Balance of Fear

by Geoffrey Osborne

  “Couldn’t it wait until I … ”

  “As soon as you are free,” snapped Jones. “Is that understood?”

  Gorki nodded, but the resentment showed clearly on his face.

  Jones eased some of the harshness out of his tone; tried to sound a little more friendly.

  “I think you will find it to your advantage. In fact I can promise that you will be pleased at what I have to suggest about your future.”

  The Welshman turned abruptly and left the bridge before Gorki could reply. He had decided it was time to try to win the confidence and support of the Russian. He also wanted, if he could, to steer Gorki’s mind off the question of Dingle.

  On the way to his own cabin, he called on Brook and explained to him what he and Dingle had planned.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jones came straight to the point.

  “I’ve been watching you closely, Comrade Gorki, and I’ll admit I may have been mistaken about you. But we can blame Colonel Balachov for that; he has made some serious errors lately. That is why I decided to take charge of this operation personally. It’s too important to allow anything to go wrong. But since my arrival on board I’ve been impressed by your efficiency. I’m beginning to suspect that Balachov hasn’t given you full credit for your part in this assignment. I want to know the extent of the briefing he gave you. I want to know how much of the preliminary work was done by you — and I want to know exactly how you took over this ship. I want to know everything, right from the start.”

  Gorki pushed aside his empty plate, leaned back in his chair, and began to speak. It took him an hour to tell the whole story.

  What it boiled down to was this: Balachov had fed him all the necessary intelligence about the Wild Rose — the cargo, sailing time, route, and so on. All this information had been gathered by his own agents. He had also arranged for one of his men to be signed on as bosun in the ship. But the actual operation had been master-minded by Gorki himself.

  By the time the Russian had finished talking, Jones’s eyes were blazing with anger; but his voice was quiet, controlled.

  “So,” he said. “I knew the plan, of course. It was I who approved it. But Balachov gave me to understand that the whole idea was his — and that he was responsible for all the detail planning.”

  Gorki was angry now.

  “I assure you, Comrade, it was I who … ”

  Jones waved a hand for silence.

  “Don’t worry, Comrade Gorki. Balachov has done this before. When things have gone wrong, he has blamed his subordinates. When other people’s plans have proved successful, he has taken the credit.”

  The Welshman paused and looked hard at Gorki.

  “What, precisely, do you understand Balachov’s duties to be?” he asked.

  The Russian looked surprised.

  “He is Controller of all K.G.B. operations in America, of course.”

  “And what would you say if I told you that I intend to replace him?”

  Gorki looked confused, and then a crafty gleam showed in his eyes. He was beginning to have visions of power.

  “I am sure that whatever you decide will be correct, Comrade Kirenski.”

  “Do you think you could do the job, eh?”

  The visions of power were becoming reality.

  “Yes, Comrade,” breathed the Russian.

  “Later, I shall be needing a deputy; someone to handle the over-all direction of American and European operations; someone I can trust.”

  “You can trust me, Comrade.”

  Jones had won.

  *

  The time was just after two o’clock. Jones stood up and looked through one of the cabin’s portholes. Visibility was still down to about three miles. He could just make out the grey outline of an island about two miles off the starboard beam.

  “What island is that?”

  “That will be Loeso,” replied Gorki. He glanced at his watch. “We are still on time; the weather hasn’t slowed us at all. I’m planning to slip through the strait, between Sweden and Denmark, into Ore Sound while it’s dark. We shan’t attract so much attention that way.”

  “Good, good. I think I shall rest until then. Have me called at seven.”

  “Yes, Comrade. We should be off Kullen Point by that time.”

  Gorki moved to the door, then paused.

  “About that American we found. Pope.”

  Jones cursed to himself.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not satisfied about him.”

  “Go on.”

  “Why should he pretend to be the third engineer? Why didn’t he admit straight away that he was a supernumerary?”

  Jones thought to himself, “Because he didn’t bloody well have time to think of a better story.” Aloud, he said: “You have asked two questions. Have you thought of the answers?”

  “No, but I’ve had an idea. I’ll speak to our man who joined the Wild Rose as bosun. He will know if there was a supernumerary aboard. I’ll get him to have a look at Pope.”

  “I doubt if he will recognize him,” said Jones.

  “But if Pope was taking his turn on watch, our man — his name is Logov, by the way — will have seen him.”

  “Again, I doubt it. I should imagine that … er … Pope,” Jones hesitated over the name, “had been in hiding from the moment the ship sailed until he revealed himself when he attacked me.”

  Gorki looked puzzled.

  “A stowaway? I don’t understand, Comrade.”

  Jones sighed. “You do read all the circulars sent out by K.G.B. headquarters?”

  “Yes, Comrade.”

  “Then I’m rather disappointed in you,” said Jones sadly.

  Gorki gulped. He felt that the power he had been promised was, through no fault of his own, slipping away.

  Jones continued: “You should have recognized this man, as I did, as James Dingle. His description has been circulated.”

  “Dingle!” exclaimed Gorki. “The British Intelligence … I should have … ”

  Jones was actually smiling at the Russian. He said kindly:

  “It’s all right. I understand how you didn’t spot him. You’ve had a lot of your mind.”

