“Well, gentlemen, this is all very interesting,” said Mrs. Carpenter. “Indeed, fascinating. But it does not help solve the problem. President Matthews faces two alternatives: permit Chancellor Busch to release Mishkin and Lazaren, and lose the treaty. Require these two men to remain in jail, and lose the Freya while gaining the loathing of nearly a dozen European governments and the condemnation of the world.
“So far, he has tried a third alternative, that of asking Prime Minister Golen to return the two men to jail in Germany after the release of the Freya. The idea was to seek to satisfy Maxim Rudin. It might have; it might not. In fact, Benyamin Golen refused. So that was that.
“Then we proposed a third alternative, that of storming the Freya and liberating her. Now that has become impossible. I fear there are no more alternatives, short of doing what we suspect the Americans have in mind.”
“And what is that?” asked Munro.
“Blowing her apart by shellfire,” said Sir Nigel Irvine. “We have no proof of it, but the guns of the Moran are trained right on the Freya.”
“Actually, there is a third alternative. It might satisfy Maxim Rudin, and it should work,” suggested Munro.
“Then please explain it,” commanded the Prime Minister.
Munro did so. It took barely five minutes. There was silence.
“I find it utterly repulsive,” said Mrs. Carpenter at last.
“Ma’am, with all respect, so did I when I was forced to expose my agent to the KGB,” Munro replied stonily. Ferndale shot him a warning look.
“Do we have such devilish equipment available?” Mrs. Carpenter asked Sir Nigel.
He studied his fingertips.
“I believe the specialist department may be able to lay its hands on that sort of thing,” he said quietly.
Joan Carpenter inhaled deeply.
“It is not, thank God, a decision I would need to make. It is a decision for President Matthews. I suppose it has to be put to him. But it should be explained person-to-person. Tell me, Mr. Munro, would you be prepared to carry out this plan?”
Munro thought of Valentina walking out into the street, to the waiting men in gray trench coats.
“Yes,” he said, “without a qualm.”
r /> “Time is short,” she said briskly, “if you are to reach Washington tonight. Sir Nigel, have you any ideas?”
“There is the five o’clock Concorde, the new service to Boston,” he said. “It could be diverted to Washington if the President wanted it.”
Mrs. Carpenter glanced at her watch. It read four P.M.
“On your way, Mr. Munro,” she said. “I will inform President Matthews of the news you have brought from Moscow, and ask him to receive you. You may explain to him personally your somewhat ... macabre proposal. If he will see you at such short notice.”
Lisa Larsen was still holding her husband five minutes after he entered the cabin. He asked her about home and the children. She had spoken to them two hours earlier; there was no school on Saturday, so they were staying with the Dahl family. They were fine, she said. They had just come back from feeding the rabbits at Bogneset. The small talk died away.
“Thor, what is going to happen?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand why the Germans will not release those two men. I don’t understand why the Americans will not allow it. I sit with prime ministers and ambassadors, and they can’t tell me, either.”
“If they don’t release the men, will that terrorist ... do it?” she asked.
“He may,” said Larsen thoughtfully. “I believe he will try. And if he does, I shall try to stop him. I have to.”
“Those fine captains out there, why won’t they help you?”
“They can’t, snow mouse. No one can help me. I have to do it myself, or no one else will.”
“I don’t trust that American captain,” she whispered. “I saw him when I came on board with Mr. Grayling. He would not look me in the face.”
“No, he cannot. Nor me. You see, he has orders to blow the Freya out of the water.”