Читать книгу Spy Sub - Roger C. Dunham - Страница 10

PROLOGUE

THE LADY HAD BECOME a widow long before her time.

Dressed in elegant attire appropriate for the formal gathering of United States and Russian government officials, she had been invited to the affair only because of the military stature of her late husband. This would be her last encounter with these officials; she knew there were no further ties between herself and those who planned such events.

She spotted the cluster of American naval officers standing at the far side of the room. Their dark uniforms were resplendent with gold braid that gave testimony to their rank. As she slowly approached them, their hushed conversation abruptly died and their expressions showed the polite and detached affect of diplomatic propriety. They turned to accommodate her presence, and she hesitated briefly before speaking.

Only a year before, her question would have been unthinkable, but improved relations and eased tensions between the two governments offered her promise of learning the truth. Looking into their eyes as if searching for an answer, she took a deep breath before she spoke. Her English was nearly perfect, with little dialect to reveal her origin within the vast reaches of the former Soviet Union.

“Could you tell me what has happened to my husband?” The simple question seemed to burn through the air with a raging intensity. Her tone reflected the strength of feelings contained for many years.

“Your husband?” the tallest officer said after a pause. He was polite and showed the proper degree of interest.

“He was the captain of a submarine,” she answered, her voice now carrying a trace of pride. “He was the commanding officer of the Soviet submarine PL-751, in the Pacific Ocean.”

“The PL-751?” another officer asked, his voice mildly curious.

“You people called it an Echo submarine. My husband and the PL-751 never returned to Vladivostok.”

Their expressions did not change, and they showed no indication of any knowledge about the matter placed before them. As each looked to another for an answer, the firm voice of the older man on the left answered for them all.

“I am sorry, but we do not know about this submarine or about your husband.”

Gazing across the room, the officer saw several tuxedoed men standing near the hors d’oeuvres table. He gestured with his drink in their direction.

“Perhaps if you speak to the American Consulate, they will be able to assist you.”

The officer noticed her eyes beginning to redden and a look of despair on her face. “I am truly sorry,” he repeated with genuine feeling as she turned and walked away.