North Cape

Larkin, too, was lying awake in his bunk, but for different reasons. His mind was churning with the possibilities for action. Larkin was trying to examine the situation from the standpoint of the Soviet war room, which must, from somewhere, be directing the " rescue" operations. He had, as had many other military commanders before him, found it of great value to put himself in the enemy commander's place and as dispassionately as possible work out the tactic needed to destroy the enemy. This particular situation was a little bit different from others he had encountered in the past. This time he was sure that the enemy commander did not know the RFK existed. They might suspect that somehow, some American forces had gotten to the downed pilot, but they would not know the nature of these forces — which was a damned good thing, he thought grimly. Three men, armed with rifles, cut off from further support in the middle of the North Cape, was, not much of an' opposing force to worry about.

They had made radar contacts with several, presumably Russian, aircraft throughout most of the afternoon and evening. All seemed to be orbiting the North Cape area where the pilot had gone down. None had ventured out to sea, a sign that Larkin interpreted as meaning the ship was undetected. Larkin was not worried about the ship. She was more than a match for anything the Soviets could throw in against her. But the Soviets would move twice as fast if they knew the RFK was nearby.

As long as the blizzard lasted, he was safe from visual detection. His own electromagnetic counterdetection gear would protect him from electronic snooping; so Larkin held the position of the reserve queen on the chessboard, the deciding factor of the game.

The buzzer on the intercom over his bunk interrupted his musings. He reached a hand and flipped the switch. "Larkin here."

"Sorry to disturb you, sir," came the unruffled voice, "but sonar shows a blip, unidentified and approaching subsurface from the northeast."

"Be right up," Larkin snapped and sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. He had not had any decent sleep for more than twenty-four hours now and it was beginning to tell on him. He stumbled across to the lavatory and washed his face with hot water and soap, then rinsed with cold. With the cold water still running, he held his wrists under the stream until they were all but numb, then toweled his face and arms vigorously. This helped to refresh him for the moment. Wishing that he had time for a shower, he pulled on trousers and shirt, knotted a tie quickly, tugged on his turtleneck sweater, and, picking up his cap, left for the bridge.

Three minutes later he was peering at the heavy seas through the ports, bracing himself against the railing. "All right, kill the lights." The tortured scene of thrashing white water and intense snow disappeared abruptly as the powerful searchlights winked out. Larkin turned from the screen and made his way to his console, where he strapped himself in. The marine guard, doubling as steward, brought him coffee.

"Let's have a status report," he said into the microphone. "First, the radar."

'We have identified the sub as Russian, possibly Anatov class, presumably nuclear powered. She is a hunter-killer-type from her hull and, if Anatov class, used for longrange coastal patrolling. Her present position is 32.76 degrees by 74.34 degrees, moving at fourteen knots, east by northeast. We are projecting a landing point now at eighteen miles southeast of where Mr. Folsom landed. ETA at four hours and fifty-six minutes at present course and speed."

"Very well, put it on the board."

Above the consoles against the after bulkhead a large screen lit up with a holographic map projection of the North Cape and its interlocking chain of islands and fjords, modified by sonar and radar information. The shallow coast and underwater shelf were clearly outlined for three miles out to sea. As Larkin watched, a star-shaped locator blazed up over the landing-party camp and a smaller pointer marked the location of the wrecked lifeboat.