Cameron Poe

RED AGENDA

PROLOGUE

March 7

I hate keeping tabs on the bastards, he thought. Crooked fuckers, all of them. You would think corruption wouldn’t exist when you can pay everyone in your own country a salary. The task at hand always made George furious. Regardless, he pushed forward, as that was his temperament. He reflected that glamour was never written in the job description, but sifting through garbage seemed more like it should be a scene in a movie instead of an occupational requirement. The fact that it was taking place in the middle of his kitchen was repulsive to him. What George loved was order.

A glance at the calendar was followed by his thankful exhale. Three more months and his Florida retirement would be at hand. Life in Kuwait over the years had made him weary. At first, the assignment had been exciting and adventurous, but then the years had dragged on. George had plummeted into Kuwait life too quickly and too deep in the palace government to afford such luxuries as time away. He was always working. He had always been working. This thought often made him smirk when it came to figuring out how much paid time off he was owed. He hadn’t even a clue as to his federal pay grade anymore.

These things will all get sorted out upon my return. I hope they have a good bookkeeper.

He had never met his latest handler face-to-face, but the man—or possibly woman—had never let him down. He took comfort in that fact, as the end of his tenure was so close.

Hopefully for the last time he stood in his flat with the kitchen floor littered with refuse. He wondered if his other Central Intelligence Agency brethren investigated the trash bins as often as the company stipulated. Searching for everything and nothing at the same time. Then he dreamed of Florida.

George’s parents had immigrated to America from Iran in 1960. His father, discouraged by his country’s poor standard of living, had rejected his Islamic faith in favor of the better life in the United States. He flew into New York with his wife and never looked back.

The two expatriates scraped together enough money to open a dry-cleaning shop and made it a resounding success. To celebrate his good fortune, his father christened his first son “George” in honor of the first president of his newly adopted homeland. The name rolled off the tongue in a peculiar declaration, but it seemed to stick well enough: George Mohammed Akbar.

Dinner was where George’s father would wax poetic about the American dream. “Hard work and a little sweat,” he would say. “In America, you can go anywhere, accomplish anything. You just have to be driven and educated.”

His father loved being an American and did as much as he could to embrace his new life and forget his old. He immersed George in American culture, which included football in the winter and baseball in the summer, so George would achieve a deep sense of loyalty and patriotism. Politics in his home were conservative. His father’s views on the developing Middle East were more of a blanket statement.

“They are all thieves,” George’s father would remark. “The tribesmen, the governors, the government, and the kings. Thieves, nothing more. May they perish by their corruption.”

George’s positive link to his heritage came from his mother. She, too, enjoyed their prosperity, but often she would quietly take George aside and secretly school him in the traditions and culture of their origins. She felt it important that George keep ties with their past. Being the obedient son, George made sure that each parent received equal attention and his or her opinions equal study. It was a cultural cocktail for which he never thought he’d have much use. Then came the day he graduated from the University of Colorado.

That spring morning, George was approached by some intriguing individuals who had been monitoring his progress as far back as grade school.

He was ripe for the picking, and the CIA knew when to harvest. With his background and knowledge of the Middle East and his proficiency with the native tongue, he could be placed in a small yet essential country in the middle of the cauldron known as the OPEC nations. The country: Kuwait. To George, it was the perfect opportunity to pay back the nation for the opportunities and prosperity his family had experienced. I owe America that much, he told himself.

The oil crunch in the seventies told the CIA that it was deficient with its presence in the Arabic states, and early in the Reagan years, it was trying to make up for the ignorance of the Carter administration. So they pushed George. Pushed him hard. Fieldwork normally would have been exempted for an agent of his inexperience except for the fact that the Middle East demanded more people to monitor the politics and changing culture of the Gulf. George happened to be the only one available with the correct background and language skills who could be covertly assigned within a reasonable amount of time. He looked the part. He knew the customs and the language—and he was bright, studious, and ambitious. After a year of grueling training to refine his knowledge of the Arabic language and culture (he was Persian, after all), he was on a plane to Kuwait, and everyone in the agency held their breath.

His placement was in the emir’s palace as a low-level bureaucrat (a paper-pusher for the Administration of Communications). Nervously, he began to establish relationships with other departments in the government, praying that his inexperience wouldn’t betray him. He wouldn’t hear his birth name George for years from that moment forward.

He was largely ineffective for the first eighteen months, and the agency almost pulled him out. Then slowly he gained the confidence of the palace officials and began to get access to information. He worked unnoticed for the most part and was quietly promoted to new positions within his small branch of the Kuwait government. As the months yielded to years, he cultivated deep ties in all facets of Mideast life. Business, political, military, and civil were all parts of the bureaucracy that he came to know well. Drawing from those resources, he was able to channel information home so experts could compose a list of possible diplomatic actions to take to influence the emir and his government. The Middle East had the West in an oil death grip, and to suffocate the economy, all it had to do was squeeze.

He was a spy in the perfect place as far as the CIA was concerned, and George didn’t mind, either. Kuwait really wasn’t bad in his early years. They had adopted many Western themes, much to the dismay of their Arab neighbors. The Western influence was easily embraced in Kuwait, making it somewhat of an outsider among the OPEC nations. A peaceful country that was too small to be a military threat, yet harboring some of the richest oil reserves in the world. Oil gave Kuwait its influence.

George had been through it all. Every step of the way he tried to push the palace government into deeper ties with the United States. A few well-placed words here, a minor suggestion there, or an additional consul; at any point where he could have had an opinion, George gave one with the hope that it might have a positive effect on the relationship the United States had with its ally. George knew that he would never be asked directly for input, so he became acquaintances with the palace official staff; those with whom he spoke conversed with the decision-makers. By proxy, his views were sneaked into conversations and those conversations into dialogue with America. All he needed was to get them to the table. The rest was out of his hands. Over the objections of Kuwait’s neighbors, George’s influence seemed to take root, and the United States enjoyed a solid relationship with the tiny nation. It became America’s window to the region, and George had the front-row seat. From Gulf War I to Gulf War II, George could recite and tie these events together better than any person on the planet. He had lived it, and now he wanted to go home.

The job at hand acutely reminded him of his true purpose; he was a covert operative. Doggedly, he performed this duty. It was the skullduggery part of his assignment.

Today it was the trash of a Kuwait naval captain—Captain Rezaee Mohsen. Captain Mohsen was the emir’s top man in the Kuwait navy. The emir’s navy itself was nothing more than a humorous footnote by superpower standards. It consisted mostly of heavily armed fishing boats and a few helicopters. Still, Mohsen took great pride in it, and he ran a tight ship. As for the man, he often fooled himself about the navy’s importance, as did other military officials in the tiny country.

George swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. It looked like the usual household trash, including the nauseating smell. Rarely did anything of great importance come of this task, yet occasionally there were some interesting morsels. After a bit more combing, he removed a slightly soiled piece of stationery. First, he noticed that it was a poorly worded letter addressed to Mohsen’s chief of staff. A simple inquiry about the captain’s diet and preferences in eating habits was all it asked. Not an unusual note from a host to a staff member when the captain traveled on a diplomatic mission. George’s office was always informed of these travels. The palace liked the attention when one of its ambassadors went to meet with other heads of state. Any chance for a little pomp and circumstance was good PR for the population.

He knew that his office had not been notified of this impending trip, and he made a mental note to check it in the morning. He was ready to discard the slip when his eye caught the name at the very bottom: Andri Stemovich.

Since the Cold War had ended, the Russian government had always found itself cash poor. To raise capital, it often conducted weapons sales when oil and gas revenues wouldn’t suffice. It wasn’t only the small arms; it was getting into the larger hardware. Fighter planes, tanks, and ships were all up for auction. As for the Middle East, any country that had relations with the Russians—or any Russian—had to be monitored. That was rule number one for all agents.

He slipped the note in his pocket and began to clean up the mess. George kept telling himself not to be preoccupied about the scribble. It wasn’t his job to analyze. He had found letters similar to this before, and nothing came of them. This was different though—nagging. He always knew about military personnel movements in and out of the country. Bulletins about meetings with other foreign dignitaries regularly went over his desk.

Don’t kid yourself, George. It’s not your job to know everything.

The letter would travel to Virginia in three days. Courier, not electronic media, was the best method to maintain secrecy. There it could be scrutinized effectively and fully. He finished cleaning up the mess and went over to his calendar. After thirty-three years of service, he was three months away from going home and living as an American again. He dreamed of the World Series in October and football games on a chilly November day. He wanted to kick his feet up and eat a hot dog and drink a beer. God! A beer! The note he had just come across was the last thing he wanted to see.

CHAPTER ONE

Trash, Treasure, Trouble

Levi Carp, a crippled geriatric (seventy-two, to be exact), limped down the halls of the CIA slower this time of year. The weather was getting hot and muggy, and the air-conditioning rarely worked well no matter how much money the government threw at it. The heat irritated his plastic knee, making his pain a constant reminder of his dark past.

One of the few CIA black ops officials involved in the Bay of Pigs debacle, Levi had the misfortune of being an observer on the Cuban beaches when Castro quashed the half-hearted, American-backed attack in 1961. As things worsened, and no air force planes arrived for cover, Levi had the smarts to inflate a dinghy and paddle out to sea before being captured with the others. His hasty escape was successful, but it was not before he took a bullet in the kneecap. He was rescued by the coast guard after two days of bobbing in the ocean.

He never forgave Kennedy for that. It would be three years and ten operations before he could reasonably walk. At the ripe age of twenty-three, Levi was relegated to a desk. His bitterness festered there.

After the Bay of Pigs, the CIA, which had been established only in 1947, was almost disbanded, and Levi did everything in his power from his chair to make sure that would not be the case. He excelled in the cover-up game. He was rarely seen at public functions, and the word was that he had deep ties to America’s military-industrial complex. He saw ruthlessness as a tool to be applied liberally. He was the ugly element of intelligence gathering—a role necessary for the protection of America, and one in which he delighted every day.

Small talk annoyed him, and these last decades had been most nerve-racking. Technology wasn’t the sole friend of the CIA anymore. It was everyone’s friend, and the potential for exposure grew.

Levi lived black ops, and now he did the decision-making. In the company, it was well known that he had conducted most of the genuinely nefarious tasks. The joke behind his back was that if you opened a dictionary and looked up the word assassin, you’d be greeted by a picture of Levi. He oversaw covert missions that were suspicious in their origins and objectives. His one standing witticism to himself was: “In order for any deception to work, there had to be blood spilled.” For him, the jest was more practice than preaching. He worked with great autonomy, but even his orders weren’t absolute. He did answer to someone. Other Western countries feared him, and he liked that. If his friends feared him, then he must terrify his enemies—or so he thought.

His constant companion was his cane. Like Levi, it had seen better days. It was crowned with a jackal’s head, lacquered black, and always sported a shine. It moaned in haunting objection whenever he leaned on it.

His secretary, Judy, was the only one he couldn’t intimidate. He shuffled through the door to find her on the computer.

Judy didn’t look up. “Mr. Archer is here to see you.”

Dan Archer sat in the corner. He towered at six foot four when he lofted his frame to an upright position. He was reasonably handsome, but somewhat frail. His voice was deep, soft, and disarming. Though not harboring the best fashion sense, he did mingle well in any crowd. He was admired for his quick thinking and problem solving. Mostly an easygoing type, Dan did have his moments of stubbornness. He didn’t play office politics well, and it made for some uneasy relationships. The one he had with Levi was a classic example. Dan was relaxed until Levi’s eyes fixed on him.

“Come on in, Dan. I have a few minutes this morning.” Levi extended his cane and pointed it at his office door.

The office was dark and bare. The lights held dim bulbs to shroud Levi in the shadows when speaking to his guests. He kept the temperature at a constant sixty-five degrees for added effect.

“How are things on your side?” Levi asked.

“We’ve run across something a little strange. I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t anything in your wheelhouse before we began checking it out.” Dan presented the note George had found in the trash in Kuwait.

Levi held it close to his lamp. “Arabic?”

“A menu for a Kuwaiti navy captain. Captain Mohsen.”

“Am I supposed to know him?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Then why…?”

“This inquiry comes from a Russian. One Andri Stemovich.”

Levi raised an eyebrow but kept his attention on the paper. “Forty years ago this would have sent my Cold War meter into the red zone. Now, I don’t know what to think.”

“Ever heard of Stemovich?” asked Dan.

“The name sounds familiar.” Levi sneaked the lie through his teeth. “If memory serves me right, he was a big mucky-muck in the Soviet Navy. I’d have to pull my file to be sure. He’s not at the top of the list, though. I know that for certain. What about this Mohsen?”

Dan shifted in his chair. “Kuwaiti navy, for what that’s worth, but he’s got connections. Mostly family influence, which reaches straight to the emir. Not that it means anything considering it’s the Kuwaiti navy.”

“Is that so? Perhaps freelance work for our Russian? Mohsen wants to get Stemovich’s expertise on how to make his boats go faster? Can’t say that I blame him with those bastards in Iran sitting across the water. Those fucking Persians hate the Arabs, and I thank God for that, but I don’t see anything here to get us into a Chinese fire drill.”

Dan didn’t like Levi’s opinions or the way he began to dismiss the case. “Well, I’d like to make sure it’s that simple—”

“I’ve seen it a million times since 1992. Third-world countries paying Russian experts to improve their technology because we won’t do it for them. We can’t stop it, even if they’re supposed allies in the Gulf. Fuck, we wouldn’t even get our hands dirty in Egypt or Libya or Syria. I would have loved it if the bullet that shot Gaddafi was painted with the stars and stripes.”

Dan had no sympathy for corrupt dictators and extremists, but he preferred a more intellectual approach to work. He ignored the comment. “Still, I ordered the file on Stemovich. Since the Russians are more your area than mine, I thought I’d make sure I was the one to tell you.”

“No problem. You know these Russian as well as me, Dan. You’ve worked with them and against them. I think it’s nothing, but who knows? You do have to watch out for these ‘ex’ Soviet military men. They were fathered by the Soviet Union and treated rather well. When it went to hell, they all became bastards.” Levi chuckled at the analogy and slumped back in his chair. “Who found this tidbit, anyway?”

“Bluebird.”

“Bluebird! I’d thought he’d have given up going through the trash by now.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

Levi continued. “If it looks to be something other than a social gathering, inform me immediately. Okay?”

“You’ll be the first,” Dan assured Levi as he left.

After twenty minutes of walking around the building to get the chill out of his bones, Dan stomped to his office. Speaking with Levi always left him enraged. He found himself boiling on the inside and defrosting on the out. To put it plainly, he hated the man.

Dan Archer was the antithesis of Levi Carp; he was a golden boy. Like Levi, Dan had his own legend. By working with several Middle Eastern countries, Dan was instrumental in the release of Terry Anderson, who was taken hostage seven years prior to 1991. For this, he was quietly praised by the Bush administration. Of what he was most proud, though, was a picture hanging on his office wall. It was taken from a news report in Russia a year later, when Boris Yeltsin was pleading to the people of Russia to battle the old Soviet government, as hardline communists tried to reinstate themselves by using the military in a coup against the Kremlin. The picture showed Yeltsin being surrounded by the mass of independent faithful, shielding him from any assassin. Within that group stood a very young Dan Archer.

It was a credit to him that the KGB was too busy shredding documents to even realize that the rebellion might have been CIA backed. If that had been known, the outcome could have been different—drastically different.

Doing his job delivered great satisfaction. Almost all his ops went smoothly, and his standing with other foreign services was high. Yet, like every department head, Dan did have his failures, and lives had been lost under his direct supervision. He never dealt with those tragic circumstances well.

His secretary, Sharon Dailey, was waiting for him at the door when he reached his office. “You always look like shit after a meeting with that man,” she commented.

Dan shook his head. “I’ve never liked that guy.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replied, throwing her arms in the air.

“How can you trust anyone who uses people the way he does? That man would sell his own mother if there were any gain in it. You need to be careful.”

She handed him a sealed envelope. “This came for you. Clearance Four.”

“You didn’t read it,” he said, smiling.

“You know I can’t. Clearance Three, remember?” she said, pointing at her badge.

“If it’s anything interesting, I’ll let you know.”

“Very funny,” she replied, closing the door behind her.

On his badge Dan was listed as a Clearance Level Six. That could get him access to about anything. He could never understand why they had assigned him a secretary with Clearance Three. The notes she cataloged were at least a four if not higher, and she probably knew more delicate information than most agents with that clearance.

Sharon had always worked well for him, and he trusted her completely. He even had a small schoolboy crush for her, but she never gave any signals.

Slender and shapely, Sharon was an attractive redhead with a professional attitude. All the men had hit on her, but she was very good at putting them off. Some even thought her frigid, yet still envied Dan for having her as his secretary. Beautiful, he thought about her. No, she was a bit more than that.

The envelope was the standard personnel request size.

“When I’m done with this, you can scan it to a thumb drive, Sharon,” he said through the phone.

“You’ll have it tomorrow, logged and ready,” she replied.

He ripped it open to see the eyes of Andri Stemovich staring back. He had received the file quickly, which meant one of three things. First, Andri wasn’t considered big game. Second, there wasn’t that much information about him. Or third, he was the new player in the spook world, and they were only recently finding out about him. Whatever he was, he was not on anyone’s hot list.

The picture was a twenty-two-year-old black-and-white military ID. It had him in a captain’s uniform, looking very smart. It also showed a man whose young appearance betrayed his real age. At the time, the thirty-three-year-old man didn’t look a day past eighteen. His biography raised Dan’s eyebrow more than once as he read it.

Andri’s life was anything but typical for a Soviet military man. He grew up on the island of Vozrozhdeniya that sits in the Aral Sea, west of the Caspian. It was a landlocked body of water between the borders of Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan.

Andri spent his early years on the shores of the island with his parents. His father was a craftsman and ran a small shop that repaired the dory boats used for fishing. His father’s work was well known, and Andri fully intended to follow in his footsteps until he became obsessed with building racing boats. In his youth, he began to construct small, fast crafts that skipped across the waves. These skiffs had no practical application other than to emphasize brilliant engineering for speed.

For amusement, he would torment the large, dawdling holiday cruise ships that sloshed about near his house. He would skip back and forth in front of the sluggish vessels, infuriating their captains and crew, then glide away laughing.

A vacationer on one of these boats happened to be an engineering professor from the University of Moscow. It took the professor only a couple of days to track Andri down and ask him if he could examine his boats. With much pride, Andri showed off his rigs. He went into detail about the design and dimensions that made them perform so well. The man listened with great interest and enthusiasm.

It wasn’t long after the professor’s departure that others began to arrive with more questions. It was a continuous routine, except with each new visitor the persons became less interested in his boats and more interested in Andri. He didn’t mind. He took everyone that came out on his crafts and galloped across the waves. If he had a reason to be on the water, Andri would go.

Finally, the people stopped coming, and the parade was ended with a letter addressed to him from the University of Moscow. A space was being held, and almost all his expenses would be paid if he chose to attend. His father was no fool. Andri had no choice; he went.

Moscow was not what he expected. Andri had heard that it was a colorless place, but he did not anticipate the darkness of the city to be so pronounced. His adviser was waiting for him when he stepped off the train. From then on, his life was under the supervision of the Soviet military.

His class load was structured so he could concentrate on physics, computer science, electronics, and engineering. He was kept busy and never given the chance to form any genuine friendships. The company of women, for which he paid out of the allowance the state provided, and other perks like vodka were accessible whenever he asked for them. His social skills were stunted, but he excelled in all other areas.

At the end of two years, Andri’s adviser informed him that he would travel to Leningrad (Saint Petersburg) and later to Primorski to work at a small shipyard that specialized in experimental designs. To Andri, this news was delightful, and he was eager to leave the depressing surroundings of Moscow.

Primorski in the summer reminded him of home, and this good feeling enhanced his work. He concentrated on hull structure and examined the efficiency of the way ships slipped through the water. His work received quick recognition, and after eight months, he was taken to another shipyard that constructed the MIER deep-dive submersibles. One trip down and Andri was hooked into what would become his life’s passion. The deep divers became his obsession. Within a year, he had theoretical designs that allowed the subs to travel to depths of at least ten thousand feet, with the ability to stay down eight hours longer. This work immediately attracted the interest of the Red Fleet, and he was transferred to the most coveted arena in the Soviet military—nuclear submarines. Andri jumped at the chance, and at the ripe age of twenty-four, he was given the commission of an officer in the Soviet Navy.

He was put on a team of naval and civilian engineers that launched the Soviet’s most sophisticated nuclear submarines. The team was composed of the brightest people Andri had ever encountered. The lead physicist was Mikhail Nemokov. Nemokov was a man who overshadowed everyone with his genius. The team functioned in various departments, each member doing its job. Andri was assigned to hull structure and integrity.

Andri’s contribution largely went unnoticed because his supervisor took the credit for his work. Contact with Mikhail was rare. He was not allowed to speak with the man unless he was asked a direct question. That didn’t bother Andri. He knew he’d get his chance to lead, but he didn’t expect it to happen upon the heels of Mikhail’s disappearance. One day he was there, the next, Nemokov was gone.

The shop was shut down for several days as all the engineers were questioned thoroughly about their relationship with Nemokov. The KGB wouldn’t say what had happened to Mikhail or where he had gone. They would only state that he wouldn’t be returning, and it was time to restructure the departments in the shipyard. This gave Andri the opportunity to move up in rank and become the head of his section. He began to flourish, and under his guidance, sub design for the Soviet Union moved forward—and so did his career.

On a grand scale, Andri now built subs that ran deeper, longer, and more silent. The work was engrossing, and he began to dream of the day that he not only engineered the ships, but captained them too. He worked as hard at being a naval officer as he did an engineer and won the respect of captains in the Red Fleet. There was no holding him back.

The ambition was a blessing. He would serve aboard submarines for three-month tours and then head back to the engineering team with his evaluations and make immediate improvements upon subs that were being assembled in the shipyard.

His combination of knowledge and practical experience rocketed the Soviet sub fleet to become the largest in the world. Again the government rewarded him with his choice of assignments, and so Andri began his opus. He began plans for a vessel that would be virtually unmatched for its time. A vessel of which he intended to be both the designer and the captain.

With less than a year to go before its commission, the unthinkable happened in Andri’s life—the Soviet Union collapsed. Republics split away, and funding for the submarine programs evaporated under the new Russia. With an unstable economy and a crumbling government, Andri was told that the navy had run out of money. It could no longer afford to fund his work and asked if he could teach at the university. He resigned instead.

Feeling bitter and betrayed, he moved to the town of Sevastopol on the Crimean peninsula. There he joined his cousin’s business that gave sightseeing tours to Western vacationers by ferry. It was the end of his incredible career.

Dan returned the file to the envelope with an accompanying sigh. Though the life was laid out in front of him in black and white, he could only imagine what Andri must have been feeling when he resigned his commission. He was even more perplexed by Andri’s decision to work for his cousin. That didn’t make sense, considering his personality.

He smirked when he remembered Levi’s analogy about Soviet military men being bastards of their own system. It certainly could apply here.

Still, why Mohsen and Andri Stemovich were going to meet was left unclear. Kuwait clearly had no need of a submarine. They didn’t even possess the support systems needed to maintain such ships. With the US Navy making the Persian Gulf its second home, submarines just didn’t seem to fit in the Kuwait equation. Maybe it was science? Kuwait was oil driven, not science driven. From every angle, he tried to look at the situation and came up with nothing. Could Stemovich want something from Kuwait? Who contacted whom first?

At 4:58 p.m., Dan felt it was time for a cold beer. He put away the file, grabbed his Hugo Boss trench coat and briefcase, and exited. Sharon had departed. If the day was slow, she skipped out early to beat the traffic. Too bad, he thought. I could use the company.

Once outside, his mind again wandered back to the Kuwaiti situation. It bothered him. It was only a gut feeling, but it bothered him. Bluebird is going to have to tag along, I guess. That would be that. He tried to comfort himself by supposing that the small operation would be a false alarm, and nothing would come of it. Then again, if that were true, why didn’t Bluebird ignore the scrap of paper?Sometimes I wish some things need not be known.

Sharon Dailey struggled to get her ’85 Ford Fiesta in her garage. As usual, the cul-de-sac that held her two-bedroom town house was crammed with cars. Her neighbors were a group of rowdy college students who often had their own happy hour every Friday. At least a hundred people attended, blocking most of her driveway. The garage opened, and she gunned the Fiesta inside, closing the world out.

Her roommate’s car was already parked, taking up most of the space. She squeezed out and threw her body against the back door. Jesus Christ, I need a vacation. She tossed her bag on the floor and sank into the couch.

“Beth?” she called. “Beth, are you here?”

When no response came, her curiosity pulled her upstairs to have a look.

In the bathroom, she heard the shower. After peeking around the corner, she saw her roommate, Beth Rudnick.

Beth was naked and testing the water to see if it was an acceptable temperature. She stood five feet tall with the girth of a barrel and acne scares marring her back. She was not a pretty woman by any stretch of the imagination.

“Gotcha!” Sharon yelled, bursting through the door.

“Fuck!” Beth screamed. “You scared the shit out of me.” The excitement made her nipples erect. “You’re home early. Bad day?”

“I had to get out of there. Danny’s talking to that Levi Carp guy.” Sharon picked at herself in the mirror. “I always get the feeling that he’s being set up when he deals with that man.” She began to take her clothes off.

“What do they have to say to each other?”

“Who knows,” she grunted. “Something to do with the Arabs.”

“Leave it at the office. Maybe I can help you get your mind somewhere else. Shower?” Beth grinned.

“I’d like that.” Sharon kissed and began fondling Beth’s small breasts.

Beth became moist and stuck her tongue deep into Sharon’s throat.

“Tonight will be special.” She grabbed Sharon’s hand and stroked her sweet spot, then led her under the water.

CHAPTER TWO

The Ice Chest

“Another one is down, sir,” observed air force major Joshua Brand. He referred to the images on his screen with his index finger. The Russian government was mothballing more of its submarines in a peculiar manner, and the United States was watching the event in real time from the other side of the world. Major Brand was the eye in the sky, literally.

Josh had witnessed this act before. It had been occurring for the past several months as economic sanctions burrowed into the Russian economy and sapped the ability of the military to maintain its weapons. He wanted to move on to something a bit more interesting. His current assignment was being supervised by a rear admiral, Kenneth Sukudo. The admiral was professional and agreeable, but as a matter of principle, Josh didn’t much care for the navy and didn’t warm to working with it, or for it, regardless of the circumstance.

The last time the US Air Force allowed Josh Brand to fly was in Gulf War I. At that time, he piloted an out-of-date A-10 Warthog on short-range bombing missions over Iraq and loved every minute of it. That was when a fragment of Iraqi AAA struck his jet and altered his life.

The damage to the aircraft seemed minimal until he pulled the control back to gain altitude. His warthog scarcely sloshed up. The throttle was stuck open, but the controls merely allowed him to lope along at five thousand feet and no higher. His squadron commander urged him to bail, but Josh was convinced that he could get his plane back to the airstrip in Saudi Arabia. Along with a stuck throttle, small pieces of flack had punctured his hydraulic lines. In the beginning, the deterioration of the hydraulic system was unnoticeable. The real trouble emerged when he tried to land.

The glide pattern was perfect; he cut the engines and began settling the craft in when a vicious crosswind brushed his side. Josh moved to correct, but the controls had run out of fluid. The warthog flipped and tumbled, throwing him across mounds of sand surrounded by a shallow water hole. Because he landed in the mud, not every bone in his body was broken. The most severe injury came to his left eye. The protective shield on his helmet splintered, and a shard lodged in his left retina, ending his career flying.

The air force offered him a discharge, but Josh knew he wouldn’t make a good civilian. He decided to stay, though his future assignments offered little satisfaction. He bounced around to different stations until he landed in Houston. There he stumbled upon the Experimental Orbiting Data Imaging System, or ODIS. ODIS gave Josh new purpose.

He found satellites intriguing. The technology he didn’t readily understand, but he was rather proficient in mathematics and excelled as a specialist who could calculate the orbit, range, and velocity in his head most of the time. Everyone else needed their iPads.

ODIS itself was about all that was left of the Star Wars technology from the Cold War. It had been the prototype for the missile defense system back in the early eighties. It was ancient by modern technology standards, though ODIS did have numerous software and hardware upgrades over the decades. Fifty satellites, give or take ten at any one time, all orbiting the earth on the same flight pattern, all solar powered, all linked with one another and with Josh in Houston.

It was one colossal multimillion-dollar flying rope in space. Where the lead satellite went, the others followed. The beauty was that any of the satellites could be the leader. Whichever one Josh accessed and rerouted, that one would send signals to the following one, instructing it to make a course correction, and that one to the next and so forth, until the complete chain had the new flight pattern in a matter of seconds.

Years before Star Wars was scrapped, the air force smelled its death and salvaged the satellites. By having the space shuttle mount digital lenses, thermal imaging sensors, and radar cameras on the orbiting vehicles, they were able to convert them to intelligence gathering. It was smart and easy since all Josh had to do was fly the chain past the orbiting shuttle. The shuttle’s arm would swing out and grab one; the crew would modify it in the shuttle’s bay and then send it on its way. They modified ten a day, and within a week, Josh was in control of the most sophisticated camera system in the world. It was his personal multibillion-dollar flying peepshow to the world.

Exactly how much could be seen with ODIS was classified. The thermal imaging signal could detect anything that gave off heat. Even a small cat would register clearly on a cool night in New York City. Weather systems rarely interfered with its operation thanks to the radar that enhanced every picture. It was that good and always being refined to make it better. Those days were about to end, though. When the shuttle fleet went into retirement, so did the ability to upgrade and repair his units.

Over the years when things were slow, Josh set ODIS in a preset pattern over the French Riviera and the nude beaches in Europe. This was under the program of testing and recalibrating the imager. Some outsiders might have thought it abuse of government equipment, but Josh’s position was so classified within the service, who would know? The pictures were always filed under “test shots.”

The service Josh and ODIS provided was used throughout the US government. Many people, civilian and military, would ask him to point the lenses to certain regions of the world that were in turmoil. For the most part, he didn’t mind doing what he was asked and often chuckled to himself when the CIA walked through his doors. Often, they would want to touch base with an operation gone bad. He knew more about what was happening on the earth than the president. That fact made him the happiest man in Houston.

On level three, subbasement A, located in the center of the grounds at NASA, Josh was king. All rank was thrown out, other than the usual formal initial address. After that, they treated one another as equals. Only Josh could roam the lower levels freely. Everyone else had to be accompanied by a marine with orders to shoot first. His latest visitor, Admiral Sukudo, also drew the marine with the sidearm, who waited patiently at the door.

The display room was large and dark. Screens around the room exhibited several areas of the globe. Josh bent over a small console scrutinizing what he was viewing through the lens. Sukudo stood behind him.

“How late are the transmissions?” Sukudo asked.

“Milliseconds. We got an upgrade the other month that tripled the speed in the transport and processing of data.” He flipped a few buttons and punched in a command to make the satellite transmit the thermal display. “Here,” he said, circling a hot spot on the screen. “The reactor has cooled off considerably. Control rods out, and they’re shutting her down. I could never fathom why they would dump their subs on the floor like this.”

Sukudo corrected him. “It’s a way of keeping them away from everyone and yet still accessible. They can bring them up if they really need them. Any other pictures?”

“Well, these.” Josh motioned to a pile of prints sitting on a table next to him. “They pulled out the weapons first.” With a magnifying glass, he pointed to workmen pulling nuclear missiles from a launch carriage on the sub while in dock. “Here, that’s too old school.” With the touch of a few buttons, Josh put the picture on the main screen and zoomed in on the weapons.

“They do this to every one?”

“Every one, stripped down to her panties,” said Sukudo.

Josh grabbed another picture from the pile while simultaneously bringing it up on another screen. “Here’s a picture of the water where they drown these ladies. It’s roughly five by five square miles, I estimate. See these four white dots. They’re the heat signatures of small destroyers. There are at least four and as many as ten in this ocean at one time. These waves are never unprotected.”

Sukudo’s brow furrowed. “How many have been put down?”

“I’ve counted six since we began. I believe four Alfas, as you call them, and two Typhoons. It is only in the area we’ve monitored. They could be dumping elsewhere.”

“Real old Soviet hardware.” The admiral sighed. “Christ, I probably chased a few of those boats in my day. I guess if you’re going to hide a ship, north is the place to do it.”

“They’ll be trapped under the ice most of the year.”

Josh moved to caution. “We can see that they go down there, Admiral, but that doesn’t mean they stay.”

“Explain?”

“We can’t read the Alfas after their engines cool. The crew could easily slip to another location on battery power, and ODIS would never pick it up.”

“And the Typhoons?”

“Technically we should be able read the radiation on thermal imaging even with the control rods out. Their insulation sucks. But they’ve stumped us. When they dive, we still track a mild radiation reading, even with the engines off; then poof, they’re gone. My guess is they take them under an inversion layer in the water, which masks the engine from our equipment. We’re still working on boosting the sensitivity for ODIS to see if we can solve the problem. Unfortunately, I think we need a different approach for him.” Josh often referred to ODIS as a person.

“What’s the chance of you picking up the readings again?”

“Slim. Icebergs read better than the subs, but because of the patrol routes of the destroyers, I think they’re still located in the same area.”

“How deep’s the water?” Sukudo began to rub his eyes; he wasn’t used to looking at so many monitors.

“I don’t have that data in the computer, but we have old topo maps in the other room. I’m sure there are some of the Barents Sea.”

“All this technology and you can’t call up a depth?”

“You’re the first to ask. Give me a month, and I’ll have all it plugged in.”

The other room was crowded with maps of all parts of the world. They were so large that most hung from spines attached to the ceiling. Josh sifted through those in a corner then pushed the rest back when he located the one he needed.

“Here we are,” he said. “What we see is a pretty constant depth of one hundred feet. Some deeper valleys here and there.”

The admiral muscled his way near. “There is a shelf that runs for about twelve square miles that is relatively shallow in this whole area. After the crew puts her down on the bottom, they could easily frogmen up to a rendezvous with any ship or another sub. Slow water, no doubt. Wouldn’t want those bitches to be swept away in some current. The depth is right. A hundred feet is easy to get in and out of without decompression. Minimal crew to bring her up and sneak her away. Is there any other way we might be able to locate these cunts?”

Josh took note of the admiral’s use of profanity and began to warm to him.

“No. Right now all that hardware looks as cold to ODIS as an ice-cube fart. We’d need a temperature variation to find anything.”

“But if one was fired up…” said Sukudo as he followed Josh back into master control.

“That would be bittersweet, I would think. Remember, we know where the subs are because of the patrol boats. If the boats move, then I’d worry.”

“There’s more to it than that,” replied the admiral. “The Alfas, since they run on fuel, have to come to the surface. The coldness of the water would drain their batteries. Those we can spot. The Typhoons have nuclear engines; they could get away without our knowing. They don’t need to rise above the inversion layer.”

Josh frowned. “Okay. Not good.” He flipped through the extra pictures and picked a few. “We might be able to catch up with them later. They all have to rearm.”

“They’d have to dock.”

Josh gave a strange glance. “I was under the impression that could be accomplished at sea.”

“It can in a time of crisis. Why?”

“Come with me.” Josh led the admiral back to ODIS. “When they strip those babies of their weapons, they store them on freighters and barges. I figured either to sell or for quick access. Right?”

“They’re not trucked inland and put underground?”

“No.” Josh handed him some still prints then brought up ODIS’s monitor. A few commands later and a live picture of a Russian port snapped to the screen. “Here. You see, they roll the missiles down the dock and hoist them into cargo ships every time they mothball.”

“Have they moved?”

“Not these.”

There was a small silence between them. Activity on the screen clearly revealed workmen transporting a torpedo on the dock to a barge. Then the lens came across another pier.

“There’s one,” Kenneth observed. “Another victim.”

“Let’s find out.” Josh took hold of a tiny control stick and panned the lens until a Russian sub filled the frame. “A fucking giant.” The sub was sleek, black, and tremendously long. She still bore the Soviet insignia of the hammer and sickle on her sail and patiently waited as crews dressed her down.

“Typhoon class. A little different, though,” said Admiral Sukudo. “Where the fuck have they been hiding this big sister? And what’s up with the insignia of the Soviet Union?”

“Wait for it.” Josh brought up another picture of the same port and same vessel in the same place. Only this time the submarine was covered with camouflaged tarp. “That girl has never moved since we first came across her. It’s been buttoned up for at least twenty years, easy.”

The picture fizzled and dropped to static.