  His smile faded and his voice was harsh once more.

  “You told me that security for this operation was watertight; that only you and Balachov knew the details — excluding myself, of course.”

  “That’s right, Comrade.” said Gorki nervously. “Even my own crew didn’t know the object of this operation until we sighted the Wild Rose in mid-Atlantic.”

  “Did this man, Logov, know?”

  “No. His instructions were simply to disable the wireless aboard Wild Rose as soon as the Vologda was sighted. I had told him roughly when this would be. He had a small radio receiver in his cabin which was tuned in to a transmitter aboard the Vologda. It was designed to switch on automatically when the two ships were thirty miles apart, to give Logov advance warning. The receiver gave out a continuous buzzing sound. But I told you about that earlier.”

  Jones nodded thoughtfully.

  “But there must have been a leakage of information,” he said. “And it must have come from Balachov’s end. Why else should Dingle be aboard? But Dingle can’t have had time to pass on the information to his own people because you’ve had no trouble. He probably didn’t know much about the plan anyway, and after you took the ship he must have been relying on being able to get to the radio to raise the alarm. I expect he had some stupid idea about foiling our scheme and getting you and your men captured. It would have been quite a coup — if it had worked.”

  “He’d never have succeeded, Comrade. The radio cabin is too well guarded,” said Gorki.

  “Quite so.” Jones chuckled. “So no great harm has been done. And it will be an additional feather in your cap to arrive home with the top agent of SS(O)S captured, as well as the American ABM system and two U.S. scientists …
”

  He broke off, and then added slowly: “Which reminds me. How long have those scientists and the others been locked in that store room?”

  “Since we took over the ship.”

  “Have they eaten?”

  “A little. Enough to keep them alive.”

  Jones’s face clouded.

  “I appreciate your concern for maximum security, Gorki, but it is equally important that we should keep these men in good condition — particularly the two scientists. And we should be able to … er … extract,” he smiled mirthlessly at his choice of word, “some useful information from the officers, too, when we get them back to headquarters.”

  “I can understand that the scientists will be of use to us. But the ship’s officers … ?”

  “You forget that they are engaged exclusively in transporting strategic supplies to the American forces in Europe,” said Jones testily. “We shall be able to learn a lot from what they can tell us.”

  He looked up sharply at the Russian.

  “Have the officers and the two scientists brought up to the saloon. Double the guards, of course. Treble them if you like. Have them escorted, one at a time, to their own cabins and allow them to get cleaned up and change into fresh clothes. Then feed them. They won’t give you any trouble; some of them can hardly stand up. But warn them that they will be shot if they try to escape.”

  He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly two-thirty. Have them locked up again at six-thirty. That should be long enough for them — and we don’t want them loose after dark.”

  Gorki was looking unhappy. Jones hoped that he hadn’t gone too far.

  “And the seamen in the forepeak?” the Russian asked.

  “They’re not so important,” replied Jones callously. “But you can have the door to the forepeak left open for a couple of hours, to let some fresh air in for them. It must be pretty foul in there. And you can give them some food. Increase the guard, of course; and if anyone tries to come out through the door, kill him. That’ll stop anyone else getting the same idea. You’d better arm the lookouts on both wings of the bridge.”

  “Yes, Comrade,” said Gorki, as he opened the cabin door.

  “Don’t forget to have me called at seven,” Jones added before the door closed behind the Russian. “And leave our friend Dingle locked in the store room when you let the others out. He’s still fit enough, and he might incite the officers to attempt something foolish.”

  At least that final order had pleased Gorki, Jones thought to himself as he stood for a few moments, gently massaging the back of his neck. His head was throbbing. He breathed deeply, relaxed his muscles and tried to ease the tight knot of tension in his stomach.

  Perhaps fresh air, food and exercise would help to get the American officers rallied round a bit by tonight; Dingle should have briefed them by now and boosted (heir morale. Men who should have been off-watch this afternoon would have to be called out to provide the extra guards while the Americans were out of the store room. Perhaps those men would be tired and less alert by tonight.

  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps … Jones sighed, moved over to the bunk and sank down on to it wearily. He had done all he could for the time being. He hoped it was enough.

  Three minutes later he was asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The wind had dropped, slightly, to force seven. If this was what was called a moderate gale, Jones thought, he was damned if he’d like to be at sea in a whole gale, another three notches up the Beaufort scale.

  It was seven-thirty and almost dark. Black clouds were racing low across the raging sea, chasing the ship and then overtaking it. The waves, some of them twenty feet high, were joining in the chase, lifting the stern high and then carrying the heavy ship along like so much flotsam, before discarding it in a trough for the next wave to pick up. Occasionally, a wall of water would break over the stern, shooting up a column of spray for the wind to catch and whip along the length of the ship; occasionally white water would wash over the forecastle before cascading down the ship’s sides back into the sea.

