magnificent view of Stockholm’s Old Town and wide boulevards and modern apartments. Smurov spread some papers on the table. They were typewritten in Russian.
“We will get right to work. These are the latest reports from our Moscow Bureau on meteorological phenomena in the North.”
“And what do you hear from Nova Zemblya?” Durell asked quietly.
Both men stiffened. “That is restricted matter.”
“It’s in the heart of the affected area. Do you pick and choose the information we share? We ought to settle the ground rules now,” Durell said.
“Nova Zemblya is a sensitive area.”
“It’s where you have nuclear missile bases,” Durell said. “Let’s not be stupid about it. Are they in serious trouble up there?”
Traskin spoke with a professorial air. “As much trouble as your Polaris submarines are having on their Arctic patrol stations, Gospodin Durell. The storms raging there are terrifying. This weather in the Baltic is the merest shadow of what is occurring above the Arctic circle. Rumors of this weather are seeping down through Scandinavia and into Moscow, too. But as yet they are only rumors. The people are not too alarmed. But we face a new Ice Age, if it continues. A disaster for all civilized peoples.”
Durell leaned back a little. “Thank you, Colonel. If we’re not honest with each other now, there’s no sense in going on as a team. Even less sense in going on separately and in rivalry with each other.”
Traskin nodded his intelligent head. “I appreciate your attitude.”
Smurov grunted. “But I am in command here, and I make the decisions.”
Durell smiled. “You elected yourself?”
“Those are my orders.”
“But not mine,” Durell said.
Smurov’s big hand made a fist on the table. “One of us must be in command, Cajun.”
“We can form a committee. It’s more democratic.” “But in a military operation of this kind—”
“We don’t know it’s military. We’re after a ship, or sub, that has weather control equipment. One thing that has been overlooked is the continuing disturbances up in the Arctic and across Lapland. Until now, the phenomena that occurred in the Pacific and Africa and the Mediterranean have been of short duration. Experimental, it seems. Now we have a continuous dislocation of weather patterns that seems permanent. We can suggest two reasons for it. Either it is deliberate, or the mechanism has gone out of control and the enemy, whoever they are, have created a monster they can no longer command.”
“We know who the enemy is,” Smurov growled. “Those salt-eared Chinese.”
“Your comrades of the CPR?” Durell pretended mock astonishment. “I am surprised to hear you speak so of your allies.”
Traskin said: “Comrade Colonel Smurov uses a phrase that was common many years ago, in the days of the Czar, when rivalry was usual between Russia and the Chinese.”
“And history has made a full circle?”
Smurov downed his starka with a noisy belch. His flat Tartar’s face was red. “They have a vessel up there. A submarine. We have searched for it, and made two contacts.”
“Yes,” Durell said, admitting nothing.
Smurov’s eyes were wet slits. “They have escaped us so far. But we know their operating area. They are trapped. As a matter of fact, I complained to the committee that our expedition was pure foolishness. We do not need you, Cajun. And we cannot trust you. This cooperation is a ridiculous matter. I begged the military to decide it.”
“The Gulf of Bothnia isn’t Soviet waters.”
“In a matter so grave,” Traskin suggested, “we cannot allow petty sovereign jealousies to delay us.”
“Then why did you come to me?” Durell asked. Smurov belched again. “You have this yacht.”
“Not mine, exactly.”
“No matter. It is at your command. And we can all use it. It is a question of stealing up on this submarine under sail, you understand, so no sound detection equipment can warn the enemy of our
“We will get right to work. These are the latest reports from our Moscow Bureau on meteorological phenomena in the North.”
“And what do you hear from Nova Zemblya?” Durell asked quietly.
Both men stiffened. “That is restricted matter.”
“It’s in the heart of the affected area. Do you pick and choose the information we share? We ought to settle the ground rules now,” Durell said.
“Nova Zemblya is a sensitive area.”
“It’s where you have nuclear missile bases,” Durell said. “Let’s not be stupid about it. Are they in serious trouble up there?”
Traskin spoke with a professorial air. “As much trouble as your Polaris submarines are having on their Arctic patrol stations, Gospodin Durell. The storms raging there are terrifying. This weather in the Baltic is the merest shadow of what is occurring above the Arctic circle. Rumors of this weather are seeping down through Scandinavia and into Moscow, too. But as yet they are only rumors. The people are not too alarmed. But we face a new Ice Age, if it continues. A disaster for all civilized peoples.”
Durell leaned back a little. “Thank you, Colonel. If we’re not honest with each other now, there’s no sense in going on as a team. Even less sense in going on separately and in rivalry with each other.”
Traskin nodded his intelligent head. “I appreciate your attitude.”
Smurov grunted. “But I am in command here, and I make the decisions.”
Durell smiled. “You elected yourself?”
“Those are my orders.”
“But not mine,” Durell said.
Smurov’s big hand made a fist on the table. “One of us must be in command, Cajun.”
“We can form a committee. It’s more democratic.” “But in a military operation of this kind—”
“We don’t know it’s military. We’re after a ship, or sub, that has weather control equipment. One thing that has been overlooked is the continuing disturbances up in the Arctic and across Lapland. Until now, the phenomena that occurred in the Pacific and Africa and the Mediterranean have been of short duration. Experimental, it seems. Now we have a continuous dislocation of weather patterns that seems permanent. We can suggest two reasons for it. Either it is deliberate, or the mechanism has gone out of control and the enemy, whoever they are, have created a monster they can no longer command.”
“We know who the enemy is,” Smurov growled. “Those salt-eared Chinese.”
“Your comrades of the CPR?” Durell pretended mock astonishment. “I am surprised to hear you speak so of your allies.”
Traskin said: “Comrade Colonel Smurov uses a phrase that was common many years ago, in the days of the Czar, when rivalry was usual between Russia and the Chinese.”
“And history has made a full circle?”
Smurov downed his starka with a noisy belch. His flat Tartar’s face was red. “They have a vessel up there. A submarine. We have searched for it, and made two contacts.”
“Yes,” Durell said, admitting nothing.
Smurov’s eyes were wet slits. “They have escaped us so far. But we know their operating area. They are trapped. As a matter of fact, I complained to the committee that our expedition was pure foolishness. We do not need you, Cajun. And we cannot trust you. This cooperation is a ridiculous matter. I begged the military to decide it.”
“The Gulf of Bothnia isn’t Soviet waters.”
“In a matter so grave,” Traskin suggested, “we cannot allow petty sovereign jealousies to delay us.”
“Then why did you come to me?” Durell asked. Smurov belched again. “You have this yacht.”
“Not mine, exactly.”
“No matter. It is at your command. And we can all use it. It is a question of stealing up on this submarine under sail, you understand, so no sound detection equipment can warn the enemy of our
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