“Then why the hell are they seeking the liberation of two Russian Jews in Berlin?” asked Jan Grayling in exasperation.
“I don’t know,” said Larsen. “The leader claims they are friends of his.”
“One moment,” said Ambassador Voss. “We have all been mesmerized by the fact that Mishkin and Lazareff are Jews and wish to go to Israel. But of course they both come from the Ukraine, the city of Lvov. It did not occur to my government that they could be Ukrainian partisan fighters as well.”
“Why do they think the liberation of Mishkin and Lazareff will help their Ukrainian nationalist cause?” asked Preston.
“I don’t know,” said Larsen. “Svoboda won’t say. I asked him; he nearly told me, but then shut up. He would say only that the liberation of those two men would cause such a blow to the Kremlin, it could start a widespread popular uprising.”
There was blank incomprehension on the faces of the men around him. The final questions about the layout of the ship, where Svoboda and Larsen stayed, the deployment of the terrorists, took a further ten minutes. Finally, Preston looked around at the other captains and the representatives of Holland and Germany. The men nodded. Preston leaned forward.
“Now, Captain Larsen, I think it is time to tell you. Tonight, Major Fallon here and a group of his colleagues are going to approach the Freya underwater, scale her sides, and wipe out Svoboda and his men.”
He sat back to watch the effect.
“No,” said Thor Larsen slowly, “they are not.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“There will be no underwater attack unless you wish to have the Freya blown up and sunk. That is what Svoboda sent me here to tell you.”
Item by item, Captain Larsen spelled out Svoboda’s message to the West. Before sundown every single floodlight on the Freya would be switched on. The man in the fo’c’sle would be withdrawn; the entire foredeck from the bow to the base of the superstructure would be bathed in light.
Inside the superstructure, every door leading outside would be locked and bolted on the inside. Every interior door would also be locked, to prevent access via a window.
Svoboda himself, with his detonator, would remain inside the superstructure, but would select one of the more than fifty cabins to occupy. Every light in every cabin would be switched on, and every curtain drawn.
One terrorist would remain on the bridge, in walkie-talkie contact with the man atop the funnel. The other four men would ceaselessly patrol the taffrail around the entire stern area of the Freya with powerful flashlights, scanning the surface of the sea. At the first trace of a stream of bubbles, or someone climbing the vessel’s side, the patrol would fire a shot. The man atop the funnel would alert the bridge watch, who would shout a warning on the telephone to the cabin where Svoboda hid. This telephone line would be kept open all night. On hearing the word of alarm, Svoboda would press his red button.
When Larsen had finished, there was silence around the table.
“Bastard,” said Captain Preston with feeling. The group’s eyes swiveled to Major Fallon, who stared unblinkingly at Larsen.
“Well, Major?” asked Grayling.
“We could come aboard at the bow instead,” said Fallon.
Larsen shook his head.
“The bridge watch would see you in the floodlights,” he said. “You wouldn’t get halfway down the foredeck.”
“We’ll have to booby-trap their escape launch, anyway,” said Fallon.
“Svoboda thought of that, too,” said Larsen. “They are going to pull it a
round to the stern, where it will be in the glare of the deck lights.”
Fallon shrugged.
“That just leaves a frontal assault,” he said. “Come out of the water firing, use more men, come aboard against the opposition, beat in the door, and move through the cabins one by one.”
“Not a chance,” said Larsen firmly. “You wouldn’t be over the rail before Svoboda had heard you and blown us all to kingdom come.”
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Captain Larsen,” said Jan Grayling. “I don’t believe the Dutch government would agree to a suicide mission.”
“Nor the West German government,” said Voss.
Fallon tried one last move.