That made him think about what Pasternak had read to him from Alexeyev’s file, about the mission of the ill-fated Kazan and the battle the ship had had with that Iranian submarine. Usually Vostov could read people like a book, but Alexeyev was a mystery to him. Vostov couldn’t tell whether mentioning the Kazan sinking would be negative or positive. As for negative, obviously, his ship sank. But for the positive — Captain Alexeyev and his crew had fought against impossible odds, fighting both that damned Virginia-class American sub, the Vermont, and the stolen Iranian. In what had to be some sort of freak accident, the boarding party of Americans on the Iranian sub had somehow figured out how to deploy a Russian supercavitating torpedo at the Kazan, and taken it down in seconds. Kazan had battled bravely, and most of the crew had lived to tell the tale, reality again becoming freakish when the very Americans who sank them came to their rescue.
But if Alexeyev were embarrassed about the incident, he gave nothing away. It was as if the Kazan incident had never happened. He toured Vostov through the spaces of his gigantic submarine Belgorod as if the president were a freshly minted officer from the Marshal Grechko School of Underwater Navigation. The other sub skipper, Sergei Kovalov, was nowhere near as steely-eyed as Alexeyev. Kovalov’s tour of his boat, the Losharik, earlier that day, had been short and intense, and all through it, Vostov could sense Kovalov’s extreme discomfort at having a VIP to take aboard that tiny sub. Quite a contrast between Losharik and Belgorod, Vostov thought. Losharik was an overgrown mini-sub, with seven small titanium spheres contained inside the outer hull, each capable of withstanding her 2500 meter dive depth, and of the seven, the rear four were all propulsion plant, ship controls, electronics, and atmospheric controls. The forward sphere could accommodate perhaps five crewmen in the control space. The two spheres farther aft were for hotel spaces, firefighting equipment, and spare parts. Touring Losharik was like going into a space capsule, Vostov thought. That tour had only taken an hour, since there was so little to see. Then the entourage had come to Belgorod. And the super-sub, though cramped inside, was absolutely vast compared to the mini-sub.
Alexeyev led them through the galley to the officers’ mess, where Vostov spent twenty minutes shaking hands and chatting with the officers. It was a bit strange to Vostov, since Alexeyev’s second-in-command and three department heads were women. The younger officers, who reported to the department heads, were mostly men, but they seemed so young. Perhaps that was just Vostov’s impression from his getting older, but still, they all seemed like pimple-faced teenagers.
Alexeyev motioned them to seats at the large officers’ messroom table, with him at the end seat. Vostov sat immediately to his right, apparently the seat-of-honor, with the other dignitaries at Alexeyev’s end of the table, the more junior officers on the other end. The mess attendants served tea first, then what they called Kamchatka crab salad, which was amazing. The main course came out soon, a grilled zucchini with shrimp and sea scallops with broccoli, a side of poussin with vegetables. Despite his vow to eat little, Vostov found himself digging in, the food excellent. He was engrossed in conversation with Alexeyev, Voronin and Prokopiy, who were talking about how the Losharik could be docked to the underbelly of the Belgorod and how they would link up in the Barents Sea, and how Losharik would carry two of the Status-6 torpedoes if it had to. Alexeyev’s officers were quiet but listening intently. Evidently, not many mission details had been discussed at their level.
“Have you seen the Status-6 factory floor yet, Mr. President?” Alexeyev said as he waved off the main course’s dishes.
Vostov shook his head. “We revised the schedule to move that to later today if there’s time. We’ll need an hour or two to do some routine things. I have a teleconference with the Council of Ministers. I thought I’d take it in Mr. Voronin’s offices at the shipyard.”
Alexeyev nodded. “The Status-6 is quite a weapon,” he said, his voice neutral.
“Some people consider it destabilizing, that it could lead to war. Perhaps even nuclear war.” Vostov said. He looked at Alexeyev. “Do you agree with that, Captain?”
Alexeyev came as close to a smile as he had all day. “Sir, that’s not for me to say. This is, after all, a combat submarine, not a think tank. We don’t make policy, we simply execute it.”
“Well said, Captain,” Vostov said, smiling at Alexeyev.
The mess attendants brought in dessert, a berry and cream concoction over vanilla ice cream. Despite his watering mouth, Vostov waved off the dessert, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin.
