The Hunt for Red October - Tom Clancy [166]
The Pigeon
The Pigeon was one of the navy's two modern submarine rescue ships designed to locate and reach a sunken nuclear sub quickly enough to save her crew. She was outfitted with a variety of sophisticated equipment, chief among them the DSRV. This vessel, the Mystic, was hanging on its rack between the Pigeon's twin catamaran hulls. There was also a 3-d sonar operating at low power, mainly as a beacon, while the Pigeon cruised in slow circles a few miles south of the Scamp and Ethan Allen. Two Perry-class frigates were twenty miles north, operating in conjunction with three Orions to sanitize the area.
"Pigeon, this is Dallas, radio check, over."
"Dallas, this is Pigeon. Read you loud and clear, over," the rescue ship's captain replied on the secure radio channel.
"The package is here. Out."
"Captain, on Invincible we had an officer send the message with a blinker light. Can you handle the blinker light?" Ryan asked.
"To be part of this? Are you kidding?"
The plan was simple enough, just a little too cute. It was clear that the Red October wanted to defect. It was even possible that everyone aboard wanted to come over—but hardly likely. They were going to get everyone off the Red October who might want to return to Russia, then pretend to blow up the ship with one of the powerful scuttling charges Russian ships are known to carry. The remaining crewmen would then take their boat northwest into Pamlico Sound to wait for the Soviet fleet to return home, sure that the Red October had been sunk and with the crew to prove it. What could possibly go wrong? A thousand things.
The Red October
Ramius looked through his periscope. The only ship in view was the USS Pigeon, though his ESM antenna reported surface radar activity to the north, a pair of frigates standing guard over the horizon. So, this was the plan. He watched the blinker light, translating the message in his mind.
Norfolk Naval Medical Center
"Thanks for coming down, Doc." The intelligence officer had taken over the office of assistant hospital administrator. "I understand our patient woke up."
"About an hour ago," Tait confirmed. "He was conscious for about twenty minutes. He's asleep now."
"Does that mean he'll make it?"
"It's a positive sign. He was reasonably coherent, so there's no evident brain damage. I was a little worried about that. I'd have to say the odds are in his favor now, but these hypothermia cases have a way of souring on you in a hurry. He's a sick kid, that hasn't changed." Tait paused. "I have a question for you, Commander: Why aren't the Russians happy?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Kind of hard to miss. Besides, Jamie found a doctor on staff who understands Russian, and we have him attending the case."
"Why didn't you let me know about that?"
"The Russians don't know either. That was a medical judgment, Commander. Having a physician around who speaks the patient's language is simply good medical practice." Tait smiled, pleased with himself for having thought up his own intelligence ploy while at the same time adhering to proper medical ethics and naval regulations. He took a file card from his pocket. "Anyway, the patient's name is Andre Katyskin. He's a cook, like we thought, from Leningrad. The name of his ship was the Politovskiy."
"My compliments, Doctor." The intelligence officer acknowledged Tait's maneuver, though he wondered why it was that amateurs had to be so damned clever when they butted into things that didn't concern them.
"So why are the Russians unhappy?" Tait did not get an answer. "And why don't you have a guy up there? You knew all along, didn't you? You knew what ship he escaped from, and you knew why she sank . . .So, if they wanted most of all to know what ship he came from, and if they don't like the news they got—does that mean they have another missing sub out there?"
CIA Headquarters
Moore lifted his phone. "James, you and Bob get in here right now!"