  Jones, standing on the bridge, had a feeling that he was riding a giant rodeo steer as the Vologda alternately surged forward and dragged back. He was very unhappy. Hampered by his false foot, he was finding it difficult to keep his balance. And his stomach was playing him up. He didn’t know whether this was caused by the motion of the ship or by nerves. Probably a bit of both, he thought.

  He looked across at Brook and smiled weakly.

  “I suppose you’re used to this sort of thing?”

  The pilot smiled back.

  “It could be a lot worse.”

  Gorki said: “We’re well past Kullen Point now.”

  Jones took his word for it. Visibility was poor and there was no land in sight. The Skori, now astern and only just over a mile away, could barely be seen.

  “We’ll be in the strait soon, and then I think it will be more calm,” continued the Russian. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Brook?”

  “Maybe. I think it might be a bit worse in the strait itself — but it’ll ease off when we get through into Ore Sound.”

  Jones hoped he was right. It would be the very devil trying to seize the ship in these conditions. It would be damned difficult to shoot straight, if it came to a shooting match. But at least the other side would be under the same disadvantage.

  He stared gloomily ahead into the murk. The lifelines were rigged, he noticed. There was still a guard at the door to the forepeak. He was soaked, huddled against the bulkhead in an attempt to find some shelter. But there was no shelter from that following wind. The man, wisely, had lashed himself to the lifeline. And that gave Jones an idea.

  The navigation lights snapped on suddenly. Then the bell rang once. Eight bells would be struck in a quarter of an hour. The watch would change. And then it would be time for action.

  Jones glanced across at Brook. The pilot looked as worried as the Welshman was feeling.

  *

  Eight-fifteen. The watch had changed and the second officer, Lubicz, was back on duty; but Gorki had decided to remain on the bridge. It was quite dark now. The Skori was still about a mile astern. She had the Vologda's radar screen to herself; there were no other ships within ten miles. Occasionally, when the Skori and the Vologda were cresting a wave at the same time, Jones would catch a glimpse of the destroyer’s navigation lights.

  “You were right,” he said to Brook. “It is worse here, in the strait.” The ship was bucking more violently than ever.

  “It’ll ease once we’re through. Be more shelter.”

  “I hope so.” Jones turned to Gorki. “I think I’ll go down and check the guards at the store room. Make sure they’re still on their toes. We don’t want anyone escaping and going overboard while we are so close to land. Not that anyone would stand much chance in this lot,” he added.

  “Kubychev carries out snap inspections at unexpected times,” said Gorki. “They’ll be on their toes all right.”

  This was news to Jones; unwelcome news.

  “Good,” he said. “But I’d still like to check them myself.”

  “I’ll come with you, then. You might have difficulty in walking with the ship pitching like … ”

  “No, no!” Jones broke in hastily. “I think your place is here at a time like this. I’ll take Mr. Brook with me.” The Welshman laughed. “He has already proved himself a most able bodyguard.”

  Gorki hesitated. “All right, then.”

  Jones opened the wheelhouse door and stepped out. The shrieking wind snatched his breath away and almost bowled him over as he staggered to the rail and clung to it for support. He waited until Brook joined him, moved to the head of the steep companion-ladder, and began to climb down cautiously. He paused and looked aft as his eyes reached the level of the bridge deck. The wireless cabin was situated abaft the funnel. The light above the door gleamed dully on the black oilskins of the guard stationed there. Jo
nes moved on, down to the quarterdeck. Then, like two drunken men, he and the pilot fought their way to the after accommodation, along the companionway and down; down into the bowels of the ship.

  *

  The guards were alert all right. Jones and Brook made no sound as they walked along the dimly lit companionway. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had; any noise would have been smothered by the hum of the dynamos, the rattle of the steering gear, and all the creaks and groans of a ship battling in heavy weather. Still, they were careful, and they made no sound. But when they reached the end of the companionway and stepped into the wider, open area, which was equipped with benches and vices and served as an engineer’s workshop, they walked into the barrels of a Sten-gun and an automatic. The guards were very wide awake.

  “Oh, it’s you, Comrade Kirenski,” said the man with the Sten-gun. He relaxed and lowered the weapon.

  Jones smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re on your toes. Is everything in order down here?”

  “Yes, Comrade.” Obviously the man with the Sten-gun was the senior of the two.

  “Who has the key to the store room?” He nodded towards the officers’ prison, which opened off the workshop.

  “I have.”

  “Good. Open the door. I want that prisoner we brought down this morning.”

  The guard pulled the key from his pocket, and then he hesitated.

  “I’m sorry, Comrade, but Captain Gorki has ordered that the door must never be opened unless there are at least three guards here, two of them with Sten-guns.”

  “There are four of us here. We are all armed.” Jones looked at the pilot and added in English: “Get your gun out, Brook.”

  The guard was stubborn.

  “Perhaps I’d better go and get one of the other guards with a Sten … ”

  “Do you know who you’re talking to?” snapped the Welshman.

  “Yes, Comrade, but … ”

  “Hand me that gun,” snarled Jones, reaching forward and snatching the weapon from the guard’s unresisting hands. The smile of approval had long since vanished from his face. “Now go and open that door. I’ll cover you.”