“That was the last in the chain to remain over that port. I can either bring ODIS back to the port, or he can stay over the water and watch the parking lot. Which will it be?”

Kenneth hesitated as he pondered the submarine. “Keep it in the water. Log in any new subs they take out there. I’ll worry about the barges later.”

“One question, Admiral. What would happen if one of those cargo ships exploded?”

“Let’s just say that the East Coast would have new beachfront property when the ice cap melted.”

George was up at the crack of dawn, finishing his three-mile jog. A few women were out with their children. That was all. He dragged himself up the last incline to his flat and snatched the morning paper off the sidewalk. First time that had been there before ten. Since Gulf War I, everyone who was not of direct Kuwaiti descent was forced to leave. This mostly meant the people who did the menial tasks—garbage men and delivery people, etc. Services never ran as smoothly thereafter.

He sat at his table sipping juice and flipping through the paper when a note dropped out; George knew the code like his first language. He gulped as he read it.

Follow him. More details needed.

He hated what he saw. He knew that little scrap of paper was going to lead to something bad. Shit. He leaves tomorrow, and I don’t even have an excuse to go. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. It will be a wash, and then it’s back to the States for good. Just hang in there for little while longer. He glanced at his retirement day on the calendar and worried.

Levi hopped through the door at Morgan’s Flowers and immediately covered his mouth with a handkerchief. He was allergic to flowers. He didn’t know which ones, exactly, so he opted to stay away from as many as possible. Needless to say, the florist was not his favorite place.

Beth Rudnick sat on a small stool arranging a basket. He slowly made his way toward her, noting where the other patrons in the shop stood. When he felt secure, he spoke.

“Nice day.”

“I heard you coming a mile away,” scoffed Beth. “You don’t realize how much attention that stupid cane of yours attracts. Very amateurish, don’t you think?”

“All right, you made your point.”

“Let me guess what you’re here for. A dozen roses, and you want to kiss and make up with your little girl,” she chided.

“I accept you. I may not understand you, but I say live and let live.”

“Sure you do, Dad. That’s why you’re here. Because you accept me. Certainly not because you want to ask me if Sharon has said anything about her boss.”

Levi scanned the store again. “You’re on the payroll. Don’t you feel that since we pay you, you should deliver?”

“You pay me, Dad. The CIA knows nothing about our little arrangement. You pay me so you can stay on top. You always need to know who your competition is.”

He tried to keep their conversation as quiet as possible. “That is none of your goddamn business. The company is not as unified as it once was. The left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing. It’s a dangerous time. Botched operations, and a whole assortment of other things that I’m trying to prevent.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Spare me, Levi. You want to make sure you’re the one sitting on top of the totem pole. You don’t give a damn about people. Including me.”

He ground his teeth and flexed his hands, trying to control his temper. Beth always could push his buttons. When she was growing up, Levi went out of his way to try to arrange everything for her. It was simple. Basically, if she did what he said, she would be set for life. He sent her to the best schools and bought her expensive presents, several cars, etcetera…He even found her the perfect man to marry. When that didn’t work, and her true sexual identity was known, Levi arranged for her to meet the woman of her dreams, Sharon. For that, he thought Beth owed him. Being an outside force on practically all of Sharon’s opportunities, he was successful in positioning her as Dan Archer’s secretary. This, Levi knew, would be of great help to him.

It was a constant game of poker speaking with his daughter. She never gave anything up easily. There were two things he held over her head. One was money, and the other was her situation with Sharon. If he had to, he would threaten to expose everything to Sharon and make it sound like Beth was using her. Beth hated him for that. She needed the money, and she needed Sharon. They were the two things in her life that made it stable.

“I’m not going to get into this with you,” he growled. “I can always arrange to have you taken off the payroll.”

Beth turned to him, venom seething from her. She was irate. Not because of the threat, but because she knew what would be next. “That won’t be necessary, Father! She hasn’t mentioned anything. She only made some comment about the Middle East and that you had spoken with Dan.”

“Nothing else?”

“No. Other than that she thinks you’re a snake.”

“That’s her opinion.”

“I’d like to tell her how right she is.”

Levi righted himself, signaling the end to the conversation. “Don’t be such a stranger, dear. Stop by for dinner sometime. But call first.”

“Right, Dad.”

“Next time I’m not coming to this shop. You know that my allergies can’t stand the flowers.”

“Then you won’t see me. This is where I work. If you want to see me, then you have to come here.” It was the only way for Beth to strike back at her father anymore. It gave her some satisfaction, however small.

Levi decided to leave the conversation where it lay. He knew that Beth could be a valuable source if the situation in Kuwait expanded. He wanted as much information on Dan’s operations as possible, and he didn’t need Beth to clam up on him.

CHAPTER THREE

The Empty Spirit

The summer was exasperatingly slow. The boats were always in need of repair. It mattered little, as tourism for this summer was the worst he had experienced in fifteen years. No more than two vessels of the four were operating at any one time. Andri had overheard his cousin remark to his wife that if Andri had not been a relative he would have let him go. The fact that Andri was there at all, for such a long time, perplexed his cousin. The cousin never asked, but it was always in the air between the two: Why? Why was Andri content being a simple pilot on a charter business?

Not only did Andri pilot the small crafts during the day, but at night, he stayed up and repaired most of the problems. It was therapeutic at first. Something like returning to nature. His body became strong, and he walked a little taller, but it was beginning to wear thin. He needed to be challenged.

He longed for the old Soviet shipyards and design rooms. He ached for his position on top of a submarine sail. Patience, he thought.

“Someday,” he whispered. “Soon.”

“What?” the woman yelled. “What the hell are you talking about, you fool?”

The woman had awakened Andri from his trance. He remembered her. Her thirteen-year-old brat had begun vomiting halfway through the tour, and she hadn’t stopped screaming at him since. Her son was still retching over the side as they docked.

She snapped her fingers in Andri’s face annoyingly, getting his attention again. The new elite, he contemptuously thought.

“What do you mean someday? I want to speak with you now!” she cackled at Andri.

“Yes, madam. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Help? You could have helped an hour ago when my poor child became ill. You could have stopped.”

“Madam, it would have been of little consolation. That would have only delayed us getting him back on solid ground.”

“I believe not. I believe that you drove the boat in such a manner that it caused him to get ill.”

“I do not drive boats, madam. I pilot them.”

“That makes little difference to me. I had a terrible time, and now I want my money returned. If not, I will complain.” The woman spat as she wagged her finger at Andri’s nose. It was all he could do to keep from losing his temper.

“Very well. Please go to the sign-up booth and ask for a refund. I’m sure they’ll be glad to give it to you.”

A condescending victory grin crossed her face as she wheeled about to exit the craft. “That’s better,” she spouted. “I won’t have some lackey steal my money.”

It was too much. He paced up behind and caught her skirt before she could leave. The woman shrieked as his large hands grasped her underwear, pulling it up between the two potato bags that were the excuse for her ass. With great ease he hoisted her on his shoulder and dumped her over the railing. It wasn’t much more than a three-meter drop, but the splash created by the woman’s body sprayed across a large portion of the dock. She came up gasping and screaming for her son, but he was still busy emptying his stomach.

George had stayed all night in his car, parked outside Mohsen’s house. About three in the morning, lights came on, and servants began scurrying about, packing Mohsen’s Lexus for a trip. Several times throughout the week he had called the captain’s office and tried to set up a bogus interview. The young aide that checked his schedules never knew he was giving away Mohsen’s itinerary. Mohsen would be around for interviews and dinner except for these next five days.

“During that time,” the aide said, “the captain would be indisposed to everyone.”

This had to be the period when he was leaving for his meeting with Stemovich. At least that’s what George surmised.

At a quarter past five, three more servants and a driver emerged. George had gotten quite comfortable in his little Mini Cooper parked across the street. He shook himself awake and waited for Mohsen to appear. He never came. That’s what George thought at first. The driver hopped in the car and started it up. One of the three servants opened the back door of the Lexus and helped another in. Then the remaining two were given instructions from the one in the back of the car. They bowed their heads in a manner that clearly gave away that Mohsen was traveling incognito.

“That son of a bitch,” stammered George. “He doesn’t even have the balls to go in his uniform.”

The Lexus backed out and drove off. George followed, keeping a good distance between the two cars. An immense sinking feeling knotted his gut. It was becoming obvious that if Rezaee Mohsen had to exit his own country secretly, then something big and nasty could be on the horizon. Disgust is what George felt. He slammed the steering wheel with his hand and wished he had discarded that small piece of paper he had found so many nights before. I can’t believe I’m getting mixed up in something else, he thought. Two more months and I’d be free. Out to live my pension. Damn! It was nice to complain because he rarely did. He also knew that he would never leave his job half-done; but this one was it. Once over, he was stateside.

The drive to the airport was short, and the Lexus basically sped all the way. George hurriedly parked his car and grabbed a small carry-on bag. He knew when he returned he’d have a hefty fine to pay, since he left his car in short-term parking. Probably more than what the car was worth, but he didn’t want to lose sight of Mohsen.

Several times Mohsen melted into the crowd of early morning flyers. Some businessmen traveling to the West were sporting very contemporary suits, but most still wore the long, flowing Arab regalia identifying their status in society. Mohsen could not pass up the chance to wear a somewhat lavish robe. Though he was traveling secretly, he still maintained outwardly that he was a man of some importance. That mistake made it easier for George to follow.

Only a few times did George lose sight of him completely. In his rush to locate him again, he accidentally bumped into Mohsen at the counter. He turned away quickly to appear as a clumsy traveler. It was an amateurish mistake. He was much better at snooping than tailing, and it did nothing but enflame George’s opinion that this particular operation was being handled poorly. Usually there was a structure to following a person and support agents. This time no rules applied. He could only make it up as he went along.

The flight Mohsen was boarding was a nonstop to Istanbul. Once Mohsen got in the security line, George returned to the ticket counter and purchased a fare. He cut in the line, much to the chagrin of some businessmen.

“I do apologize, but I have lost my pass, and I need to make the next flight to Istanbul.”

“Business or pleasure?” asked the agent.

“Family emergency.” That was the same excuse he had left at work.

“Unfortunately, you are still required to buy another ticket.”

“Fine. That is acceptable.”

The agent processed his ticket, and within minutes, he returned to security, where he observed Mohsen quietly reading the morning paper as he waited his turn. For the first time, he could relax. Once through, he took a seat behind the captain on the concourse and let the tensions drain from his body. He had almost fallen asleep when the first boarding call for the plane came. Twenty minutes later, he and Mohsen were on a DC-10 taxiing out to the runway. Before it left the ground, George had drifted off.

The plane touched down in Istanbul, jolting him back to life. Though he knew there was no way Mohsen could have left, he still looked for him to make sure he was in his seat and satisfy his peace of mind.

As with all airplane passengers, none could wait to exit, and the herd moved forward as George looked for a position to jump into. Mohsen had been lucky. Seated near the front, he could disembark the plane first. George was hoping to catch up. Calmly he walked up the corridor looking for him. Mohsen was nowhere to be found. He ran his eyes across the area briefly and then made his way to the terminal. He stopped often to gaze back in the hopes that he had overlooked him by mistake. He couldn’t figure out how he could have passed him. Still, he was gone. George made it to the main terminal, then went back, convinced that he must have passed him. He controlled his anger. Mad not at himself for being so poor at tailing people, but at the whole operation. Even this early in the game it was turning into a fiasco. He had almost given up looking for Mohsen and begun to formulate plan B when he spotted the captain through a window.

There he was, on the tarmac outside, standing in line to board a small twin-engine aircraft. The plane couldn’t hold more than ten, and there were that many people in line. It was obvious that George would have to wait.

He went to the nearest ticket agent and inquired about the destination of the plane. The reply was that it was headed to a town known as Simferopol in Crimea, across the Black Sea.

It was at least 350 kilometers to Simferopol, and the next flight wouldn’t leave until the morning. As Mohsen’s plane fired up its engines and taxied away, George decided there was no point in worrying about it until he could get there. A hotel room and a shower sounded extremely good now. He would have to use this time to set up a support system on Crimea.

After he made a reservation on the morning flight, George made a long-distance call. The overseas operator connected him to the United States and then passed it along to a small ranch house located in Big Horn, Wyoming. A man with a husky voice and a boondock accent answered.

“Quarter Circle A Ranch. What can I help you with?” The man spoke in a genuinely happy tone.

“I have a collect call from a Mike Bowman,” said the operator as she passed on George’s code name for that month.

Without missing a step, the man responded. “Sure, we’ll pay for the charges.” George never knew the guy, but he was good and extremely professional. He never tensed, and he was always on top of the code. Because he was so good, George used him the least. He saved him for special situations, like this one.

“Hi, Pop.” He made a conscious effort to wipe away any accent from his English.

“How’s everything going, Mike?”

“Not bad. I just lost my luggage, though. It got on the wrong plane to Simferopol.”

“You need me to send you anything FedEx?”

“Yeah, if you could. Besides some more clothes, I could use the headphones to my iPod and another memory stick for the camera.”

“Can’t you get some there?”

“Naw. They’re all knockoffs. My phones sound better than the crap they have over here. These sound as if there’s breaking glass in the background all the time. They’re annoying.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Money?”

“I could have guessed.” The husky voice laughed. “They take American?”

“It’s all dollars over here. Thanks, Pop. Hopefully I can catch up with my bags tomorrow.”

“Oh, by the way, Mike. Where do we send this stuff?”

George hesitated. “Good question. I’ll tell you what. I’m flying to Simferopol tomorrow. I’ll call you from there when I’ve figured the rest out.”

“That sounds fine.” The voice at the other end sounded reassuring. “Just give us a ring if you need anything else.”

“I will, Pop. Thanks.” George hung up the phone. He ran over the conversation in his head and was satisfied that he had communicated everything he needed. He picked up his small bag and headed for the first hotel. Exhaustion quaked his body. It wasn’t from anything physical. It was all mental. Time and again George wished this operation had been laid out like a real operation. Ones that are made-up-as-you-go tend to be more draining. The tension took its toll, and it showed. Just a good night’s sleep, is what he told himself. Tomorrow is another day.

Within nine minutes, George’s conversation had been transferred to CIA headquarters. It was three thirty in the morning when Dan Archer rolled over to answer the phone. He grunted a response a few times to the person at the other end who was telling him that there was a priority message waiting in his office.

Sleep was something from which Dan had a hard time shaking himself. He dialed Sharon’s number, and she answered the phone in the same manner.

“Hello.”

“Get up, Super Secretary. I need you to be at the office within the hour.” He turned on his light, forcing himself from the bed.

“Please, Dan, not now. Can’t it wait?” Sharon half meant what she said. She really did not want to get up.

“This part of the job was in the fine print you neglected to read on your contract.”

“I’m W-2.”

“Doesn’t matter. Uncle Sam needs you to help me save the world.”

“Oh, I see. Much better now. I’ll be there,” she mumbled.

“Thanks. If we finish early, you can have the rest of the day off.” Dan never liked overworking his people. He tried to give them breaks whenever he could.

“Thanks, boss. See you in a bit. Bye.” She hung up the phone, trying carefully not to wake Beth.

But Beth was already awake. “Who was that, babe?”

“Dan. Something came in tonight, and we need to get to it.”

“It must be important.”

“He only calls if it is. Don’t get up because of me. I’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

Sharon staggered to the bathroom door. When Beth heard the water running, she reached for the phone.

The orange morning sun was gleaming through the office window when Sharon arrived. She looked disheveled because of the early hour and wore sweats.

“I hope this is important.” She didn’t mind poking fun even at such an egregious hour.

“I’ve got a short but important grocery list,” said Dan.

“Tell me what it is, and I’ll make sure it gets handled.”

“First I need one light-sensitive audio listening device and ten thousand in cash.”

“Where is it going? My bank account, snicker, snicker.”

“You wish. I’ll tell you when the package is ready. Then I need a list of secondary agents in the Black Sea. Someone in Crimea. They need to be activated within the hour.” Dan opened his window and listened to the birds singing in the morning sun. It helped him wake up.

“On it.” She excused herself and opened the door to leave, but she found Levi Carp on the other side, standing like he was ready to knock on the door with the handle of his cane. Sharon shrieked before she could gain her composure.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Dailey. I saw the office light on and decided to drop by before I went to work.”

“You always come in this early?” retorted Dan. Sharon left without saying a word.

“Not often. I’ve never seen your office before. It’s nice. Small, but nice.”

“It suits me.” Dan didn’t want to contend with him this early.

Levi sat in the guest chair, making himself comfortable. “I wanted to talk to you about Bluebird. How’s that going?” He spotted the transmission on Dan’s desk.

Dan narrowed his eye at Levi’s question. “Slowly. Mohsen went to Istanbul, and we lost him there.” Telling him anything ate at Dan. This mission wasn’t Levi’s business—yet.

“Is Mohsen headed to Sevastopol?”

“Why would you say that? We only know that he boarded a flight to Crimea. Bluebird couldn’t get on.”

Levi smiled. “I had my agents locate Stemovich. He lives in a town called Sevastopol. That’s where Mohsen is headed.”

Nice of you to be so prompt with the information, thought Dan.

“What’s the transmission for?” Levi reached for it, but Dan grabbed it first.

“It’s a laundry list.”

“Bluebird?”

“Yes.”

“May I see the code?”

Dan wanted to tell him to fuck off, but there was enough tension between them already, and he didn’t want to create any more. Sometime down the road he might need Levi’s help, and he didn’t want to be refused. Grudgingly, he surrendered the transmission.

It took Levi only a brief glance. “Good code. This stuff is usually with the urgent messages. He must feel it could be something big.”

“I know what it says,” snapped Dan. He didn’t mean to sound angry, but he also didn’t need a lesson in codes.

“Sorry, Dan. Didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

Dan caught himself and searched for an excuse. “I got up too early. I’m a little on edge.”

“I can be a bit grumpy in the mornings myself.”

“Sevastopol, huh?”

Levi began dismissing the operation. “Yeah. They don’t seem to be too sneaky about it. Could be a small job for secondary agents. Probably doesn’t warrant a lot of attention.”

Dan pondered this. Levi was an asshole, but he had been in the game a long time. “Well, since Bluebird is there, we might as well use him. Then I’ll cut him loose. He’s due to rotate out.”

“Sure. I’m just suggesting that any two operatives can tail this guy. Since Bluebird is there, use him. This should turn out to be nothing. Everyone is probably getting their dick hard for no reason.”

Dan didn’t know how to take Levi when he was like this. It was much easier when they disagreed. “Well, we’ll see.”

Levi decided that it was an appropriate time to go, and he hobbled out the door. “Keep me informed.” He limped past Sharon. “So long, Miss Dailey.” He smiled then continued down the hall.

Sharon looked back at Dan. He was not pleased. He wondered why Levi had shown up so early.

CHAPTER FOUR

Strange Bedfellows

Andri Stemovich sat in his small flat located over his cousin’s lodge. He held a snifter filled with authentic Russian vodka. It was the last of his last bottle, and he pondered how he could get some more without having to pay an inflated price. In the navy such things were often perks given to him from the Soviet government. Now he had to scrounge for the most savored liquid. He sipped, trying to taste each mouthful as long as possible.

He heard his visitor on the way up the stairs and moved to open the French doors, then sat back down. Andri had been expecting him. The visitor didn’t knock; he stepped slowly through and slinked to the seat across the room.

“Hello, Sasha.”

Sasha Tolitov was a longtime confidant. He had been a first officer in the Red Fleet but was demoted and almost thrown out over some suspicious sexual activity with a Soviet vice admiral. The admiral’s enemies coerced Sasha to finger him as a deviant and a threat to the state. Shortly, the admiral disappeared and was reported to now occupy a sanitarium in Siberia. Sasha was spared the torture of the gulag, but his career was basically over. He lost his officer status and was made a simple guard at the boat design plant where Andri had worked a lifetime ago.

Around the complex, Sasha was the butt of many jokes. Andri dismissed his past. He knew that Sasha was a former officer, and it was a title he had earned. He drained every bit of information he could from Sasha about being a Soviet naval officer. He knew it could help him advance and attain greater goals if he learned from someone who had been through the system.

When it seemed that he had gleaned all the knowledge Sasha had, Andri then proceeded to manipulate him as a spy in the boatyards. He always had someone reporting to him about what was going on in the other departments. It all worked beautifully and kept him on top of the office politics. All this watching because he never forgot what had happened to him when Nemokov disappeared.

“How are things, Andri, my friend?” Sasha was old now. Gray and somewhat frail, he carefully adjusted his seating on the couch. He knew he was in the waning years of his life. A life for which he didn’t care much. The only bright spot was his friendship with the former engineer. Andri treated him like a human, and for this simple act of dignity, he returned his complete and unquestioning loyalty.

“I guess it could be worse,” said Andri. “How are things at the plant?”

“Shut down.”

“The Saratov?”

“Still exiled. After twenty-five years, she’s now waiting for a pilot to put her down. Under the ice.”

Andri looked grief-stricken. The Saratov was the last submarine he had designed. It was to be his crowning achievement in a brilliant career. It was his best work and was supposed to be the pride of the Soviet fleet. The ship had been streamlined and automated, stretched and reinforced. Mostly run by computers, the sub boasted fewer moving parts. It could go faster, dive deeper, and move quieter than any vessel of its size in the world. He had designed it to be that incredible. It was built but never made it to sea trial. It sat in dry-dock, waiting for the money and manpower to send it hunting. That day never came. It went into hiding under a canvas with the others.

“So now it will rust on the bottom.”

Sasha shook his head. “Even today, the government knows that vessel is a work of art. They certainly weren’t going to sell it.”

“Art. I didn’t build it to be admired. I built it to be feared.”

Sasha smiled. “You built a ship that reduced the number of crew. It eliminated jobs, Andri. Not a thing a true communist would do.”

“Do you know where?”

Sasha smiled and pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket. “A present, my friend.”

The paper was a simple map of the ocean floor in the Barents Sea. At least ten small red marks were dotted across it. Each dot had the name of a vessel written next to it.

“I can’t understand why they insisted on putting down their best. Their pride.”

“Cost. There are at least five that you designed personally in this area. They were too expensive for the government to operate. Now they are hiding them. They behave like they are still in service, but they fool no one.”

“They will come up,” Andri said tersely. “When the revolution takes place, they will be retrieved.”

“Comrade, there is no more Soviet Union.”

Andri returned, almost lashing out. “There is a Soviet Union. It is still there waiting, patiently. The people have had a taste of the West, and they have again come under hard times. They will return. The revolution is ready to emerge; it only needs a reason. The West is broken from its recession, and the seeds of equality will spring to life.” A fire seemed to light in his eyes.

Sasha didn’t want to argue. He was submissive by nature and figured that Andri was smarter than he, so he let it go. “The Saratov will go down in that area there.” He tried to change the subject by getting Andri interested in the subs again.

“This won’t do, Sasha. I’ll need to know the exact coordinates.”

The sun burst through the small, oval windows of the twin-engine aircraft transporting George to Simferopol. He had changed in Istanbul, shedding his robes for the American disguise of faded Levi’s and a plain white shirt. Though more relaxed about his situation, he still couldn’t doze like the rest of the passengers. The operation, if that’s what it could be called, was going very haphazardly. Simferopol was a problem. He had hoped that someone in the network had received his message and picked up Mohsen at the airport. It shouldn’t be hard. Mohsen was sloppy.

Sleeping was restless at best, so the trance he was in gave his body the opportunity to rid itself of a lot of tension. The plane gently touched down, rousing everyone. Within minutes, the door was open, and the passengers began to exit. George strolled off and was through customs in a pinch. The guards didn’t scrutinize anyone. It was early, and they wanted to return to their coffee.

The airport wasn’t busy, so he went for a little stroll while waiting for his contact. George didn’t know who it would be, but he made sure he stuck out. When he got near the end of the small terminal, he noticed a tiny man standing next to a bus. The man motioned slightly with his head for George to hop on. He did, and the man placed a token in his hand as he stepped up. Then he was gone.

The bus had a few passengers who looked as if they had no interest in small talk. That was fine with him. He took his seat and settled into a trance for the fifty-minute trip to Sevastopol.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Josh’s tone was one of disbelief rather than alarm. He sat at the screen furiously tapping away, trying to get a clearer picture. He wore a headset that had Sukudo on the line at the other end.

“What is it?” Sukudo was eager for information.

“That son of a bitch just gave me the finger. He dropped his escort at Kronstadt, sailed four miles into the Gulf of Finland, and now he’s taking her down.”

“What? You mean he knows we’re watching?”

Josh chuckled. “I don’t think he really knows. He’s just making an educated guess…There she goes. She’s under.” He flipped the screen to thermal imaging, and the sub burned white-hot on a black sea as she began her descent. “I supposed we deserve that. They’ve got to know someone is watching.”

“We can follow him, can’t we?”

“Already done. He’s not going to go too far down until he gets in the deeper water. But I should really get to figuring out the new orbit for the Barents. After all, we do know where he’s headed.”

“Will he resurface?”

“Like a bad habit. They come up once to coordinate the final dive with the destroyers.” Josh rolled over and pulled a still photo from a printer. “Admiral, you should really come back and have a look at this thing.”

“Why?”

“This ain’t no normal Russian stogie. I didn’t notice it when it was covered in dry-dock, but this one is different.”

“Can you tell me how?”

“Kind of like a Star Trek design, if you get my drift. It’s stretched at least another half a length. The bow and stern have concave sections. It’s longer and thinner, I guess. Maybe someone who knows these boats should have a peek at this thing.” Josh began going through the pictures with a magnifying glass. “Even though I’m an air force jock, I do think that something is wrong with this ship.” He put the pictures on the screen and zoomed in.

“Can you e-mail them to me?”

“Protocol won’t allow it.”

“I’ll be down later today,” Sukudo replied.

“They’ll be ready when you get here.”

Josh was beginning to warm up to the admiral. Sukudo took his opinions seriously and never pretended to know more than he really did. He came off as levelheaded, and Josh respected that. He was now willing to do a little more for him than the other superior officers with whom he usually dealt.

The bus station was located near the beach. George’s bus rumbled to a stop, and the few passengers exited; George got out last. He scanned the morning rush of jiggling stomachs to the surf. One thing about Slavic people was that they were not ashamed of their bodies. Some should be, but they never let things such as appearances inhibit their having a good time.

Morning shops and cafés were opening as the owners called to the public that they were ready for business. It was an odd feeling, but George had to make himself noticeable again. There had to be a contact here, and he or she had to find him. George went out in plain view of everything.

He walked over to the nearest stand and purchased two packs of cigarettes. He discarded one pack unopened in the trash and then proceeded to light one cigarette from the other. This was his signal. He never liked smoking, so he tried not to vomit every time he inhaled. He hoped his contact would see him.

Rather than wait around, he began to move up the street, peeking in the windows of the shops. If he weren’t contacted soon, he’d have to move to plan B. This he didn’t like because he wasn’t sure what plan B was.

She howled like a dog at first, and then picked herself off the ground. George hadn’t seen her. He didn’t know how he could have stepped on a person who he was sure wasn’t there the moment before. It didn’t matter, though. The toothless old hag spat insults at him faster than he could apologize. Some passersby smirked as she gave him hell for not watching where he was stepping. George, playing the dazed and confused American, decided that he was drawing too much attention and began to retreat. He tried to walk away, but the tramp followed. What he heard next froze him in his tracks.

“You dropped your key,” she said in decent English.

George spun around to see her smiling and holding a room key in her hand. It was almost too much. This is my contact? Still, the woman extended her hand.

“Thank you,” he replied, taking it.

It was so awkward that he couldn’t do anything but stand in front of her. A million questions raced through his head, yet he had lost the capacity to speak.

“You buy me coffee now.” Her authority exerted itself, and she grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him away.

Surprisingly, when George looked around, no one had paid any attention to them.

“Don’t worry. I do this every day. They are all used to it,” she said, waving her arm in the air. Her grin showed more gum than enamel. They turned into a small coffee shop.

The event was over his head. George was a spy who operated by the book. He worked with a known plan and known contacts—nothing ever like this. He finally blurted out, “You’re my contact?”

“Now that’s very unprofessional,” she replied. “We don’t say things like that in public—and look like you are apologetic.”

“What?”

“You are sorry for stepping on me, and now you will buy me coffee. It’s the way I get along.”

“What?”

“I get tourists to pay money for me to go away.” She cackled, thinking it was a brilliant scam.

George felt a migraine trying to come on as she boastfully announced their entrance in Russian to the café crowd. The shop was full of men, and they roared with laughter as she sat George by the window.

“They think you are stupid. I tell them you are my boyfriend.”

Alarm ran through him. “They know what I’m doing?”

“No. They believe that you are another victim of mine, so you must behave that way.”

“Oh.” He was not impressed and very uncomfortable. The woman broke all the rules of the game. It seemed to be working, though, which he found unsettling. “I’m not used to operating this way.”

“No one who meets me is.” She raised her hand and ordered two coffees. The shop owner acknowledged and went about making them. “This is the most natural thing for me. It is what the public expects. There is no worry. You have already been forgotten.”

It seemed to George that the old woman had taken over his assignment. She had, actually. He couldn’t make another move without her information. “What happens next?”

“The key.” She lowered her voice. “It belongs to room number four thirty-one, in the Azou Hotel. That is all I know. The hotel is three blocks from here on the right side of the street. Understand?”

George nodded. He was pleased that his request had been fulfilled. It also suggested that someone in the company thought enough of him to give him some support on short notice. The coffee was brought, and he paid the smiling waiter. “Do these people understand English?”

“Very little.” The woman became a bit agitated. “I said that you were safe here. Relax and drink your coffee. Then you may leave.”

“There is one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’m looking for a man. Andri Stemovich.”

The woman motioned to the man behind the bar, and he presented himself quickly. She spoke in Russian and brought up Andri’s name. He replied. It seeming a bit lengthy to George, but the old woman nodded patiently and thanked him. Then he left.

“He pilots a tourist boat for his cousin. It’s located four kilometers south of here on the shore.”

George thought it was his luck with this information, but it wasn’t. The citizens of Sevastopol dismissed tourists as just that. Any person who comes and lives in their community goes through great scrutiny. It was no coincidence that the shop owner knew of Andri. He knew of Andri when he first arrived. Many people for weeks had observed the outsider in one way or another. They tried to guess what kind of man he was by his actions. Andri for the most part kept to himself, thus inviting the locals to spy even more and ultimately finding him harmless. It was a process to which every newcomer was subject. The tourists, though, were always overlooked.

She stared at George with a silly grin, totally expecting him to ask another question. He had none and proceeded to excuse himself. “You owe me money,” she quickly interjected.

He had learned not to argue in her domain. He withdrew a euro from his wallet, and she snatched it out of his hand before he could object.

“You’re quite generous,” she cackled. “I’ll be around if you should need more help.”

He nodded and left. She boasted something to the café crowd, and the men laughed. He knew they were chuckling at his expense, but it was all part of the game. That was what he hoped, at least.

Five minutes later, he found the Azou Hotel. It was a rich establishment. Obviously the one spot where the Western tourists stayed. People bustled about, and no one really took any notice of him when he slipped in the stairwell to go to the fourth floor. The key opened room 431 silently, and George found a black, plastic suitcase in the top of the closet. To his amusement, it was covered with stickers from the various places it had traveled. Even the CIA has a sense of humor. He smiled as he looked at the destinations where the luggage had traveled. The contents were exactly what he had ordered. One LSALD (light sensitive audible listening device) and $10,000 in $100 bills.

He secured the case and exited the room to an empty hallway. He tramped down the stairs and glided out the front door unnoticed. Four kilometers was not that far, and he decided to walk. He stayed away from the well-traveled areas, and an hour later, he spotted the villa where Andri was staying. It was hard not to miss, since Mohsen had parked a large, brash, rented Mercedes in the front. It stuck out like a white elephant on a street lined with poor fishermen’s homes. It must be hard for rich people to go unnoticed, thought George. He reminded himself that Mohsen wasn’t a spook, and this wasn’t the first rule of the spy game he had broken. To be undercover to Mohsen only meant to shed his uniform, not his personality. He was too easy to find.

The house seemed empty, and the dock in the back was bare. There was an abandoned two-story boathouse across from the lodge, and George slipped inside. The skeletons of unfinished fishing boats were strewn across the boathouse floor. He made his way to the loft and then to the rooftop. On the roof, he had an unobstructed view of the apartment. There was nothing left for him to do but linger behind a one-meter retaining wall and wait for the meeting to reveal itself.

The tourist boat chugged slowly to the dock. Gracefully Andri glided it to a smooth landing. It had been another thin load, and the passengers disembarked quickly to look for their next excursion. George easily picked out Mohsen from the crowd. To his surprise, he had dropped his robes in favor of casual wear. The two men strolled from the dock to the Mercedes, and Mohsen got in. After a few minutes of conversing, he drove away. Andri climbed the stairs to his flat and plopped down on the couch in front of the picture window in his living room.

Good idea. A little nap would suit me fine, thought George. It didn’t take long for him to doze off. He laid his head on his arm and stretched out in the afternoon sun and slept.

CHAPTER FIVE

Everything Is for Sale

A nearby passing trawler sounded its horn and woke George. For that matter, it woke Andri. It was four thirty in the afternoon, and George still anticipated a long night. He hoped Stemovich didn’t get the urge to leave.

After peeking over the wall, he observed Andri scrambling to get his place in order. George had put himself in an excellent position. He could see directly through the doors and into his whole apartment. The main room was sparsely decorated. It consisted of two chairs, a desk, and a short couch. Two French doors were the entrance, with a picture window accompanying them to the side. Farther back was the kitchen, and off to the left seemed to be the bathroom. He could almost see it all, which meant if the doors were left open he could hear most of it too.

It was three more hours before Mohsen returned in his Mercedes. George was confident that he was going to be able to spend the night on the roof and took comfort in the fact that he would probably find out what the surreptitious meeting was about. Then he’d be able to return home and glide into a smooth retirement.

Andri exited his flat to greet Mohsen, and George could clearly hear their exchange of pleasantries. He had anticipated that the men would speak in Arabic, but to his surprise they both jumbled through fairly good English. Neither man knew the other’s native tongue, so they relied on a third.

He hustled to set up the LSALD. Four times over his career he had requested this specific piece of equipment, and four times it had missed delivery. It was of some concern to him, in the back of his mind, that the company thought enough of this situation to make sure he had all the support he had asked for.

The LSALD had been streamlined since his last encounter with it in training. It now was compact and resembled a rifle. The case contained several components. It had headphones and a thumb drive. It came with a very sensitive shotgun microphone that could hear whispers at two hundred yards; but the main component of the LSALD was the infrared light beam, which exited a tube labeled “cannon.” The cannon came equipped with a miniscule oscillator to interpret the quiver of the light beam when sound waves vibrated against glass during normal conversations. The whole thing weighed no more than five pounds and fit snugly in its case with its aluminum tripod and infrared goggles.

The theory behind the LSALD was to capture conversations behind closed doors. Scientists found that sound waves had the ability to make certain surfaces vibrate when the sound from a conversation bounced against them. Engineers surmised that a steady beam of light reflected from the surface would quiver when the surface shook from sound, no matter how infinitesimal. The oscillator in the cannon measured the vibration of the light when the glass trembled and translated the pitch into audible conversation. It was the high-tech equivalent to the string-and-can telephone George used to make as a kid to talk with his friends across the fence in his backyard.

To George’s chagrin, Andri closed the French doors to his apartment after Mohsen entered. He could see them clearly, and it looked as if they were making themselves at home in the front room. He unhooked the shotgun microphone and laid it back in the case. After donning the goggles, he switched on the cannon and shot the beam directly at the center of the picture window. Andri got Mohsen something to drink, and then both men sat in the two chairs occupying the room. George removed the goggles and began taping. He thought it might be a while, so he pulled on the headphones and made himself comfortable behind the wall.

Okay, boys. Tell me your little secret, he thought. The LSALD worked perfectly. As George listened, he realized that the world would no longer remain the same if these men were allowed to accomplish what they discussed.

“Can I get you something else?” Andri was trying to make him feel comfortable.

“I’m quite fine,” replied Mohsen.

Andri was a little nervous. Mohsen had been in contact with him through various channels over the past four months. He knew the Kuwaiti wanted something from him, and he had an idea of what that could be, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

“I’m glad you finally had the opportunity to travel north and visit this little island.” He didn’t know where to start the conversation, and he didn’t want to rush it, but Andri tended to be impatient by nature.

“As you have guessed, I’m here on business that could concern you. The bonus for me is that you happen to live in a most desirable area. A great place for a holiday.”

“I’ve got the impression that your business has a considerable amount to do with me.” Andri wanted to stick to the subject.

