"Correct.  A screw fitting is not strong enough for the plant's total pressure."  Melekhin worked the fitting all the way off with his hands.  It was perfectly machined, the threads still bright from the original engine work.  "And there is the sabotage."

"I don't understand."

"Someone thought this one over very carefully, Comrade Lieutenant."  Melekhin's voice was half admiration, half rage.  "At normal operating pressure, cruising speed, that is, the system is pressurized to eight kilograms per square centimeter, correct?"

"Yes, Comrade, and at full power the pressure is ninety percent higher."  Svyadov knew all this by heart.

"But we rarely go to full power.  What we have here is a dead-end section of the steam loop.  Now, here a small hole has been drilled, not even a millimeter.  Look."  Melekhin bent over to examine it himself.  Svyadov was happy to keep his distance.  "Not even a millimeter.  The saboteur took the fitting off, drilled the hole, and put it back.  The tiny hole permits a minuscule amount of steam to escape, but only very slowly.  The steam cannot go up, because the fitting sits against this flange.  Look at this machine work!  It is perfect, you see, perfect!  The steam, therefore, cannot escape upward.  It can only force its way down the threads around and around, ultimately escaping inside the spout.  Just enough.  Just enough to contaminate this compartment by a tiny amount."  Melekhin looked up.  "Someone was a very clever man.  Clever enough to know exactly how this system works.  When we reduced power to check for the leak before, there was not enough pressure remaining in the loop to force the steam down the threads, and we could not find the leak.  There is only enough pressure at normal power levels—but if you suspect a leak, you power-down the system.  And if we had gone to maximum power, who can say what might have happened?"  Melekhin shook his head in admiration.  "Someone was very, very clever.  I hope I meet him.  Oh, I hope I meet this clever man.  For when I do, I will take a pair of large steel pliers—,"  Melekhin's voice lowered to a whisper, "—and I will crush his balls!  Get me the small electric welding set, Comrade.  I can fix this myself in a few minutes."

Captain First Rank Melekhin was as good as his word.  He wouldn't let anyone near the job.  It was his plant, and his responsibility.  Svyadov was just as happy for that.  A tiny bead of stainless steel was worked into the fault, and Melekhin filed it down with jeweler's tools to protect the threads.  Then he brushed rubber-based sealant onto the threads and worked the fitting back into place.  The whole procedure took twenty-eight minutes by Svyadov's watch.  As they had told him in Leningrad, Melekhin was the best engineer in submarines.

"A static pressure test, eight kilograms," he ordered the assistant engineer officer.