He asked Dave Schoals about that. The recovery director gnawed on his mustache before answering. (Jerry did the same thing when he was thinking hard.) At last, Schoals said, “I don’t know what kind of chance we have for the ocean mining cover story to hold up that long. The Russians would be unhappy enough finding out we were going after their submarine. This other thing…” He didn’t go on. They might have been within earshot for people who weren’t authorized to hear the word Midlothian.

“Yeah.” Jerry nodded. “Can we talk about that?”

Dave thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. C’mon back to my cabin.”

Like Dale, he was important enough in the grand scheme of things to have one to himself. He put on an Everly Brothers cassette so no one walking down the passageway would overhear.

Jerry said, “Suppose we do have to come back here next year. Maybe we should let the Russians know all the reasons we’re here. I mean, this isn’t only about us and them. It’s about the whole world.”

Schoals frowned. “I don’t make policy. I don’t get to change policy, either. That happens at a level way over my head. Probably at the very highest level. Till it gets changed—if it gets changed—we keep going with what we have. I want to be real clear about that. I want to make sure you’re clear about it, too.”

He waited—ominously, Jerry thought. That phrase from the nondisclosure agreement went through his mind again. Sanctions up to and including termination with extreme prejudice. Nobody would invite the Russians to play till it was too late. Anyone who complained about that outside the tiny group who knew what lay on the seafloor near the K-129 was liable to come down with a sudden case of loss of life.

Jerry paused no longer than half a second before he answered, “Oh, yeah. I understand exactly what you’re saying. I’m not gonna talk out of turn.”

“Okay.” Dave nodded. He smiled. He didn’t push it. He went on, “With any luck at all, you won’t need to worry about it. The forecast is for better weather soon. We can start lowering Clementine on the end of the pipe string and do the scoop.”

People on the ship called the claw Clementine, as in “Oh, my darling.” That was one more bit of security. A claw was a claw, no doubt about it. Clementine might be anything, even a tangerine.

“Suppose everything goes well with the Midlothian object. Suppose we get it fast, even,” Jerry said. “Would we try to raise the wrecked chunk of the K-129, too? I mean, we’re here, after all.”