“That remains to be seen.”

Whatever Mohsen had to say, he wasn’t going to say it until he felt comfortable. Andri became a little flustered and thought Mohsen smug. He pressed the issue. “And that business is…?”

“It’s you, Andri.” Mohsen relented. “I’ve watched you all day, and I can help change your life.”

Andri was careful of anyone bearing gifts. “Of course you will want—no, expect—something in return.”

Mohsen nodded approvingly. He was witness to the low estate to which the brilliant engineer had been reduced. To drop from building the world’s most sophisticated ships to piloting local tours was incomprehensible and embarrassing, not to mention a gross waste of talent. “I’m here to make you an offer on behalf of the emir.”

Andri’s eyes narrowed. “You have the advantage, sir.”

“Yes. The emir would like to know if you would be interested in designing ships for the nation of Kuwait.”

Andri knew there was more to it than that. Mohsen wanted a quick commitment. That was why the statement was so vague. The conversation started to become a chess game, and he gambled that they needed him worse than Mohsen let on. “No,” he said flatly.

The immediacy of the answer caught Mohsen off guard. The surprise was chiseled in his face. He wondered what Andri’s existing circumstances could offer that would allow him to reject his proposal. The answer had such conviction that it gave him a chill. If Andri were to turn him down, the emir would be very displeased. Mohsen had staked his reputation on this mission.

He was sure Stemovich would jump at the chance to be in a position of authority again. After all, like him, Andri was a military man. Surely he couldn’t be happy doing anything other than what he had practiced for all his life. If he didn’t take back an agreement, the emir and his staff would not trust him with their confidence. The shame would be too great. He was not prepared to leave without a commitment. “I’m a little surprised. I haven’t explained the terms.”

“A man with my background does not build the average vessel. I can only guess that a small, wealthy country such as yours wants my talents for what was my specialty. I can’t give you this until I know exactly what your plans are.”

Mohsen again was slapped with the response. He didn’t want to be too specific—at least not yet. Finding a response and regrouping was difficult.

“You cut to the heart of the matter, like all good negotiators.”

“I like to know what is involved.” Andri smelled the upper hand and pressed. “Remember, Captain, I am from the Soviet Union. Soviets have very few moral problems. I have seen and heard many things over my lifetime. Some of them would have had a very disturbing outcome should they have been implemented.” Mohsen’s reaction told Andri that he wanted a weapon. He had to give him something that assured the Arab that he could be trusted. “I constructed machines that were designed to devastate whole regions of the world. The intent itself one could classify as diabolical.”

The conversation had plunged deep and too fast, and Mohsen was left no place to retreat. Andri had given him the signal that he had an inkling of what was going to be requested. He just wanted the Kuwaiti to lay it out. Mohsen took some comfort in this. Like a good captain, Andri wanted to know as much about the situation before committing to a course of action. It seemed like Stemovich was leaning in the right direction and demanding truth. Mohsen would be judged by his reply. If he made less of the subject than what it was, he could lose any commitment that he might now have.

“Our nation must keep up with its enemies. Your skill and knowledge would help us in that endeavor. A nuclear submarine, fully capable of carrying missiles, is an expensive undertaking. We have the means by which this can be accomplished, but we lack the expertise.” It was out, and Mohsen was surprised that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it might.

It wasn’t either relief or joy that spread across Andri’s face but a cold, hard stare. His visitor had given what he anticipated and wanted. Mohsen didn’t know it, but the conversation had turned heavily in Andri’s favor. He sat and gave Mohsen enough to keep him talking. “I’m interested.”

The reaction put Mohsen at great ease. Obviously we are two men of the same cloth, he thought. A brother he could trust. “Good. We’d like to discuss the specifics as soon as possible, but in Kuwait.”

“I do have some questions that I need answered immediately. They are obvious, and my full commitment depends on the truth. Any shading of the truth at this point and further conversations cease.”

This made Mohsen nervous. “Continue…”

“What is Kuwait going to do with a nuclear submarine? And then the Americans. What about your greatest friend and ally?”

The second question was easy to answer. Unfortunately, it compounded the first. “The United States would not be sympathetic to our needs.” He struggled desperately with the other answer.

Andri saw the pause and didn’t want him to lie. He pressed the issue. “Your country really has no facilities for such an undertaking—at least not openly. Such a vessel cannot be built in secret. It is a detail that makes me question your commitment.”

“We are committed,” Mohsen said, quick to reassure, not realizing he had just been put on the defensive. “We are prepared to move a substantial amount of American dollars toward the construction. One way or the other, we have access to all the materials needed.” The explanation raised Andri’s eyebrows, and Mohsen suddenly felt he had said too much.

“Your enemies must be great.”

Mohsen didn’t return the volley.

“Captain Mohsen. Who is it you plan to oppose with this weapon? What is its end purpose?”

Mohsen was straining. He had trusted Andri this far, and the man didn’t flinch. Could he trust him with the rest? As much as he wanted to lie, he knew the end result could be disastrous if Andri lost confidence. He did notice that all Andri asked for was the truth, nothing more; and he avoided judgment. It was a noble trait in most men. Mohsen thought he understood him, but now knew he might be wrong. Andri was more than he expected, which, overall, was good. At the moment, though, it seemed a little disquieting. He made the choice to throw it all out.

“The destruction of the OPEC alliance.”

Now Andri knew he was getting the real thing, and he eased back into his chair, signaling that he believed Mohsen. “Why?”

“My country thrives on oil production. Though OPEC keeps production low and prices high, some countries, like Iran, blatantly ignore the mandates and sell more oil cheaper, costing us billions. Now we are forced to flood the market with the only valuable commodity we have.”

Andri sneered at the greed. “Surely you still live very comfortably…”

“Any portion of a fortune is still a fortune in itself, Andri Stemovich.”

“So, you will use the sub to keep Iran in line with OPEC?”

“Iran is not our concern. Outwardly Kuwait will always embrace OPEC. The truth is that we have no desire to remain a member. We want the freedom to produce as much, or as little, oil for whatever price we like. We need out of the alliance. We want independence, competition.”

“Can you withdraw?”

“We could, but that action would set our brother lands against us, militarily and economically. We are too small to handle that. We want to avoid another occupation. We have learned our lesson since Iraq stormed across our borders.”

Andri had very little feeling for the situation. Kuwait wanted to create conflict to increase its profit margin. It was foreign to him, but on a basic level, it made sense. “Who will you attack?”

“Baghdad,” Mohsen replied. “It would be a convenient place to fracture the coalition. Poetic, I think. Where OPEC was formed is where it will end.”

“Perhaps you should lay out the strategy for me.”

Mohsen was impressed with the analytical mind of Stemovich and felt comfortable enough to release the details. “A simple division of the country of Iraq. Let the Kurds and Shiites battle for territory. Hopefully each side will draw different allies, and the coalition will fall apart.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes.”

Andri smiled. He knew there was more. Mohsen had forgotten to tell him the most important part. The part that mostly concerned him and the sub.

“Dear Captain. You know as well as I that this can’t be accomplished without the launching of a nuclear missile. A conventional rocket volley will not accomplish your goals.”

Andri jumped up. It was now the opportunity to show the Kuwaiti just how brilliant he was—especially in situations of military importance. He pulled a map of the world from his desk drawer and laid it on the floor.

“Let me guess what is going on.” Excitement coursed through his veins. “This is not about destroying Baghdad. It’s about where to launch. It’s always been about where to launch, so the missile can be tracked. It must be tracked. It will be tracked. I wondered why not a ground-based missile, until I figured out that you needed to launch from a specific area. You aren’t as interested in the ship as much as the missiles. You’re looking for a launch site…”

Mohsen was off his guard.

Andri continued. “One that would leave no trace of exactly who or why. You see, it bothers me that a missile would be sent from the Persian Gulf to Iraq. The only one to blame would be the United States, but they are your protector. They could also easily devastate the entire region if it came to that. No. You want to launch a missile from right about here. A launch that would implicate others, possibly.”

Andri circled a section of water a few kilometers off the Israeli coast in the Mediterranean. “This small bit of ocean is annexed by Israel. A missile tracked from this point would lay blame squarely in the lap of the Jews. It would cause an eruption to the region. Iraq is of no consequence, though you would want it to seem so.” Andri smiled again, less invitingly. “Here is another observation. Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan will demand war with Israel. At the urging of the United States, Kuwait, possibly Saudi Arabia, and the other smaller nations will remain conveniently neutral. You owe them that much. That is what will fracture the OPEC coalition. Then you let the war handle itself—if there is one.”

Mohsen almost fell out of his chair.

“You stay neutral, and you are effectively out of OPEC. You avoid reprisal, economic or otherwise. Over here”—Andri motioned to Israel—“the Jews take a pounding on all fronts; and you profit. OPEC will never be the same once the countries take sides.”

It was of considerable concern to Mohsen that this old Soviet captain had analyzed their plan in a matter of five minutes. A plan that had taken a whole year for him to devise.

“A very well laid plan, but it won’t work.”

“Why?” he said with a dry mouth. Mohsen again gave away that Andri had hit it on the nose.

“You can’t hide the building of such a vessel. The United States will find out, and they will destroy it.”

“That you can leave to us.” Mohsen tried to regain his composure.

“I can’t. But let us suppose you pulled it off. That is, right up to the firing. After the missile is launched, what happens to the ship?”

“We will sink it in deep water.”

Andri smiled and leaned back on the couch. “Captain Mohsen. You have made things too hard. All you have to do is buy the submarine.”

Mohsen shot him a questioning glance.

“Russia sells off vast quantities of its arms all year. They say the nuclear subs are not for sale. Yet there could be an arrangement,” continued Andri.

The emotions avalanched on Mohsen. Not only did Andri commit, but he solved a crucial problem. Surely the emir would make him his right-hand man for such a coup.

“And the missiles?”

“Yes, the missiles too. Everything in Russia is for sale.”

Andri could not have cared less for the Kuwaitis and their situation. Their lack of conscience over the consequences of detonating a nuclear missile reinforced his opinion that the Mideast was full of corrupt, self-absorbed leaders. At the moment, though, he needed them. And they needed him.

George ripped the headphones off. He was stunned by what he had heard, and it incapacitated him for a few moments. “Holy fucking shit,” he whispered aloud. They are fucking nuts!” Fuck was a word George hadn’t used in fifteen years. It symbolized just how distraught he had become over the conversation. There would be no return to Kuwait. He couldn’t take any chances on a note being misplaced, losing the thumb drive, or any other number of screwups that occurred with some frequency in the spy game. He would have to fly to the United States himself.

It was another ten minutes before he heard Mohsen and Andri exit and bid each other farewell. George knocked the cannon over when he tried to pull it out of sight and broke the barrel. He laid low until the Mercedes had driven off and Andri returned to the flat. It was ten o’clock at night and had become too dark for him to fumble his way down the steps of the old boathouse. He removed the thumb drive from the recorder and placed it in his pocket. There was a warm wind blowing in from the sea, and it made an emotionally spent George drowsy. The moon crept up overhead, and he decided that he was in as good as place as any to spend the night. He packed the LSALD and peeked over the wall at Andri one last time. He wasn’t doing much more than staring at his hands, contemplating the impact of the conversation he just had. George figured the excitement was over for the night, so he rested his head on his arm and quickly drifted into an impatient sleep.

Sasha stood three blocks away under a dim street lamp on the corner. He had waited all night and was getting bored. A young man had left a small pub up the street, and as he walked past, Sasha touched his arm.

“Looking for something to do?” he queried.

“Fuck off, you fag!” The man recoiled and gave him the finger.

“Don’t ask. Don’t get.” Sasha watched him strut away.

Down the street, the headlights of the Mercedes caught his eye, and when the car had driven away, he headed back toward Andri’s apartment. By the time Sasha reached the doors to the flat, George had fallen asleep on the roof of the boathouse and missed his arrival.

Again, the door was ajar, and he entered the room to find Andri staring at his wall in deep thought. He could tell Andri had crossed some line and was trying to regain himself.

“You have more than a look of concern, comrade.”

Andri shook off the trance. “I have committed. I never thought events would fall so perfectly my way. It actually gives me hope.”

Sasha became excited. “What happened, Captain? Did they ask for a boat?”

“Yes. They will pay for one. They are willing to spend the money to bring one of the ships up.”

“My God,” Sasha said. “We had spoken of this, but I never imagined such a thing would ever happen.”

“It still surprises me.”

“Why do they want one?”

Andri knew the less Sasha knew, the better. He trusted him only so far, and he knew that Sasha really didn’t care, so a lie would work just as well.

“Mostly to satisfy their own egos. They consider themselves a power after the Gulf Wars, and they want to look like one.”

“Arrogance,” chided Sasha. “It will be their downfall.”

“We’re not concerned with them,” Andri reminded. “They’re nothing more than a tool in our pursuit.”

“Do we continue to the second step?”

“Yes. The sooner, the better. Advise Valsovich of the initiation of the program. He must prepare his troops and make plans if all goes smoothly.” Andri rose into his commander persona. He was again making decisions, and it bolstered both his and Sasha’s confidence. They had begun to realize the importance of what had happened.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Sasha couldn’t contain his smile.

“I believe so, comrade. We will all return as heroes of the Second Revolution.” Andri turned to the window. He stood straighter than he had in years. He knew it would be a long road to his objective, but the Kuwait government had just handed him the key to start the engine.

The air was moist. George’s eyes popped open in the early hours of the morning. The sun was painting everything gold, and it gave him enough light to make his way off the roof without being noticed. He walked slowly back to the hotel, stopping along the way to buy a cup of coffee and a roll.

There was certain calmness about George. He noticed it. It was as if finally finding out what the meeting was about had removed all the pressure. Though the contents of the conversation were explosive, he just had to report it and let the other departments handle the situation. His only obligation was to get on the next plane to Washington. Once there, a long debriefing and a well-deserved retirement.

The walk to the Azou Hotel waked him considerably. He entered the lobby to find only the clerk doing paperwork. This time he elected to ride the elevator, fearing the stairs would draw a questionable glance.

Room 431 had been ransacked. Shit! I’ve been followed! He closed the door and searched the rest of the room, looking for any clues. The thumb drive in his pocket grew to feel like ten pounds of lead. Being followed didn’t bother him as much as not being able to figure out who or why. He placed the LSALD back in the closet. The equipment wasn’t important now. Someone would pick it up. One last glance and he slipped out the door and made his way back to the bus station. He felt well hidden among the crowd of tourists bouncing their way across the street to the beach. The bus station was in sight, and to his relief, a bus seemed to be preparing to leave.

He was walking next to the buildings when the crowd gave way to a little gray body lying next to the foundation. George stopped and nudged her with his foot.

“Up to your old tricks.” There was no response. “Hey, old woman, wake up.” He knelt and lifted her head. It was clear she had been strangled. Her eyes protruded, and a red rash was bruised into her neck. Whoever was after him played hardball. He laid her back down as if nothing was wrong and walked to the station. The passersby didn’t notice the body. To them, it was an old tramp having a nap. No reason to investigate. It would be several hours before local policemen would try to roust the dead woman.

CHAPTER SIX

Point Person

Dan Archer sat with Sharon in the commissary. As usual, his lunch looked like something that had been baked in a shoe box and served straight from the refrigerator. Sharon, on the other hand, always packed her own, and then a little more, because eventually Dan would begin nibbling. She didn’t mind, though. The room was crowded, and the patrons openly discussed with one another the goings-on in each department. Some of it was shoptalk, but most of it was of no real importance.

“I’ve really got to stop eating here.” Dan tossed his fork on his plate in disgust. “How can you get up every morning and make a lunch?”

“I don’t. I make it every night before I go to bed.” She smiled at him.

“Men don’t think of things like that. It’s not in our genes.”

“Oh, I’m sure if you tried you could remember to pack a lunch. Men are stupid, but not that stupid.” She chuckled.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Dan returned to his shoe leather and picked at the remains. “How’s your day going? Anything interesting happen?”

“I work for you, remember? You’ll hear before me if something is up.”

“I was looking for some gossip.”

“That’s unusual. I’ve never known you to listen to that crap. I thought it was a woman thing.”

“I’m bored.”

Sharon rolled her eyes and thought about what she might have picked up in passing lately. “I did hear that something shot from level two to level four the other day. It sounds pretty important.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s that thing with the woman in New Mexico threatening the president’s life. She’s in a nuthouse now, awaiting trial. There was a rumor she had escaped, and it sent the Secret Service guys into a tizzy.”

“My, we are on top of things.” Sharon liked to patronize him every so often. He always let it slide, and it made her feel a little more equal.

“Like I said, slow day.”

“What about the deal in the Middle East?” Her question was harmless since she worked for him.

He shrugged. “Who knows? I figure it must have been a bust. Either it was a blown operation, or there was nothing to the meeting because we haven’t heard shit.”

“How long will you wait?”

“A few more days. If we get nothing by then, I’ll send out a team. But I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

“You know, you’re pretty lucky.”

“Lucky how?”

“There are some people who always land on their feet. No matter what. You’re one of those people.”

“You don’t think it has anything to do with the possibility that I’m smart and work hard?”

“Nope,” she said, prodding him.

He returned an annoyed glance.

“It has everything to do with that, Dan.” She smiled at the dig. “You always make the right decisions. Most people tend to make mistakes. You avoid them. That’s what I mean.”

Dan half smiled. “Great, I have a monkey on my back. Sounds like someone is waiting for me to screw up.”

“I’m sure someone is. Especially since the director has decided to resign at the end of the year. And you-know-who is in line for the job.”

“Levi Carp,” he replied.

Sharon was shocked. “No! You, you dumb shithead!” Everyone turned, and she lowered her voice.

“He has seniority. He’s hung around here for so long they can’t not give it to him. The idea of getting it keeps him alive.”

Sharon spoke sternly. “Don’t give me that, Dan Archer. You know that you have as good a chance for that office as Levi. Maybe even better.”

“He’s been here longer. Just the simple fact. Plus, it’s the president’s pick.”

“Levi’s a fuck, Dan. He’s a wicked little old man. I can’t believe that you haven’t heard the quiet support thrown your way.” Dan’s ignorance on this matter surprised her. “The president listens to advice. He doesn’t make decisions on the mere idea of tenure.”

“I guess I should pay more attention to the office gossip.”

“I guess you should. I wondered why you never started actively politicking for that job.”

“I’m no good at that stuff.”

“You had better get good at it. If Levi gets in, almost everyone is going to quit. Things will be completely messed up. You’re their hope…I’ll tell you one thing—Levi knows you’re his competition.”

Dan was trying to digest what she was saying. In the back of his mind, he knew he should be making an aggressive play for the director’s office, but he had never picked up any signals until now. Now it was being slapped in his face. “Let me see how this mission goes first. Then I’ll go after it. Seriously.”

“No, Dan. You’re just starting, and already you’re three steps behind. Here I thought you had it under control.” She began to plot Dan’s campaign. “You can’t wait. If you don’t start now, Levi will eat you alive.”

“I’ve got to wait. He and I could still find ourselves working on the same operation.”

“Okay, you wait until your job is finished, but I’ll start immediately. I’m not that busy.” She wadded up her paper bag and tossed it in the trash. “Come on. Let’s go. I’ve got to start planning for my new office once you’re in charge.”

Dan followed her out the door, thanking the Lord for having a secretary like Sharon.

George flew back to Istanbul and caught the next flight to London. An occasional glance over his shoulder didn’t reveal any tail.

At Heathrow Airport, he remained in the crowds for safety. He considered a direct flight to Dulles but found out the next departure didn’t leave for ten hours. His only option was an Execu-Jet airline flight that catered to rich business people. It left in thirty minutes for New York and was only half-full. He paid the $7,000 and was surprised that the ticket agent didn’t think twice about the large amount of cash.

The good thing was that it would be an opportune time to peg his tail, if he had one. If he was being followed, the person would have to try to buy a ticket, and all George had to do was wait. No one came to the counter after him.

He waited until the entire plane had boarded and the attendants pushed him in. Only then did he know that he was not being followed. He drew some comfort from this and could relax somewhat on the eight-hour trip. After that, a connecting flight to Dulles and a drive to the headquarters in Pennsylvania to meet with his operation’s officer—a person whom he had never met before in his life.

Admiral Sukudo and Josh once again found themselves studying recent screenshots from ODIS. In the back of the room, a large screen had been installed, and Josh had an Italian porno channel broadcasting on it.

“You’re going to have to turn that off.” Sukudo motioned to the viewing screen.

Josh punched a few buttons, and the screen dropped to black. “Just running a test. That’s my new LCS monitor. A test to make sure the picture is as sharp as the techno geeks say it is.”

“Is that your own test?” Sukudo grinned.

“No, the nerd brains showed me that one. If you can count the pubic hairs on the snatch, then the screen is working well. But I’ve never found any reason to count. It looks fine to me.”

“The toys you guys play with…”

“It gets boring down here, Admiral. The marines need something to pass the time.” Josh motioned to the two stone-faced security guards.

Sukudo shook his head in mock disbelief. “I guess so…”

Josh shifted gears. He hadn’t known Sukudo long, but he felt reasonably comfortable with him.

He pulled up the pictures of the Saratov while she sat in port. Then the ones of the Saratov diving in the Gulf of Finland. “I’ll admit that I don’t know shit about submarines, but I do know that this one is different. I compared it to other photos and found that there are some major design variations.”

“Hit me with it.”

“Okay. Off the top.” Josh zoomed in on the screen of the sub at dock. “They unload the armaments from this one in a very odd way. The bow of the ship unfolds like the gull-wing doors on an old Mercedes sports car—except upside down.”

Sukudo’s face twisted in contemplation. “They’ve stacked their torpedoes in what looks like a giant clip for a gun.”

“Well, look at this…” Josh pulled up another picture. “Here are the torpedoes sitting on the dock.” The picture showed five torpedoes stacked one on top of the other, sitting in a giant metal cage. There were several such cages.

“Huge clips loaded with bullets for an oversize cannon.” Sukudo didn’t like what he was seeing. “It would seem to allow them to load several at a time. Quite a bit more efficient than our ships.”

“More efficient and faster. They can load five at once. That’s less time she sits in dock. I also have a picture of the warheads. They don’t fit regular specs, either. They’re thin, stubby toothpicks compared to the regular missiles the rest carry.” Josh stood back and let the admiral form an opinion.

Sukudo was transfixed. He took the mouse and ran it over the picture, clicking and blowing up each frame to examine the weapons.

“What about the storage facility for these weapons?”

“Yeah. I found it. You’ll see a small freighter in the upper right. Only the armaments that come off this sub go to that ship. It contains no others as far as I know.”

“The redheaded stepchild.” Sukudo laid the glass down and stretched the kink in his neck. “We’re going to have to get a better look at this one.Could you identify it in the book?” He referred to the navy handbook on the schematics of Russian ships and submarines. In it was listed the size and dimensions of many Russian (or Soviet) fleet vessels. Josh had a copy in the room.

“No match on the books. Computer listings didn’t come up with anything, either. I did capture it, though, and it’s waiting for intelligence to assign it some status.”

“They won’t get to it for a while. Especially if it’s at the bottom of the ocean.”

“There is something else I wanted to show you.” Josh rummaged for another picture. He brought up a shot of the Saratov submerging in the Gulf of Finland. “See when she blows her tanks to dive—for a second, the water around the sub is disturbed enough for us to get an idea of how long she really is.” He circled an area around the ship where large pockets of air exploded to the surface. “It would seem that there is considerably more length to this one than first assumed. Not typical.”

Sukudo compared the gulf picture to the dock picture. “She’s sitting low in the water when she’s docked. Just enough out to allow them to do their work.”

“Twenty years in salt water?”

“Grease,” answered Sukudo. “Low-tech but effective if applied liberally over the years. I bet she is as new as the day she was outfitted. Just sitting there, ignored.”

Remarkably, the vessel clearly indicated that the Soviet Union might have discovered a better weapon—yet too late. Who knows, it could have escalated the Cold War. Then where would we be? It was ironic to the admiral that the poor performance of the Soviet economy was what had carried the submarine to its grave. “Could you register a footprint?”

“Yes.” Josh brought up a thermal imaging picture of the Gulf of Finland to the screen. It was black except for the sickly red glow of the sub’s engine, which was the main source of heat and radiation. He zeroed in on the registration. “She’s well insulated. Most of them burn white-hot at this point. She’ll be a tough one to find, even assisted by the computer. If we have to look for her blindly, it will be next to impossible to locate. Back to this point—again we see that the nuclear engines are set farther back than most.” Josh circled the complete vessel and highlighted the more prominent areas.

Sukudo had nothing to say. He was a navy man and understood his vessels, but he was no engineer. His common sense told him not to brush this one off, even if the Russian government was mothballing it. The sub was too unique. Too advanced.

“How’d you like to come with me to Groton, Connecticut?”

A loud beeper sounded, like a pager in the room.

“Sure, Admiral, but first you’ll have to see this.” Josh sat at his console and typed away, sending ODIS some new signals. The LCS came alive with the image of a Russian destroyer in the Barents Sea. The destroyer was gliding to a stop and came to rest in unusually calm waters. “Here we go.” He split the screen, one side showing a clear picture, and the other half registering the thermal signature. The destroyer burned brilliant white on the thermal side as it drifted. Within moments, the red signature of the Saratov slowly appeared one hundred yards off the destroyer’s bow. It wasn’t moving, only rising. “See that. I estimate that she’s only fifty feet down and coming up. We’re just picking her up now. She can hide very effectively; just keep her in the cold.”

“We can’t find her submerged, can we?”

“Not without magical upgrades, and we don’t have a magic wand for that right now.”

The Saratov’s sail peeked through the surface. It rose six more meters and settled in the water, letting the waves lap against its side. Small, inflatable zodiacs ran from the ship to the sub, ferrying wet suits and air tanks to the crew. Other small items were sent back to the destroyer for storage. Then the hatch shut, and the Saratov submerged. Watching the thermal screen, Josh and the admiral observed the sub’s signature fade and expire beneath the cold current. The whole event took half an hour.

“Okay, she’s lost.” Josh stood from his chair. “They’ll take her to the bottom. The destroyers will resume their regular patrolling patterns.”

“The crew on the sub still has to be picked up. We can pinpoint her then, can’t we?”

“True. But those destroyers navigate a pattern across that whole area. Who knows where they are exactly parking her. The crew could wait for the pattern to pass over them before they swim to the top. They could be plucked from the water without too much of an obvious course change or delay.” Josh was becoming uncomfortable with what he was saying. It wasn’t his area, and he didn’t know if he was right. He was just drawing reasonable conclusions from his observations—with the help of ODIS. He was air force, but well versed in naval movements by now. “I do want to ask one question, Admiral.”

“Yes.”

“Is it a threat?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out at Electric Boat.”

George sighed with relief as his commuter flight from New York touched down at Dulles International. He was back in Virginia, where his whole career had started. A sense of anticipation gripped him, and he was eager to see the changes after he reported in. He mulled over the thought of a shower but quickly put it out of his mind. What he had to report was infinitely more important.

The green of spring was sweeping across the landscape and was pleasing to the eye. His cabby jabbered away endlessly as the yellow Prius sped toward CIA headquarters. George tuned him out and tried to imagine the area in the spring when he had traveled there for the first time. It was a fruitless exercise, and he realized that too much time had passed in his life for him to dredge up old, romantic thoughts of his youth. He continued to comfort himself with the expectation of his discharge. They owed it to him, and he desperately wanted to collect, even if it was a couple of months early.

The cab turned into the first security checkpoint before the parking lot.

“This is as far as we can go,” said the driver.

George paid and got out. “Thanks.”

The cab drove away, and he approached the guard in the booth.

“Can I help you?” the guard asked.

“I need to see Dan Archer.”

“Name?”

“Tell him Bluebird.”

The admiral had his own military jet. He and Josh rode comfortably in the back most of the way. They did a lot of small talk, mainly reviewing each other’s career. Sukudo could tell that Josh’s greatest pleasure had been stolen from him, so he offered him the opportunity to pilot the jet. It was a passenger plane, but Josh jumped at the chance. He relieved the copilot, took the controls off autopilot, and flew her the rest of the way to Groton.

The smell of fuel on the airport’s tarmac brought Josh to life. For a moment, he had returned to a familiar arena. It made him walk a little taller and step a little livelier. The sun was dropping over the trees in the west, and the surroundings glowed gold. He had worked in the Houston basement for so long that he had almost forgotten how beautiful sunsets could be. A staff car was waiting, and it whisked them away to Electric Boat.

The admiral had already made the arrangements for their arrival, and they were allowed to bypass the security checkpoints at the boat plant. They pulled in front of a dry-dock housing the USS Seawolf submarine, in for a refit. It was the most advanced hunter/killer submarine that the United States had commissioned to date. Only its mammoth outline was visible in the fading light as the two men approached the warehouse in front of the dock.

The vessel looked ominous. A chill seeped through Josh as he felt engulfed by its black color and belittled by its size. He followed Sukudo up a flight of stairs to the design room, never taking his eyes off the monolith before him.

The design room was large and stuffed with papers. All the lights were off except for two small overhead lamps illuminating a table next to a picture window. Gazing out the window was a crumpled old man scanning the skyline as the city fell to darkness. He stood at the most five foot two. A man who had been taller before, but the rigors of life had buckled him. His face was aged and wrinkled, and his brows almost slid over his eyes. His skin was tough and brown and held a distinct Slavic appearance. He turned to greet Sukudo, and when he spoke, a heavy Russian accent whipped through his speech.

Sukudo shook his hand and make the introductions. “Josh Brand, meet Mikhail Nemokov.”

“Nice to meet you,” Josh said.

“You are the eyeball Kenneth has talked to me about.” His accent was more pronounced when he became slightly excited, which made Josh listen very carefully.

“Ah…yes. Eyeball would be correct.”

“To your credit, he spoke well of you. He doesn’t do that much.” Mikhail cleared some papers off a table to prepare it for their meeting.

“Don’t say too much, Mik. The man will get a swelled head.” Sukudo pulled the pictures of the Saratov from his briefcase. “Here’s what we do know. We don’t know who made her, we don’t know why, and we don’t know what for. Now isn’t that a lot to go on?” Sukudo wanted to keep a good tone in the room.

Mikhail surveyed the photos with great interest. He flipped through them once and then again. Like a child sneaking a candy bar, he absorbed the pictures in a covert manner. He held them up to the light and then under a magnifying glass. When he was finally satisfied, he spoke. “They dumped her in the Barents?”

“Her and a few others.”

He grunted. “That place is a graveyard. They have more secrets down there than submarines. The Kursk was not the first mishap. I did warn them.”

“This was the latest one,” said Sukudo. “What do you think of her?”

“Nice toy.” Mikhail waived it off as if it were nothing.

“What do you mean a toy?” Josh was surprised by his reaction.

“No threat where it is. Can’t help anyone. Can’t hurt anyone sitting in all that cold water.”

“Yeah, but it’s so different from the others. It’s different from anything they have.” Josh wanted the mystery solved, and he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he got some answers.

“You’ve got to understand, Mik, Josh is privy to things that I’m not allowed to see. It’s the nature of his work. He won’t accept that as an answer.” Sukudo chuckled at the men, mainly because they were people who never had to explain anything to anyone unless they wanted to. He could clearly see that Mikhail was uneasy with Josh’s pursuit of the question, but he relented.

“Very well,” he said, taking a deep breath. “This is a pet project of someone in the Soviet Union…”

“You mean Russia.”

“No, I mean the Soviet Union. Russia hasn’t the capital to undertake such ambition. This ship has sat in a covered dock for most of its life. It looks like Typhoon class, but the dimensions are spread out. Was there a name on it?”

“We couldn’t find a match.”

“She died before she could be put into service.” He paused to inspect the photos again. “Metallurgy is their whole problem, you know. Unfortunately, it made them think backward. You could have a top-notch design for a sub, but if the metal was no good, then it would get crushed by the pressure.” Mikael slapped his hands together to accentuate the point. “The larger the ship, the shallower the dive maximums. It’s an obstacle they tried to work around rather than through.”

“They shifted dimensions to compensate,” observed Josh.

“It would seem that way, but if you don’t have the metal…This ship is stretched and thinned to try to create equal pressure at all points. The thinking would be to get her to dive deeper. It may also be faster and quieter than their previous attempts.”

“What about the arms?”

“Interesting concept, loading five torpedoes in one oversize magazine. They have eliminated the torpedo crew, forward and aft. I can see clearly that the clip sits directly over the tubes, and they are probably lowered hydraulically.” He gazed at the missile doors sitting on top of the sub. “The missiles have had as much attention as the torpedoes. They seem smaller—for closer strikes.”

“Interesting way to look at things.” Sukudo was enthralled.

“Yes,” admitted Mikhail. He hated commenting on other people’s work. Not that he was arrogant, but he liked to examine these things by himself before he decided if someone was smarter than he was. It did bruise his pride slightly, but it also drove him.

“It is somewhat of a fresh approach for them. The torpedo bays alone indicate that someone wanted to shake things up in the design area. The goal was to eliminate as much of the crew as possible. Less people, less working parts, less noise. Quiet, so she could get near the coastline. I also don’t see any typical exhaust ports for a diesel engine. It tells us that it’s probably nuclear. I would think her reactor has been reworked and made smaller. That could be interesting to see. She’s made for short-range coastal strikes, but she’s big enough for open water maneuvers.”

“A two-hundred-and-forty-pound halfback,” Josh said, picking up one of the pictures.

“Huh?”

“You know. Like in the NFL. They’re looking for halfbacks that weigh two-forty and have four-point-five speed and agility.”

“That’s right,” agreed Sukudo. “Speed and power. A ship that can do everything.”

“She lacks range, yet she could be a real engineering feat for the Russians. But she’s mothballed, isn’t she?” There was concern in Mikhail’s voice. He had made his observations a little lightly, comforted by the fact that the sub was now sitting at the bottom of the Arctic.

“We think so.” Josh shrugged.

“Mikhail,” Sukudo asked, “if they automated everything—not only the weapons but other aspects of the ship—what would be her crew?”

“If they carried the thinking throughout the vessel…I could guess they could run her with as few as twenty men, just for the basics. Two shifts, of course. And the Soviet Union was not concerned about luxurious accommodations.”

“It would take at least ten men just to get her off the floor, right?” Sukudo inquired.

“At least ten. It would be almost impossible for twenty men to keep her running continuously, though. They would have to put her on the bottom when they needed to rest. There would be no one for a shift change. It definitely wouldn’t work in a patrol scenario.” Mikhail was about to stop answering questions until they told him why they were so interested in the sub. “We’re getting too hypothetical. It is not good to think this way.”

The admiral interrupted. “Not really. We’re always moving toward making our ships more automated. I find it feasible that they would also.”

“America doesn’t make submarines like this anymore,” scoffed Mikael. Then he pointed to the pictures. “They can’t keep an engineer to make these things anymore, either. Is there something I’m not being told?”

“No,” replied Sukudo. “The sub’s design has tickled our brains. That’s all.”

Mikhail went fishing. “Is it up for sale?”

“Russians only sell their diesel boats. The navy is more than capable of handling them.” Sukudo turned toward the window. “I’m actually interested in who designed this one. Got any clues?”

“I have not been over there in a long time.”

Sukudo turned back around. “Who do you think was the most likely?”

Mikhail pulled forward the picture of the hammer and sickle emblazoned on the sail. “Hard to believe she is that old.” That is all he offered.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Confidence and Conundrums

It was useless for Dan to try to look at ease when the security guard walked George into his office. He had memorized George’s features from his file, and still he couldn’t help but stare at a man whom he had come to know so well but had never met. The phone call from the gate alone almost made him fall out of his chair. Then there was George, sporting a slight grin, standing in front of him.

Dan shook his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, George. I really didn’t expect this for another two months.” He closed the door on an extremely curious Sharon Dailey.

“Well, sir…”

“It’s Dan.”

“Thanks. A situation arose that I think no one was expecting. My only option was to bring it here directly.”

Knowing the myriad of ways to send information home, and George not trusting any of them, gave Dan a very intense look. “The meeting?”

“Correct.” A knock came on the door, and before Dan could reply, Levi Carp stepped in. He was too stunned to be angry. The man had incredible timing. He saw Sharon behind him, looking exasperated and throwing her hands in the air in frustration as she had obviously tried, and failed, to prevent Levi from opening the door. He got the sinking feeling that he would never be able to keep anything to himself if Levi kept poking his nose in.

“Hi, Dan.” Levi tried to sound sincere. “I just thought we should come up to date on our project. If you have some time.”

