Panic Switch полностью

“Yes, Sergei,” Alexeyev said. “What is going on with you? You’ve disappeared from sight for over a week. You’re not in the guest stateroom but sleeping in your cramped and smelly group sleeping quarters on Losharik. And when we were collaborating on the message to fleet headquarters, you were openly hostile to me. I want to know why.”

“I’m surprised,” Kovalov said, his tone pugnacious. “Smart officer like you, given command of the super-secret special project submarine Belgorod, can’t figure it out.”

Alexeyev smirked. “First, this boat is a pile of junk, rescued from a 1990s drydock and refurbished ten times, the refurbs stopping every time the Navy ran out of money. It’s 1980s design. Hell, 1970s, modified in the 1980s. We’re probably louder than a freight train with its last car derailed. The combat control system? Patched together with the old unit overlaid with the new Second Captain AI. This boat has never tested its combat systems with any success. Sergei, I promise you. My assignment to this boat is not a promotion. It’s a punishment tour. Punishment for losing Kazan and a third of her crew. So just cut the attitude, will you? Now, look me in the eye and tell me what the hell is bothering you.”

“You really don’t know?”

Alexeyev shook his head. “I really don’t know.”

Kovalov sighed heavily and got out of the table’s seat four down from Alexeyev’s end and moved to the seat to Alexeyev’s immediate right. He withdrew a cigarette pack and offered one to Alexeyev, who smiled and took it. Alexeyev pulled over the ash tray and lit up with Kovalov.

“You asked Svetlana Anna about my private conversations with her.”

Alexeyev nodded. “Did she tell you what my inquiry was limited to?”

“No,” Kovalov said, looking down at the table.

“I only asked her specifically if you were suicidal. If you’d said anything about hurting yourself.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Kovalov said. He seemed genuinely surprised, Alexeyev noted.

Alexeyev shrugged. “You don’t talk to me anymore. Just to your comfort woman.”

“Test wife,” Kovalov said, peeved.

“Fine. Test wife. Forgive my political incorrectness. I also asked Anna if you’d said anything about this mission. Specifically, any opposition to it.”

Kovalov started to smile slowly. “I leave those sentiments to my conversations with you only, comrade.”

Alexeyev smiled back at him. They lit two more cigarettes in silence, when Alexeyev’s tactical phone circuit buzzed.

“Captain,” he said and listened. “Very well. Send the message pad to my stateroom.” He looked up at Kovalov. “Fleet headquarters wrote us back.”

“Already?”

“Yes. They must have reflexively said ‘no’ to our request,” Alexeyev said.

A soft knock came at the door. “Enter,” Alexeyev said. Captain Lieutenant Shvets stood in the doorway and handed Alexeyev the radio message pad computer. “Mr. Shvets,” Alexeyev said as the communications officer was about to shut the door behind him, “please have the watch officer send in Madam Lebedev and Mr. Vlasenko. You should also get Navigator Maksimov and bring her, and come yourself.”

“Right away, Captain,” Shvets said and left.

“He’s a quiet lad,” Kovalov observed.

“Keeps to himself. People who do that make me nervous. As our talk today demonstrated,” Alexeyev said to Kovalov, smiling at him.

Alexeyev read the message, his eyebrows lifting. He slid the pad over to Kovalov, who inhaled, his hand over his mouth.

“Yebena mat’,” Kovalev said. “Holy shit.”

“Excuse me, Captain?” Lieutenant Commander Ebenezer Fishman said, knocking on the door jamb of the captain’s stateroom.

“Come on in,” Captain Seagraves said. “Wait, before you do, could you grab the XO from his stateroom?”

A moment later, Seagraves, Quinnivan, and Fishman were seated at the captain’s stateroom table.

“Your report, Mr. Fishman?” Seagraves asked.

Fishman pursed his lips. “It went smoothly, Captain, XO. Mines were both deployed and programmed. Inter-mine comms cable installed and glued to Belgorod’s hull. All self-checks performed. Tested, tested sat. We’re good to go.”

“How did the officers perform?” Seagraves asked.

“Flawlessly. I can’t believe I’m saying this, Captain, XO, but it was a textbook operation. I’m actually thinking of recruiting them into the SEAL program.”

“Bite your tongue, Tiny Tim,” Seagraves said, chuckling. “Those officers belong to me until I release them.”

“I suppose that’s the only duty we’ll have on this run,” Fishman said, sounding disappointed.

“Not necessarily,” Seagraves said. “There’s some discussion about using you guys to interfere with the Status-6 placement. Nothing definite. Just a message back when we were in open water to think about what we could do.”

“I’ll tell ye what ya can fookin’ do, Skipper,” Quinnivan said, leaning back in his chair. “You can torpedo the fookin’ BUFF right here, right now.”