had died, Ryan thought, but not something to get a country’s army mobilized for.
Also at the table were General Thomas Hilton, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and Jeffrey Pelt, the president’s national security adviser, a pompous man Ryan had met years before at Georgetown University’s Center for Strategic and International Studies. Pelt was going through some papers and dispatches. The chiefs were chatting amicably among themselves when the commandant of the marine corps looked up and spotted Ryan. He got up and walked over.
‘You Jack Ryan?’ General David Maxwell asked.
‘Yes, sir.’ Maxwell was a short, tough fireplug of a man whose stubbly haircut seemed to spark with aggressive energy. He looked Ryan over before shaking hands.
‘Pleased to meet you, son. I liked what you did over in London. Good for the corps.’ He referred to the terrorist incident in which Ryan had very nearly been killed. ‘That was good, quick action you took, Lieutenant.’
‘Thank you, sir. I was lucky.’
‘Good officer’s supposed to be lucky. I hear you got some interesting news for us.’
‘Yes sir. I think you will find it worth your time.’
‘Nervous?’ The general saw the answer and smiled thinly. ‘Relax, son. Everybody in this damned cellar puts his pants on the same way as you.’ He backhanded Ryan to the stomach and went back to his seat. The general whispered something to Admiral Daniel Foster, chief of naval operations. The CNO looked Ryan over for a moment before going back to what he was doing.
The president arrived a minute later. Everyone in the room stood as he walked to his chair, on Ryan’s right. He said a few quick things to Dr Pelt, then looked pointedly at the DCI.
‘Gentlemen, if we can bring this meeting to order, I think Judge Moore has some news for us.’
‘Thank you, Mr President. Gentlemen, we’re had an interesting development today with respect to the Soviet naval operation that started yesterday. I have asked Dr Ryan here to deliver the briefing.’
The president turned to Ryan. The younger man could feel himself being appraised. ‘You may proceed.’
Ryan took a sip of ice water from a glass hidden in the lectern. He had a wireless control for the slide projector and a choice of pointers. A separate high-intensity light illuminated his notes. The pages were full of errors and scribbled corrections. There had not been time to edit the copy.
‘Thank you, Mr President. Gentlemen, my name is Jack Ryan, and the subject of this briefing is recent Soviet naval activity in the North Atlantic. Before I get to that it will be necessary for me to lay a little groundwork. I trust you will bear with me for a few minutes, and please feel free to interrupt with questions at any time.’ Ryan clicked on the slide projector. The overhead lights near the screen dimmed automatically.
‘These photographs come to us courtesy of the British,’ Ryan said. He now had everyone’s attention. ‘The ship you see here is the Soviet fleet ballistic missile submarine Red October, photographed by a British agent in her dock at their submarine base at Polyarnyy, near Murmansk in northern Russia. As you can see, she is a very large vessel, about 650 feet long, a beam of roughly 85 feet, and an estimated submerged displacement of 32,000 tons. These figures are roughly comparable to those of a World War I battleship.’
Ryan lifted a pointer. ‘In addition to being considerably larger than our own Ohio-class Trident submarines, Red October has a number of technical differences. She carries twenty-six missiles instead of our twenty-four. The earlier Typhoon-class vessels, from which she was developed, only have twenty. October carries the new SS-N-20 sea-launched ballistic missile, the Seahawk. It’s a solid-fuel missile with a range of about six thousand nautical miles, and it carries eight multiple independently targetable re-entry vehicles, MIRV’s, each with an estimated yield of five hundred kilotons. It’s the same RV carried by their SS-18s, but there are less of them per launcher.
‘As you can see, the missile tubes are located forward of the sail instead of aft, as in our subs. The forward diving planes fold into slots in the hull here; ours go on the sail. She has twin screws; ours have one propeller. And finally, her hull is oblate. Instead of being cylindrical like ours, it is flattened out markedly top and bottom.’
Ryan clicked to the next slide. It showed two views superimposed, bow over stern. ‘These frames were delivered to us undeveloped. They were processed by the National Reconnaissance Office. Please note the doors here at the bow and here at the stern. The British were a little puzzled by these, and that’s why I was permitted to bring the shots over earlier this week. We weren’t able to figure out their function at the CIA either, and it was decided to seek the opinion of an outside consultant.’
‘Who decided?’ the secretary of defence demanded angrily. ‘Hell, I haven’t even seen them yet!’
‘We only got them Monday, Bert,’ Judge Moore replied soothingly. ‘These two on the screen are only four hours old. Ryan suggested an outside expert, and James Greer approved it. I concurred.’
‘His name is Oliver W. Tyler. Dr Tyler is a former naval officer who is now associate professor of engineering at the Naval Academy and a paid consultant to Sea Systems Command. He’s an expert in the analysis of Soviet naval technology. Skip – Dr Tyler – concluded that these doors are the intake and exhaust vents for a new silent propulsion system. He is currently developing a computer model of the system, and we hope to have this information by the end of the week. The system itself is rather interesting.’ Ryan explained Tyler’s analysis briefly.
‘Okay, Dr Ryan.’ The president leaned forward. ‘You’ve just told us that the Soviets have built a missile submarine that’s supposed to be hard for our men to locate. I don’t suppose that’s news. Go on.’
‘Red October’s captain is a man named Marko Ramius. That is a Lithuanian name, although we believe his internal passport designates his nationality as Great Russian. He is the son of a high Party official, and as good a submarine commander as they have. He’s taken out the lead ship of every Soviet submarine class for the past ten years.
‘Red October sailed last Friday. We do not know exactly what her orders were, but ordinarily their missile subs – that is, those with the newer long-range missiles – confine their activities to the Barents Sea and adjacent areas in which they can be protected from our attack boats by land-based ASW aircraft, their own surface ships, and attack submarines. About noon local time on Sunday, we noted increased search activity in the Barents Sea. At the time we took this to be a local ASW exercise, and by late Monday it looked to be a test of October’s new drive system.
‘As you all know, early yesterday saw a vast increase in Soviet naval activity. Nearly all of the blue-water ships assigned to their Northern Fleet are now at sea, accompanied by all of their fast fleet-replenishment vessels. Additional fleet auxiliaries sailed from the Baltic Fleet bases and the western Mediterranean. Even more disquieting is the fact that nearly every nuclear submarine assigned to the Northern Fleet – their largest – appears to be heading into the North Atlantic. This includes three from the Med, since submarines there come from the Northern Fleet, not the Black Sea Fleet. Now we think we know why all this happened.’ Ryan clicked to the next slide. This one showed the North Atlantic, from Florida to the Pole, with Soviet ships marked in red.
‘The day Red October sailed, Captain Ramius evidently posted a letter to Admiral Yuri Ilych Padorin. Padorin is chief of the Main Political Administration of their navy. We do not know what that letter said, but here we can see its results. This began to happen not four hours after that letter was opened. Fifty-eight nuclear-powered submarines and twenty-eight major surface combatants all headed our way. This is a remarkable reaction in four hours. This morning we learned what their orders are.
‘Gentlemen, these ships have been ordered to locate Red October, and if necessary, to sink her.’ Ryan paused for effect. ‘As you can see, the Soviet surface force is here, about halfway between the European mainland and Iceland. Their submarines,