ladder that
ladder that scaled the submarine tender's looming side—the side away from the moored nuclear attack submarine, Aston noted as the personnel the lieutenant had left aboard Amanda made the ketch fast.
"If you please, Sir?" The boatswain's mate spoke for the first time, in a pronounced Clydeside accent, and indicated the platform and the ladderlike steps reaching up to the tender's deck.
"Thanks, Chief," Aston said calmly, then paused. "Just one thing: nobody goes below while I'm gone." The boatswain's mate regarded him steadily, giving no indication of his thoughts. "I mean it, Bosun. Nobody goes below until I say they do or Admiral Rose countermands my orders. Is that clear?"
"Clear, Sir," the petty officer said after the barest possible hesitation, and Aston nodded and stepped onto the platform.
He reached the top and found himself facing another officer, this one an American senior grade lieutenant. A right hand came up in a sharp salute, echoed by the two armed Marines standing behind him, and Aston nodded again. He wished he'd thought to pack a uniform; he'd always been uncomfortable taking a salute he couldn't return properly.
"Good morning, Sir. I'm Lieutenant Truscot, the navigator. Welcome aboard McKee, Sir."
"Thank you, Mister Truscot. I'm sorry to have disrupted your routine this way."
"If you'll follow me, Sir?" Truscot requested politely, and Aston fell in amiably beside him. The Marines trailed respectfully but watchfully behind.
Truscot escorted him not to the bridge, but to the captain's day cabin, high in McKee's superstructure. He paused outside the closed door, tucked his uniform cap under his left arm, and rapped sharply.
"Come," a voice called, and the lieutenant opened the door and stood aside to let Aston enter, then closed it behind him.
There were two officers in the cabin, both standing as Aston entered. One was a four-striper he didn't recognize,