“You intend what? Repudiate the treaty? Is this a directive from St. Petersburg?”
“It is my directive. I am the sole authority in the Pacific region now, and I will shortly demonstrate that in no uncertain terms. As you can see, gentlemen, that is no ordinary ship.” The Captain pointed a stiff arm at his battlecruiser, his eyes narrowing, yet alive with inner energy. “That is the most advanced and powerful vessel Russia has ever deployed, and I am its commander. I intend to use it to further the interests of the Russian Empire, and you will take note of what I do with it in due course. You have had your chance here, and you have lost your war. The recent disaster at Tsushima was the greatest humiliation ever to be suffered by the Russian Navy. I intend to redress that.”
Both men gave Karpov a look of complete amazement. “You intend to renew the war on Japan?”
“I do.”
Tomkin cocked his head to one side, his tall hat tilting at a steep angle as he did so, but remaining firmly attached to his head. “I strongly advise you to take no action that will upset a hard negotiated peace here, Captain. You may do more harm than good. If you have been sent here as a reinforcement for the fleet, then we will arrange for you to meet with the commander of the cruiser squadron and settle in. But there is no war here now, and we would certainly like to keep it that way.”
“That is a very narrow view, sir, and one that will end in more tragedy than you could ever realize. Now… I have no desire to meet with the other ship captains. They will not be operating with me. They are too slow and will just become a nuisance. I can accomplish my aims with the ship I presently command.”
“With a single warship? Why it hasn’t even any big guns to speak of.” The mayor squinted at the ship. “Impressive size, but where are the guns?”
Karpov raised an eyebrow, inclining his head to one side as if he were talking to Sergeant Silenko, though he was really speaking to Rodenko through his wireless jacket collar microphone. “Clear the aft deck. Show the good people of Vladivostok a little lightning.”
The Captain smiled at the Mayor. “I invite you to look over your shoulder, sir.”
The Mayor gave him an odd look, then cast a wary glance behind him. But at that moment there was a standard klaxon of warning and then something seemed to leap up from the aft deck of the massive ship in the bay. It erupted with smoke and yellow fire, streaking away as every head of the gathered throng gaped in awe to see it lance out to the high hills behind the city and explode with a loud report.
Karpov smiled. “Naval rocketry, sir. A new development. I hope I have not upset anyone’s breakfast. That was but the smallest of our missiles, and we have many other weapons of war on this ship, cleverly hidden from your view as this one was. In fact, we have enough weapons to destroy the entire Japanese Navy without them even knowing what hit them. These rockets have an enormous range.”
The look on the Mayor’s face was one of real shock and surprise.
“Time for some changes, gentlemen,” said Karpov. “I do not expect you will believe what I tell you now, but with that ship I will bring the whole of the Japanese Navy under my heel, and stop their interference here in the Pacific so that Russia may resume its rightful place as the Imperial master of these waters. Once I deliver that news to you, perhaps you will see that I mean what I say here. Until then, you would be wise to prepare administrative quarters for my return. Tell St. Petersburg what I have said here, and you will soon hear news about it. Good day, gentlemen.”
Day 8
“Each diverse way, along the grisly rock,
Horn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge,
That on their back unmercifully smote.
Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe!
None for the second waited, nor the third.
Dante Alighieri, The Inferno - Canto XVIII
Part V
Delphi
“I am all that hath been, and is, and shall be; and my veil no mortal has hitherto raised.”
— Inscription on the Shrine to Athena
Chapter 13
The phone rang again that same evening—the phone. The one behind the movable bulkhead in Elena Fairchild’s private stateroom. Captain MacRae was on the bridge of the Argos Fire supervising the recovery of the Argonauts when Mack Morgan informed him that something big was in the air. He appeared on the bridge, grim faced, and tugged MacRae into the chartroom, closing the door behind them.
“Black line is hot tonight, Gordon. I think things are about to get out of hand.”
“You make it sound like we’ve been to a lawn party these last few days. You might ask the crew of Princess Irene what they think of the situation.”
“I know, this business has been crazy, but every indication is that it’s going to get worse, and fast. The Russians are arming all their ballistic missile bastions—everything from Yedrovo in the far north to Svobodnyy in the far east. The SS-18 silos at Imeni Gastelllo and Uzhur are going hot tonight, and those are the big boys. They call that missile “Satan,” and for good reason. Damn thing has ten warheads and a real heavy throw weight. All their mobile stuff has been dispersing to sites in the Siberian taiga, or so the line reads. I saw some pretty frightening satellite image feeds. This bodes ill, Captain.”
“You think they mean to let all that fly, Mack?”
“If this war heats up any further that looks to be the next act in the play. But there’s more! The Chinese popped one off the US West coast—EMP burst at high altitude.”
“EMP?”
“It had the desired effect. Most of the west coast is dark, though parts of Seattle made it through alright.”
“Lord almighty, that was one hell of a stupid thing to do. Now the Americans will have to retaliate.”