“What a coincidence, Levi,” Dan growled. “I was about to examine that very subject. In fact, this is a man you should meet. Levi Carp, meet George Mohammed Akbar, better known as Bluebird.”

Levi shook his hand. There was no surprise in Levi. In fact, he was extremely cool. “Nice to have you back, George. And thank you for your years of service. I was working with Dan on your op, peripherally.”

George shot Levi a curious glance and then went back to business. “The situation has caught us with our guard down.” He removed the thumb drive from his pocket. “I can’t explain it. You’ll just have to listen.”

Dan loaded the drive on his laptop. Rather than leave, Sharon tried to take an unnoticed seat in the corner. One look from Dan and she knew she had to retreat. She scowled as she closed the door.

“Well, let’s see what we have. Are you sure you don’t want to brief us before we hear this?”

“No,” replied George. “You should hear it the way I did. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

Dan reached across and pressed Play.

A storm frothed on the surface as it began to move inland. Only the sturdiest ships would ride out the wind as the lesser vessels retreated to the safety of the coast. There was no sign of activity for twenty miles on the surface, yet four hundred meters below a hunt continued.

Captain Jim Hickman lay in his bunk. He couldn’t fully relax because of the anticipation that his executive officer, or XO, would call him to the bridge. Sixty-five years old in March, he had now found his tours more of an escape from the real world rather than a job. If it wasn’t for those seventy to ninety days away from humanity, he thought he might go insane. Direction in his career had been fulfilled. The navy was losing its sense of adventure, and he couldn’t stand being around people, generally. Every time he returned home, the news broadcasts painted a grimmer picture of his country than before he left. All just for television ratings, he finally concluded. The politicians, though they barked loudly about honoring the servicemen, never seemed to put their words into action. It all frustrated him. He had come a long way from the ghettos of East St. Louis. He had tried to lead by example, but no one seemed to notice. Socially, he had been through it all, witnessing what he called the Great Transformation in America. To no avail, the people of his race were not taking advantage of the opportunities that hard work and education presented to lead them on the path to success. It’s the culture, he concluded. Too many unwed mothers. Too many kids who think it’s important to wear their pants down over their ass like a diaper and be cool rather than present themselves as a person who can solve problems and earn respect for a job well done. The government, though he worked for it, was now just a big nipple on a feeding bottle for the next generation—and all were lining up for a suckle. What will they do when no one is left to fill the bottle? Grim as the thought was, Jim knew his job was to keep protecting those who contributed to society first. Those who did nothing but take from it, second. He remembered Aesop’s “The Grasshopper and the Ant” fable and then rubbed his eyes. Why do you ponder these things, Jim? In this he knew it wasn’t just his race or culture; it cut across all lines in America. Dignity and self-worth were just shadows of what they once were when applied to the younger generation of all colors.

He recalled when he had commanded his first submarine. It was the USS Nautilus—one of the original nuclear-powered subs. It was his first captain’s chair but the ship’s last tour. Shortly after, she was put on display as a museum in Connecticut.

He remembered standing on the bridge as the captain, giving his first order to dive. He never imagined that he’d be able to capture that excitement again. From there, he skippered a few Los Angeles class attack subs and then moved to the USS Nevada; an Ohio class Trident missile sub. He had done it all. At least he thought he had, until the navy assigned to him a surprise in the spring of 2007.

At that time, Jim knew on that trip back to Groton that he was to take command of another sub. He didn’t know which one, which was uncommon. He remembered how it was all done quietly, in the middle of the night, when Jim formally received the command of the last SSN-21 nuclear submarine. Only three were made before budget cuts terminated the program. All saw the end coming after the Soviet Union collapsed in 1992. The navy went to a smaller Virginia class platform as the monoliths of the deep became unnecessary. There he was, in the middle of the night, standing in a covered dry-dock that seemed longer and wider than the Grand Canyon. Jim’s ship had been constructed in total secrecy. The last of her kind. On the side of the behemoth, written in chalk by a construction worker, were the words WAR EAGLE. As fate would have it, in a ceremony that entailed only the crew, three other navy officers, and one politician, the ship was commissioned and went to work as the USS War Eagle. To Jim, it was perfect.

Very few people knew that he was out with the world’s most advanced ship patrolling the oceans. The exciting feeling he had yearned for so many years ago returned when he gave the order to dive.

He had evolved into a rock-steady captain. He was never hesitant in any situation and always made smart choices. Being on that submarine was special. A few other captains in the fleet figured it out and quietly congratulated him at parties and functions, never really acknowledging what the praise was for but indicating their earnest admiration while secretly wishing it had been them. At times, it was the proverbial elephant in the room as younger officers scratched their heads in wonder at the respect Jim received from his contemporaries. He appreciated the accolades, but it never affected his job. When all was said and done, he was in charge of protecting his country, its citizens, and the safety of his crew, in that order. She was his baby, on loan from Uncle Sam.

“Captain to the bridge. Captain to the bridge,” came across the speaker. Jim hustled down the corridor to the Command Control Center. His XO, Lincoln Dowl, had placed the ship in battle-station readiness. The CCC was packed with anxious men waiting for the order to engage the war machine.

“Contact bearing three-two-four,” blurted his battle station’s fire control officer.

Jim looked upon the electronic glass map as his crew plotted the course and path of the unknown contact, then to the computer monitor, which affirmed the position.

The sonar supervisor poked his head in to give a course correction. “Contact now three-five-eight. She’s coming right. Contact classified as Soviet submarine, Alfa Sir.” Though the Soviet Union officially did not exist, in the US Navy they still considered the vessels of Soviet design and spoke of them in that manner.

“Fifteen left degrees’ rudder,” Jim said coolly. “Let’s stay behind her.”

The sonar supervisor poked his head out. “She’s crossed into British-controlled waters.”

“Ready tubes one and two.” Jim returned to the map and followed the course with his finger. He received confirmation of the loaded tubes in seconds.

“Contact holding course.”

The conflict was that Jim was only supposed to be out testing a new screw on the War Eagle after a computer refit to minimize osculation in the blades. He was not authorized to engage any hostile vessels, but he couldn’t let a Soviet sub snoop all over an ally’s water.

“Distance?” he asked.

“Contact is now three hundred yards off the bow.”

“Close to one hundred, then all stop.”

“Ahead standard,” ordered the XO.

The sonar room relayed the distance until the XO called for “all stop.” There was a slight shift in momentum as the War Eagle began to slow.

Jim went forward and peered at the green screens in the sonar room. “Go from passive to active.”

“Active sonar, aye, sir.”

“Okay. Light him up. Let him know that he’s not alone.”

It sounded like a video game with a thyroid problem when the ping was emitted from the War Eagle.

“She’s making a hard left, sir. Coming around bearing two-one-five.”

“Caught with her hand in the cookie jar.” Lincoln had slipped in behind to observe the play. “The captain probably shit his pants.”

“Helm, ahead one-third. If her bow comes about, give me a hard-left rudder and set up firing sequences.” Jim knew the crisis was over, and the Alfa wouldn’t return. The captain of that sub was too busy trying to get back in concealment.

“Do we want to go after her?” Lincoln loved the game. He looked at it like Native Americans counting coup on their enemy in the Old West.

Jim smiled. “Not this time. We have a schedule. Once she’s out of range, bring her to two hundred and inform the USS John F. Kennedy. She’s on patrol here. Then proceed back on course.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jim went to the Command Control Center chair. The whole incident took less than ten minutes, but to him, it felt like hours. The last thing he wanted was to take the War Eagle home in less than perfect shape.

Mohsen sat at the opposite end of the great table in the emir’s palace. The emir and his advisers, some of who were cabinet members, filed in. They all were aware of Mohsen’s mission and were eager to hear the results. There was no small talk or unnecessary greetings. The emir would be the only one to ask questions, though his advisers whispered in his ear.

“I am glad to see you back, Captain.”

“Thank you, Eminence. I do bring good news.”

This perked up the crowd considerably.

“The trip sounds successful.”

“Indeed. Andri Stemovich has agreed.”

There was a collective sigh of relief. Everyone knew that if Andri had turned them down they would have had to eliminate him to ensure his silence.

“His engineering skills will be quite beneficial to us. How much did you have to divulge?” asked the emir.

Mohsen wished the question hadn’t been asked. “He is a bright man, Eminence. I was vague to start with, but he pressed. Eventually he figured out exactly what would be required of him.”

The emir scowled at the answer. “That is a political answer.”

Mohsen show his discomfort. “Eminence, his intellect was underestimated. A man of such education and training knew that I was not there just for his advice as an engineer. He required the truth. He would not consider working for us if he did not get it.”

The room fell silent at the revelation of an outsider knowing their scheme. “How did he respond, Captain? Are you assured of his silence?”

Mohsen could see in the adviser’s eyes, already—a plot to kill Stemovich.

“He offers something to help us considerably. He explained that he has access to a ship. A ship that can fulfill our wishes. And this one need not be built. It will necessitate only two hundred million American dollars to acquire.”

This news devastated the room. Everyone had a role in the project, and they were all anticipating having to spend several billion to get the ship built. Two hundred million took an incredible responsibility off their shoulders. The only one who showed little emotion was the emir. “Did you tell him what kinds of weapons are needed?”

“Yes, Eminence. The man cares little for our problems. He is driven by other causes.”

“What are his causes?”

“He wants to be the captain. He wants that, and the respect the post demands. He wants to be treated like the leader of a great vessel. He wants to be remembered for something more,” Mohsen said, little knowing how correct he really was.

“Do we have assurance that he will not speak?”

Mohsen knew he was in the driver’s seat now. He was the key to this undertaking, and the emir couldn’t back out now. “I am confident that he is committed to our action. He understands the risks.”

The emir showed little emotion as he absorbed the words. “There is very little in my lands that I don’t have any control over. If this goes badly, people will die.”

The irony of the statement shocked Mohsen for a moment. He knew the emir was not only speaking about his death, but the death of his whole family. “Pay him quickly, Eminence. Involve him as fast as possible. The sooner he is paid, the better he will feel.”

The room became so quiet that a small fly could be heard buzzing in the corner. Some of the advisers felt that they shouldn’t have gone along with this dangerous scheme and squirmed in their chairs. They wished the emir would end it because they all had to trust Mohsen’s judgment. That feeling was uncomfortable. Would the oil be worth it?

The emir stood. “Very well, Captain. We will accommodate Andri Stemovich with whatever is required.”

There was another collective release of tension. This time it was because the men in the room knew the road. They would follow it to the end.

Two days after his meeting with Andri, Sasha arrived in Lyublino, a small town on the outskirts of Moscow. There he visited Colonel Boris Valsovich, commander of Russian Tank Battalion 39.

Boris, like many other military men, was disgruntled by the breakup of the Soviet Union. He was also insulted that he had not been called by the leaders of the September Coup to crush the resistance and Yeltsin. Time and again, he had thought that if he had been in command they would still be living under the Soviet flag. Now he sat in his office, waiting for the Russian government to give him orders. His tanks were covered in the yard and his men out drunk with whores. It was all very disagreeable to Boris’s way of thinking. Life seemed a waste, and he longed for the Communist Party.

Sasha, as usual, entered without knocking. His appearance didn’t startle Boris.

“You bring news from Comrade Stemovich?” Boris never addressed Sasha by name. He knew he was gay and refused to do more than acknowledge his existence.

“Yes, comrade. Andri believes he will soon have the tools to begin the revolution.”

In the past, Boris had had lengthy discussions with Andri on how to return to communism, but he thought they would never have the resources to pull it off. What Sasha relayed was next to impossible. “He has the money?”

“Soon. He has told me to tell you to ready your battalion. Though he does not anticipate it will come to that.” Sasha watched the glee spread across Boris’s face.

“Incredible. What is his timetable?”

“None yet, but he wants you prepared.”

Visions of the parades in Red Square and the troops marching flooded back to him. The artillery and the tanks rolling in perfect formation. Those were the days for which he longed. Now there might be a glimmer of a chance they could come again. Boris committed right then. If there were an opportunity to return to the old way—to return to the respect he once had—then he would do everything in his power to make it happen. He picked up the phone and dialed the maintenance bays. It was time to uncover the tanks. Stemovich didn’t think he would be needed, but Boris knew better. Someone always had to do the dirty work, and he was just the man to get dirty.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Opinion Formulates Action

The next step was obvious, yet Dan hesitated. He had sent George with Sharon to get squared away in a local apartment until they needed him again. As much as he didn’t like Levi, he was comfortable with him sitting across from him now.

“I can’t remember when anything like this has been handed to me so complete.” Levi stared out the window.

“Do you think Stemovich can really pull it off?”

“The Russian? Yes. With the state their economy is in I think anything is up for sale. Even submarines. We know that they’re selling ships, planes, and missiles. So why not a nuclear sub? Yet there is another question.” Levi tapped at the window.

“What’s that?”

“Does he really intend to deliver on the agreement?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” queried Dan.

“We’re talking about a nuclear submarine. It’s ice ages up from the diesel. You can’t just make the transaction and wash your hands of the event. No, there’s more to it than that. Consider a crew. It would be impossible to field a reliable crew to complete the mission suggested. He’s got to be playing them for the money. There are too many uncontrolled variables. Bad idea to see it through.”

Dan was still grappling with the size of the event and found Levi’s coolness unsettling. “I have to consider that he already has a crew. Stemovich is the right man in the right place. The question is, which one?”

Levi’s brow furled. “Which one what?”

“Which sub?”

“You’re letting that conversation spook you into speculative conclusions. There’s no support for the fact that Andri would go through with it. No, he’ll take the money and run. Hell, if he wanted a sub, he’d have built them one. A lot more money, and he gets pampered by those Mideast fuckers. That makes more sense.” Levi continued gazing out the window.

Dan wasn’t going to argue. Nothing in his business ever made sense. The more cause for concern if it did. “It’s time we let the boss in on this one.” He picked up the phone. Levi frowned.

Anthony DeCurtis sat behind the big desk in the CIA. Being the director of such a maligned organization in the past was the type of job for which he was specifically suited. It had taken several years, but he had finally changed not only the attitude within, but the public’s perception of the agency. Finding himself in his midfifties, Anthony had begun to realize what his gray hair had been telling him for a while. It was time to get out. He had been a strong leader—one who listened to advice from his people, yet made the ultimate decisions himself.

Parting wasn’t going to be nearly as tough as recommending a successor. It was up to him to tell the president who should fill his shoes. He found that a toss-up. Oddly enough, the two candidates were headed to his office as he contemplated their personalities. He had known Levi longer than any other person in the company. Levi had stood by him through thick and thin and proved his loyalty time and again. He also knew that Levi was wrapped up in some rather dirty situations. But was there more? Levi possessed shady characteristics that Anthony found disturbing but necessary at times. This was his glaring problem. His loyalty to the CIA was unsurpassed. In that, Anthony found great comfort. With Levi, one had to take the good with the bad.

His opinion of Dan Archer was high. The biggest strike against him was his propensity to internalize failure. He needed more seasoning. Anthony had gone over his record often to find that Dan had a knack for making good choices. He came out of every operation basically intact. He had a survival instinct. It was an extremely good report for Dan, but it raised the question of failure and how he would deal with it. How would he respond when caught? How would he handle that scenario? Would he melt? That was when a director couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

His door opened, and his assistant let the two in.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” beamed Anthony.

“Hi, Tony,” Levi shot back.

“Hello, sir.” Dan placed the thumb drive on the desk.

The secretary closed the door, and the three men sat down and made themselves comfortable.

“Okay, Danny. What’s all the hubbub?”

Levi knew this was an important opportunity for him to outshine Dan. He sat forward and placed his hands on the thumb drive. “Tell you what, Tony. You listen to this first, then we’ll talk.”

For half an hour, Anthony listened to the two men speak in broken English about the destruction of the Middle East. Every so often, he would shake his head in disbelief. At the end of the conversation, he rose from his chair to get his blood circulating. Just listening to the plot seemed to wear him thin. “Are they serious?”

“Mohsen is serious, but I believe that Stemovich is playing a mark.” Levi wanted to control the conversation.

“We do understand that they are talking about a nuclear submarine with nuclear missiles, right?” Anthony wanted to reassure himself that they had all heard the same thing.

“Yes,” blurted Levi again. “It’s not going to happen, though. The deal is too easy. He wants the money. Only the money.”

“What do you think, Dan?”

“I’m not dismissing it.”

This answer made DeCurtis wheel around and examine Dan as he spoke.

“Mohsen may have concocted this little game, but Stemovich is the real threat. I read his file, and I can’t put it past him. He benefited greatly from the old Soviet system. He worked hard, did what he was told, and was extremely good at it. Then it all crashed when the party fell. He had dedicated his life, and now has nothing to show for it. He’s as likely to sell Soviet technology as anyone else. More so in fact, because he has the personal knowledge.”

Levi interjected. “I agree a little. We also have to think that it would be damn near impossible for one man to deliver a ship of that complexity. It’s impractical.”

“Isn’t that what the two hundred million is for?” asked Anthony.

Dan shifted in his seat. “Yes, but there has to be something else driving Andri to bring up a sub. Why only two hundred million? Why not five hundred million? Why not a billion? It must be more than money because the money is now easily obtainable. There has to be another reason for him to take that chance, and I didn’t hear it on the tape. I’m not certain that he’ll take the money and run. You can’t just steal a nuclear submarine out from under the Russian government’s nose unless you have a plan. We could be missing something.”

Anthony thought out loud. “A front for the Russian government? A third-party dealer? They don’t like it when people know that they are having a yard sale on some of their more expensive items.”

Dan perked up. “Exactly. If he was selling for the government, then why only ask for two hundred million when a billion was offered? Kuwait is clearly ready to spend more. No, I think it deals with him personally.”

Levi saw an opportunity to squash Dan in front of the director. “Which adds more credibility to the take-the-money-and-run scenario. Two hundred million can be hidden. One billion can’t.”

“You know, you might be right, Levi,” stated Dan.

“Oh.” Levi was caught off guard. “You agree now?”

“No, not about what he’s going to do. Your point about motivation. Stemovich’s other reason for wanting to raise the sub—”

“You think there’s something else?” Anthony asked. He was beginning to feel left out of the conversation.

“Stemovich was the perfect product of the Soviet system. He lived well, advanced, got small perks, and didn’t rock the boat. There is something there that I can’t quite put my finger on. He probably liked being on top. After all, what would he get with the two hundred million?”

“Everything he ever wanted,” snorted Levi.

“What is it that he wants? Personally?”

“Come on, Dan. Can you even guess at what it takes to run one of those things? It’s not some MIG a pilot can burn at the speed of sound and land on foreign soil. A sub takes a crew, a smart crew. It takes food, supplies, arms, and a bunch of nerds with pocket protectors. It’s impractical for one man to steal that kind of a ship. I know he’s going to fuck the Kuwait government, and I can’t say I feel all that sorry for them.” Dan’s persistence had made Levi angry, but he settled down after his outburst.

The curtness startled Dan and interrupted his thoughts. At the time, he felt he was on to something important, but now it was all washed away.

Anthony saw his solution. Two different people offering different views of the same situation. For him it would be a good way to compare and contrast the two men and find the one most fit for his job. “This has to be researched more. Correct?”

Both nodded in agreement.

“Until then we need to keep on top of this thing. What do you recommend?”

Levi didn’t hesitate. “Put a red flag on Kuwait’s banks. Watch the money transactions. I think they would be stupid enough to transfer the complete amount in one lump sum. Then we’ll tail Stemovich until he has landed in the south of France or wherever he decides to run. It’ll be over before it starts. I know that from experience.”

Dan was meeker in his response. “I agree. But I think we should begin preparing for the possibility of him fulfilling the agreement. We would be naive if we allowed the situation to fester unchecked and be ill-prepared.”

Levi butted in again. “If they did intend to go through with it—and I’m not saying that they won’t because it is a slim possibility—all we have to do is grab the cash. No money, no sub. Hell, we should grab it, anyway, and then tell them we knew about it. See if the bastards try to pull one over on us again. That’s a lot simpler than moving all branches of the CIA into action.”

Dan shot back. “Quick fixes hardly ever work.”

DeCurtis noticed the curtness and stepped in. “Let’s see what transpires, then we’ll decide on a course. Meanwhile, have all the information archived ready for review. There’s got to be more on these guys then what we have now.” Anthony felt safe in his ruling. “We can’t overlook Dan’s suggestion. If Stemovich has any intention of going through with this insanity, then we’ll grab the cash. Do a little creative banking from this end. That should solve the problem.”

The meeting ended. Levi and Dan bid their goodbyes and headed out the door. Anthony gave each a pat on the shoulder and a smile. Once the door was closed, Levi turned his attention to Dan.

“I’m sorry for getting after you in there, but you have got to be smarter than that, Danny.”

Dan wasn’t insulted. He knew it was Levi’s way of making a play for the chair. He did feel that Levi took this situation too lightly. He didn’t like the way he had lulled Anthony into a false sense of security. One thing was for sure. He didn’t want to work with him. “Just trying to be cautious,” he replied.

“That’s fine, but let’s operate under my control from here on out. Talk to George and send him back to monitor the transaction. Then we’ll tail Stemovich after the pickup and that will be that.”

“Okay.” The situation didn’t bother Dan in the least. He would do as Levi asked, but he also resigned himself to conducting a parallel investigation. One only he and a few, very few, would know about.

The two men separated and went to their respective offices. Dan walked briskly to his and ran into Sharon, who was leaving for the night.

“I thought you’d never return. I got George settled in. He fell asleep before I left the apartment.”

Dan went to his desk and pulled up the phone catalog on his computer screen. “Good. Let him rest tomorrow, then have him come to my office the morning of the day after.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes. I’ll be out tomorrow.” He copied down a number from the screen.

“Going any place interesting?”

“Time to call in a marker.”

“I don’t think he likes you much.” Sukudo smiled as he sipped his beer.

The officer’s club was mostly naval, and Josh looked out of place with his wild blue uniform and black eye patch. Sukudo waved and greeted other officers as they walked in and ambled to other corners to let the admiral and Josh have their privacy.

“Don’t give a fuck.” Josh gazed at the wall, covered with ships engaged in fierce battles with the enemy.

“He’s a good guy. Mik and I have a history. It goes way back. He just takes his work seriously.”

“Let me ask you, Admiral. What did we want to find out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to make sure it wasn’t some type of doomsday machine.”

“Then what’s next?”

“You go back to Houston. I’d like updates, if you can, please.”

“It’s no real problem, but as of now, we can’t classify the situation as urgent. It’s secondary at best. Which means for you that my other assignments take precedence.” Josh hated saying that since he had grown to like Sukudo, but business was business.

“I understand. Can you at least keep tabs on it?”

“I’ll do what I can. I can configure a flyby about every other orbit. I can’t let ODIS sit in fixed position, though.”

“Good enough,” replied Sukudo. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

The conversation turned to small talk and war stories. Josh was glad of this because the whole situation about the sub suddenly was worrisome. Both men felt that there was more to what they had witnessed, but they had nothing else to go on.

The security guard led Dan up the stairs to Mikhail’s office in front of the USS Jimmy Carter. It loomed in the background, awaiting its last coat of black polymer paint and then a foam cushion to make it slippery and quiet in the water. The morning sun splashed across the top of the bow as if to wake a sleeping giant. It was an awesome sight for anyone, yet Dan had too many things on his mind to notice the engineering marvel that sat before him.

Mikhail tried to look comfortable at his desk. Papers were still strewn about, and he used them as a psychological fortress to hide from his visitor.

The first and last time he saw Dan Archer was years ago, when the young CIA operative made his way into the Soviet Union and saved his family from certain death at the hands of the government.

Mikhail had been outspoken about the Soviets. So much so that it literally put his life in jeopardy and surely slated his family members for the gulags. Engineer or not, at the time, Mikhail was in too powerful a position for the government to allow him to continue voicing his opinions. He escaped narrowly with his family and only the clothes on his back.

Dan kept them one step ahead of the GRU (the KGB’s military branch), and ironically they escaped from the Soviet State by way of a submarine.

Mikhail found the US ships brilliant and the government accommodating. He immediately went to work designing subs for them. It was the least he could do for having his family rescued, and the money was much better.

The day he got away he thanked the young Dan Archer for all he had done. Dan’s reply was that someday he might return to ask for a favor. That’s why Mikhail was so nervous. The man who had saved his family was coming to collect. What did he have to offer?

The guard opened the door and let Dan in. Mikhail motioned for the guard to stand outside. “Dan Archer, it’s nice to see you after all these years.” He was sincere, yet cautious.

“I’m glad you remember me, Mikhail.”

“I could not forget you. You have grown older, but you still look well.” Reading Dan’s friendly approach made him feel more at ease. “Please sit down.”

Dan took an overstuffed chair across from the desk and glanced around the open, airy room.

“Looks like you’re set up pretty well.”

“I found the United States to be quite anxious to get me working. They have been very pleasant.”

Dan moved closer to the desk. It was a habit of his when he wanted to discuss serious business. “Submarines are the reason I came to see you, Mikhail.”

“I know a little about the subject,” he replied jokingly.

“Yes, Soviet subs.”

The coincidence that two high-ranking officials from the government had come to see him about Soviet subs on separate days indicated to Mikhail that something was brewing. “What do you need to know?”

“How many men does it take to run a sub?”

“Alfa or Victor class attack subs?” Mikhail knew that Dan’s knowledge was probably very limited, so he offered an average number. “Forty.”

“No. I’m thinking along the lines of a missile boat. Something nuclear.”

The similarities became too great. He wanted to tell Dan about Sukudo, but he wasn’t completely sure. He decided to lead him in the right direction. “Twenty, maybe.”

“Twenty?” Dan almost jumped from his chair. “That few?”

Mikhail was ready to pull out the pictures, but he had to be sure he was in the same ballpark. “I’d like to tell you, but it’s the ‘need-to-know’ thing.”

Dan hesitated as he pondered how to structure his response. “The Russians could be selling one of their nuclear subs.” It was a half-truth. Stemovich was Russian.

Slowly Mikhail got up and rummaged through the file cabinet and pulled out the pictures of the Saratov. “Here is a Typhoon class submarine with missiles. The ship is revolutionary for them. Their thinking increases the automation of the vehicle. We also noticed the bow of the ship opens to allow for mass arms loading.” Mikhail outlined the various parts of the ship. “This leads us to the conclusion that the torpedo crew could have been dramatically cut or eliminated. If the philosophy is followed throughout the ship, we can extrapolate that other areas have been automated, cutting the crew size significantly.”

“My God.”

“That tends to be the reaction.”

Dan knew very little about ships in general—even less about submarines. Nevertheless, he studied the pictures with great interest. “Is this all you have on this sub?”

“I haven’t thoroughly examined the pictures. I didn’t think there would be a need since it was decommissioned.”

A shudder ran through Dan. Everything was sounding too familiar. A ship not in use and accessible. “Mikhail, you said this one was revolutionary. Who built her?”

“Popular question when it comes to this ship.” He thought back to the conversation he had had with Kenneth Sukudo. “It could be one of twenty different men who have that ability. I can’t say one over the other.”

“Is there a style that’s familiar? Even I know that work in general is an extension of a man’s personality. Who does this ship remind you of?”

Mikhail hated being pressured, but he ran his magnifying glass over the photo again. “I don’t know. It was so long ago, and there are so many new engineers in that country that I hear about. I’m not sure that I’m familiar with all the work.” The glass moved from picture to picture. Mikhail strained to come up with something. He scrutinized the bow and the sail, looking for a clue. Dan sat in anticipation.

It was in the stern. For the most part, the Saratov sat low in the water, the stern remaining submerged except for a small three-meter dorsal fin mounted on the very back. It was so far back that it looked detached from the ship. Its purpose was to quiet and realign the water disturbed by the sail. By reducing the wake made by the sail, the sub would handle better with less drag. The effect was minimal, and most designers would ignore the fin and think it unnecessary. But Mikhail had a good idea who wouldn’t.

“Stemovich,” he whispered.

“Come again?”

“Only now do I remember that report.”

“What? You lost me.”

“When I was in Russia, a schematic for a dorsal fin to be used on the back of our subs came across my desk. We tested it and found that it contributed little to the design. But the young man who created it protested in favor of the fin. He was ignored.”

“Who was it?”

“Andri Stemovich.”

Dan sank in disbelief.

Mikhail continued in Dan’s silence. “He was very young when he joined my design team. Ambitious to say the least, and one good engineer. He improved the hull structure and tinkered with the screw design. After you got me out, he quickly climbed to the top, and it wasn’t long before he was project manager. Then he went into the background and probably found himself working on some very secret projects until the revolution. He thinks differently. Nothing is unimportant to him, even the dorsal fin.” Mikhail laid the pictures down. He was confident he had guessed correctly.

“He’s thorough.” Dan said it as if he knew.

“Extremely. That is why the sub is unique. He doesn’t start something unless he intends to finish it.”

Dan hated that response. “Great. Now I find out that he is meticulous with a plan.”

The reaction didn’t give Mikhail much confidence in what Sukudo had told him about the ship being beached. “I think you need to talk to one of my friends.” He picked up the phone.

Dan only half heard what Mikhail was saying. He wandered over to the window and looked out at the construction area. “You make this?”

“Me and about five thousand other people.”

“Do you think Stemovich’s sub could be the most advanced in the world?” Dan was in limbo.

“Next to mine, yes.” Kenneth Sukudo picked up the receiver at the other end. “Admiral? I’ve got a man here I think you ought to talk to.”

“What the fuck does he mean, ‘call in a debt’?” Livid would be a mild term to describe Levi when he found out that Dan had left. He was screaming at Sharon, who had come all the way back to the office on his orders. She was in tears and almost unable to stop crying.

“I don’t know what it means, Mr. Carp. I’m not allowed to ask questions.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Sharon. You’re just as nosy as the rest of the bitches we have working as our secretaries. Now where did Dan go?”

“I told you I don’t know. He said he’d be back tomorrow and to have George here when he returned.” Her tears had run out. She began to steel herself against the man whose onslaught had caught her off guard. All the old man had to do was call his cell phone, but she’d be damned if she’d give him the number. He should have it anyway, she thought.

Levi was getting nowhere. He’d have to proceed without Dan and forget about keeping him on the operation. He’d report to Anthony tomorrow that Dan had dropped the ball, and he had to finish the operation alone. That, for sure, would secure him the director’s chair when DeCurtis decided to retire.

“Okay, fuck Dan. I’ll do this without him. Get George Mohammed over here tonight. He’s leaving on the next flight out. I can’t wait for your little boss.”

“I can’t do that, sir.” Sharon finally felt that she had a way to get back at Levi for being a prick. “I’m Dan’s assistant, not yours. I only do what he asks.”

This inflamed him. “Listen to me, you fucking butch lesbian dike!”

Levi knew. The shock paralyzed her. She thought she had been extra careful, but still he knew.

“That’s right. I know you prefer clams to the polish sausage. If you don’t do what I ask, then I’ll drag you from the closet whether you like it or not! Don’t fuck with me. I’ll ruin your job and your life.”

Stunned was an understatement for the way Sharon felt. Robotically she picked up the phone and dialed the apartment where George was staying. He answered. “George, it’s Sharon Dailey. You must come back to the office. You’re needed right away.”

The cold shower jolted Dan to life. He spent the night as Mikhail’s guest and enjoyed it. A home-cooked meal by his wife and a relaxing evening telling stories and drinking beer by the fire sat well with him. The morning brought a fulfilling if not overfilling breakfast and coffee so strong it could peel paint. He and Mikhail were in the car by seven and in front of Sukudo’s by seven thirty.

The government had spared no expense for their most senior officers. Sukudo’s house was colonel style with great pillars. The admiral was standing on the landing, flipping through the morning paper when the car pulled up in front. He was still in his bathrobe and waved when Mikhail emerged. “You guys want some breakfast?”

“Thanks, but we’ve already eaten.”

“Good, because my wife has left, and I’d have to cook something for you.” He was in a good mood.

Mikhail shook hands and introduced Dan. “Kenneth, this is Dan Archer. Dan is CIA.”

“Oh.” Sukudo, like all military men, had some suspicion of spies no matter how much praise Sun Tzu gave them in The Art of War.

“Don’t judge me just yet, Admiral.” Dan sensed his apprehension and tried to stave it off.

Mikhail had gone into the house, and Dan and Kenneth followed. Inside, it was classic colonel, with the navy raised to deity status. Pictures of all kinds of ships decorated the walls, and the wood floor shined like decking. The study where Mikhail had gone was more extravagant.

Kenneth took his chair behind his desk and waited for the men to get settled. “You’ll have to get right to the point, Mik. I’ve got a meeting in an hour.”

“You two,” Mikhail said, pointing a finger at each, “I believe hold the same coin but see different sides.” Mikhail laid the pictures of the Saratov on the desk. “There are a lot of questions lately about submarines in general, mostly about this one.”

The other two remained tight-lipped, neither wanting to say what he knew.

Mikhail pried some more. “Kenneth shows me pictures of this sub, which we think is very heavily automated. Dan asks questions about crew complement on Typhoon class subs. Very similar inquiries from two very different people. I believe that this vessel could be the same answer to different situations.”

Sukudo sat forward. “What situation? We were only concerned because it’s a new design. The sub sits on the ocean floor. There is no situation for us.” Again he fibbed. He was concerned about the sub. He was concerned that it might resurface before they could prepare for such a machine. That was his situation.

Dan tried to fit the pieces. He could be making something out of nothing, but he wasn’t willing to let it slide yet. He decided to say what he knew. “There could be a development in the Middle East. A certain country would purchase a nuclear boat and raise hell over Baghdad.” Before he knew it, he blurted it out, catching Mikhail and Kenneth both off guard. They took a second to regain their composure.

“Let the bastards die.” Kenneth was the first to reply.

“You do understand the magnitude of the task?” said Mikhail.

“Yes. There are a few but very qualified personnel on the situation. Some in my organization believe that it is a ploy to steal money, nothing more. I wasn’t convinced, so I dug a little deeper, and there was always something to lead me further.”

“Stemovich.” Mikhail recalled the look on Dan’s face when he had suggested him as the designer. “It’s him?”

Dan’s silence confirmed the statement.

“Isn’t that one of the names you gave us?” remarked Sukudo.

“He’s the one I think is the most probable.”

Mikhail gazed at the pictures again. “Yes, Stemovich.”

Kenneth was uncomfortable being left in the dark. “I think it’s time to put the cards on the table. I know where this sub is. It’s at the bottom of the Barents. My concern is that it could be recommissioned before we have any information on it. Now, what do you know and how does it fit in with this situation?”

Since Sukudo seemed to come clean Dan decided that it would be best if he told all. After all, if you can’t trust an admiral, who can you trust? “Kuwait has hatched a grand scheme to build a missile boat that would destroy Baghdad and place the blame squarely on the shoulders of Israel. I don’t have to tell you the political mess that would stir up around the world. Who would side with whom? It is that mess that they would count on to give them the opportunity to slip out of OPEC and increase their oil production.”

“To achieve this they went to a Russian, one Andri Stemovich, who makes his residence in Crimea. They made him an offer, and he accepted. To move things along, he suggested that the best course of action would be for them to purchase a sub, which he could provide. Kuwait seemed to agree. We don’t know which sub, though. This one in the pictures appears to be the favorite by circumstance. After all, if you were going to steal a sub, wouldn’t you go after the best? Especially if you had created it?”

Kenneth didn’t know where to start asking questions. “Is this really possible? It takes a whole mess of personnel to maintain one of those vessels.”

“We know Kuwait is serious. We don’t know if Stemovich is. I’ll tell you, I’m the only one who thinks he could be. The rest believe that he’ll just stiff the Arabs.”

“Who’s ‘the rest’?”

“Can’t say.”

“Have steps been taken to prevent this from happening?”

“In my opinion, mild ones.”

The men sat in silence, pondering the ramifications.

“What do you think, Mik?”

Mikhail was alarmed by the information. “It is a rather momentous undertaking, this stealing of the submarine. But money can get anything in Russia, perhaps even that.”

“So Stemovich will go through with it?” asked Dan.

“Do you think he will?” replied Mikhail.

“His bio leans that way.”

“Revenge is what he’s thinking,” answered Mikhail. “Understand one thing. Submariners are a strange lot. They keep to themselves, enjoying the isolation and camaraderie on the ship. In the outside world, they are men without a home. Most importantly, this fraternity is earned. Stemovich was inserted in it because he was a prized engineer. He’s the outsider on the inside. I don’t know if he could muster a crew. The men have to want to follow their captain, mostly out of respect.”

“Then he can’t crew the ship?” Dan was a little lost.

