breasts. He nuzzled happily and she smiled.

“That’s better,” she murmured. “My hand is filling up with you and I’m getting all wet. Take me, now!” She pulled at him and he rolled over on top of her as she spread herself for him, clamping her long, powerful legs around his waist. She guided him into her and began to thrust with her hips, her breath coming in short gasps. She cried out suddenly and relaxed and he rolled to one side, pulling her with him, her leg over his hips. He lay there, moving gently, until she moaned and then he thrust at her savagely until she suddenly tensed and then sighed and relaxed.

“You only have to touch me and I begin to orgasm,” she said softly. “If I were your wife I would drain you every night and morning. You would have no desire for Stefan.”

He pulled his head away and stared at her.

“What do you mean?” he snapped.

“Stefan is, how do you say it, a homo, a queer,” she murmured. She pulled his head toward her and tickled his ear with her tongue.

“You’re crazy!” he said. “He’s not a big strong man, frail, in fact. But not a homosexual.”

“He is,” she said. “I have two of those kind in my section. Brilliant analysts, both of them. They are jealous of Stefan because they think he has not one but two very powerful lovers.”

Shevenko sat up in bed, ignoring the chill air on his bare chest and shoulders. “Who are his lovers?” he demanded.

“You are supposed to be one,” she said. “I never believed that. The way you looked at me when I was assigned to your Directorate gave me doubts about that. Now I know you are not, you like a woman’s body too much to be a pederast.”

“Who is the other one supposed to be?”

“You will be angry if I tell you,” she answered.

“I will be more than angry if you do not. Who is he?”

“You won’t hit me if I tell you? Promise?”

“I don’t hit women,” he snapped. “His name.”

“Admiral Zurahv.”

He sank back on the pillow and pulled the quilt up to his chin, his mind racing.

“That’s a very serious charge,” he said slowly. “It should not be said even in jest. It should not be said unless you have solid proof.”

“One of my boys was the Admiral’s lover,” she said. She eyed his stern face. “He was displaced by Stefan about six months ago. He hates Stefan for that.”

“That’s not proof,” Shevenko growled. “That’s nothing more than gossip.”

“It is more than that. I began to check when I first heard the story. I heard little things, that the Admiral likes young men with nice round bottoms.

“I went to the old files, the military files. I have access to them, as you know, because of my classification. I found several mentions of charges that were to be brought against the Admiral and then were never carried through.

“I know a girl in the First Department of the Second Chief Directorate. She’s a lesbian. They use her to compromise the wives of American diplomats and military attaches. She checked for me and found that the Admiral was accused of pederasty with young men, some of them officers on his staff. Nothing was ever done about the charges, the Admiral is too powerful.”

“I suppose you and this lesbian were great friends,” Shevenko said, his voice harsh.

“No,” she said in a soft voice. “She tried, once, but I like what you have, not what women don’t have. I understand her weakness, she understands my desires. We are just good friends, girl friends.” She reached down and began to caress him gently. He felt the warmth of her tears on his shoulder.

“Sophia,” he said, fighting to keep his voice gentle. “What a lesbian says is not considered to be responsible evidence. I will have to have her in, to demand the files she said she saw.”

“You don’t have to do that. She gave me the files and I made copies. I have them here, in my apartment.”

“Why did you make copies, for what purpose?”

She moved in the bed so her right breast was against his shoulder. “Because when you had me in for my interview, before you hired me, when I first saw you my heart exploded. I wanted you for my lover. What can I bring a man such as you, a man as powerful as you are except my love, my body?

“When I first heard the gossip I thought that if I could bring you this, something that you could use to protect yourself against the Admiral — everyone knows that you two are enemies — I thought that I would be serving you.”

Shevenko laid back against the big pillow, his face rocklike. She looked at him and then ducked her head under the covers and began to caress his chest and stomach with her tongue. Her head went lower and lower and he spread his legs to accommodate her and then her mouth was on him and he began to groan in ecstasy despite himself.

“And what is it you want?” he asked when she had emerged from beneath the quilt.

“Just you,” she said. “As often as you can arrange to be away from your wife.” She leaned over him and kissed him, her tongue searching for his.

“If you wish, I would like to be your chief aide. That would end the dangerous gossip among the pretty boys in the building that you put your manhood in Stefan’s ass.”

“And Stefan,” he said. “What about him? He has been an efficient aide. He does a great deal of work.” He ground his teeth together and she shuddered at the sound. “A great deal of work, much of it highly confidential.”

“I leave that to you,” she said softly “I have disturbed you, you are too tense. I am tense as well. Love me as I taught you to do last night.” She pushed gently against his head, pushing it down underneath the covers. As he kissed her soft belly and then the moist area of her groin, hearing her moans of joy, he wondered if Sophia Blovin worked for him or for one of the many enemies he had made since he took over as the head of the First Chief Directorate of the KGB. She cried out in ecstasy and he shuddered. The honey trap, as he knew very well, had brought other powerful men down in disgrace.

Vice Admiral Mike Brannon flipped through his Rolodex, looking for the number of the Commander, Submarines, Pacific Fleet. He dialed the switchboard and gave the number to the operator and sat back and waited for the connection to be made. In ComSubPac’s office at the Naval Base in Pearl Harbor a Chief Yeoman took the call and put it through to Vice Admiral Homer Ross.

“Hey, Mike,” Admiral Ross yelled into the phone. “How are you? How’s Gloria and the daughter?”

“Fine,” Brannon answered. “Little Gloria isn’t little any more. She’s given us two grandchildren. How’s your family?”

“Great. My oldest son just made XO on his destroyer. Phoebe is fine. What can I do for you, Mike?”

“A damned big favor and I have to ask you to keep it quiet. That is, I don’t want you to tell anyone I asked you to do it.”

“Fire away,” Admiral Ross said.

“Can you call a Quiet Alert for all the submarines in your command?”

“I could. Any reason that you can tell me”

“That’s the sticky part,” Brannon said slowly. “I can’t tell you at this time. Later.”

“Okay by me. Time we had a readiness drill anyway. When do you want it called?”

“Now.” Brannon said quietly.

“Will do,” Admiral Ross said. “Must be important. Something big breaking?”

“Something very damned big may break,” Brannon said. “I owe you one, my friend. I won’t forget.”

“Give my love to your lady,” Ross said. “I’m due in for meetings in Washington next month. We’ll have dinner?”

“On me,” Brannon said. He put the handset back in its cradle.