“The Chinese say this was for those missile attacks the B-2s flew against their satellite launching sites.”
“And those raids were for the Chinese attack on the US satellite in space. Tick-tock, Mack. What happens next?”
“That’s why this information on the Russians is so hot. It looks like they think the US will have to let one fly, and they’re heating up the whole strategic triad. They’ve already got the boomers deployed, and the bombers are taking off tonight for fail-safe orbits. This thing is teetering on the edge of a razor now. One more provocation could set it all off like a powder keg.”
“A whole lot worse than that, Mack.”
“And there’s one other thing. Her majesty has received another telephone call.”
MacRae frowned, knowing just what Morgan meant now. “That damn red phone behind the bulkhead?”
“Right-O. I was in to brief her on the Bosporus transit, and we were interrupted. She dismissed me rather abruptly and retired to her office. You know what that means.”
“Well what does is mean, Mack? She won’t speak a word about that phone, and I’ve had the guff to question her directly on it. You’re the intelligence officer here. Hell, you’re standing here telling me what the Russians are doing with their ballistic missiles and we don’t even know half of what goes on right here under our feet!”
“Aye, it’s been a mystery, and she’s kept it close. If I had a mind I might try to trace those signals, but I doubt that her ladyship would be very happy about that if she ever found out what I was up to.”
“That I can understand. Alright, you’re off the hook. I expect she’ll be wanting the two of us in her office soon enough. Every time that damn phone rings we end up making a major course change. God only knows what it will be this time. We lost an X-3 the last time out.”
“Ryan made it back to Baku. He’ll be in with the last of the Argonauts from BP headquarters where they left the men before they went off on that cockamamie mission. He should land in half an hour.”
“Good enough. I’ll see that he gets a pint or two for that, and no blaming him for the loss of that helo. They ran into a Russian missile defense battery at the Kaspiysk Naval base—S-400s.”
“A nasty
beast, that one. He was lucky to make it out of there in one piece. I certainly hope her ladyship doesn’t have any more pretensions about engaging the Russians. We’ll have our hands full seeing those two big ladies out there through the Straits. I hope to God the price of the oil made this whole odyssey worth it. We lost some good men.”
MacRae was silent for a moment, letting that settle between them. They always knew the day would come when they would lose men for oil. The world had been buying oil with blood for decades. National policy rotated about the rigs and platforms sucking the earth and squeezing the shale for every last drop they could find. Fairchild had made it safely to the eastern entrance of the Bosporus with two million barrels, and it would pay for many things with spot prices up near $300 a barrel now. It would buy them new ships and helicopters easily enough, but would it pay for the lives of those men?
“You’ve arranged the transit?” MacRae said quietly.
“Aye, we’ve priority access for a night move through the main channel, and with any luck we’ll be in the Aegean by tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t suppose it will matter much if this news about the missiles gets any worse.” MacRae folded his brawny arms, and there came a quiet knock on the door. Morgan opened it and Mister Dean was there, a message in his eyes.
“Excuse me, Captain. Miss Fairchild would like—”
“Just as I said, Mack. We’ve been summoned.”
“Yes, sir. But the message was only for the Captain.”
“Only for the Captain?” Mack Morgan screwed up his face, pretending to be offended. Then he smiled. “Something tells me you’ve got on the good side of that woman, Gordie.”
“Which side would that be, Mack? Are you telling me you’ve seen them both?”
The two men smiled and MacRae was through the narrow door and headed for the hatch. “You have the con, Mister Dean.”
“Aye, sir. Captain off the bridge.”
* * *
“Delphi?” MacRae scratched his head with that one. “Well, I’d have to look at a chart but it’s a little over 400 miles.”
“How soon can we get there?”
“The tankers have the lane tonight for a transit of the straits, so I’d say—”
“No Gordon. How soon can we get there. I’ll just need a small party.”
“Without the tankers?” He gave her a sidelong look, trying to discern what was going on here. “Suppose you tell me what you have in mind, Madame.”
“She smiled at him, knowing he had deliberately assumed his formal Captain’s role to cover the fact that her request was unwelcome. She knew the man all too well by now.
“You’re going to ask me about the red phone next, aren’t you.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Well, yes there was another call. Things are happening—more than I can fully explain right now, but we haven’t got the time I had hoped to buy with this mission. I suppose it was foolish to think we’d get through this in one piece.”
“You’re still brooding over Princess Royal and Princess Irene.”
“No, Gordon. It’s not that. The oil doesn’t matter now. I said that before.”
“It doesn’t matter? We’ve just spent the last 72 hours with our pretty behinds at considerable risk, not to mention the assets of the entire company. Now it doesn’t matter?”
How could she make him understand? When he last pressed her on the order to send the X-3s to attack the Russian operation in the Caspian she had only revealed what was necessary—the Russians were planning an operation that would have grave repercussions and they had to be stopped, if possible. She had said nothing to him of the Watch, the long vigil on time and history that it represented, the very notion of displacement in time itself—let alone the rest of it—the things she had come to learn in recent years that were so unsettling. How could she unravel the weave of a mystery so profound that she herself barely had a hold on one single strand of that loom? The Red phone…yes, another call had come in with a warning she had long feared. It was a brutally simple message that every member of the Watch had been told to expect in the most dire emergency, at the last extreme. The signal read “48 Hours.”