“It is his weakness. It will be his biggest obstacle. He might be able to assemble something. Depends on how prepared he is. The other question is why? I’m not convinced that he would do this exclusively for the Kuwaitis. He could have another purpose in mind.”

“How about him stealing the money?” Sukudo asked.

Mikhail shrugged. “We’re sitting here trying to measure a man we don’t really know. I’d be careful and prepare for the worst.”

There was no hesitation for Sukudo. He picked up a black phone that lacked any buttons. “Hello, get me NI.” Unflinching, he returned his attention to Dan. “How close are they to getting the boat?”

“I would hope we still have a week at least. Kuwait has to come up with the cash.”

“That’s elementary,” Sukudo replied, then turned his attention to the phone. “Yeah, this is Admiral Sukudo. I need Russian operations director zero-zero-four-three.” He glanced at Mikhail. “You know we’ll need to get someone on board. Someone who knows subs and speaks Russian.”

“Stemovich will know Mikhail a mile away,” said Dan.

“He’s not talking about me. He’s talking about Nicholas.”

“Nicholas?”

Sukudo waited for his connection. “Nick. Nick Shaw. A do-everything man. One tough as nails sub driver who speaks fluent Russian with a Latvian accent. US Navy until an early deferment and engineer in his own right. And he flies.”

“My grandson,” added Mikhail.

CHAPTER NINE

Never Do Business with a Relative

George was somewhere between reality and the twilight zone. His seat on the 747 was comfortable. It should have been, since he was flying first class. He couldn’t believe he was headed back to Kuwait. Neither could he believe that Levi Carp was as big an asshole as to remind him that he still had two months’ obligation left. Years with no vacations, and the CIA couldn’t let him go early. “Unbelievable,” he murmured. Everyone else on the plane was asleep. George stared at the back of the seat in front of him and pictured the conversation he had had with the asshole. He remembered Sharon standing next to the door looking like a freight train had run her over. He knew she had had her butt chewed before he got there, and he pitied her.

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Behind closed doors, Levi had berated him for being sloppy. George couldn’t figure out what he was talking about until Levi let on about the old woman in Sevastopol.

“You killed her?” asked George.

“She was a test. You should have known that. My men watched you the whole way. Their report is that you’re sloppy and amateurish.”

“It was your men who ransacked the room?”

“You bet. We had to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind. You can thank God we were there.”

“Was it necessary to kill the old woman? She didn’t know anything.” George couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“It’s a violent business. I know at your end you’re not used to it, but on this mission, be prepared for anything.”

Levi went on to lecture him about what he had to do, but George tuned him out. He couldn’t believe the man in front of him was so ruthless. He finally left, praying that his two months would go quickly and asked no more.

The stewardess walked past, and George requested a beer. Alcohol was not allowed in the Middle East, but suddenly it became a craving for him. He didn’t care much, anyway. He was going to be in the air for the next twelve hours, and hopefully the drink would make him sleepy. “Two months,” he repeated. Two months and then I’m gone.

Boris Valsovich stood atop the small hill that overlooked the simulated battleground where his 39th tank battalion was practicing. The tank drivers were more than rusty, and the commanders were making fundamentally poor decisions. Boris realized that he had let his men go too long without proper practice. He hoped he could get them ready for the day when they would occupy Red Square again.

Josh watched the tank maneuvers with little more than a passing interest. ODIS has run across the empty maintenance yard on a flyby, and the computer program noted the change with a quiet tone, so Josh decided to find out what had happened to the battalion. It took only an hour with ODIS’s thermal scope to locate the immense heat concentrated over the practice field.

They’re playing, he mused to himself as he plugged away at the report that was required on all new military maneuvers. He gave a recommendation at the end but knew that within two days some government weirdo would disregard everything he said and form his own opinion. Eventually they’d show up at his door. They always did.

It was his feeling that the tanks in question were going to move south and protect the Russian border. The recent violence in the border states threatened to spill over, and the Russian government wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. They could barely control the protests in their own country much less handle anyone else’s. He finished his report just as the phone rang.

Sukudo was on the line. “Josh, I need you back here.”

“I’d love to, Admiral, but I have some things to handle here first.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make the arrangements. I’m also counting on you being able to bring your friend, ODIS.” Sukudo didn’t know how secure the line was, so he wanted to make sure he didn’t give too much away.

The comment intrigued Josh. ODIS had been outfitted for fieldwork a few years earlier but had never been used. The technology had gotten good enough to condense the linkup with the mainframe into a computer and a screen about the size of a small suitcase. Linkup with the computer would be done by satellite. When he wasn’t linked up, ODIS would fly on a prearranged course.

“Sure, Admiral. I’ll ask him if he can make the trip. I’m pretty sure he can.”

“Good,” remarked Sukudo. “We’ll need him. I’ll send a plane and one of my staffers. Get here as soon as possible.”

Josh replaced the phone. Sukudo had hung up without signing off. This obviously was of some importance, and it had to be related to the sub. The report on the tanks could wait. It was time to go hunting.

Sharon sat in her bed all day. She had run out of tears hours ago, but her nose still dripped. Tomorrow would be terrible. Dan would return, Levi would fire him from the operation, and he would find out that she was gay. The uncertainty about how he would take it all terrified her. She loved her job and loved working for Dan; she didn’t want to lose it. She heard the front door open as Beth entered with her arms full of groceries.

“I saw your car out front,” she called. “I thought you were working late.”

Sharon didn’t answer. She listened to Beth climb the stairs to the bedroom.

“Babe? What’s the matter, baby?” Beth saw how ratty Sharon looked and sat on the bed next to her.

“They know, Beth. They know I live with a woman.”

“They know?” Beth was caught by surprise but knew exactly who was involved.

Sharon nodded. “Levi knows, and now he’s going to tell Dan.”

Beth was repulsed by this information. She grappled with the notion that Levi had revealed his knowledge to Sharon.

“How?”

Sharon could muster only a shrug. “Doesn’t matter. It’ll affect everything going forward.”

Levi had crossed the line in Beth’s book. “Don’t worry, babe. He won’t tell Dan. Men that cruel keep those secrets so they can use them against you. He won’t tell. I promise.”

Sharon began to cry again. “I don’t care if he knows. I just don’t want Dan to know. He’s been so good to me. I can’t jeopardize that.”

“He won’t, honey. He’ll hold his tongue.” Beth began plotting a way out of the mess. It upset her to see her partner so distraught. It also bothered her that she seemed to have a great deal of fondness for Dan Archer. Beth hoped it was nothing more than respect for her boss.

Sharon’s mind plunged into depression as she could think only the worst. Beth’s remarks went unheard. She missed completely the anger that crossed Beth’s face as she contemplated the punishment. The punishment for her father.

They called her ERRIS. A two-man deep-dive sub going through tests to calculate bulkhead strength at extreme pressures off the US Atlantic coast. Its pilot was Nicholas Shaw.

Nick was the grandson of Mikhail Nemokov. When Mikhail fled the Soviet Union, his youngest daughter took with them small Nicholas in the safety of her womb. His father was the Soviet guard assigned to watch the family and hold them if they did anything suspicious. The orders backfired when he became smitten with seventeen-year-old Nadia. Receiving advanced notice that the government was going to execute Mikhail, it was Nadia’s lover who hid them until a very young Dan Archer arrived and slipped them away. Nicholas’s father was later shot for conspiracy against the state.

Born eight months later in the United States, baby Nicholas was a surprise to everyone but his mother. Mikhail was delighted that he had a grandson. He had fathered four girls and always wanted a male.

The appearance of Nicholas was fulfilling. His daughter married when Nicholas was three, and he had a very average American upbringing with his computer geek stepfather. The man could barely figure out how to put gas in the tank, but he knew his stuff when it came to the evolution of computer systems. Nick appreciated this skill and endeavored to become proficient in the science, but hard mechanical engineering was in his blood. Mikhail saw this and made sure Nick had mastered both subjects by the time he went to Annapolis.

Mikhail took it upon himself to help raise the boy and tirelessly taught him the rules of being a man. How to have integrity, character, and forthrightness were the lessons on which he focused. He made sure that he knew the importance of the Russian culture as well as the pride of being free and independent. He loved the boy, and when Nicholas grew into a man, he respected him as such.

Much like George Mohammed Akbar, Nicholas coveted the United States. He had heard of the oppression from which his parents had escaped, and it made him appreciate where he lived even more. He was told that his father died while they were escaping, and it emphasized the fact that freedom often exacted a cost. It was the reason he went into the service.

At the age of 18, he was admitted to the Naval Academy and finished 4 years later in the top 2 percent of his class. Being a student of nuclear engineering his whole life under Mikhail, he tested out of Nuclear Power School (NPS) and proceeded to the Nuclear Power Training Unit in Idaho. From there, he breezed through Submarine Officers Basic Course (SOBC) and earned his “Gold Dolphins,” distinguishing him as a qualified submarine officer. Mikhail was never more proud.

Nicholas’s first assignment was on an old skipjack class nuclear sub, the USS Memphis. It was cramped, poorly lit, and uncomfortable. Nick loved it all. After two years of dives, the Memphis was scheduled for decommissioning. Word was that military cutbacks were forcing early retirements, and the navy was not going to have as many opportunities as it once had. To his luck, a small boat-design firm in Rhode Island, Millner and Swaft, was looking for pilots for its new experimental deep-dive subs. Nick not only fit the bill, he was also valuable in the sub’s engineering. The navy offered him early leave, which he took, and hopped into the position at M and S.

Now at the rip age of twenty-seven, he was dropping past a depth of thirteen thousand feet in the Atlantic. Nick was attractive. His face was dark and cut with Slavic features, high cheekbones and wide eyes. His hair was deep brown with a small streak of premature silver in the front.

One year earlier, M and S was constructing individual deep-dive escape pods that could hold five men. Nick and seven others took a twelve-man submarine down to ten thousand feet to ready for the test. The plan was for some of the men to hop in the pod and release from the sub. Gas balloons were supposed to inflate and drag the pod slowly to the surface—a ride that could last two hours.

Nick was readying the pod when a defect in the sub’s bulkhead split open a seam. The force of the water pinned the rest of the crew at the other end. It came in so fast that the bow slipped down, and the ship began to spiral. Nick had only a second to close the hatch and save his life. The rest of the crew was doomed.

The lights fluttered as he groped for the safety flashlight. The sub went vertical, making the situation academic. Either the pod was going to work or it wasn’t. He hit the release lever, and the compressed air in the back part of the diver blew the pod free. Then the sub headed to the bottom of the ocean, seven crew on board.

Nick heard the balloons inflate and then looked at the digital depth meter. It stood at twelve thousand. “Shit!” he screamed. The meter didn’t move. He was down too deep, and the balloon didn’t have enough lift for the pod. He reached for the hatch and felt the seal around it. It was moist. “Shit!” he yelled again. It took everything for him to keep from panicking. He looked at the meter again and noticed that the pod had moved up ten feet. “Come on you bitch, pull!” Then he dropped the flashlight, and it broke.

True misery set in when he cut his hand on the broken lens fumbling for the light. There was a thin film of water on the floor, and Nick knew that it would get worse before it got better. The seal had been compromised and would leak all the way up. If it leaked too much, he had no chance. The balloons had to pull the pod out of immense pressure. The only light at that depth was the meter on the hull, and it read 11,080 feet.

To move ten feet took an eternity, but the balloons stayed one step ahead of the water. At one thousand feet, he felt better, yet he knew there was something very wrong. The water was up to his calves, and the pod wasn’t picking up speed on the ascent. There was another problem, Nick surmised. At least one of the balloons was leaking. The pod was gaining weight, and it would be only a matter of time before the slowing climb stopped.

An hour later, he hit five hundred. The water was to his knees, and his concern over the balloons was growing. Another cause for alarm was the air. He tried to remain as calm as possible, but he could feel that the air was getting thin. The pod seemed to be moving faster as it eclipsed the three hundred mark. Then with fifty feet to go, it leveled off. Nick groaned as he pictured how close he was to the surface. He hoped someone on the platform ship was looking for him. When the meter began to turn to fifty-one, then fifty-two, fifty-three, Nick acted fast. He’d swim for it.

Depleted of air and feeling light-headed, he flooded the pod to escape. The water rose to his chest as he grabbed the bottom hatch and pulled.

The ocean was bright in contract to the darkness inside the pod. In the water, he could clearly see a small hole leaking from one of the balloons. Nick pulled the quick release on the pod, and it shot back to the ocean floor. The balloons ran to the surface and rode gingerly on the waves, but he was passing out. He couldn’t ascend too fast for fear of the bends, or his lungs could explode due to the pressure change if he didn’t drain them on his way up. Ten feet from the surface, his mind went black.

The frogmen in the zodiac spotted the balloons immediately when they surfaced. In ten seconds, they were in the water looking for any survivor. One diver happened to glance over and see the outline of a figure. He pulled Nick to the surface. Mouth-to-mouth brought him back; he spewed salt water until he was awake. They did not ask about the pod or the sub. It was too obvious they would not be returning.

All in all, Nick came out in good shape—physically. Inside him, though, the trauma damaged his ability to handle the ocean depths without some hesitation. The only outward hint was the streak of hair turned white in his moment of facing death.

In the ERRIS, he felt more comfortable, possibly because he was piloting the craft, and that gave him a sense of control. Yet when the meter clicked fifteen thousand, Nick visibly tensed. All his life he had dived and never worried about the pressure. It was more of a mathematical equation that he had to balance than anything else. Now he had experienced the force of that equation, and it made him reluctant. The pressure was real on the outside and in his mind.

At eighteen thousand, he leveled her off. The thick waters made her handle like a pig, and it was slow moving. Ten minutes later, he received a call from the surface. It was Jenkins, the project director, and he was not happy.

“Nick,” he fussed. “Nick, bring her back up. You’ve got some company.”

“Coming up,” he replied. “We’re about done, anyway.” It was a relief. Though the dive went as planned, Nick still felt uneasy at that depth. It made him more annoyed because he knew it bothered him.

The ERRIS resembled a gigantic bowling ball with fans when it was hoisted out and onto the platform ship. Nicholas emerged to see the smiling face of his grandfather. He climbed down and embraced the old man. Mikhail was delighted to see him.

“Nick!” yelled Kenneth.

“Hey, Admiral! This is a party.”

“Nice to see you again, Nick.”

“Don’t forget, Admiral, I’m out of the navy.”

Kenneth had a hard time passing off the comment. He was there to pull him back. To say the mission would be dangerous was an understatement. It was dangerous. All that mattered was how dangerous.

Nick sensed the tension. “Want a cup of joe?”

“Sure,” replied the admiral. “But first I want you to meet someone.”

Dan stood pea-green and holding on for his life as the three came over. His head swam, and his knees felt weak. A cold sweat ran down his spine, and he quietly begged God to strike him down in a moment of mercy. Anything to get off the rocking ship. Sukudo made the introductions, and Dan’s reply was to lean over the railing and throw up his breakfast.

Nick chuckled quietly. “You make a hell of a first impression, Mr. Archer.”

“I’m sorry,” Dan said, spitting. “I’ve never been very good on boats.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Nick got the feeling that he wasn’t pulled out of his work for a reunion. There was something important going on. “Okay, what’s the deal? I don’t figure you guys for sightseers.”

Dan had finished vomiting enough for him to bring his head back over the rail. “No, we’re not. We need to ask a favor of you.”

Nick looked across Mikhail’s and Sukudo’s faces. Sukudo was very serious, and his grandfather looked at him with great sadness. The expressions shook him a little. “Favor?”

The crew on the platform put the ERRIS to bed and prepared it for the next day. It took Dan fifteen minutes to explain the situation. Occasionally, he would have to stop because of his seasickness. Sukudo would fill in the rest of the details while Dan was momentarily incapacitated.

“You want me to hop on a crew for a sub that hasn’t been stolen yet?” It was confusing and complex. Nick got the story as one big pill, finding it hard to swallow.

“Just in case the stunt is pulled off.” Sukudo tried to sound reassuring.

“If I get on, how do I get off before you guys blow the damn thing out of the water?” It sounded crazy. “A renegade sub? Governments don’t hesitate to kill those ships.”

Dan was feeling better and could stand without holding the rail. “You’ve got to remember this probably won’t even happen. We’re only trying to hedge our bets.”

“That’s right, Nick,” said the admiral. “This is a long way from being a done deal. We feel that if it goes the distance, we’ll have someone there who knows how to sabotage the damn thing—or help us stay close.”

“We’re still not sure we can even locate it.” Dan was beginning to get his sea legs.

Nick was not impressed. “Come on, Admiral. This is suicide. Whether I’m there or not, you’ll blow it sky-high.”

“I’m a goddamn admiral! That counts for something in my navy. If I say hold, by God they’ll hold!”

Nick knew it was unrealistic to expect that of Sukudo. The admiral had to act in the best interest of his country first. He seemed to have forgotten that for the moment. He would certainly remember if the issue arose.

The presence of the mission went beyond the sub for Nick. The situation went straight to his roots. The United States had given his whole family a better life. He’d heard the stories about the Soviet Union and couldn’t imagine living there, even now. Looking upon his grandfather reminded him of that. The feeling that his service was not complete crept inside. He had bailed out of the navy early, and now he had the chance to repay his country in full. The obligation spread within him.

“Knowing you guys, you’d never find the ship, anyway. You’ll need me. I am Russian, but I’ve never been to Russia.” Nick smiled. “I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

CHAPTER TEN

Locating the Tools

It was a faint light that glowed from the lamp. Andri had to squint at the map before him. It was a hypersonic recreation of the floor of the Barents Sea beneath the Arctic. He laid transparencies of water currents and ice flows over the map and plotted the exact position of the Saratov.

Taking a red ink pen, he marked the region in which the boats were grounded. Then he plotted a course from the mainland to an area that lacked swift currents. Next to the red X was the depth. It read eighty meters. He sat back and smiled slightly, enjoying the thought of finding his greatest creation.

Again, he was expecting Sasha. The little man entered right on time and quietly took a seat across the room.

“Were you successful?” asked Andri. He continued without looking up.

“Very,” chirped Sasha. “Boris is ready to swarm Moscow on your signal. He is preparing his tanks as we speak.”

“Did he give any indication about what he would do if he met any resistance?”

“I have no doubt that the tanks will roll, no matter what. He saw what happened when they tried to unseat Gorbachev. He won’t hesitate, and his orders will be obeyed.” Sasha tried to sound as certain as possible.

“Good,” said Andri, turning in his chair. “Boris has the largest battalion in that area. He can have buildings secure and the leaders under arrest before any call for support. Hopefully they will be so preoccupied looking north they’ll never see him coming from the south.” Andri removed a larger map of the old Soviet Union from a drawer and placed it on the coffee table. He circled Moscow and drew an arrow representing the direction in which Boris would attack.

“I have to ask you something, Andri,” said Sasha. “Even if Moscow is successful, what about Saint Petersburg?”

“Leningrad,” snorted Andri. “Leningrad is composed of sailors. My people. They will not resist one of their own. They will embrace the movement, and we will sail into port, heroes. Do you forget your history? It has always been the Soviet Navy to take the first steps in revolution. It will not be any different.”

“No, Andri. I remember. I only wanted to know if you had thought of these things.”

“I have thought out everything, Sasha. Nothing is left to chance.”

Sasha didn’t agree with that, but he dared not say so. Believing that sailors would follow because they belonged to the same organization was naive. Andri might not have forgotten the lesson during the attempted coup in Moscow, but he seemed to have forgotten the reaction in Saint Petersburg. He seemed to brush aside the unifying reaction of the people in that city against the coup.

Russia was in economic shambles, like much of Europe, and the protest for the return to socialism were growing every day. The question was whether the rest of the country would recognize a government installed by military might. That was a large gamble to take.

George collapsed on his bed when he arrived home. Flying across time zones had screwed up his internal clock. He wanted two hours of sleep, and then he would deal with the operation.

Four hours later, the ringing phone dredged him from his snooze. He lay in bed and opened one eye as he listened to the message. It was a friend wishing him well and hoping his return would come quickly. He rolled over to go back to sleep, but the problems of Mohsen kept creeping in. Again he was without a plan. Again he felt uncomfortable and irritated.

He rose to shower and motivate himself into action. He’d have to locate Mohsen first then somehow find out his itinerary. It was spying by the seat of his pants, and George hated it. Ridiculous ideas like approaching Mohsen and telling him what he knew came to mind. It would be unprofessional, but it would stop the operation. That would send him home early.

Another option was to have the CIA eliminate Stemovich. There were several ways to stop the conspiracy in its tracks, and George entertained them all. In fact, marching into Mohsen’s office sounded extremely good. Payback for Levi Carp harping at him about his last two months of service. Then George paused. It made about as much sense as anything else he had encountered in the operation. Why not let Mohsen know his little secret was out? Played right, George might be able to find himself tagging along. After all, there were very few alternatives. He didn’t want to take the chance on losing Mohsen in a crowd again. If he put himself directly in the plan, then he would get firsthand information. If it blew up, so be it. George would be back in Washington sooner than expected. It would be a strange conversation, but he decided to see Mohsen that day.

Josh was under the impression that his covert flight would take him back to Groton or at least to the port in New London, Connecticut. Instead the jet headed over Virginia and landed at a small airfield ten miles from the Norfolk naval base.

The first hint that the submarine situation had expanded was the two marines sent to greet his arrival. They were strictly business. Something was coming down hard, and Josh couldn’t wait to find out what it was. His marines treated him like royalty while suspiciously looking over their shoulders to see who might be watching. The portable linkup to ODIS Josh kept by his side. The cloak-and-dagger circumstances gave him a thrill. The same thrill he used to experience when he sat in the cockpit of his Warthog.

The marines were cold and silent throughout the drive. Arriving at Norfolk, the car zipped through the security with a flash of the driver’s ID. The base was immense, and the warships towered in the background as the car made its way through the congestion of the busy day. The marines drove on, leaving the docks and administration buildings behind.

They drove to a wooded area with a cable gate. A single sentry stood watch, rifle at the ready. He allowed them through. After that, it was a short stretch in the woods until they arrived at what looked like a gigantic, old, dilapidated warehouse nestled in the trees, with one end stretching into the ocean.

Josh was escorted inside and found that the interior was the antithesis of the exterior. It was one massive, disguised dry-dock; and it was empty. He could see the floor had been dug away to allow water to fill it. It was well maintained and spotless. The moorings were smartly arranged, awaiting the next occupant. He was escorted to a small room at the end, and then the marines left.

The room consisted of a small coffee table and some chairs. Seated there were Admiral Sukudo, Mikhail, and Nick.

“Glad to see that you could make it, Captain.” Sukudo rose from his chair to greet him.

“Never turn down an invitation to a party.”

“You remember Mikhail.”

Both men nodded politely. Sukudo continued. “The new guy is Nicholas Shaw. He’s along for the ride.”

“Nice to meet you, Nick.”

“Same here.”

Josh grinned. “I guess you can imagine that I have a lot of questions.”

“I bet you do,” answered Mikhail.

Sukudo interjected. “There is the possibility of larceny on a grand scale. It turns out that our little submarine may be stolen by another country.”

“Holy shit!” Josh coughed. “Who would have the balls to do that?”

“I’d like to tell you the whole story, but I’m not sure we have it completely straight just yet. Your job will be to locate the sub and track her, if you can.”

Josh became a little uncomfortable. “Admiral, we lost her when she dived under that inversion layer in the water. ODIS might be able to pick her up if her nuclear reactor gets close enough to the surface. Other than that, we have no way of finding her.”

“I know. We need some insurance,” said Sukudo as he and Mikhail glanced over at Nick. “Nick is going to try to get on board the ship if and when she goes back into service.”

Josh turned to Nick and looked at him as if he were insane. “That only helps me if you get the sub at periscope depth.”

“That’s the least of our worries,” replied Nick. “How I’m getting on is still a question, much less bring her to the surface.”

“We’ll get you there,” said Sukudo. “It’s being arranged as we speak.”

Josh tried to think of another way he could find the ship. “You might be able to signal me using the lower frequencies on the sub’s radio. Sometimes those bands interfere with my equipment, and I can locate the source by using the radio waves from which my satellites work.”

“All US ships operate with ELF—extremely low frequency—waves,” Mikhail stated.

“I know. So does ODIS, except he packages the information differently. Since all the satellites are continuously fed energy by the sun, I’m able to piggyback more information than regular ELF bands. That’s why other ELF transmissions appear as static on my screen. ODIS unscrambles them and then bakes the transmission, looking for more information that isn’t there. He’s rather picky about that. It’s just a matter of interfering on the right frequency.”

Then it hit Josh. “I’m not doing this from an office, am I?” Nobody had said Josh would be going out; he just knew. He knew there would be no way he would be stuck in a basement looking for this one. It was safari time, and he was leaping with joy on the inside. Sukudo’s silence confirmed his suspicions.

A small buzzer sounded in the room. Kenneth jumped to his feet and left without a word. The other three followed.

Dusk set across the water at the end of the covered dock. Sukudo strained his eyes watching the darkening ocean. The sun had almost completely set when three hundred yards away a submarine’s sail penetrated the surface. It rose until it was halfway out and moved slowly toward the warehouse. Three men popped out on the top and verbally guided her in.

With precision, the workers moored her, and the back gate to the warehouse closed. Only then did the sub blow her ballast and rise. Three hatches aft were thrown open, and the crew mustered on her back. The colors were run up the mast displaying the USS War Eagle and Old Glory.

Sukudo came back to where the three stood and waited for Jim Hickman to cross the gangplank and present the ship.

“War Eagle secured and ready for inspection, Admiral,” Jim said stoically as he approached.

“Good, Jim. How’d she run?”

“Perfectly, sir. She passed all preliminary tests with flying colors.”

Mikhail interrupted. “Did you take her to her maximum depth, Captain?”

“Yes, Mr. Nemokov. Absolutely no problems. We have the data ready to be analyzed.”

Sukudo cut in. “All this formality will have to wait, Jim. We have a situation that will put the War Eagle back out.” He took him by the arm and led him back to the ship.

Mikhail smiled with pride as he gazed at the sub. “Here it is, Nicholas, the last Seawolf class submarine.”

Nick was a little befuddled. “Only three were made, Grandfather?”

“True. On paper,” said Mikhail.

“Uh-oh. I smell a six-hundred-dollar toilet seat,” said Josh.

“Even the military must have its playthings before the rest of the world knows.”

“Being a pilot I’m used to seeing the hide-and-go-seek game with airplanes. I didn’t know you did it with ships,” Josh replied.

“We have our own area fifty-one.” Mikhail reveled in the idea. “Sometimes we have to hide projects from our own country…except for a small Senate committee. Very small committee.”

Sukudo nodded. “Okay, the crew has four hours of R and R. Then you’re out. Nick, you come with me.”

“What about me?” Josh demanded. “Are you expecting me to go on that boat?”

“Exactly, Captain. You need to be there, as close as possible,” Sukudo said, pointing to the War Eagle. “We need you to find that sub, Josh. ODIS may be the only thing that can track it. If she gets loose, then we’re all in a big mess.”

Fear was suddenly etched on Josh’s face.

Nick slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry. I deep-dive in these barrels all the time. You’re perfectly safe.” Nick felt uncomfortable giving any encouragement. The irony being that he was reassuring someone to board a sub when he now had problems doing the same thing.

Mikhail had already bounded across with the enthusiasm of a child. A crew member checked his ID, and he slipped below.

One of the marines reappeared with Josh’s tote bag and threw it down a hatch to a waiting man. Others in the crew scampered about, making the sub ready. Josh slowly went across and met Jim by the sail. He turned and waved pathetically to Sukudo before he slipped in.

“That flyboy is not going to like being surrounded by millions of tons of water,” Nick said.

“He’ll get used to it,” Sukudo replied. “He better get used to it.”

Dan was too deep in thought to notice the worried look on Sharon’s face. He marched past her into his office, and she followed. When he sat, she was sitting across from him. “Yes, Sharon? Is George here?” Tears began to stream down her face, and she found herself unable to speak.

This behavior didn’t alarm Dan, but he was quite confused. He guessed that it must be a personal problem because she couldn’t reply. If it was business, Sharon always spoke up. “Did someone die?”

She shook her head.

“Is George all right?”

“Yes. George was sent back to Kuwait by Levi.”

Dan wanted to scream. Levi again was fucking up what he was doing. Sharon still looked distraught, so Dan controlled himself. “Okay, I’ll have to have a little talk with Levi.”

“You’re off the case. Levi said he was dropping you from the operation. Then he said he was going to fire me.” Sharon began calming down.

Surprisingly, Dan felt relieved. “Well, I suppose it was bound to happen.” Since the strings were cut, he would be free to follow up on his own plan. “But he can’t fire you. Only I can do that.”

Sharon decided to tell. She’d rather have him hear it from her than anyone else. “He said he could have me fired because I’m a lesbian, Dan.”

Dan knew what the statement meant, but it made no sense. “What?”

“Levi found out that I’m a lesbian, and he said he could have me fired because of it.”

This was completely from left field for Dan, and he grasped at how it affected the sub operation. “He can’t do that, there are laws…I didn’t know you were a lesbian.” Dan didn’t know where to go with the conversation. The information answered many personal questions. It was tough for him to regain his composure, though. “I’ll admit that I’m a little surprised, but sexual preference is no reason to have you axed. After all, J. Edgar Hoover was homosexual.” He winced a little at the stupidity of the reference.

Sharon was glad he seemed to be taking the news well. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was afraid of how you’d react.”

“I understand, I guess. I’m having a little trouble swallowing all this at the moment.”

“It does take a little getting used to, especially from my end.” A weight disappeared from her shoulders, and Sharon felt much better.

Wanting the conversation to end, Dan changed the subject. “Now, what about George?”

“Levi had him come in. Then he told him to grab the next flight to Kuwait. Before that, he screamed at me because I didn’t know where you went. Then he said he was dropping you from the operation.”

“Well, I guess that’s that. At least I won’t have the bastard looking over my shoulder anymore.” There was a sense of relief in his voice. “Why didn’t he just call me?”

“Because he’s Levi, Dan.”

That was the only thing that remotely made sense to Dan. “What a fucking princess.”

“So we move on to the next project?”

“Yes,” he replied. “But the next project is—” Dan almost began to tell her about the sub and Kuwait and still being mixed up in the same situation, but his gut told him to keep his mouth shut. Throughout the whole operation, Levi seemed to know more than Dan wanted him to know. He always appeared at exactly the perfect moment. It was more than a coincidence.

Levi didn’t know that Dan had gone to Groton, though. The only difference there was that he didn’t tell Sharon where he was headed. This opened a whole new can of worms for him. He still trusted Sharon, but there was the possibility that somehow she was leaking the information. “Well, you don’t need to worry about it. In fact, if you have some vacation time, I want you to use it.”

Sharon didn’t understand. “Do you still trust me?”

“I do, Sharon, but I’m wrapped up in something deep. It’s out of the ordinary, and I have to handle it that way.”

“Dan. I must know. Is it because I never told anyone about…?” She was afraid of what the reply might be, but she respected Dan and felt that he would provide her with a straight answer.

“It has nothing to do with that. It makes no difference in your employment, no matter what the stigma.” He felt very strange responding to the question, and it clearly showed he was uncomfortable voicing the sentence. “It has everything to do with you being my secretary. I can’t leave anything to chance. What I am doing started before today’s talk.”

Sharon felt better. “All right, I’ll take some time off. If you need anything, call.”

“Keep your phone on,” said Dan. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you, but that’s the business.”

“I know.” She left the room and closed the door behind her. Sharon felt good. Her job was intact, she had a few days off, and her boss was a kind individual. She had a genuine warm feeling for him.

Levi picked up the phone on the first ring. Dan was calling.

“You’re out, Archer. I needed you here, and you were gone.”

“So I heard. I don’t think you should drop me from the case because of that.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve already spoken to Anthony about it. He concurs. I can handle it from here.” Levi felt great satisfaction in the power play. Dan had lost the confidence of the director. It was obvious who would be at the head of the line when Anthony decided to step down.

“What about George? I heard you sent him back.” This was Dan’s only regret. George was his agent technically, and he didn’t like the idea of handing over what was his responsibility.

“Don’t worry about George. He’ll be back here soon.”

“Make sure of it.”

“He’ll get his retirement check. You needn’t worry about that.”

“He’s done his job—”

“He’ll get out when the op’s over! You don’t need to worry about George. There is nothing more to talk about.” Levi slammed down the phone.

In his office, Dan replaced the receiver. He had made sure that Levi rejected him completely so he couldn’t be called back in. Yet he battled a nagging ethical problem. He had to ask himself who he was really serving—his country or himself? If it was his country, then he should reveal everything he knew about the sub for the good of the operation and George. Yet he didn’t want to give Levi the opportunity to shoot him down again. He knew he wouldn’t last long once Levi reached the director’s chair, and he knew that he was out of the running for the moment. To keep the little tyrant from taking over the CIA, Dan figured he had to let him botch the op.

His stomach told him that Stemovich was going to raise the sub. The second the vessel surfaced in the Barents there would be hell to pay. It would catapult Dan back in the running, and Sukudo could mop up the rest. It was a personal goal, and Dan realized it. He also realized that it wouldn’t be a goal at all if Levi weren’t a sure lock for the job. This bothered him. He saw the whole picture. Men in other parts of the world were going to put their lives in danger for what? So a couple of CIA guys could fight it out over who would make the best director. Outsiders would scoff at this, but outsiders didn’t know the corruption of Levi Carp.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Haste

George stood outside Mohsen’s office trying to remember what he was going to say. He had rehearsed all day, but his mind drew a blank at the moment. I might as well tell them I work for the CIA. That would stop it in a heartbeat. He found this amusing, yet he knew that excuse wouldn’t do. And would probably end in death.

The door opened, and Mohsen’s aid nearly ran him over as he exited. “I’m sorry, my brother. May I help you with anything?”

“I would like to see Captain Mohsen, please.”

“I’ll ask if he has time. Who is calling?”

“Mohammed Akbar from governmental public affairs.”

“Please have a seat.” The aide motioned for George to take a chair as he went into Mohsen’s office. He returned in seconds and beckoned. Then he left the two alone.

Mohsen was in good spirits. He smiled and offered George a seat. “I am always pleased to see my brothers who work in the other parts of the government. What can I do for public relations today, Mr. Akbar?”

George felt an incredible urge to blurt it all out. He moved his chair closer to Mohsen’s desk and watched him respond with a serious look. “I came to caution you, good captain.”

Mohsen obviously didn’t like the opening tone of the conversation. “Caution me?”

“About the submarine.”

Mohsen was flabbergasted. He had to assume that George knew it all. He didn’t dare test him, and he didn’t have a response for some time. He leaned back and tried to regain his composure. “Does anyone else know?”

“A few people. We are concerned that the money will be run off with.”

This surprised Mohsen. He expected a rejection of the plan outright. He expected it to be exposed to the world, but George only indicated that he was worried about getting taken. It seemed to be a mild form of consent. “So you approve?”

George shrugged. “We try to look out for the country’s interest.”

“Did the emir send you?”

“The emir knows nothing about us.”

That was welcome news. Mohsen had to keep George a secret. The emir would shit goats if he knew that information had leaked. “How did you find out?”

“That’s not important. I represent interested parties. I am here to make sure the deal goes through. It’s business.”

“You can’t. The timetable has already been set. We are moving very soon.”

“Then you will have to make room for one more. Don’t test me, Mohsen. You don’t know what will happen.” George felt the man panic, and he enjoyed it. Mohsen was in no position to bargain. George would be along for the ride whether Mohsen liked it or not.

Beth was making lunch for herself when Sharon came bouncing through the door of their town house. “You’re home early.”

“Dan gave me the day off. In fact, he said I could take a little vacation.”

“Sharon,” Beth said crossly. “We were supposed to schedule our vacations at the same time.”

“I know, but this is different. We can still do that. Dan’s working on something extremely sensitive, and I’m out of the loop.”

“Oh. That’s why you’re happy.”

Sharon grinned again. “I told him.”

“Told him?”

“I came out of the closet. I wanted to tell him after Levi threatened me, and Dan didn’t care.”

What pleased Sharon sent alarm bells ringing for Beth. At times, she could be insanely jealous, and she didn’t like the idea of Sharon getting too chummy with her boss. “You told him you were gay, and then he let you go for a few days?”

“Yes.”

“Sharon, he doesn’t trust you. He found out you were gay, and he sent you away while he looks for a replacement.”

Sharon couldn’t accept what Beth implied. She had known Dan too long not to believe him. “Well, I don’t think Dan would do that…”

“Think, stupid!” Beth was angry and afraid—afraid of losing her lover. “You know what people think about the gay community.”

