Life Goes On by Tayell, Frank (large ebook reader txt) 📗

safer for him than patrolling a refugee camp. I’m starting to sense that’ll be every cop’s primary duty for the next couple of years.

I’m not saying I’m lonely; I’m usually quite happy in my own company. And I won’t say I’m bored. It’s not that I’m a fish out of water, or a camel at sea; I’m a teapot in a pub, or a corkscrew at a christening: I’m waiting to be useful. Which is why I was more than glad when there was a knock at the door.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but the captain requests your presence,” Lieutenant Renton said.

“On the bridge?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. In her cabin. For breakfast.”

“During a storm?”

“This is just a swell,” he said, far too easily.

“Welcome,” the captain said, as Renton closed her cabin door.

“This is a storm, yes?” I said, gratefully taking the security of a chair.

“The end of one,” the captain said. “We skimmed the edge. Breakfast? It’s tea and pancakes.”

“Really? Wonderful. Ah, they look like fritters. Made with dried fruit, powdered eggs, and powdered milk. Easy to eat on a rolling deck, and don’t taste the worse for being eaten cold, right?”

“Ever the detective. Yes, you’re correct, but I like pancakes.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a small glass jug. “Syrup? Don’t tell the Canadians, and don’t tell them it actually comes from Vermont. I traded a crate of Marmite with a U.S. captain a month before the outbreak.”

The tea, this time, was hot, and served in a lidded cup. “Where are we?” I asked.

“Twenty-eight hours out of Cape Town, three days from Ascension. It’s difficult to be more accurate until we know how far the storm has drawn us from our path.”

I took a sip of my tea. “I’m guessing there’s a reason we’re having a chat in here, rather than on the bridge.”

“We picked up a radio signal. It’s peculiar and troubling, and I don’t wish it known widely.” She picked up a tablet, and pressed play.

“Come in, Golden Shores. Come in, Golden Shores. This is Counter-Admiral Popolov aboard the HMS Courageous. We have received your mayday and are responding.”

Adams pressed stop. “Well, detective?”

“A Russian accent, and a Russian-sounding name,” I said.

“The rank is used by a number of navies,” Adams said. “Britain isn’t one of them, but Russia is.”

“He spoke in English, and was claiming to be aboard a British ship. It’s a warship, yes?” I asked.

 “The Courageous is an Albion-class landing platform dock,” Adams said. “Designed for the swift deployment of troops via helicopter, boat, or directly onto a beach.”

“Not a rescue vessel?” I asked. “Interesting. He didn’t say he was in charge, just that he was aboard. If he wasn’t Admiral Popolov, why use that name and rank? If he were speaking Russian, I might understand it. But why is a Russian admiral using the radio aboard a British ship? Why claim to be aboard a British warship if that wasn’t his ship? What kind of ship is the Golden Shores?”

“We don’t know, but we’ve been unable to pick up any signal from the vessel.”

“Where did this signal come from?” I asked.

“The north. The recording was made as the storm began. We haven’t heard anything since, nor picked up either vessel on radar.”

“If this admiral were attempting to deceive, he’d have someone with a British accent on that radio, claiming to be captain. Or, if he were the only English-speaker aboard, he’d claim to be a general or ambassador from Germany or Latvia, or some other NATO nation. He would not identify himself as a Russian. But if he was attempting to reassure, why use his own name, his own rank? Why not just the ship name?”

“Yes, exactly. Any guesses at an answer?”

“There’s an obvious one,” I said. “It could be that isn’t the Courageous, he’s not an admiral, and his name isn’t Popolov, but the Golden Shores is part of his fleet. This message is a way of proving their identity.”

“Proving they weren’t a threat,” Adams said. “Suggesting there is some threat out here. There’s another obvious explanation. He is Admiral Popolov, and he seized or salvaged that ship.”

“Would that make him hostile?” I asked.

“Old alliances are as meaningless as our pre-war enmities. Before your arrival, around Madagascar, after the ports fell, many ships were low on supplies. We saw them turn pirate simply to feed their crew and fuel their engines.”

“If they are hostile, how would we fare in a fight?”

“Victorious,” Adams said. “There is no doubt. But only if we recognise the danger before they are close enough to board.”

“So we’d have to shoot first?” I asked.

“It is unlikely they’d attempt a direct approach,” Adams said. “They would claim to be in difficulty, request assistance, wait until some of our crew were aboard their ship, and they were able to send their crew onto ours.”

“Aren’t there code words and call signs?” I asked.

“He’s not claiming to be the ship’s original captain,” Adams said. “If they make contact again and claim to have salvaged the ship, should we believe them? Do you see the dilemma? They are to the north, and so between us and Ascension. Between Ascension and Robben Island.”

“So if they are a threat, will we have to return to Cape Town?” I asked.

“Possibly, but are they a threat? My inclination, at present, is that they are.”

“How so?”

“Because there is one more piece of data. We picked up a submarine again.”

“The Adventure followed us?”

“We have not confirmed it is that particular boat, but it seems most likely,” Adams said. “Why has this British submarine not responded to any of our radio messages? Because the sailors don’t have the correct accent. If the Courageous is now under Russian command, why not the Adventure?”

“But that sub could sink