“Gordon,” she began, feeling her way across an impossibly narrow bridge. “Something has happened that we were told to expect in the event of an extreme emergency.”
“Did Mack Morgan spike your martini with his talk about the Russian ICBMs?”
“No, I haven’t heard that yet, but it doesn’t surprise me. It’s where all this nonsense has been heading for decades. Well now we’re here. It’s time. We have 48 hours.”
“48 hours? Alright, explain that one to me, Elena.”
She walked across the room, closer to him, and sat on the love seat near her desk. He stood there, waiting, until she slapped the side of the couch beckoning him to sit.
“Yes,” she said. “You better sit down for this one. But before you do, I’d recommend you pour us both a tote of gin.”
MacRae could hear something in her voice that he had not perceived before. The doors were opening, the guards that had kept some deep hidden secret from him all these years were being dismissed. She wanted to tell him something now—needed to tell him, and by God he wanted to hear it. The gin sounded like a good idea and he quickly filled a couple shot glasses with Williams Chase, the best Gin he had ever tasted.
“We need to get to Delphi no later than dawn tomorrow.”
He gave her a very long look. “Very well. It will be fourteen hours if we sail north of the mainland.”
“That’s too much time. We’ll have to go by helicopter.”
“Aye, that’s the fastest way. The birds can have you there in ninety minutes, but they just returned from that ferry mission out of Baku. The last helo hasn’t even landed yet.”
“How many do we have available?”
“Three, as soon as Lieutenant Ryan lands, and he’s due back in about fifteen minutes.”
“Can we get them ready to fly again as soon as possible?” She saw the look of exasperation on his face, and knew he hated being left in the dark like this, but time was running out. “Bear with me, Gordon. This is important. Order the ship to Heraklion on Crete with the tankers. I’ve made arrangements there for anchorage in the event things get worse—and they will get worse. I think you and I both know that. In spite of that, we have business at Delphi. I’ll want you, Mack Morgan, and a select group of men along for security—as many as we can take.”
The Captain stood up, wanting the answers to a hundred questions but knowing her well enough to have patience now. He walked to the desk phone, punching up the bridge. “Mister Dean,” he said firmly, his eyes on Elena as he spoke. “Set your course for Crete, the port of Heraklion, at the best speed possible. Escort our remaining tankers, and there will be further instructions for you when you arrive. I will be with Miss Fairchild and we will be taking the helicopters, so the ship is yours. Please let Lieutenant Ryan know we’ll be a little farther west when he arrives. He can vector in by IFF.”
“Very well, sir. I have the ship.”
“And Mister Dean, I want every X-3 available serviced, refueled and ready on the aft deck by 04:00 hours. Three squads of Argonauts will deploy on this mission. Tell Mack Morgan he has the pick of the litter.”
“Yes sir. I’ll send down the order.”
“Thank you, Mister Dean.” He hung up the phone, folding his arms, lips pursed, a look of waiting concern on his face.
“Get back over here with that gin,” she said quietly. “I’m going to tell you the damndest story you’ve ever heard.”
* * *
My God, he thought. A ship appearing out of nowhere in 1941—a ship from the future? To make matters worse it was a Russian ship, and then she had told him the Russians had been playing with the notion of time displacement as associated with nuclear detonations for decades.
“It was random at first, a kind of side effect, like EMP when they first discover
ed that about air bursts. Now it appears they have determined how to control it to some extent,” she told him. “This ship—we called it Geronimo once, and still do for purposes of code—well, we now know it as the battlecruiser Kirov, the new ship they commissioned just a few years ago.”
“But Mack Morgan tells me the damn thing was blown to hell when that volcano erupted in the Kuriles,” he protested. Yet the same impossible answer came in return.
“No, Gordon, it wasn’t. It was displaced in time again, and this is the event we were told to watch out for—the Demon volcano eruption and that ship vanishing again. We’re on the eve of a grand transformation now. Something truly profound is about to happen—something terrible.”
“What? Is it somehow related to this ship?”
“Yes. Kirov has everything to do with it, but we aren’t exactly sure what to expect. One thing we were told is this: it could be catastrophic—life ending—at least life as we know it now. And the worst of it is that no one that survives will know about it. This thing will happen and then it will all change—that is if the missiles don’t finish off the world first.”
“How can you know something like this? Is this all speculation? I can understand that the world’s at the edge of oblivion now with this news from Morgan on the Russian ICBMs, but you sound a whole lot more terrified than that.”
“I am…And to answer your question, we know because we were warned about this very moment—told what to expect.”
“Warned? By who? Has some pointy headed scientist come up with this prediction or was it a politician this time?”
Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) Page 11