“Beth, Dan is different. He really doesn’t care.” Sharon didn’t enjoy Beth’s tone. She tried not to get upset.

“What now? You’re out of the closet? Can you finally deal with who you are? Sharon, half the time I think that you’re not sure if you’re gay.”

“I have a hard time dealing with it. Harder than most because I still have men treat me extremely well. Not all of them are bad.” She retaliated by saying things she knew would hurt Beth. There also was some truth in what she said.

“You little cunt! How can you say that to me! I’ve treated you as well as anyone on the face of the earth. Better even. I see it now. You’re a little girl with a sexual identity crisis. You never understood what it’s really like to be gay. To live with it. You can switch back. Well, I can’t, Sharon, and I refuse to let it seem like some kind of burden! It’s who I am, and if you can’t figure out what you are, then leave.”

Sharon burst into tears and ran for the bedroom. Beth realized her mistake and jogged after her, trying to apologize. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean it.” She found Sharon weeping on the bed.

Beth closed the door and went to comfort her. “I really didn’t mean it, Sharon. I just don’t want to lose you.”

“The plan seems a little desperate.” Nick said it with a smile, yet he meant every word.

Sukudo understood. “It is desperate. The CIA doesn’t have an agent positioned for something like this. We have to rely on others.”

Both men stood at the back of a C-141 cargo plane. It was warming its engines while the crew was securing the craft for takeoff. Inside its huge bay sat a sailplane—a black recreational glider with its wings folded over its back. The glider had been modified with hydraulic swivels to pull the wings forward into a normal flight position.

Nick gave Sukudo an apprehensive look. The project seemed larger than what he had been told. He understood the “need to know” scenario, but he wished he knew everything. “Can I back out now?”

Sukudo threw Nick’s ditty bag on the plane. “Have a little faith. This may not even happen.”

“How many times have I heard that?” Nick rolled a quarter between his fingers as he stepped on the gate of the plane. “Don’t forget me when I’m ready to come home.” The engines revved, and the C-141 began rolling toward the runway. Nick dragged his ditty bag inside, and the gate shut completely.

Sukudo stayed on the tarmac until the plane took off. The thing he couldn’t get out of his mind was why Mikhail had not stopped Nick from going on such a dangerous mission. Any grandfather would have intervened a long time ago. Obviously Mikhail thought the sub was dangerous. More dangerous then he let on. How it would end up was anybody’s guess.

“Conn, sonar, bearing one-five-three.” The sonar supervisor peered over the operator’s shoulder, watching the image on the screen. “Looks like a pig and sounds like a pig. Signature matches the America.”

Jim stood on the bridge and listened to the relay. “That’s who it is.” He entered the RRCC (Radar/Radio Communications Center). “Those guys don’t even realize we’re right under them.”

Josh was finishing tearing apart the radio counsel and wiring ODIS to the sub. “Here I thought that I worked on the most sophisticated equipment. Boy, was I wrong.”

Jim smiled. “We do like to keep on top of things.”

Josh bolted the panel back in place and flipped on ODIS. The screen sputtered and blipped, then came to life with the image of the Tyrrhenian Sea. “What the fuck? You’re not supposed to be there.”

“Problems?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be ready when you need me.” The screen blinked again then went out. “Can you come up a few feet?”

“Captain to the bridge. Come to three hundred.”

“Three hundred, aye.”

The attitude of the War Eagle shifted as the ship rose. ODIS’s screen came back, and Josh secured the case on the console.

“Three hundred is about as deep as we can go before I lose him.”

“Where we’re going that’s about as deep as it’s going to get.” Jim slapped him on the shoulder and left the RRCC.

Two ensigns, O’Neil and McLeary, who looked about nineteen, pulled duty in the RRCC at this time. They were quite annoyed that some one-eyed flyboy had torn apart their gear, but when Josh flipped on ODIS, they became intrigued.

“What’s that for?” asked O’Neil.

“It’s synced to a satellite so I can see what’s going on outside.” Josh knew the ensigns were not happy, so he tried to smooth things over.

“Cool,” replied McLeary. “We’ll be able to see everything the spaceships see.”

“Yeah.”

The War Eagle began a steep dive. Josh grabbed the console and nervously hung on. “We’re going down.” He tried not to look alarmed.

The ensigns smelled the uneasiness and decided to play on it. “Yup. Then we’ll go back up. It’s a regular roller coaster as we try to shake things loose and resecure. It’ll go on for some time.”

“How deep will we go?”

O’Neil smiled. “As deep as you want.”

“Past two thousand?”

“Way past that, Captain. Believe me, we’ll be down there.”

The two grinned as they watched the beads of sweat roll down Josh’s brow. They offered no help.

The Satire Lounge was the only place in Washington that Dan went to hide from the rest of the world. It was an old bar, barely kept in working order with tired help and equally tired customers. Neither the decorations nor the people had changed since 1963. He was a regular now, and no one took notice of him. Dan was secretly making decisions that could affect the world. A buxom barmaid who had many miles on her approached. “Need another?”

“Yeah,” replied Dan. “A few more then I’ll hit the road.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here.”

“You probably won’t see me again for some time,” he said, sucking the foam from the top of the bottle.

“That’s too bad. You’re about the only guy I’d consider going to bed with in this joint.” The barmaid smiled, clearly indicating her sincerity.

Dan was flattered. “I’ll remember that. Who knows, I could hold you to it.”

“I hope you do,” she replied, walking away.

He was almost sad to see her go. For one brief moment, his mind had been distracted from the operation. It was a good feeling because his headache had disappeared. Now it slipped back. He was ready to immerse himself in self-doubt and pity when Admiral Sukudo burst through the door. Each was equally surprised to see the other.

“What the hell are you doing here, Dan?”

“I could ask you the same question, Ken.”

“I’ve got a little unfinished business to wrap up with a senator on the hill.” Sukudo took the stool next to him. “I always come here when I’m in town.”

“You sure travel a hell of a lot.”

Sukudo ordered a beer and lit a small cigar. “You get drunk?”

“Only here.”

“Good. We’ll both get drunk together.”

The barmaid approached and recognized Sukudo. “You haven’t been in here in ages, Captain.”

Josh smiled at her incorrect identification of Sukudo’s uniform.

“Well, honey, I may not be back for a couple of months.”

“That’s too bad,” she replied. “You’re about the only man in here I’d go to bed with.”

“I could take you up on that one day,” Sukudo said with a grin.

“I hope you do,” the barmaid returned with a sneaky smile. She left, and Dan chuckled quietly.

“Nice girl, don’t you think?” Sukudo said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Positioning

This sucks, thought Nick. Why did I get a pilot’s license again? The ride in the C-141 was more than uncomfortable. Turbulence the complete distance, with two air refuelings. At times, he thought if the plane didn’t break apart he would die from being beat against his cold metal seat. He had thrown up three times, once in his lap.

It was obvious that the only people who knew the location of the drop zone were Nick and the pilot. The rest of the crew didn’t know why he was there, and the sailplane raised even more questions. He could see they were uneasy at times, especially after the last refueling. Half an hour from drop, the captain came back to tell Josh to prepare. “Fortunately, we’ll be able to give you a good dump,” he said. “It looks like we’ll be passing through a lot of clean air.”

“Just when I was getting used to it.” Nick undressed the sailplane from its restraints. “How long?”

“Twenty minutes. We’ll open the door and push you out on the green light.”

“Sounds fair enough.” He unlatched the cab and began prepping.

“This thing will hold together?” asked the pilot.

Nick grinned. “Will yours?”

“Be in the cockpit in ten. I’ll instruct my crew after that.”

“I’ll be ready.”

He was actually set in five. The waiting then seemed to last for ages. The cockpit on the sailplane was closed when a crewman rapped against it to signal the back door was to be opened.

Nick expected to see the sun, but instead he was met with pitch-dark. He reached for the navigational switch and flipped on a heads-up display against the windshield. I really hope there’s a field down there somewhere. A second rap against the cockpit gave the push signal, and the plane was thrust out of the C-141 and sent plummeting toward the ground.

The altimeter read forty-three thousand feet and dropping. Because the wings were still folded over the sailplane’s back it rocketed toward the earth in a vertical, undulating spin. Nick toggled the switch to hydraulically extend the wings forward and out. The air was still relatively thin, giving the wings little resistance so they could snap into place. He had to drop another ten thousand feet before there would be enough air to create a foil under the plane to start flying. The controls were mush against the relatively high altitude. His display began blinking, indicating that someone down there was expecting him. He was still three miles up with nothing but blackness below when his craft began to seriously glide through the night. His small radio crackled with the voice of the C-141 captain.

“How was the drop, little chicken?”

“The egg survived,” he radioed back. “See you when I get back.”

His indicator pointed due north so he sloshed the plane into position and let her ride for half an hour. He was dropping faster than anticipated, which told him there was very little warm air to push his plane against in case he had to make a circle. It didn’t matter, though, because out of the blackness came three lights in an upside-down L. It was his field, and someone was waiting for him. That, at least, was a relief. He dipped the nose and closed quickly on the lights. Then with the grace of a swan he went full on the ailerons and quietly set the plane down in a small field. It was a perfect landing, except that his single wheel on the belly became clogged with grass and locked, driving the nose into the ground. No harm to him, though.

Flashlights flooded the cockpit, and Nick opened it to the sweet sound of a young female. “You are Nicholas Shaw?”

“I am he,” he said, trying to see past the light beam.

“Good. You are to come with me.” She spoke Russian with a Ukrainian accent.

He understood her perfectly but mistakenly answered in English. “Who are you?”

“Use your Russian,” she replied angrily. The light bent to the beautiful face of a woman of about thirty. She had large, wide-set eyes and well-defined cheekbones. Her hair was deep black, and Nick could tell she had the body to match her gorgeous face. At the moment, it struck him as funny. He had just landed illegally in the marshes south of Minsk and east of Kiev, only to find a girl he was instantly attracted to. Now was not the time for him to think about the birds and the bees.

It was a private airport crammed with jets on every inch of the tarmac. To look at it one would think that every Arab owned a plane. The airport itself was busy with the international travels of the wealthy from all corners of the globe. Security was present but not invasive. There were three checkpoints for cars to pass through upon arrival, and once through, no one questioned a person’s motive for flying or what one was carrying onto a private plane. This made it easy for Mohsen to carry a small suitcase filled with money through the building as he waited for the pilots to ready the small, nondescript jet. He estimated that his flight would be ready in fifteen minutes, and still there was no sign of Akbar, as he knew George. Mohsen decided he was leaving when the craft was ready, with or without George.

George had been there for several hours. He had not approached Mohsen for a couple of reasons. First, he wanted to make sure they weren’t being followed. Second, he wanted to observe Mohsen and his reactions. He had never really had a chance to examine the officer before, in person or on paper. It was imperative to know as much about Mohsen’s mannerisms as he could to ensure a desirable outcome to this adventure. He watched and waited and noticed Mohsen getting irritated, which gave him a flash of satisfaction. He grew confident that somewhere along the line the operation would be botched—or foiled by the United States. Then home.

George had brought along his own set of handcuffs. To make sure that he was going to be involved in the plan, he had decided to be the one to carry the money. Only as one of the pilots came through the door to tell Mohsen they were prepared to fly did George approach Mohsen. “I see we are ready.”

Mohsen turned in surprise. There was a sense of relief on his face. There was also a bit of disgust. “Do you always take your time getting to an airplane?”

“I unfortunately have to make a slight change in plans.” George liked having the upper hand. Throughout his career, he had always had to kowtow. It felt good to be assertive. “I will secure the luggage.” He produced his handcuffs and snapped one end to his wrist.

Mohsen would have exploded had they not been boarding their plane. There was no time to argue. He unclasped the case and handed it to George. Then he grabbed George by the arm and led him out to the aircraft. “You may carry it, but I will not let you out of my sight.”

George smiled. He was actually having some fun.

“He what?” screamed Levi over the phone. It was a secure line so he spoke liberally with his informant at the other end. “I can’t believe that son of a bitch told Mohsen he knew everything about the sub. What was going through his fucking head?” He listened some more as the person at the other end gave the report. “Where did you see him last? What was he doing?” Again, he flew into a tirade. “He actually got on the plane with him? Carrying the money? Holy fucking shit.” He slammed the phone down. This is Dan’s fault. He must have gotten hold of Bluebird, he fumed. He still must be in contact with him.

He rolled his index cards to his daughter’s number. He was going to call Sharon and pressure her for more information, but Beth informed him that Dan had given her a few days off. He also knew that she had told Dan everything. He was losing his grip on Sharon, which meant he was losing his grip on his competition for the promotion and on his daughter. She had to know something. Dan wasn’t going to do an end-around without him finding out.

The phone rang several times before it was picked up. It was Sharon. She had a mouthful of sandwich and was not ready for the call. “Hello.”

“Sharon. It’s Levi Carp.”

The name sent a chill up her spine, and she almost choked on her food. “How did you get my number?”

“My God, Sharon, you work for the CIA.”

Sharon didn’t reply.

“Is Dan still in contact with George?”

Since Sharon didn’t have the answer to the question she felt relatively safe. “I couldn’t tell you. He fully expected to see George when he returned, so I don’t think he has spoken with him.”

“About that trip. Did he ever say where he went?”

“No.” Her mind fluttered back to the last conversation she had with Dan. She remembered what he had said about being in a deep op and not wanting to leave anything to chance. That even meant cutting her out. She almost let that go, but she decided to sit on the fence and answer only his specific questions.

Levi paused before he spoke again. “Sharon, people get hurt in these situations.”

“I don’t want Dan to get hurt.”

“I may not be speaking about him.”

Again, Sharon said nothing as bile rose in her throat.

“If I am not in control of everything, I cannot guarantee anyone’s safety.”

Sharon was dumbfounded by the brazen statement. Her blood went cold. “Is that a threat?”

“No. Just laying out the facts.”

“But I don’t know anything.”

“What’s he doing next?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

Levi waited before he spoke. “You do have a clear understanding of the consequences, right?”

“Crystal.” Though Sharon was trembling, she knew she had to put her faith in Dan.

Levi hung up the phone. Now she knows how the game is played. She’ll learn. Real fast.

The drunkenness of the night before still hung with Dan. He was to meet the admiral at a little steak and egg place located in a poorer part of town. It was known only as the Kitchen. Dan had his doubts about getting there, but his cab driver didn’t. The beat-up old box skirted through the streets until it came to a stop in front of the restaurant.

“Fifteen bucks, Mac,” the cabby said.

Dan paid and got out. He recognized a military-issue Hummer H3 sitting in the parking lot, indicating that Sukudo was inside. The streets were barren and dirty. Bums slept on the corner, mumbling to themselves as they tried to forget their lives.

The inside of the restaurant contrasted with its location. It was filled with blue-collar workingmen. Waitresses hustled about carrying food and screaming orders in code that only the chef could understand. It was almost a joyous atmosphere. In a booth in the corner sat Sukudo. He didn’t look much better than Dan as he slowly sipped on a Bloody Mary.

He waved Dan over. “You look as bad as I feel,” he grumbled.

“No, Admiral. You look pretty shitty.” Dan was beginning to enjoy the relationship he was establishing with Sukudo. “How the hell do you find places like this?”

“I’ve been around a long time. Fuck. This street used to thrive with commerce. It was my favorite place to visit when I was just an ensign. The women down here at that time…oh, boy!”

A waitress approached, flopped two menus on the table, and walked off.

“I can see that the service is not a problem,” said Dan.

“Down here there’s no room for bullshit, Dan. I like that. These people are the ones who make our world go ’round. They live here every day, slogging it out. We get the government paycheck and all the perks when we retire. Most of these people will die broke the way this economy is going.”

The comments gave Dan more insight into the admiral. He loved his country and the people in it. He strongly believed in a military that operated in the people’s best interest. Not for special interest groups. Quite admirable. He smiled at the play on words that ran through his head. “My hangover is in full swing.”

“Good. I’ll get you a Bloody Mary and steak and eggs.” Sukudo raised his hand, catching the eye of the waitress, and yelled out the order. “Now, let’s talk about what happens next.”

Dan shrugged. “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for days. I don’t know what else we can do or where to go until I know more.”

“Have you thought about going to the president with it?” asked Sukudo.

“Straight to the president? That’s my director’s job. Plus, I’ve only met him once.”

Sukudo savored his drink. “If worse comes to worse, I’ll go see him.” The waitress brought Dan’s Bloody Mary, interrupting their conversation briefly. “I can at least get five minutes of his time,” Sukudo snapped.

“Sounds like your guy lost the last election.”

“I like him well enough. I don’t like his politics. Commander in chief of the armed forces doesn’t fit him, but what are you going to do? When you’re making decisions in difficult situations you must ultimately go with what you feel is right. Your gut instinct. There is no poll, no system. You can’t let your decisions rest on someone whispering in your ear. Unfortunately, that’s how he operates, and it’s fucking scary.”

“We don’t tell him then.” Dan threw the thought out, though he knew the answer.

“I have responsibilities to the office.”

“Black and white as that?”

He chuckled. “The military doesn’t fuck around like you spooks.”

“I can see that,” retorted Dan. “But I do find some comfort that he’s out of the loop—for now.”

“Probable deniability. No reason to get his shorts pulled up his ass if this turns out to be nothing. If that sub pokes its nose through the Barents Sea, that’s when we have to start panicking.” Sukudo began to speak a little too openly for Dan, and he lowered his voice in reply.

“If that sub comes off the seafloor, the leaders of the two largest war machines in the world are going to shit their pants, along with everyone else in striking distance.”

Sukudo replied, “Yeah, that’ll be an interesting conversation.”

“Do you take it out?”

Sukudo shrugged. “Not if it merely surfaces, but I’ll blow it the fuck out of the water if it fires a missile.”

“I hope you’re in a position to do so.”

“So do I,” groused Sukudo.

“What about Shaw?”

Sukudo didn’t answer, which made the point.

There was much more to think about. For Dan, he had to start considering every aspect of the operation. Not just from the CIA’s point of view. He had thought that he had done this before, but now he was unsure. A great weight rested on his shoulders as he would soon be by himself. Sukudo was to leave to oversee his part in the mission later that day, and Dan would be alone.

It was midnight, and all Nick wanted to do was sleep. It seemed like a long night full of much excitement. After being plucked from his sailplane, he stood by and watched five men dismantle it into several pieces and stow it away in a truck. The end for the plane was obvious. The working parts would be sold on the black market and the metal cut and sold for scrap. It took them half an hour, and they were off down the road in the truck, leaving Nick and his mystery woman in the blackness of the field. He remembered to speak in Russian. “What’s next?”

“Don’t ask. Just do.”

“Can I at least know your name?” Nick was anxious to get acquainted.

“Marina Romanov,” she snapped.

“Okay then…” The cold shoulder was even too cold for him. He got the message and backed down.

She led him to a small car, and they started down a gravel road. Inside the car was a bag that held the contents of his fake identity. She tossed him the bag and a flashlight. “These are your papers. Study them. Security around Russia isn’t what it used to be, but you can’t afford to make a mistake.”

His new name was Nicholas Kulakov, a nuclear engineer born in Belarus who had served in the Soviet Navy for six years. His ship was the old cargo boat called the Catherine. It was commissioned by the Soviet Navy as a test ship for experimentation with different nuclear reactors. Radiation leakage was so severe from changing reactors that the hull became extremely brittle. In rough waters off the Siberian coast, the ship hit a shallow reef, and the bottom crumbled out from underneath. All but ten hands were lost, and the tragedy was downplayed in the press. Nick was supposedly one of those survivors. He went on duty again until he was caught stealing goods from the state. The punishment was imprisonment until six months ago. Unfortunately, he had been unemployed and living on the streets since that time. He had become a desperate man looking for some way to survive. Quietly he slipped into the black market and sold rare necessities at inflated prices. His character looked out only for himself and didn’t care about the rest of the world. It made him a perfect candidate to work with the reactor on a submarine. But only for the right price. “You didn’t make me a very noble person.”

“Pay close attention to that, Nicholas.” Marina was extremely serious. “You have to know the part the way it is written.”

“As you wish.”

“You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously.”

“I am. I sneaked into Russia in the middle of the night. I’m riding around with a woman whom I don’t know. And I’m supposed to be a person who will do anything for money. I understand.”

“In Saint Petersburg, there has been a quiet call for a crew. A submarine crew. No questions asked. That’s what scares the honest men. It only leaves crew members who have tarnished pasts. Traitors, if you will.”

“I’m one of these guys,” moaned Nick.

“And me,” replied Marina.

It surprised him. “You too? You’re going to try to get on this boat?”

“I have a better chance than you. I at least know what I’m doing.”

“That’s comforting,” Nick said sarcastically. It gave him a sense of security, though, that he would know someone on the mission. His outlook brightened considerably.

The road became a better grade from the usual washboard path they had traveled on for the past hour. A checkpoint appeared in the distance. The police car was flashing its lights, and several officers were instructing them to pull over as they approached.

“You weren’t trained for this type of work?” she said, referring to spying.

“No. Not really.” Nick noticed that she stayed extremely calm when he gave his answer. There was no change in emotion. She was one very cool customer.

Marina pulled the car over and parked. “Now’s your chance to see how far we will get.”

An officer tapped on the window, prompting Marina to roll it down. Two others walked around the car and scrutinized it. “Identification.”

Marina handed him her Identification, which he barely looked at.

“You next,” he said.

Nick gave him the new ID. The officer stood and examined them closely with his flashlight. He bent over and shined the light in Nick’s eyes. “There seems to be a problem.”

Nick replied callously. “I have never had a problem.”

The officer looked at them again. “Why are you out here so late?”

“We were on the way to Kiev and took the wrong road,” Marina replied.

“No, you,” snapped the officer. “The man.”

Nick was on top of things. “We wanted to go to Kiev, but we got lost.”

“Why Kiev?”

“That is where we first met. That is where I wanted to ask her to marry me.” Nick thought it was a brilliant line. The answer not only surprised Marina but made the officer feel like he had ruined what was supposed to be a very tender moment. “I guess I’ll have to do it now.”

Marina was stunned at the reply. Which was good, because it worked to their advantage. She quickly gathered herself and threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, oh, yes. I will.”

The officer relayed the news to the others, and they laughed and applauded. Nick thought himself very clever.

The officer handed back the ID. “I hope you have a happy life.”

“Thank you.” Marina smiled.

Then the officer spoke in clear English: “Please drive safely.” It was the oldest trick to catch people off guard, and it work perfectly.

“Thanks. We will,” Nick replied, not realizing he had responded in English.

Marina’s face dropped. Nick’s door was jerked open, and he was tossed to the ground. They kicked him several times before they picked him up and slammed him against the car to handcuff him. His head hit the door and opened a large gash across his left eyebrow. He was spun around and dumped on the dirt in front of the headlights. The only thing going through his mind was that he had blown it. Then the beating stopped.

Nick dared not look up for fear of catching a boot to the head. The sudden silence was strange. He heard Marina step from the car, but no one spoke a word. She walked over and knelt next to him.

“You fucked up, Nicholas Kulakov. You could have cost us everything,” she said, using English.

Could have? Could have? What’s going on here? Nick didn’t reply.

“Release him,” ordered Marina. His hands were let go, and she handed him a handkerchief for the cut. “Speak Russian, or you will die. Too bad, I thought you were going to pull it off. Lucky it was only a test.”

The three men hopped in their car and left without a word. Humility was not Nick’s strong point, but he received a quick lesson in it. He returned to his seat, and Marina drove the rest of the way in silence. They went through several checkpoints, but they weren’t even stopped, only asked to slow down. Early in the morning, they made it to Kiev. She took the car to a derelict part of the city mainly occupied by housing.

“Come with me,” she whispered.

They went to the fifth floor of a complex and entered her tiny flat. The kitchen, bedroom, and living room were one area. The bathroom was only large enough for one person, and rather than a tub, it had a shower.

She turned on her stove and started making something to eat. Nick cleaned his eye in the bathroom; it had swollen, turned purple, and was very painful. He managed to bandage it and tried to forget the discomfort. They ate in silence. She pulled the couch out into a bed and pointed to it. Nick sat back and was asleep in seconds.

She gazed across him, wondering how she was to manage with such inexperience. Soon she, too, lay down and was fast asleep.

He was a nice enough guy but a big pain in the ass. Jim Hickman had been fielding complaints about Mikhail Nemokov all morning. The crew on the War Eagle knew that he had designed the ship, but it was their ship. They didn’t appreciate the old man crawling into everything and asking so many questions about classified matters. The men weren’t taught to reveal information in that manner. If he were an officer, it would have been different. But he was a civilian, and they couldn’t help but feel they were betraying the trust their country had placed in their hands.

Jim waited in the CIC for Mikhail to come popping through again. The trip had been relatively quiet as the War Eagle cruised silently through the dark depths of the Atlantic. Sonar was quiet except for a pod of whales moving north toward the Arctic waters on their annual migration. Every so often, he’d order the ship to three hundred feet, so Josh could continue realigning the satellites in ODIS’s orbits.

Mikhail had just finished eating in the mess. With half a sandwich in hand, he was making his way to the forward torpedo room via the CIC. He poked his head through the bulkhead door with a great smile. He loved where he was, and he reveled in the success of the War Eagle. His eyes darted side to side like a kid in a candy store. He absorbed everything.

“Ah, Mikhail.” Jim was always polite to the old man. “Could I see you in my cabin?”

“Now?” Mikhail didn’t have time for small talk.

“Please,” demanded Jim.

“All right, Captain, let’s go.”

Jim flipped the intercom to the radio room. “Air force captain Brand.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jim winced at the reply. “My cabin, please.”

“Right away, sir,” Josh barked at the other end of the intercom.

Mikhail led the way, squeezing through the corridors in the ship to Jim’s berth. Josh had caught up and was right behind them.

Jim’s cabin was smaller than what had been allotted for ships of the Seawolf class. The modifications pushed the luxury space to the limit. Even the captain’s quarters were compromised in the refitting. The captain’s bed was placed in the floor. Covered by day, it was utilized as space for a small fold-down desk and laptop. At night, the desk folded into the wall, and the bed rose to a cot level. The rest of the room was used for working. Without the bed, it barely accommodated the three for their meeting.

Mikhail was somewhat irritated about the powwow. He had things to examine, people to talk to. “Will this take long, Captain? I’d like to get back to my inspection.”

“I need to talk to you about that, Mikhail. First, we have to go over this mission. Okay, here’s the situation: we have someone out there trying to make off with a Soviet-made nuclear submarine. The CIA is attempting to stop it before it happens. Using the War Eagle is the last resort. We’re to make sure that this sub does not get out of the Barents Sea if the bad guys get their hands on it.”

Jim had not been told the exact truth about what the CIA was really doing. Sukudo had conveniently left that area in the gray as he explained the mission to Jim.

Josh and Mikhail nodded in agreement.

“Now Captain Brand here is supposed to keep tabs on this ship, if his satellites can find it.”

“That’s my job.” Josh was beginning to relax about being under so much water, and he was in a better mood.

“You do realize that we cannot fire upon the ship without provocation.” Jim watched Josh’s face drop.

To Josh, it was academic. Bad guys raise ship. Good guys blow their ass up. He couldn’t believe that they were not allowed to do anything. “That’s very passive.”

Mikhail kept an even keel. “We can’t let any residue of the old Soviet system find an excuse to move the country toward communism again. Unacceptable.”

Jim tossed an envelope on the table to emphasize the point. “The only condition that allows us to attack an opposing Russian vessel is contained in that memo from Admiral Sukudo.”

Josh opened the envelope and stammered in utter amazement. “I—I can’t believe this. He’s leaving us with our balls hanging out.”

“Would you like to read it?” Jim offered to Mikhail.

He was too old. He knew what it had to say, and now nothing would be a surprise. Mikhail said coolly, “We can only fire if the Russian republic and the head of state grant us that option. Other than that, we can only defend ourselves.”

Jim didn’t confirm how right he was. “I just wanted you two to know that. We had better not get caught. You,” he said, pointing to Josh. “Find that damn thing and don’t let it out of your sight. And, Mikhail, I hope you know this guy on that boat.”

“I’ll know him.”

“Why do we even want to find this bastard? He’ll just blow us out of the water.” Josh hated being without control, and it was beginning to show. Time and again he had to remind himself to be a professional and serve his superiors. Hickman was his superior because he was on Hickman’s ship. It was an unattractive trait for Brand, and he struggled to put it away. All the time spent in the basement at Houston had made him a little spoiled.

“One thing about the War Eagle, Josh, is that it is quiet. Extremely quiet. We can tail him until we get the order. I’m sure as hell not going to give him any advantage.” Jim put the subject to bed. “Now, we’ll rendezvous with the Ohio in two days. We’ll get an update on the activity and take things from there.”

“The CIA may terminate this thing before they make it to the sub.” Josh tried to sound upbeat.

“You trust the CIA to do its job?” Mikhail had the feeling that wasn’t going to be the case. Murphy’s Law had come into play too many times in his life for him to expect the best. “They will get to the sub, and if we aren’t in top shape, then it will be a cold prison we’ll all share, for eternity.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Partners and Pressure

Mohsen hadn’t spoken the entire flight. Occasionally he would glance over to the briefcase containing the currency to satisfy himself that there was no way the money could leave the plane. He hated George—or Akbar, as he knew him.

The plane taxied to the gate, George walked off, and Mohsen was right behind. He even grabbed hold of George’s sleeve when he felt they were getting too far apart.

“We must go to the gate representative.” Someday I’ll kill you, he thought.

The change in plans disturbed George. “Why? Aren’t we going to Crimea?”

“No. We are going to take the next flight to Rostov and then a connecting flight to Kirov. That’s where we’ll meet Stemovich.”

Alarms were ringing in George’s head. Security was relaxed in Istanbul, but to carry $200 million deep into Russia was a different thing. Someone along the way would demand to look at the contents, and then all hell could break loose. George hoped that Mohsen was smart enough to get past these obstacles. The tickets at the gate were prepaid and ready. Both men walked down the concourse to Areoflot number 69. Russian customs was still the old Soviet system, which George never felt good going through. They approached two security officials who had just finished doing a thorough search of a woman’s handbag. George got that terrible sinking feeling as he came upon them.

But they got nothing more than a glance before they were waved on, and George didn’t even break stride. The people behind them were abruptly stopped and made to open their bags. Well, Mohsen might be smarter than I gave him credit for, he thought.

They were fifteen minutes early, so they took seats, and the silence continued. George was not looking forward to another eight hours on the plane, especially if Mohsen was to be sitting at his side the whole way. He began to wonder what motivated these people to implement such an outrageous scheme. They have little concern for the rest of the world. They’re growing selfish with the corruption of money.

In general, Nick was enjoying his personal tour of Russia. Marina had become more at ease with him, and he tried his best to fit into the surroundings. His beating the previous night had left its mark, physically and mentally. He put his brash Americanism on the shelf and instead took on the character of being somewhat subservient. The cut over his eye was patched, yet it would yield a nasty scare in the future. He wanted to protest that treatment, but he also realized that the beating he received was the quickest way for the agents to smarten him up to the dangers of the situation. Still, the black-and-blue cut was a little much, he thought.

I wonder what she has at stake? Their relationship, which had started off so coolly, had shown some signs of thawing. But not enough for Nick to really care if they ever got to know each other. Callous was his appraisal of Marina. One thing’s for sure. I’ll never get into those pants.

It had been a bad morning for Marina Romanov. No woman liked to wake up and look the way she did. She was only saved by the fact that Nick had stayed asleep while she took a cold shower and put herself together. Then it was back to business. The last of her stores were used for their breakfast. It wasn’t much—some eggs and toast. Her opinion of Nick was bleak. It was beyond her why they had sent someone who had no experience. To her, he seemed like an obnoxious buffoon, and he put the job in great jeopardy. Good sense told her to call it off, yet she couldn’t. She had to think of her freedom.

She reflected on her formative years. The day Boris Yeltsin ascended to power Marina felt that her country might be able to pull itself into a free society and end the tyranny of communism. As the months went by, she saw an embattled Yeltsin begin to lose ground in the Congress of People’s Deputies. Hard-liners from the right were beginning to reemerge and gathered support in favor of the slowdown of reforms. They cried that Yeltsin had too much power and that he was moving too quickly for the country. They were certain that under Yeltsin’s wing the Russian state would crumble and be thrown into chaos. This was their plea, and people began to listen.

It scared Marina. She heard the rumblings in the Russian military, speaking out in favor of the efficiency of the old Soviet ways. She listened to the people in the street. The Communist Party still had support, and it was growing. Every demonstration for the return to a communistic state seemed to be getting larger and carried more weight in the Congress. Marina felt it was the beginning of a turn of events.

Then it happened. Yeltsin’s choice for prime minister was struck down by pressure from the Congress as the Congress’s power grew. Yeltsin’s counter was to install an old communist hard-liner in the position—Viktor Chernomyrdin. Radical reformers felt betrayed by Yeltsin and vowed to pull their support. The appointment of Chernomyrdin was met with great support from 86 percent of the Congress. Outwardly they now spoke of stopping reform, yet Marina knew there was more behind it. It was the first step in placing the old hard-liners in positions of authority. It was the first step backward. Chernomyrdin was not for a free-market economy. He hated the small shops that littered the streets of Moscow. People competing and selling goods were foreign to him and rather unsettling.

When Yeltsin suddenly resigned in 1999, his handpicked successor was a progressive—Oscar Ochinkin. People thought him to be a man who would offset the Chernomyrdins of the state, but Ochinkin, despite his unquenchable thirst for power, was a man afraid of his own shadow. He was thus corruptible. Ochinkin bloviated about free-market reforms but was selling his country out the back door. In some respects, he is worse than communism, thought Marina. All Ochinkin wanted to do was survive, so he could then listen to what an important figure he had become in Russian history. He survived his first term, took a lesser position in the government, then ran, and won, another election to again be president—all aided by ambiguous constitutional language and the resources of the new billionaires created over the past fifteen years. He was the first president fully obligated to special Interest groups in the country.

Marina’s background was unique. At the age of five, her grandparents fled the Soviet Union to Germany. In reprisal, the Soviet State arrested her mother and father as spies and locked them away in a gulag. They died three years later, branded as criminals. Marina was saved by her uncle, a policeman for the city of Kiev. The state trusted him because of his position and overlooked using him as a further example to would-be defectors. The death of his brother and sister-in-law made her uncle rethink his loyalty to the party.

Using his position in the police, and with the help of his parents in Germany, Marina’s uncle began to smuggle people out. He was quite successful, and it began Marina’s indoctrination into fighting the injustices of the Communist Party. As would follow, it wasn’t long before the United States would use her uncle to enter the Soviet Union. When she grew older, she amassed a great knowledge of the operation and of the black market, along with the acquaintance of many Soviet party officials.

Her uncle was promoted several times, each promotion putting him in a position of more visibility to be shared with the lower echelon of the party elite. It gave Marina detailed insight into both worlds. Knowledge that she used effectively. The smuggling operation lasted until Gorbachev took power. Then visas were made readily available, and the need for smuggling died overnight.

When her uncle died during her twenty-first year, she almost left the Soviet Union. He was why she had stayed. He always spoke of the day a free Russia would emerge, and under the guidance of Gorbachev, the reality seemed close at hand; then came the attempted coup. The government was destabilized and quickly brought under Yeltsin, who meant to install free-market reforms but had no idea how to bring that concept to reality. When Ochinkin began, Marina saw that under the revolution most of the people who held a party office in the Soviet system also held offices in the new government. Communism lurked under the thin skin of democracy, and that kept her operating in the shadows. Her objectives changed.

She couldn’t leave now. Anything she could do to keep communism from reestablishing itself she had to do. Because of her uncle she was known in the Congress, mostly by the reformers. She was exceptional, and her knowledge of certain events by hard-liners helped influence votes in the parliament. She’d warn her friends in the Congress so they could do damage control and beat back the opposition. Her position was a safety valve for the reformers, letting them keep one step ahead of the dirty hard-liner political tricks.

For the moment, she was at a loss. She wasn’t quite sure of the complete story. She knew that a submarine was to be stolen by an outside group. She knew that only the Americans had some idea of what was going on. The Russian black market had put out the word for men who had submarine experience to apply. The opportunity was underscored by the unspoken danger. The request had death and perdition all over it. Only the most desperate or greedy men would inquire further. Marina wanted to inform her friends in Congress, but even she could trust them only so far. If a hard-liner got wind of the situation, an immediate action for a police state would be called on the grounds that the military had to bring the country back under control. Whether the situation would pass without fruition was hard to tell, and she wasn’t going to give it a chance. Marina would have to diffuse this circumstance herself, she decided. Somehow.

