Kilo Class by Patrick Robinson Page B

world by dropping a
Cuttyhunk
life belt over the side. He says there’s no other explanation for the otherwise total lack of wreckage.”
    “Yes there is.”
    “What’s that?”
    “The guys who sunk her hung around for a couple of days and cleared everything up. By the time our frigate got there the place was empty.”
    “Right. Except for one little bit of one life belt that got away.”
    “That’s it. Where did they find it, by the way?”
    “That’s another interesting bit of deduction by Mr. Goodwin. He says it was trapped in the windward side of a large rock, not quite big enough to be called an island. He says the position of the life buoy strongly suggests it did not come in from the open sea, but from the fjord itself.”
    “Well, our frigate captain was of the opinion the
Cuttyhunk
did not sink in the fjord. They found absolutely nothing, you know. I wonder how they missed the life buoy?”
    “Goodwin thinks the frigate captain would almost certainly have avoided that particular bit of water. It’s apparently very close to a big kelp bed, and the channel there is narrow and rocky. He doesn’t think any Navy captain in his right mind would want to go through there in a warship.”
    “Guess not, Boomer. Better to miss the old life buoy than get that stuff in your intakes and end up getting towed out of there two weeks later.”
    “Yessir. I’m with the captain on that one.”
    “So what’s Mr. Goodwin’s conclusion? Does he think
Cuttyhunk
sank or not?”
    “He thinks not, sir. He thinks she’s still floating somewhere, but he does not offer much of an opinion about the crew or the scientists on board. He just thinks it unlikely that our frigate would not have got some firm indication from somewhere that they were steaming right over the wreck of the Woods Hole ship.”
    “Sounds like he’s getting overexcited. I hate mysteries, you know. But I read this report pretty thoroughly at the time. It is possible she sank out in the bay in six hundred feet. Then you really might not find her.”
    “That’s true, Admiral. But Goodwin says the flow of the water, and the prevailing westerlies, make it a nautical impossibility for that life buoy to have ended up where it did.”
    “I doubt there’s much accounting for which way the wind blows inshore there, whatever the hell it’s doing out at sea. So I suppose we’ll just have to let the matter rest. Pity.”
    “Admiral, I don’t think this character Goodwin is very anxious to let it rest. He’s writing about the subject for the next three days. Tomorrow’s piece is entitled ‘The Menace of Kerguelen.’”
    Just then the door flew open and Admiral Joe Mulligan came in still wearing his big Navy greatcoat. “Gentlemen,” he said immediately, “I am really sorry about this. Hi, Boomer, Admiral. Yet another problem with that new carrier. She’s supposed to be commissioned in March, but God knows how that’s ever gonna happen. She’s supposed to be on station in the Indian Ocean by midsummer — I can’t leave the
Washington
out there any longer. I guess I’ll have to use
Lincoln
, but she’s due for refit. I wish to Christ we still had the
Jefferson
in service.”
    “So do I, Joe,” said Admiral Morgan slowly.
    He smiled at the ex-submariner who now occupied the highest chair in the United States Navy. Arnold Morgan and Joe Mulligan had known each other for many years, way back since the Academy, and to Arnold at least, it had been obvious for some time that the Boston Irishman was being groomed for the highest office in the Navy.
    Joe stood six feet four inches tall. He had a craggy face carved with laugh lines. His wit was sharp, and both his hair and his eyes were battleship gray. In his youth, Joe had been a good football player, tight end for the Midshipmen in the Army game 1966. He was a submariner through and through and never wanted to operate in any other field. Former commanding officer of a Polaris boat up in Holy Loch,