Under the Ice

A look of disappointment came to the Political Officer’s face as he turned from the chart and protested.

“Are you certain you can’t stay but a little longer. Admiral? Why I was just about to initiate my closing remarks. And all of us were so looking forward to hearing you speak. Why we might never have such an honor again.”

Mikhail stretched his sore back and stifled a yawn.

“No, comrade, I’m afraid this old man’s had it. But I’ll tell you what. Once I’ve had a good rest, I’d be happy to continue on with this inspiring program.

Is tomorrow afternoon at this same time convenient for you?”

The Zampolit looked out to the other occupants of the room and politely nodded.

“Though all of us will be sorry to see you go, we’d be honored to reinitiate this discussion in twenty-four hours. May your rest be peaceful, comrade.”

As Mikhail anxiously ducked out the aft hatchway, the Political Officer wasted no time returning to an explanation of the chart he had just uncovered.

Kharkov’s pace was somewhat slowed by an alien pain in his calves and knees. This was most likely an aftereffect of his hike through the deep snow drifts earlier. A couple of aspirin and a hot toddy would soon take the aches away, so he might focus on the vital task that still faced him.

As the admiral hurriedly crossed through the officer’s wardroom, he was somewhat surprised to find the Neva’s senior lieutenant standing idly in front of the shut door of Mikhail’s cabin. Viktor Belenko seemed to be an efficient officer who had been rather emotionless and tight-lipped to this point. Yet upon spotting Kharkov, his eyes opened wide and he immediately stepped forward to greet him.

“Why, Admiral, you’re just the man I was thinking about. How did the Komsomol meeting go? It certainly didn’t last very long.”

Mikhail grunted.

“Actually, I excused myself early.

I’m afraid the aftereffects of my excursion on the ice have finally caught up with me.”

“I thought that might be the case,” offered the senior lieutenant somewhat nervously.

“I can’t help but admit that I was surprised when you agreed to attend the Komsomol meeting so soon after your return. How about me getting you some lunch? The cook has brewed up a pot of his specialty — Ukrainian borscht — and I’m certain you won’t be disappointed.

Just come and have a seat at the wardroom table, and I’ll take care of all the rest.”

The admiral shook his head.

“You’re much too kind. Senior Lieutenant. But right now fatigue has overcome my hunger. After a couple of hours’ rest, I’ll be happy to take you up on your offer.”

“It’s not healthy to go to bed on an empty stomach, Admiral. You could get ulcers that way.”

Mikhail patted his stomach.

“Your concerns are noted, comrade. But this old belly of mine has served me well, and a missed meal now and then hasn’t seemed to have bothered it any. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off to my bunk now.”

Seemingly deaf to this request, Viktor Belenko voiced himself anew.

“Before turning in, perhaps you’d like to see that stealth, equipment you were asking about earlier. We’re just about to activate it, and this is the perfect time to see how this amazing system operates.”

A bit aggravated by the officer’s persistent rambling, Mikhail’s tone sharpened.

“Please, Comrade Belenko! All I want to do is to get into my stateroom.

Is that too much to ask?”

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the senior lieutenant aside, inserted his key into the door’s lock, and after quickly ducking inside, slammed the door shut behind him. He was in the process of exhaling a breath of relief, when he realized with a start that he wasn’t alone. Seated at the cabin’s cramped desk, a pair of lightweight headphones clamped over his ears, was Captain Sergei Markova. At his feet was the now opened cockpit voice recorder!

As his face flushed with anger, the admiral asked, “Are you finding anything interesting. Captain?”

Sergei Markova’s astonishment at being discovered was tempered by the equally shocking contents of the tape he had been listening to. Taking a moment to switch off his cassette player, he peeled off the headphones and replied.

“As a matter of fact, I am, Admiral. Because as you’ll soon hear for yourself, it wasn’t an American F-15 that was responsible for taking down the Flying

Kremlin, it was a bomb!”