She had been driving Nick around Kiev for about an hour. It was to make sure they had not been followed. Once secure in the notion that they were safe, she parked at the train station. The whole ride she had not spoken, and Nick dared not try to strike up a conversation. She called the shots now, and that was fine with him.

“How’s your eye?”

“It’ll be all right,” he replied. “The swelling’s gone down, so it won’t stand out as much.”

“Good.” She had the urge to apologize but couldn’t. Every time she looked at him, all she saw was trouble. Personally she might like his demeanor, but not in the business they were in. “We’ll take the next train to Saint Petersburg. I’ve got your ticket.”

“What happens there?”

“That’s where we get reviewed for our employment. I can’t help you then. You’ll have to make the crew on your own.” She tried to be a bit softer spoken.

“What happens if I don’t?”

“I don’t know.”

It caught Nick by surprise. He wanted to hop out and head home that minute. That fucker Sukudo went through his head, but he sported a smile as the notion hit him. He had never told the whole story. The only thing Nick could do was get on the train and head for Saint Petersburg. Though she hadn’t said it, Marina seemed to rely on him for something. His ego couldn’t leave her in a lurch. “And you’re applying for the crew too?”

“Yes.”

“What if you don’t make it?” Nick didn’t want to be left alone.

“I’ll make it.”

They got out of the car.

“I hope you are right.”

Marina narrowed her eyes, turned her back, and began walking.

Boris Valsovich was quite pleased. His tank battalion was shaping up. His extra supplies had arrived, along with several trucks full of diesel. He had all the equipment for a first-rate tank battalion. The practicing in the nearby hills and swamps returned his men to the professionals that they were, and each regained the respect they had for their colonel. They became a well-honed weapon ready for use.

The individual tank commanders knew something was brewing and repeatedly tried to pry it from Boris in many offhanded ways. They would return to their crews empty. It was perfect. Fighting men ready to fight; fighting men ready to conquer. They would get their day soon and follow through without question. Indeed, Boris was very happy.

Dan’s haze had extended into its second day. He was never one to hold his alcohol well. He was reminded of that fact every time he drank heavily. The Bloody Mary he had at the Kitchen only made things worse. Now he was hard-pressed to find something to do while he waited for Sukudo’s signal. All the other operations of his were put on hold until this problem was resolved. God, will I look like an ass if I’m wrong, he repeated to himself. The only comfort he had was that Mikhail and Sukudo found Stemovich’s plan as probable as he did. Especially Mikhail. To him the plan was not that farfetched. That scared Dan enough that he wished he was wrong and that the whole affair would go away.

Then there was Bluebird. The guilt of allowing Levi to send him back into the operation tore Dan up. George had been one of their best agents in the Middle East, and he was due some respect. He should have been pulled out once he hit American soil. It was wrong to make him go back; he deserved much better.

Again, Levi crossed his mind. What to do about him? He began rehashing the situation that had brought Levi’s attention to the operation. If he hadn’t had to ask him about his Russian contacts, Levi would never have been apprised of this, and the whole operation would still be in Dan’s hands. He didn’t believe in standing by and letting things work themselves out. Hell, by now he might have been to the president.

The president seemed to be a sore spot with Sukudo. Dan had voted for him. He didn’t think the guy was that bad. He tried putting the whole scope of the project in perspective. First, Levi had taken the original operation away to run it himself, and then Sukudo took his secondary operation out of necessity. This left Dan with nothing. He was awaiting word from either man on what could be the fate of the world. How annoying. How did it wind up this way? He was left idle. I may not be allowed to run things halfway around the world, but I sure can shape them here. It was time to find his leak, and Dan didn’t think he had far to look. He picked up the phone and dialed Sharon’s home. “Sharon. It’s Dan. How about dinner?”

“Admiral Kenneth Sukudo.”

The flight deck officer almost shit his pants as the man before him requested to come aboard. “Granted,” dropped from his mouth as Sukudo walked past and across the flight deck of the USS Toledo. It was the smallest aircraft carrier in the US Navy. It carried mostly reconnaissance aircraft and some F-14s. Each year it was slated to be mothballed, but somehow it was always granted a reprieve. Today it sat at dock in Reykjavik, Iceland. The Toledo was due to leave port and steam home on the morrow, but that would soon change. Sukudo had flown all night to catch the ship before it left.

Captain Booker Dunbar was sitting on the bridge when he received the message that Sukudo was on his way up. Dunbar was a well-kept fifty-eight years old. He was lean with a good bit of muscle left on his frame and graying temples.

“Admiral on the bridge,” squawked the ship’s XO as the presence surprised him. Everyone snapped to attention except Booker.

“Why the hell do you torment me like this?” was Booker’s greeting.

“I can’t get enough of you, Book,” replied the admiral.

They were glad to see each other and acted like the old friends they were. Booker knew that the unscheduled stop had to be of some importance, and he quickly offered his cabin. The men made their way back through CIC to the captain’s quarters.

Booker had two rooms. One was a functioning office, small yet pleasant. The other held his bunk, head, and shower. He made Sukudo comfortable and poured him a glass of single malt scotch, neat.

“Just what I need,” Sukudo said with grin.

“Yeah. I’ve never known you to turn down a drink. I’ll take one, too, because I know you’ll tell me bad news.” Booker read him perfectly.

“Why bad news?” Sukudo loved the man because he was the most arrogant officer in the navy. Unfortunately, it also kept him from advancing to another ship. Sukudo suspected Booker liked it that way.

“Because I’m headed home. You come unannounced at a time when most of my crew has taken shore leave, and you never turn down a shot of scotch when you have something irksome to report.”

Sukudo laughed. “You pegged it.”

Dunbar was looking forward to going home, but he was about to swallow a bitter pill. Even given by a friend it was bitter. “Just hand it to me straight, Ken. You know I don’t like to fuck around.”

Sukudo’s mood changed. “Okay, Book. I need the Toledo to do a few circles in the Norwegian Sea and the Arctic Ocean before you head back.”

Dunbar wanted to whine for good fun, but he could tell that his friend was speaking of something serious. “Are these orders from fleet?”

“No,” he responded. “Strictly a favor.”

“Damn big favor to send a multibillion-dollar warship north with the icebergs. Very dangerous. I’d need a good reason to be up there.”

“You want the truth or a reason?”

“Give me what you think I deserve.” Dunbar got the message that it was something that fell in the gray area of any report. That made him apprehensive.

“Here goes.” Sukudo sighed. “Some wild man in Russia is going to steal a nuclear submarine and sell it to a country in the Middle East.”

“A sub that could launch a missile?”

Sukudo nodded.

“Fuck me. Who thinks up shit like that? Crazy.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“Who’s involved?”

“Can’t say. I need a ship to kind of patrol and see if any subs sneak over the top of Norway. You’ve got some AWACs and helicopters that need a little practice, don’t you?”

“Oh, we could always use the practice,” Dunbar said sarcastically. “I think that a snap inspection of my ship finds it wanting, and as punishment, it should be sent to practice submerged vessel reconnaissance for about five days up north.”

It was Sukudo’s answer. Dunbar realized the dangers involved, but he also knew that this was an operation that was out of the ordinary. On paper, it had to be textbook, but the motives were completely different.

“That sounds exactly like a report I was going to write.” Sukudo smiled at the thinking.

“Let’s make sure that it doesn’t stay on any report,” Dunbar warned. He did not want another blemish on his record. He was near retirement, so it didn’t matter that much. He was going out in his position, so he didn’t have to worry about anything keeping him from climbing the ladder. Still, he didn’t like the idea of his ship being reprimanded. It would provide more fodder for other captains to scoff at him. “Now go and inspect the ship.”

“I already have,” said Sukudo. “It’s terrible. Your ship seems lax, Captain. I suggest some more exercises.”

“I’ll see they get it, Admiral.” Dunbar flipped the intercom to the bridge. “Recall the crew and prepare to weigh anchor.”

“Aye sir,” replied the XO over the box.

“Care for another drink, Ken?”

“Please. You always have the best scotch.”

Dunbar poured. “Tell me, Admiral. What am I supposed to do if we locate one of these ships hightailing it south?”

“Call me, Book. Just call me.”

By now, O’Neil and McLeary had become fast friends with Josh Brand. They gave him a tour of the ship, which eased his notions of implosion, and he, in turn, demonstrated ODIS when the War Eagle rose to a depth of three hundred. The two were intrigued by ODIS. So much so that Josh found himself at a loss for explanations when barraged with their questions. The questions mainly came when ODIS was up and running. Now was one of those times.

O’Neil was the worse of the two. “How does ODIS coordinate all those satellites so none of them get mixed up in their orbits?”

“Each satellite acts as a relay to the next, feeding it information of the pathway around the earth. I have one guide satellite, and the rest follow. Depending on which satellite is next to the action, that’s the one I activate as my guide. It relays to the rest the new flight pattern, and the pack follows. I link up with whatever satellite is over the area we want to look at.”

It was more difficult than it sounded. Recalling ODIS completely to the Barents Sea took a lot of patience. Luckily, it seemed to be falling into place. The picture fizzled a bit, but there was the Barents, big and black, on the screen. Four red signatures registered the Russian destroyers. They seemed to be running their familiar patrol. “Nothing yet.”

Lincoln Dowl, the War Eagle’s XO, poked his head in the RRCC. “Going to take her down in a minute, Captain Brand.”

“Thanks,” he replied.

McLeary, trying to size up the machine, made an effective observation. “I notice that your picture seems a little fuzzy.”

“It’ll have to do as long as we stay underwater.” Josh began securing his equipment. “I don’t have time to source the problem.”

“Not that I know shit about your setup, but I do know that if the receiver operated off a larger area, you could reduce a lot of your noise problems on the screen.” McLeary didn’t want to overstep his bounds, but he thought Josh might be open to a suggestion.

“How’s that?” Josh wasn’t a techno-geek, so he listened.

“Well, if this unit operates on ELF bands like our radios do, then the only difference is the encoding and decoding of material. We do audio while you do visual. Now your portable receiver is set up for an antenna capturing ELF visual data. The ship’s antenna you’ve tapped into is designed for ELF audio data. Your system and our antenna may be compatible, but they may not match.”

This intrigued Josh. He began to see where McLeary was going with it.

“If we could enhance our antenna to capture more of your visual data, then you would get a better picture. I think.”

O’Neil butted in. “But we don’t even know the design for one of these things. Do you, Josh?”

Josh shook his head.

McLeary kept on. “We do know that it works off our antenna. So let’s enhance that data point, but only that. I don’t want anything happening to RRCC.”

“I’m up for it,” Josh responded. “Just point the way.”

“What I’m thinking of is not too complicated. It involves making the entire ship a receiver for your unit.” McLeary was beginning to get excited.

“What? The entire ship? That doesn’t sound like a small thing. Should we notify the captain?” Josh didn’t want to do anything out of place.

“Naw,” O’Neil slurred. “We do this stuff all the time. Mostly when we’re bored.”

“All the time…on billions of dollars’ worth of equipment?”

“Relax, we passed all the classes.”

The attitude of the ship changed as it slipped into a dive. Josh grabbed his chair, but this time didn’t hold on as tight.

McLeary and O’Neil began removing panels behind ODIS’s portable case. They were presented with a mass of wire and cable. Like pros, they began to remove and splice the different wires together.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Arrangements Should Never Be Made in Haste

His palms were actually sweaty. Dan had never been this nervous when he met a woman. Granted, he was a little surprised that Sharon said yes, but he couldn’t shake this feeling. Maybe it was the restaurant he chose—Swanky’s on Eighth Street. It wasn’t the nicest neighborhood, but he did want to maintain a low profile for the next couple of days. Maybe he was nervous because he had asked her there under false pretenses. He knew he was going to pump her for information. He had done it before, just never on someone he knew so well—or thought he knew well. Sharon’s sexuality still had not settled with him completely. It didn’t bother him, but he was sure no one had ever guessed she played for the other team.

A waitress escorted her to his table. They were placed far in a dark corner in an already dimly lit room. The owner was trying to get a romantic look but only achieved sleazy. Sharon was noticeably concerned. The restaurant was strange to her, and she, too, wanted to talk to Dan. The whole setting was out of character for both of them.

“Thanks for coming,” said Dan, trying to display his best manners. “Want something to drink?”

“Yes. A stinger please.”

The waitress left, letting them converse more openly.

“Sorry about the restaurant. It was the only one I could think of at the moment.”

Sharon smiled. “It’s not so bad. I’ve been on dates in worse places than this.”

“That helps a bit,” Dan replied. He didn’t know where to go from there. Sharon was his secretary. Needling her for information would be tough.

She was just as nervous. “Is there something you wanted to talk about?” Again, she was afraid. Afraid that she had been wrong about Dan. She felt guilty that she had spoken to Levi.

Dan saw no course other than the direct one. “Yeah, Sharon. I want to talk to you about your job.”

She covered her mouth and spoke softly. Tears came to her eyes. “You’re going to fire me. I didn’t think you were, but you’re going to fire me.”

“What?” snorted Dan. “I’m not going to fire you. I told you that already.”

The news was a relief. “I thought because of the way we’re meeting that you were going to let me go.”

“We’re at dinner, Sharon. This is not a human resource office. Like I said, your job is safe. But I do want to talk to you about it.”

“Sure, Dan. Anything.”

“The reason I let you have a few days off is because I felt that there was an information leak.”

“Not me, Dan. You know that I’d never tell anyone anything.” The insinuation was serious. It was aimed directly at Dan’s foundation of trust.

“I know. It never seemed to happen before, but I’ve noticed some strange things since Levi got on the operation.” He watched Sharon, and her demeanor changed.

“He called me the other night,” she blurted out.

“Oh…”

“He scared me.” The waitress brought her drink, interrupting the conversation. “He made threats, or that’s what I thought.”

“Threats?”

“He said if he wasn’t completely in charge that people could get hurt. But he made it sound like he would do the hurting. He wanted to know what you were doing and if you were still in contact with George.”

“And?”

Sharon thrust herself halfway across the table. “Dan, I couldn’t tell him anything. Honest. I didn’t know the answers to his questions.”

“What else did he want to know?”

“What you did for the two days you were gone.”

“Ah, yes.” Dan shook his head. “The days when Levi stole the operation from me.”

“I couldn’t answer that question, either, Dan. I didn’t have any answers.” She was telling the truth and found comfort in that.

“Has he ever contacted you before?”

“No. I’ve never spoken to him as much as when this whole brouhaha started.”

The wheels in Dan’s head were turning. “Don’t you think that Levi has an incredible knack for showing up at critical times?”

“How?”

“Well, he became extremely interested after I spoke to him initially. Then he always seemed to pop his fucking head in right at the time I was trying to evaluate the situations. He’s always on cue. As if he knows what I’m doing. George, for example. He knew George was in my office before he walked through that door.” Dan was trying to put the pieces together. “And he still wants to know what I’m doing?”

“Dan,” warned Sharon. “He wants the director’s chair. That’s why.”

“I know. In fact, I believe he’s as good as sitting in it.”

She groaned at the news.

“There is something else, though. Something tied to this operation and George.” Now it became more important to find out what Levi really had up his sleeve rather than who was the leaker.

“You’ve got to understand.” Sharon was beginning to become her old overbearing self again. She saw her boss worried, and that was where she tried to pick up the slack. “He’s the meanest man in the world. Everyone in the company knows that he has deep and rather unflattering associations.”

“Yeah, and I don’t doubt that he’s motivated by those connections, but why now? Why on my operation?”

“You got me. I don’t even know what you two are working on. I’m sure whatever it is he has some whacked-out scheme for it. The man is crazy by our standards. I was telling Beth the other night just how insane he was…” Sharon, in her rambling observation, dropped the big clue. Dan pounced on it.

“Who?”

“What?” she replied.

“You told who, what?”

“I told…Beth. I was telling Beth that Levi was a monster.”

“Who’s Beth?”

“My housemate,” she returned, slightly embarrassed.

Enough said. Dan was smart enough to figure out that Beth, whoever she was, was Sharon’s girlfriend. “Does your friend work?”

“Yes. She works at a flower shop on the other side of town. But, Dan—”

“Do you ever talk to her about what goes on in the office?”

“Dan. She doesn’t know anything about our business.”

Dan pressed the point. “Do you ever speak to her?”

Sharon wanted to defend Beth but knew she had to give a straight answer. “Well, yes. But I never divulge anything. I just tell her the usual gossip.”

“Do you ever say anything to her about my schedule or who’s coming to see me?”

“I suppose I could have because it’s tied to my schedule. Dan, she has nothing to do with—” Sharon could see that Dan had locked onto the notion. She could reassure him until she was blue, but it wouldn’t make a difference.

“I’ve got to check her out, Sharon.”

She got a sick feeling about being exposed. Her life held up for scrutiny by the CIA, by her boss. But if she was to be trusted, she had to go through with it. “Okay. Her name is Beth Rudnick. Elizabeth Rudnick.”

Dan scratched the name on a paper napkin.

“You can fire me now.”

“I don’t think so. You haven’t said anything that anyone wouldn’t go home and tell their spouse. You didn’t break any rules. We have to be careful, though.” He reached over and grabbed her hand to be reassuring. “You’re going through a tough time. Maybe you should return to work tomorrow to keep your mind off things. If it helps.”

Sharon was pleased to hear that. “What about Levi? What do I say if he calls?”

“Tell him that I’m working on a project happening in Japan. There’s a folder on my desk about Japan and a plutonium shipment. That way if he looks into it, it’ll confirm itself, and he’s off your back. For now, be careful how you talk to Beth.”

Dan seemed more upbeat, and that helped. The tough part of their meeting was over. The rest of the night they had quite a good time. He began joking with her the way he usually did, and she responded in her spunky, selfish manner. They seemed to be getting back to normal. Except Sharon began seeing Dan in a new light. She became attracted to his kindness—a lot.

Levi was getting worried. Something wasn’t right on the other side of the world. He had several of his people trying to follow George and Mohsen, and because of bad luck, they had lost them.

What was most disturbing was that they did not return to Crimea. Last report had them flying off to Rostov. This did not seem like the plans of greed. It was a bad sign.

He kicked himself for not putting a ghost on Stemovich. Levi thought for sure that he would stay put. Now he was gone. No report on when he left Crimea or where he was headed. Levi’s agents had to find Mohsen and George. It was the only way he could locate Stemovich and find out what he intended to do.

His secretary opened the door and broke his train of thought. “There are three men here to see you, Mr. Carp.” She had seen these three walk in before and have long meetings with Levi. They never wore ID badges and never gave their names. They were always escorted by security, which waited around until they left.

“Send them in.”

The trio entered and took seats in the shadows of the room. They seemed to enjoy the darkness as much as Levi. One man sat close to his desk while the other two placed themselves on a sofa. The man nearest the desk spoke for all three. They smelled of big government money and special interest.

“Nice to see you again, Levi.”

“It’s been some time since you paid me a visit. What can I do for you?” Levi didn’t mind the three. What was annoying was that only one of the men spoke. The other two always looked like they were sleeping.

“We just thought we’d drop by. You know that the country is going through some hard economic times. It sure could use a boost.”

“I agree with that.” Levi had strong ties to many things, but mostly to big business.

“What’s going on in the world of spies? Anything we could use?”

“Not today, gentlemen. The world is a relatively calm place. There’s no new third-world country we can irritate so you can sell your arms.” With these three, Levi liked being blunt. It always shook them up a bit. He watched how the comment irritated them.

The spokesman shifted in his seat to regain his posture. “We’ve heard some exciting news coming from the Middle East.”

“Really? What?”

“There are rumblings that several Arab countries want out of OPEC. Do you know what will happen if they leave? Oil prices will bottom out. The Middle East will compete to sell its oil. That’s bad. Lots of big corporations will feel the squeeze. A lot of our friends will become very angry. They’ll expect something from you.”

If they only knew half the story, he thought. “What do they expect? I can’t promise anything. You know that.” Levi didn’t like being backed into a corner.

“We know. It’s that our associates may not be so understanding. People will do many things to prevent themselves from going broke. You know, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Our people are big, Levi, but you know that.”

Intimidation never worked with him. What did work were the people the man referred to. They knew many things. They could ruin his career. All those years of doing the shit operations for nothing. Levi was not ready to lose that. “What do they require?”

“Assurances that OPEC stays together. That oil stays about a hundred dollars a barrel and not any lower. No country over there is going to sell their oil for less than it is now.”

“I can’t promise that. You’re being ridiculous.”

“We don’t expect a promise. We want to make sure that you’ll be on top of the situation, doing your best. Anything to influence an agreeable outcome.”

“If I could bring back the seventies with the gas lines, you’d probably want that too.” The Kuwait operation that George was involved in slowly began to transform in Levi’s mind.

The spokesman smiled. “That would be a gift. You’re not expected to work miracles, but it would earn our lasting gratitude. We’d probably never stop by here again.”

The warped thought process of Levi Carp started in motion. It made sense. A war in the Middle East would send prices through the roof. The oil supply from the Persian Gulf could be cut off. That would be especially good for the men sitting in front of him. They represented big business across the board. Higher prices meant more money. More money meant more work. It was perfect. A little war on the other side of the world to boost the American economy, and Levi Carp to thank. So what if a few Jews died. More fuel for the fire. Stemovich may not be doing such a bad thing. If he really plans to go through with it. Getting it started was already half-done. Now he had to make sure that the man has every opportunity to steal the sub. After he nuked Baghdad, all hell would break loose. Then Levi would inform his business contacts to put pressure on their statesmen to jump in tooth and nail, just like the two previous wars in Iraq. What an opportunity to establish American dominance again. What an opportunity to create a new arms market and the hundreds of other markets that go with it. That would be good for everyone. “I’ll try to keep on top of it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Carp. We only wanted to make you aware of our position.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” In Levi’s mind, it had turned into a win-win situation. If Stemovich takes the money, then he’s no better off than he is now. If he launches a missile, the outcome will be a boom-time economy because of the war that will follow. Except that I’ll have to admit that Dan was right. That could cost him the director’s chair. It would defeat his whole purpose for letting the sub launch the missile. There had to be a compromise for either scenario. It would be tricky, but that compromise had to take place in the office of the president. If the sub were stolen, it would be in the Oval Office where Levi could influence the biggest events. If the sub was stolen, he knew Anthony would have him on the carpet in front of the president, right where he needed to be. Right where he could capture the director’s position and pay his debt to his contacts.

His three visitors stood and left without a word. It didn’t matter; Levi was in his own world.

His secretary brought a small report in after the trio was escorted away. “This is something you ought to look at.”

“What? What is it?”

“One of your operatives has noticed a tank battalion outside of Lyublino doing a lot of unusual exercises.”

“They’re trying to keep them busy. All the units around Moscow have been in a shamble since the economy crashed. Some commander wants to keep his troops sharp.”

The tank situation seemed trivial. Levi dropped the report on the top of his desk and forgot about it.

Marina had a car waiting when they arrived at Saint Petersburg. They quickly jumped in and sped off. Nick was amazed at her stamina. She never seemed to tire. He, on the other hand, was still adjusting to the time difference. He found himself dozing off all the time. When he’d wake, she’d still be at the wheel, cruising down the road.

In contrast to Kiev, Marina took Nick and her little car to a more secluded part of Saint Petersburg. He had only read about the country, but he could tell that it was an area designated for people who the state considered special. She wheeled the vehicle through some iron gates and parked it in front of a beautiful dacha. It was a fairly new house. A workman was in the yard raking leaves and preparing the place for the summer. Marina hopped out and gave the old man a hug. He escorted her to the front door and led her in. She waved for Nick to follow.

The inside of the house was in sharp contrast to the personality of Russia. It resembled a New York loft in many ways. Open and airy, the white walls had very soft-colored paintings scattered among them. The floor was a whitewashed hardwood, and plants rested in every corner. The single object of poor taste was a large velvet painting of Elvis Presley hanging over a small fireplace in the study where he found Marina and the old man. An American had something to do with the place. That Nick knew for sure. “I didn’t expect this.”

Marina was quick to introduce them. “Nicholas, this is Vladimir. Vlad is the caretaker here. Vlad. This is Nicholas, my friend.”

“You are welcome here, Nicholas.” Vladimir spoke with great sincerity. He was quite disarming, yet he commanded respect. An unusual persona for a caretaker.

“Thank you.”

“You like the house?”

“I find it imaginative.”

“Vlad looks after the place for an American who does business with the government. In exchange, he gets to stay.” It was the first time Marina seemed at ease. She felt protected in these surroundings, and that made Nick feel better.

Being the perfect host, Vlad went to a secret panel and retrieved a fifth of vodka. He offered the drink. “I hope you are staying for dinner?”

“We cannot,” said Marina. “Our appointment is tonight. It is one we must not miss.”

“Will you return then?”

She shrugged.

It disturbed Vlad the way she always seemed to run in and out of his life. He embraced her the way a father would a daughter. “Marina. You must stop this nonsense. I know what you do. It is very dangerous. Don’t go tonight. Stay and make a new life.”

“You know that is impossible.”

Vladimir threw up his hands. “Very well. How can I help?”

“Bath and a change of clothes?” She gazed back at him with puppy eyes.

“Top floor, you know.”

She kissed him on the cheek and led Nick from the room.

The upstairs was as tastefully done as the main floor. The bedrooms were neat and clean with large windows for ample light. She towed Nick to the last room. It was for guests, and she knew it well. The dressers were filled with various garments to make any visitor’s stay relaxing. In the drawers, she removed some pants and a shirt for Nick. She found an old coat hidden in the closet with a matching hat. “Try these on. You must look more Russian. More like a factory worker.” There was an ashen dress for her.

Nick looked for an area to undress and saw none. It didn’t bother him to shed his clothes in front of a woman. Maybe it will thaw her personality. He chuckled to himself as he dropped his pants.

The response was a slightly raised eyebrow. Marina didn’t flinch. What Nick didn’t expect was for her to do the same. She pulled her shirt off, revealing two large, lovely, and perfectly set breasts. She had a mole—a beauty mark—above her erect right nipple. Beneath her panties was one of the shapeliest bottoms Nick had ever seen. To him she had gone beyond nudity, beyond erotic. She had suddenly become art. All he could do was stare.

“Have you never seen a naked woman?” Marina sounded matter-of-fact as she adjusted her panties before slipping the dress over her head.

“Y-y-yes,” stammered Nick.

“Odd. It doesn’t seem so.”

Nick caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, looking like an adolescent, erect. He fumbled to get the clothes on. “Ah, they don’t fit very well.”

“Good, you’ll look better. You can pass for Russian now.” She tossed him a pair of boots, and she put on some sensible shoes. The silence continued.

When they returned to the main floor, Vlad was waiting by the door with two small bags. He had a smile on his face as if he were sending his children off to school. “I made something to eat for each of you.”

Marina kissed him on the cheek and held him for several moments.

“Thank you,” interjected Nick. He left the house and waited for her by the car.

Vlad smiled. “Be careful, child,” he said.

“I will, old man,” Marina said affectionately. She stroked his silver hair. “I will see you again.”

“I know.”

She kissed him one more time then got in the car and drove away.

“He seems nice. Obviously a good friend.” Nick’s attempt at small talk was first met with silence. He was still embarrassed by the bedroom incident and was trying to get his mind as far away from it as possible. “Pretty good setup he’s got going there. By the way, thanks for being nice to me in front of him.”

“You were a guest in his house—” She wanted to finish the sentence but stopped. Which was okay with Nick.

Marina’s demeanor changed. She seemed to soften slightly. “My uncle smuggled his wife and children out of the country when we were under Soviet rule. He stayed and endured prison. After that, he vowed to serve my family, to repay the debt for getting them out. We told him that it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted.”

“So when was his debt repaid?”

“He hasn’t stopped. By the grace of God, he has become a good friend more than anything else.”

“What about his wife and kids?”

“He’s seen them once. He obtained a visa to travel to Israel, and then he returned. It was enough for him to know his loved ones were safe. He came back to fulfill his promise.”

Nick was moved by the story. “A man of honor. Rare these days.”

The observation startled Marina, and for the first time, she looked kindly at Nick. “Yes. There aren’t many.”

He knew for the moment he had struck a chord with her, and he left it at that. It was the first good vibe he had felt since he had landed in the country.

They drove for another ninety minutes around Saint Petersburg. It was the beginning of spring, but it was still cold, and the sun dropped quickly behind the buildings, signaling the small markets to close and run from the chill. The streets of the gray city emptied. It was an eerie feeling for Nick. No entrance stood out as “the place to go,” yet Marina parked and insisted they walk. The streets were quiet except for the few strangers hustling to their next destination.

They didn’t reach the door soon enough for Nick. The cold, brisk Arctic air froze him to the bone. Marina it didn’t bother. A man behind the entry peeped at them for several seconds then opened wide to a boisterous bar. Men and women were drinking and dancing to the latest Russian rock groups. Most were inebriated. Everyone seemed to be having an exciting time. In any language, this was home for Nick. There was cheap light show to the beat of the music and people smoking pot in the dark corners. The bartenders poured nothing but shots, and most of them were vodka. Finally, Nick thought. A place I can relate to.

Marina made a beeline through the hazy atmosphere and greeted one of the bartenders working at the end. Nick followed.

“Peter, it’s so good to see you again.” Marina laughed as he pulled her over the counter and gave her a big kiss.

“Even in a worker’s uniform you look stunning,” he returned. Peter was no older than twenty-five. He was portly for his age and chuckled rather than laughed. A twinkle in his eye made him likable from the start.

Marina didn’t bother to introduce Nick this time. She felt that it wasn’t necessary. Peter gazed over her shoulder and evaluated him as he tried to look like he belonged. He poured Nick a shot and handed it to him. Nick retreated and held the glass in his hand until they were through talking.

“Big crowd tonight, Peter. You’ll make some rubles,” observed Marina.

“I make a little money every night, Marina. You should work for me. We’d make a lot together.”

She returned the compliment with a smile.

Peter leaned over the bar to speak more privately. “Marina, listen. This call for the ‘special workers,’ it’s not where you belong. This is a dangerous group. They even scare me.”

“I know who I’m dealing with, Peter. No one knows better than I. I’ll be all right.”

“Not with that puppy, you won’t.” His reference to Nick was not good news to hear. She had done what she could to try to make him blend in, but it wasn’t complete.

“He knows the stakes. I have to watch out for myself from here on. No one else.”

Peter scowled. “Unnecessary. We’ve all done risky things in the shadows. This time the situation is beyond me. You don’t want to know what this group has going on. It’s military, which makes it twice as bad. I don’t even want to know.”

“I already do. That’s why I need to be with it.”

He sighed. “Marina, you are so bold. I forget who really knows how to use the market. You are one of the few who cannot only produce the goods, but the information.” Again he glanced over at Nick. “How does he fit in?”

“I won’t know him in five minutes. After he’s on his own.”

“What is he here for?”

“Don’t ask, my friend. There may be many things you may want to ignore.”

“Very well, Marina. This time I think you might have bitten off more than you can chew.” The bar still was a ruckus, yet he leaned over the counter again and whispered, “Top floor, first door on the left. The old ballroom.”

She smiled and grabbed his hand as a sign of thanks. She looked over her shoulder and tilted her head to the stairs to show Nick the way. They waded through the crowd and up the stairs to the abandoned part of the building. On each floor, they heard faint squeals of prostitutes performing. She took no notice, but Nick was engulfed in the poverty of the sight. A few drunken men littered the stairs, and they had to step over them to continue climbing. Some had defecated in their stupor, and one was completely naked. The scene was in sharp contrast to the clean and deserted streets he had seen before he entered the bar. Five flights and they arrived at the top. In the darkness, he could hear rats scurry along the baseboards. The only sense of direction came from a faint light seeping from underneath the first door on the left. Silence occupied the air.

“Come in five minutes after me.” He couldn’t see her, but she had grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear. Even now her hot breath sent a wanting chill up his spine, and Nick found himself slightly aroused. Danger hung thick, and it only added to his state. A black figure moved close to the door, and then it opened. He saw her silhouetted in the light, and then she was gone. A few muffled voices told him that there were people on the other side.

Nick wasn’t even sure how long he stood in the darkness. The whole while he had a feeling that something ominous was hovering behind him. Concentrating on the light from beneath the door was all he could do in his frozen state. After counting to one hundred several times, he opened it and walked in.

The room was massive. It seemed at least fifty yards long, but the end was lost in the darkness. Only some rather poor lamps lighted the side near the entrance. Ten men rested on old and draped furniture. Then there was Marina. She stood against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Nobody spoke or motioned, so Nick leaned against the wall and waited. Marina didn’t want to acknowledge him, and he returned the favor.

It was five minutes before there were any other stirrings of life. In the pitch-dark at the other end of the room, a small light clicked on. Footsteps then began to walk out of the darkness. Everyone was straining to see who would emerge, and slowly the smallish, dark figure of Sasha appeared. He seemed very pleased as he lit a smoke and eyeballed the candidates. Everyone stood transfixed on the little man.

“You are here for the jobs?” he uttered.

All nodded yes.

“Good. It’s dangerous, so if you don’t want to participate, you can leave now. There are only a few positions left to fill.”

No one budged. “What’s it pay?” spoke one bold individual.

Sasha glared. “One hundred thousand American to each member of the crew. A guarantee that there are no mutinies.”

The figure shocked and loosened the men abruptly. It was apparent they liked what they heard.

“What do you need?” asked another.

“First let me ask. Are you all submariners?”

Everyone nodded. Nick was in a dilemma. His false identity didn’t allow for that, and he had to decide what his character would do. “I’m not.”

This got Sasha’s immediate attention. “Really. No wonder you look so nervous. Why are you here then?”

“I need a job. I like what I heard.”

“Did you even serve in the navy?” Sasha was ready to eliminate him as soon as possible.

“I did.” Nick tried to sound surer of himself.

“On what and as what?”

“On the Catherine.”

Sasha was taken by surprise. His face indicated clearly that he knew the ship.

Nick continued. “I was the second engineer for the nuclear reactor team.”

Sasha narrowed his eyes. “Whatever happened to the Catherine?”

“Broke up at sea.”

“Who was her captain?”

His identity gave him no answer for that, and he had to answer quick and sure. “The ship never had a captain. The Soviet government felt that it couldn’t risk an experienced captain on a ship that did experimental research on nuclear power plants. They gave us a pilot instead.”

Sasha looked enlightened by the answer. “Many of our sub’s power plants were born in the hull of that ship. Why did she go down?”

It became apparent that Sasha, like Nick, was only vaguely familiar with the ship.

“The exposure to radiation made the hull brittle. One night we hit a reef, and she broke apart.”

“I heard there were no survivors.”

“There were some.”

“You were one of the lucky ones, obviously.”

“The radiation gave me a death sentence,” Nick replied. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Sasha gazed at him long and hard. “Hmmmm. You are very interesting. Now the rest of you,” he said, turning his attention away.

The other interviews went about as quickly. Nick found it odd that everyone was taken at their word, though Sasha questioned their backgrounds. It must have been a condition of doing business in the underworld. Those who Sasha seemed to like were sent to stand in the darkness by the small lamp. Nick became worried that he had blown it and quietly cursed Sukudo. It was all he could do. That and watch Marina drown in her story.

“A woman comes through the door.” Sasha was amused by her presence.

“I am as qualified as any man here.”

“Oh. And what all-male submarine did you happen to serve on so unnoticed.” He waited for her to begin the game.

“The Elbe,” she blurted with enormous confidence.

“Really.” Sasha was sincere in his surprise. “An old diesel. It’s been cut for scrap.”

“Sold. But not as scrap.”

“My, you are a knowledgeable woman. What was your supposed position on the Elbe?”

“Communications operator. I am well versed in digital and analog, along with various encryption programs.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Marina turned beet red with frustration. She was in trouble, and she knew it. It was a rare time when she couldn’t even think of a story to try to save her ass. Now was one of those times.

That was the most stupid, idiotic, bullshit story I’ve ever heard a woman try to pull, Nick thought in amazement. He saw that Marina needed help badly and fast. He just didn’t know exactly how. What could he say to help her out? It seemed that Sasha was about finished picking his crew because there was only one other man left that he needed to speak to. One of them had to be selected, and it seemed that Nick had already been ruled out. One of them had to be sent to the other end of the room, he thought. “She can operate a radio,” he interjected.

The statement was as much a surprise to Marina as it was to Sasha. “You know her?”

“Somewhat.”

“How?”

“She was on my ship for several months. Quite young, but it was her.”

“On the Catherine?” This story was pleasing to Sasha, and he waited for it to unfold. “She is full of surprises.”

“Communications was her technical position.” There was spit in Nick’s voice as he played up his part. “She was many things. She was in charge of smuggling goods from South Korea to Mongolia, since it was still a cargo ship. Technically. On the side she’d service the crew. For money, of course. Perform her duty when she had time, or if it was beneficial to her pocketbook.”

Sasha returned to Marina. “You look bewildered, my dove. This man suggests that you are a thief and a whore. That you’ll do anything for money.”

“I am sure he remembers it his way.”

“But I do,” Nick again interjected. “More than once you disrupted my team. It was difficult to test when she was present.”

Sasha approached him with a slight smile. “You seem a stickler for order.”

“I work then relax. I don’t try to mix the two.”

“How do you know it’s the same woman?”

“I, too, paid for her services one night. She left me with a nasty infestation of the crabs.” Nick narrowed his eyes. “My wife did not appreciate it, either. If it is her, she has a mole above her right nipple.”

Marina grasped her breast in reaction.

“Let’s see it, our radio operator.” Sasha became even more intrigued.

There was no hesitation. Marina stared at Nick as she exposed her nipple to Sasha’s satisfaction.

“Ha! There seems to be credence to his story after all, little girl. How interesting. You seem to be a true criminal—and slut, lest we forget.”

Marina still didn’t speak. The game had been taken totally from her hands. She had no answer for Sasha and let her fate depend upon what had been spoken.

“Go join the others,” he ordered.

She iced a glare at Sasha, then turned her face to Nick as she began walking. She tried to thank him with her eyes and showed pity.

“No. I’ve changed my mind,” Sasha retorted before Marina escaped into the darkness with the other men. He turned to the last candidate. “Can you operate a simple radio?” The man responded with a nod, and Sasha directed him into the black. He went gladly, and Marina returned, silently enraged.

No one spoke as they waited for the footsteps of the last man to reach their destination. In the back, they overheard the voices of the others greet one another in quiet triumph. What was left of the group glared at Sasha as he stood frozen in place.

“Congratulations are in order.” Sasha maintained his gaze on Nick, Marina, and the remaining men. “You will be joining me on our quest.”

This brought an objection from the darkness. “What? I am just as qualified as—”

The sentence was cut short by the obvious sound of strangulation. No one in the light moved. Nick began to sweat profusely, but Marina slowly pulled another cigarette and lit it as if she had never heard the man choked to death in the darkness.

“Any more objections?” asked Sasha as he slightly turned his head to his shoulder but never took his eyes of his new crew members. Silence was the response. “Good. Never a word from the rest of you. You even think of this, and it will be your end.”

His full attention returned to his selections. “You will sign your name in the tablet on the desk.” Sasha pointed by the door. “There is an address written there. Show up at that place at seven o’clock tomorrow night. If you don’t show up, we’ll come for you. Congratulations. You are all one hundred thousand dollars richer.”

The terror subsided in Nick’s veins. Sasha had thought the whole thing amusing.

“Perhaps you can keep the morale up on our ship, my dove. Don’t worry. I’m sure they will pay,” he remarked in passing. Marina refused to acknowledge.

These guys don’t fuck around. Nick couldn’t believe he had made the crew. To be alive was a big bonus. The dead man who lay at the other end of the room shrouded in darkness didn’t bother him. You fucker Sukudo quietly passed through him. He now estimated his chances for survival had soared from 20 percent to 25 percent. At least he was moving in the right direction. Then he noticed he had pissed his pants.

There was the anticipation for engagement about the crew on the War Eagle. If a soldier trains for battle his whole life and never is tested at least once, then sometimes there is a feeling of uselessness. Every man knows the risk of dying in a conflict, yet he still may look forward to the opportunity to perform his duty. To do the job the service trained him to do. So the men waited.

It was exciting. Jim had informed the crew that a sub was going to be hijacked and that they were probably going to be the ones to engage it—if it came to that. It was good for them to hear. It gave them a direction and a purpose. Knowing also eased the tensions around the ship.

The War Eagle couldn’t be acting more perfectly as it slipped past the Faroe Islands on its course to the Arctic. Drills were run every hour to prepare. It was another day and a half and several miles under the Arctic ice pack before they got near their destination.

“Conn, sonar,” the sonar supervisor, Bumper—as all sonar operators were called, so they didn’t run into things—said and watched his operator’s screens intensely.

“What do you have, Bump?” Lincoln replied over the intercom.

“Contact bearing two-nine-four. And I’m not quite sure what it is. Thousand yards and closing.”

“Captain to the bridge.”

Jim was on his way from the missile tubes and arrived in seconds. “What’s up, Linc?”

“Bumps got a contact, two-nine-four. Thousand yards ahead.”

Jim plotted the contact on the glass. “Can you tell how large it is, Bump?”

“Negative, sir. It seems to be fairly small,” the voice crackled over the box. “Five hundred yards and closing.”

“All stop.”

“All stop, aye,” repeated the helmsman.

A momentum shift was felt as the War Eagle slowed and glided to a stop.

“Battle stations, Cap?” Lincoln was apprehensive about the situation.

“No. This isn’t trouble.” Jim stepped into the RRCC with the XO behind him.

O’Neil and McLeary had just finished tying ODIS into the entire ship. Josh stood by as McLeary put the last panel in place.

“Secure channel, O’Neil.”

“Aye, sir. We’re ready,” he responded as he lit up the board in front of him.

Jim grinned before he spoke. “Send message: ‘Reel your pecker in.’”

O’Neil sent the message. Immediately sonar responded.

“Object is moving away, Captain.” Bumper stuck his head in the RRCC.

“Message coming in, sir. It’s the Ohio. Captain Issel on line.”

“On speaker.”

The secured channel crackled as the computers unscrambled the voice. Issel was in a jolly mood. “Hickman. Still sneaking around the depths like a ghost, I see. What is it? We’ve got your signature.”

“My ship is still classified.” Jim knew Issel well, and he knew it chapped his ass that he didn’t get chosen for the War Eagle’s command. That gave him great satisfaction. The biggest known secret to the elite of naval sub commanders was the War Eagle, though very few had ever seen it. Issel, being the professional he was, would burn the signature data.

“It’s not too exciting sitting up here, Jim. Besides a few fishing boats, nothing has changed in the Barents. The grid we were listening to gives four Russian destroyers in a security pattern. They’re protecting something.”

This jibed with Josh’s observations from ODIS. “How long have you been here?” asked Hickman.

“About two weeks,” replied Issel.

“Then Stemovich hasn’t made it to the sub yet,” Josh stated.

“It appears that way.” Jim returned his attention to the Ohio. “Thanks, Captain. We’ll handle it from here.”

“Okay, Jim. By the way, what did you say the name of your ship was?”

“I didn’t. Hickman out.”

Bumper returned to the RRCC. “Sonar’s got a boomer moving slowly two thousand yards to starboard. Signature matches the USS Ohio.”

“That was their towed sonar we almost ran over, Bump. Good job on picking it up.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

Josh listened intently to the conversations in the RRCC. “We’re in the Barents. Right?”

“Not really,” said Jim. “We’ve positioned ourselves a couple of miles outside. Giving us a wider area to listen to.”

“Can we surface?”

“Only if we have to.”

“What’s our depth?”

“Two hundred and sixty. You can turn on your equipment and take a peek.”

Josh looked at O’Neil. “I hope your tinkering helps, guys.”

“Sure it will,” assured O’Neil. He remembered that they had wired ODIS without the captain’s permission. He now felt Jim’s stare at the back of his neck. “Captain. We helped Captain Brand here boost his receiver for his video screen.”

“It’s not going to affect our equipment’s operations,” said Jim. It was more an order than a question.

“No, sir. It sure won’t.”

Jim raised one eyebrow, telling the two ensigns to be careful what they do, or it’ll be their asses. “I’ll be in CIC.” He left.

Josh didn’t waste time; he pulled ODIS out and flipped it on. The screen fuzzed and snapped as it warmed, then it came in clear. He secured a signal from a satellite passing right overhead. After tuning to the thermal lens, he zoomed into the twelve-square-mile area. The cold sea read a constant black. Josh watched intently as he did a few more adjustments. Then a sharp laugh. “Fuck me.”

McLeary and O’Neil were hanging on his breath. “What? Is something wrong?”

“No.” Josh laughed. “You guys just accomplished what four engineers have been trying to do for two years. See these destroyers?” Josh pointed them out with his fingers. Both ensigns were glued. “They’re burning up. We could never get them this hot in Houston.”

“Wow,” they replied.

There was more for Josh to be excited about. “Look here! We’ve breached a thermal layer. I’m getting radiation readings from the bottom of the ocean! They’re faint, but they’re there. Fuck me again.”

“What does that mean?” asked O’Neil.

“It’s picking up where they have dumped some of their nuclear subs. Not all of them, I think. Some readings are too faint. Just the ones whose reactors are still cooling down.” He moved around the screen and found the radiation signature that burned the hottest. “See this one here. That’s got to be the last sub they dropped on the floor. That real funky one.”

“What do you mean by funky?” The ensigns were a little bewildered.

“Funky like it is a big problem.”

To Josh, the description meant nothing. To McLeary and O’Neil, it was a source of grave concern.

McLeary turned to O’Neil. “Funky is not good.”

The moment of truth for George had come. He and Mohsen had reached Kirov in good time and were disembarking when Mohsen whispered that Stemovich was to be waiting for them.

“Where will we go from here?”

“I don’t know,” replied Mohsen.

George fretted by maintaining a stoic posture. A thousand miles deep in Russia carrying $200 million, and now they had to trust an ex-Soviet who was about to steal a sub for them. Brilliant plan, Mohsen.

“We won’t give him all the money until we have our ship.” Mohsen foolishly believed that he was still in charge.

George didn’t want to burst his bubble because he found Mohsen’s ignorance amusing. Stemovich had led them inland, as far away from water as possible, surrounded by miles of Russian territory, and Mohsen thought he was holding the cards. He knew it was about over for them. He knew that Stemovich planned to take the money and not deliver. He knew that he would laugh when he witnessed the look on Mohsen’s face as Stemovich forcefully took the case and left. It was truly a glorious moment for George. The end of his last mission in sight and home just around the corner. It looked like Levi was going to be right. Stemovich was getting ready to laugh all the way to the bank.

The airport wasn’t crowded because so few people could afford to fly. “Do you speak English?” asked Mohsen.

“Very well, as a matter of fact,” replied George.

“Good. It is the only language we can use to communicate to Stemovich. Unless you know Russian.”

“I don’t,” said George, knowing the situation already. Stemovich stuck out like a sore thumb among the people waiting for the passengers. He had a military air about him as he stood with the rest of the crowd.

Mohsen spotted him and greeted him warmly. “Andri, my friend.”

Stemovich was all business and concerned about George’s presence. “I was under the impression that you would come alone.”

“Last-minute change. Mr. Akbar had to be accommodated, for various financial reasons.”

Stemovich didn’t like it, but he was stuck. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. “Very well.” He eyed the briefcase attached to George’s wrist.

“We can satisfy our part of the bargain, Captain Stemovich. Please be assured.” George had to speak up. Stemovich’s personality and his clashed. They knew it from the minute they saw each other.

Andri responded in an equally abrasive tone. “Believe me, you’ll get what you pay for.”

The obvious dislike between Andri and George tossed Mohsen into a silent fit. He tried to position himself between them physically to prevent the conversation from getting worse. “Let’s be off, gentlemen. We have more important things to do.”

Andri steered them down the catwalk. He offered nothing about where they were going or what they were to do. He took them through a maze of doors. The security guards were paid off because the three men walked into several restricted areas without being questioned. Then they went down some stairs and through an underground tunnel that connected all of the main buildings together. Andri walked briskly, forcing George and Mohsen to remain at a trot behind. They emerged in a small, forgotten hangar in a secluded part of the airfield. Two more men were waiting next to an old twin-engine cargo plane. Andri walked over and stepped aboard the craft. Mohsen followed without hesitation.

This made no sense to George. He should be taking our money by now. Not flying us to another place. Mohsen waved them in. George reluctantly climbed aboard. One of the two men opened the hangar, while the other shut the plane’s door and took the pilot’s seat.

The ancient engines had a few problems starting but finally caught fire and began to warm. The inside had been converted to somewhat of a luxury carrier. The passenger seats were few and far apart. A small bed was stationed aft, and a wet bar stood forward. A toilet was also aft. It only sported a wraparound curtain instead of a door. George decided to wait until they were airborne.

The plane creaked its way onto a short runway, and the pilot throttled her all the way up for a quick takeoff. Mohsen hung on for his life until they were sufficiently off the ground. Stemovich never broke a sweat. It had George worried. The farther they traveled, the more complex the operation would become. The more it began to feel like Stemovich might have been serious when he agreed to help Mohsen and Kuwait. That would be very bad. George knew that back in Virginia, Levi had not even begun to prepare for this contingency. That meant it would be up to him to stop it if it went too far. How to do that was a mystery.

“I brought several changes of clothes for you.” Andri pulled a suitcase from the seat in front of him and handed it to Mohsen. “Since there are two now, you’ll have to share, but there is enough. It is cold where we will be going. I do not think your current garments will be much protection.”

“Thank you,” said Mohsen. “Please, Mohammed. You choose first.”

George opened the suitcase in the back. It had several woolen turtleneck sweaters with heavy cotton trousers. Fishermen’s clothes. He had seen pictures of men wearing clothes similar to this as they sat aboard crab boats waiting to fish their way around Alaska. It sent George spiraling to a state of despair. Stemovich was giving them clothes to protect them from the elements of the cold ocean. That meant he was taking them to a sub.

He quickly changed, letting the money off his wrist for only a moment as he pulled one of the sweaters over his head. The garments felt good and boosted George’s spirits a little. He returned to his seat to catch Mohsen and Stemovich talking about the next phase.

“Where do we go from here?” Mohsen tried to act like he was in a position of authority.

Andri had lightened considerably and shot George an almost friendly glance as he returned. “We will fly to a port city, Archangel. It is in the White Sea, west of Finland. There we will board a ship, and several hours after that, we will have our sub. It is all arranged.”

“You have a crew for our submarine?”

Andri confirmed with a nod.

“How did you persuade them to join you in this little adventure?” Mohsen wanted to know as much as he could.

“Money.”

Mohsen smiled. “Anything for money.”

This irritated Andri. “These are men who have been duped by the Russian government. They are trying to make a living. Of course, you don’t know what it is like to go hungry. You can’t blame them for that.”

Mohsen wisely retreated. “I apologize.”

Just how far had he planned this? The statement and the reference to the Russian government made George curious. “Does our sub have a name?”

Andri perked up. “It was never commissioned in the navy, so it was never recognized other than by its register numbers. But I called her the Saratov when I built her.” Andri loved to talk about the Saratov, and for so long, he had to be silent. He was ready to let it all loose now.

“It’s one you actually worked on?” George was mildly impressed.

“I designed it. I built it,” insisted Andri. “It was my masterpiece. It was revolutionary.” His complexion grew dark. “It was the last.”

Mohsen was as excited as a child with a new toy. “Will it satisfy our requirements?”

“It is the best for your needs. It is large, automated in design. Other countries would sacrifice much to have her.”

“It sounds like it was something you have been waiting to do for a long time.” George grew cautious.

Andri’s eyes narrowed, and his voice went deep with a sinister smile. “I have waited a long time for my friend Mohsen. If I told you how long, you probably wouldn’t believe it.”

The mood became rather uneasy for George. Andri didn’t speak like a crook. He spoke like a man with a plan.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Pack the Bags

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking straight up Sharon’s dress without her permission. Beth Rudnick. Dan felt especially bad about investigating his secretary’s lover. He had done the regular computer search and found that she wasn’t any type of international criminal. That was good. He hoped that the search would turn up nothing. It gave him a kind of Peeping Tom complex. He tried to treat it like any other investigation, but it was different with someone he knew.

Tapping away on his computer, he decided to do a five-state search in the surrounding area. He tied into the local police network and let it go to work. It took about a minute before a crib sheet with a digital picture of Beth appeared before him.

There was nothing on it to cause him any real concern. She had been arrested several times in gay protest marches in front of the White House. A few traffic violations and a DUI. He skimmed down the specifics and found that she was divorced. That was something he wasn’t expecting to find on a confessed lesbian.

After opening several different databases, he found that her ex-husband was a bank manager named Scott Rudnick. He was an alcoholic who had acquired several traffic violations involving booze. There were various police reports. Most had been calls to the Rudnick house on domestic violence charges. Three times ambulances had to take Beth to the hospital to be treated for minor injuries.

One report went into detail on how her husband bit, kicked, and punched her until she was black and blue. Finally, a neighbor couldn’t stand hearing the abuse and called the police. When the law arrived, they found Scott holding Beth, naked, facedown on the carpet while he vomited in her hair. After that, she divorced him. No wonder she doesn’t trust men. Dan felt great sympathy for the woman.

On a hunch, he went further into several other databases, looking for anything more on Scott. He was able to find only one more police report and a death certificate. Scott had diedin his own apartment six months after his divorce. He was found sitting naked on the couch with a bottle of gin in his hand. One single bullet had been fired between his eyes, blowing out the back of his head. There was no sign of forced entry, and an incredible lack of evidence of any kind. The case was closed a day later after the police made the determination that it was suicide.

Suicide my ass. Naked on the couch? That was someone trying to humiliate him. Dan had seen a lot of cover-ups, and this one was done so poorly that a junior field op could see right through it. He read the report twice and came to the same conclusion. If he were to assign a prime suspect to the murder, it would have to be Beth. She could get in without force. Most likely she could get Scott to remove his clothes with a promise of sex. If he wasn’t drunk, she might have brought the bottle along to get him that way. When he was ready, she put the gun between his eyes and fired.

It didn’t bother him that Scott had been murdered. Even though it was in his power to reopen the investigation, he never would. He felt that all men who beat women should be shot and, in some instances, have their balls cut off. If Beth offed her own husband for his abuse, then he really couldn’t blame her. What was really disturbing was the cover-up. The investigation had been quashed from someone high up. Very high up, it seemed, given the abruptness of the closing. This indicated that Beth had powerful ties somewhere. That was her secret.

He brought up her crib sheet and looked for a maiden name. It had been left blank. Convenient. Normally it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but in this instance, it threw another log on the fire of suspicion. He dug through all the arrest reports that flashed on the screen. There was no indication on any of them about her immediate family. No emergency numbers to call—nothing. It was taking on an odd appearance. Either she or someone else didn’t want people to know whom she was related to.

Through a central network especially designed for the CIA, Dan was able to access the social security files. He typed in her number and received her data. It showed Beth Rudnick and her address, but when Dan requested the maiden name from the records, it came up with nothing. The name had been wiped out. That about clinches it. He knew now that whoever was on her side wielded big influence in government, and they didn’t want anyone to know whom she belonged to. Again, he was stuck. He had to think of a place where her maiden name might not have been cleared or where there was still a record of the change.

Dan returned to her police crib sheet and scanned it for any clue. He saw that she put her middle initial as C, but that was of little help at the moment. Then he discovered his doorway. Voter registration for the state of Pennsylvania. It was an obscure area for information and reported her as unaffiliated. Dan accessed the Pennsylvania state register directly. He typed in her address, and the register came up with the name Rudnick. It asked if he wanted to see a previous registration when she lived in a different district. He accessed that, and it came up Rudnick again. Except it gave her maiden name as an alternative: Carp.

Dan froze as he tried to put the obvious conclusion together. Could Beth Rudnick be related to Levi Carp? It was an incredible coincidence, but it would account for many things. He gazed out his door and observed Sharon typing away on her terminal. He was at least convinced that she knew nothing of it. Yet he still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it completely. Dan solved that problem by accessing some old IRS records showing Levi claiming one dependent—a daughter named Beth.

There was no expression for the way he felt. His secretary had been played for a patsy. His office security had been compromised.But for how long? What did Levi expect to gain?

Levi had covered up a murder. Why not? It’s all part of the business. Even if it was his own son-in-law. That aspect still didn’t bother him. The lengths Levi had gone to distance himself from his daughter did. He was trying to use her as a spy in his own organization. This opened the question to the possibilities of more spies. He could only surmise that Levi was trying to cover all the bases to stop anything or anyone from preventing him from reaching the director’s chair. Dan didn’t understand such ambition, but he knew it was there.

The immediate question was whether or not to tell Sharon. Probably not, he decided. He had no business destroying her life yet. If she started acting funny around Beth, it might tip Levi off to being found out. He would tell Sharon who Beth’s father was, but not today. Perhaps when the operation was over.

Marina was beginning to think that her luck must be all used up. She didn’t anticipate that so many men would be available for the crew positions, and she had gambled on them desperately needing people to run the sub. As it turned out, she had Nick to thank for her life. That bent her pride somewhat. She was even more astounded about how quick a thinker he was. He had proven that he had the knack to come up with a convincing story and the ability to play it through. He had saved both their asses, and she was beginning to think that perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to abandon him so readily if they ever got into a tight situation again.

Both signed the book with the remaining men and returned downstairs. Sasha wasn’t seen again for the rest of the night, and the others in the dark never revealed themselves. The whole incident unnerved her, but that’s the way it went sometimes. Her mood was lightened when she noticed the wet stain down Nick’s pants. He brushed it off quite easily. In fact, he seemed to walk with more confidence. Despite the dead man they left in the room, Nick had an air of cockiness about him again. He had beaten the odds and was proceeding to the next phase in wet pants.

They didn’t speak. The other men in front of them exited the building when they arrived in the bar on the ground floor. Nick went to a dark corner at the end. Marina wanted to leave but stopped when she saw Nick. Keeping her distance, she, too, tried to blend in.

Peter had seen them return. He was delighted to see Marina and was curious about Nick. He poured him a jigger of vodka. “My friend. Is all well?”

Nick knew it would be foolish to answer. He also knew that Peter probably wanted some information. Something he wasn’t going to give him. He poured the drink down his throat, though.

“Tell me. What secret are you and Marina getting into?”

Marina watched Peter pry Nick, and she sensed trouble. She arrived as Nick swallowed. “You know better than to ask foolish questions.”

“Marina. I worry about you.”

“It’s the reason you worry, Peter, that matters. Come, Nicholas. We must leave.”

Nick smiled and handed the jigger back.

“Will you be in soon?” Peter asked.

“Probably not for some time,” replied Marina. “Don’t worry, Peter. I’ll tell you all about it when it’s over.” She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then followed Nick out.

They walked separately to the car. There was an uneasy silence between them. Marina drove the streets for another hour before she was satisfied that they weren’t being followed. She found a secluded alley and parked. “We’ll spend the night here.”

“It’s a little cramped.” Nick wasn’t objecting. He only wanted to make sure it was the right thing.

“No one has followed us. It’s safe. The seats recline, so you can stretch out.”

“You do know where we are supposed to go tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” muttered Nick. Marina was being somewhat distant, and he didn’t feel like sparring. He pulled his coat over his chest and closed his eyes. He heard her recline and try to get comfortable. She tossed and turned for five minutes, often jabbing him. He was glad she couldn’t sleep. He also knew it had to do with something more than the seat.

“It’s going to be extremely cold tonight,” she offered.

Nick opened one eye at Marina’s comment. “Turn on the car’s heater when you get too cold. We have plenty of fuel.”

“I believe it would be better if we slept closer together and kept each other warm. And I mean sleep.”

Nick smiled as if he cared. He was about to fall asleep, and Marina kept him from that. “Yeah. Whatever.”

She found a light blanket under the back seat. Nick offered no help. Marina placed the blanket over both of them and then snuggled into the fetal position against his back. She settled down but was still tense. Nick almost drifted off when she spoke. “Thank you, Nicholas.”

He knew what she meant and left it at that. “I’m wet.”

He wasn’t sure what he enjoyed more—her thanks or the incredible amount of moist heat that seemed to be radiating from between her thighs. He fell into a very happy and deep slumber.

The next morning he awoke to a disheveled Marina poking him in the side. She was rather grumpy, and the prods were very uncomfortable. “Get up. It’s time to move.”

Before Nick could gather himself, she started the car and drove. It was barely past dawn as they sped down deserted roads and across icy bridges. The people of Saint Petersburg weren’t awake yet, so Marina took many liberties with her driving. Nick was scared, but he didn’t make a sound. The road wound about and began to look somewhat familiar. She headed west, and within ten minutes, the little car pulled back into Vlad’s dacha. She brought it to a halt and jumped out.

“What the fuck?” Nick blurted out in English. “Why didn’t we stay here last night?”

“Speak in Russian, you moron. It was too dangerous. I couldn’t risk exposing this place.” She went inside.

This pissed him off. He considered spending the night freezing in a car a little beyond stupid. Not to mention his wet pants. He entered the house seconds behind her and caught a glimpse of her entering the upstairs room. Vlad was up and had breakfast ready to serve. He knew they would return in the morning, and he handed Nick a plate of pork and scrambled eggs. He also had a smile.

“Eat, Nicholas. You look hungry.”

Nick sat in the study and devoured the plate. The way he ate almost made him feel barbaric. Vlad waited until he was done and more comfortable before he handed him a cup of coffee. Nick could hear running water in the pipes and guessed that Marina was taking a shower.

Vlad still had a smile, but it had taken on the appearance of a snicker. “You irritate her.”

“Story of my life with women,” he replied. “Thanks for the meal.”

Vlad acknowledged with a nod. “What I’m trying to say is that she may actually like you. You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Nick answered in disgust.

Vlad was not encouraged by his answer. He kept the conversation going. “I only bring this up for one reason. You can get her out of here. What she does is too dangerous.”

“Vlad, she does her thing, and I do mine. That’s as far as it goes.”

“I know you’re American.” Vlad was sitting more forward in his chair, trying to press the importance of what he had to say. “You may sound Russian, but you don’t speak Russian. There is a subtle difference. There is no poetry in your words. It will not fool everyone.”

Nick didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know where the conversation was going, and he really didn’t want to hear where it was going to end up.

Vlad pushed on. “I’m telling you to get Marina out of this country. It will cause her death if she does not leave. Take her to America.”

Nick felt rather embarrassed having a total stranger talk to him like this. “I can’t take her anywhere if she doesn’t want to go.” Nick hoped this feeble attempt would end the conversation.

“You didn’t understand. You make her mad. She likes you.”

“Well, there’s a good barometer.”

“You make her angry because she worries about you.”

“She’s been mad at me since I met her. The only time we speak is when she has something nasty to say.”

Vlad became serious. “You must trust me. I love her like a daughter. It would break my heart if she were to be hurt.”

“All right. If the opportunity arrives, I’ll try to sway her to come with me.”

“No, my friend. You will take her with you.” Vlad leaned over and peered deep into Nick’s eyes. His statement was said with such finality that Nick didn’t respond.

Marina came down the stairs as the conversation ended. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing a robe. Vlad gave her a hug and handed her a plate of food.

“Go up and take a bath,” she said to Nick. “We’ll spend the rest of the morning here.”

“Then what?”

“Then we continue.”

“And you know where, right?”

“It’s a bus station. The main route runs from Saint Petersburg to Archangel. Our mission is somewhere up north.”

Nick’s shower was hot for five minutes before it started to wane. He returned to the bedroom to find a clean pair of pants and shirt laid out for him. A pair of boots sat on the floor. The change looked rather satisfying compared to what he had been wearing. He decided to rest on the bed for a minute. It was a minute that stretched into several hours.

In the study, Marina finished her coffee and was snuggling into her chair when Vlad broke his silence. “This one likes you.”

If Marina was guilty of anything, it was vanity. “Oh, is it that obvious? He probably wants what all men want.”

“Whatever it is, Marina, please be careful. Watch out for him. Make sure he gets all the way home safely.”

“I’ll probably have to hold his hand the whole way,” she replied.

“Perhaps.” Vlad was a master at reading people. “This one doesn’t seem like the others you associate with.”

“Vladimir. You know what I do. Why I’m here. He is a man who doesn’t belong in my world. It’s too much for him. I worry about him…” Marina caught herself. It was bad business to worry about someone else. It put her safety at risk.

Vlad knew he had the wheels in her head turning. “I guess you could be right. This may be too much for him. Let him go his own way. It’s not your job to keep him alive.” He cleared the plates and began to leave. “By the way, where did you spend the night last night?”

“In my car.”

“You slept in your car? Marina, you could have returned here.”

“Too dangerous.”

“Oh.” Vlad was ready to sting her. “You just slept? Nothing else. Sleep?” he said with a taunting smile.

She was offended at the misguided insight and answered tersely. “Yes, just sleep. Nothing else. Nothing at all.”

“It was possible I was wrong then. Perhaps he is not attracted to you.” Vlad had seen vanity work with all women in any situation over his life. He knew it would work here. He left to allow his words to bore into her.

The question had been in the back of her head. Why did Nick cool his initial advances and never pick them up again? It was a thought that she had ignored until now. Last night he had the perfect opportunity. Why didn’t he even try? Then Marina began to question her reasons for sleeping in the car. She wondered if it was to protect her base with Vlad or to present Nick with an opportunity. It bothered her now. It was a distraction. One that she had to put out of her head by seven o’clock. She did admit to herself that she had some respect for the American. He was in a tough situation and handling it well enough to get himself this far. That counted for something.

Upstairs, Nick awoke at two o’clock. The sun had been burning through the window, wrapping him in a comforting blanket of heat. Waking was slow, and the heat made him drowsy. He struggled to get his clothes on, and by the time he had combed his hair and returned downstairs, he was more alert.

Marina had changed into some pants and a shirt that flattered her figure. She was lying on the couch in the study, sleeping. She awoke when Nick stepped in.

“Good sleep?” he asked.

“Yes. I was more tired than I thought.” She was a little embarrassed to be caught napping.

“You needed the rest. You push yourself hard.”

“There are so many things to do. Especially in this situation.”

She was beginning to sound all business again. It turned Nick off. He liked to enjoy a little levity occasionally.

Marina spoke again. “We must be extremely careful from here on out. Many things will be out of my control.”

He responded by picking up a magazine and flipping through it. She sensed that he wasn’t concerned about the mission for now. She had leaned hard on him from the beginning, and now she felt some regret. She wanted to talk, but she didn’t know what to say. Sincerity seemed to be appropriate. “Are you afraid?” she asked somewhat meekly.

The question intrigued Nick. To him, it was the first sign of her being a person. “Yes.”

The one syllable left the conversation on her shoulders. “Please forgive me if I seem abrasive. I cannot afford any mistakes.”

Nick rubbed the cut above his eye. He didn’t need to say anything to get across his point.

“You have handled yourself well. I’m glad that you’re still here.” The words began to get jumbled in her head and came out wrong.

“Well, it was a good effort,” Nick replied.

“What was?”

“Your attempt at a real conversation without trying to teach me a lesson. Perhaps the first sign of you being a real person.”

Marina flared inside, but the truth of the statement kept her from lashing back. “I don’t know you, so it is hard to have a conversation.”

“Exactly,” responded Nick. “When you don’t know someone, you ask questions. Then listen.”

“Very well. What do you do?” The question was sincere, but it didn’t sound that way.

“Let me ask first. What do you do other than fight the rise of communism?”

“Oh. Well. I really don’t have a specific job. There are several situations in which I’m involved that provide for my survival.” Marina was truthful without revealing too much.

“Sounds like the black market.”

“Yes. A little bit of that.” She didn’t want to say any more, so she changed the subject. “What is it that you do?”

“Engineer, submersibles.”

“Now it makes sense.” The peek inside Nick’s world lightened her mood.

“That, and I was the last option they had.” He chuckled at the statement.

Marina also smiled. “And you fly gliders…”

“That was a hobby I picked up a few years back. There’s nothing hard about falling to the ground.”

Nick’s subtle humor relaxed her. It was the first time she could afford to like him. “You’ve never really been involved in what we call the spy game, have you?”

“No. It’s true that I was their last choice. There weren’t too many people with my qualifications. I’m sorry if that turns out to be a pain in the ass for you.”

“Like I said, you’ve done well. But I don’t understand how you can take things so casually. Do you know what will happen if we are found out?” Marina’s curiosity led to her sincerity, and her interest showed.

“Believe me. Since your friends smashed me in the head, I’ve gotten the message loud and clear. But if I were to worry about slipping up every second, it would ensure a blunder. I can’t afford to think about it.” Nick saw that Marina felt bad about his cut now that she knew a little about him. “I try to act like I would in the States, except to speak in a different language. That way I don’t feel so much like a spy.”

“The United States. I have always meant to go there, but I never seem to get the opportunity.”

The conversation slowly drifted from their situation into more personal things. Little by little each revealed more until they were speaking like friends. It was good therapy. They had been carrying around a lot of stress, and the talk lessened the burden. After two hours, they finally got to know each other a little.

It was five o’clock when Marina said that it was time for them to leave. Vlad was standing in the hallway with their coats. He had a sandwich packed for each and handed it to them after they put on their jackets. “Eat this on the way.”

Nick thanked him and went out to the car. Marina hesitated when saying goodbye. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I know you will,” reassured Vlad. “Remember, look after that man. He is good.”

“Perhaps.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a big squeeze. “Take care, you silly old man.” Then she left quickly before she cried.

Nick saw her coming and noticed right away that her mood had returned to business. He was disappointed, yet he knew that if they got too peachy, things could become sloppy. When Marina hopped in and drove, the two sat in silence.

More driving. Nick didn’t bother to pay attention this time. They made some small talk but nothing of any importance.

They arrived at the bus station at five to seven. Nick saw the other men standing outside, trying desperately to look inconspicuous. I can at least act that good, he thought. Marina spun the car around the nearest parking spot and stopped. She was annoyed because she lacked any arrangements for her car. It would be impounded by the time she returned. If she returned. It was something she had forgotten to prepare for, and she silently berated herself.

They walked over to the group, and magically Sasha appeared from around the corner. “We were waiting for you two. You are quite prompt. Not early. Not late. I like that.”

Neither responded.

Sasha was put off by there being no banter. “Well, anyway, we’ll load on the bus at the end of the terminal. It’s a charter, and we’ll be the only ones traveling. So since we’re all here, let’s not waste any more time.” He led the team, and they climbed aboard. With the entry of the last person, the doors shut, and the bus was rolling before they all got seated.

Sasha grabbed Nick by the arm as he went to sit with Marina. “I thought you didn’t like our little radio operator, huh?”

“I don’t like her. But at least I know her. To me, it’s like taking the side of a bear surrounded by wolves.” He removed Sasha’s hand from his arm and sat next to Marina.

The others sat by themselves in the bus. No one spoke except to bum cigarettes as the bus rolled down the poorly maintained roads in northern Russia. The destination sign on the top read Archangel.

Booker could smell the tempest. As the Toledo made good steam between the Arctic and the Norwegian Sea, he had two nostrils full of something hell-bent and coming their way. The weatherman had forecast a very mild storm, but he’d been in these waters for too many years to trust some satellite feed.

A rotation of sonar helicopters had been put into effect that morning. He had sent the crews out with a tongue-lashing about their lax attitude toward their work. It really wasn’t true, but it got the effect he needed. Now he called them all in and had the decks secured for rough weather.

The last one was landing as he watched the clouds accumulate in the distance. It was helicopter number 020. In its first sonar drop, the buoy had established a faint contact with a boomer heading slowly for the States. He pegged it as the Ohio. Booker radioed it in, anyway. There was no response from Sukudo, so he kept looking—until the storm came up on the horizon.

The ship’s XO brought him coffee. “All craft aboard and secure, Cap. Should we head for home?”

“Not today. Slow to one-third. When the storm hits, we’ll put her nose right in it and ride it out.”

“Aye, sir.” The XO returned to the bridge and conveyed the orders. The ship responded.

The Toledo’s wheelman glanced at the XO. “Do you really think there’ll be a bad storm, sir?”

“There better be, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

George had never played an operation like this. The farther north the plane flew, the farther he got away from any support system—a system that could have saved his ass in a time of trouble. This far into Russia he wouldn’t recognize a friendly agent if he hit him in the teeth. It was depressing. The last operation for George, and it would take a lifetime of experience to get through it.

When the wheels touched down in Archangel, the three men had been well fed and were wearing warm clothes. It was a minor airport that basically received cargo planes from across Russia. Their aircraft blended in well, and nobody questioned them when they disembarked. Mohsen still stayed in between George and Andri, though neither made an attempt to really speak to the other.

A car was waiting to drive them to the docks. George had seen the port before they landed. It was a mess of barges, cargo ships, and freighters. A thin layer of spring ice covered the relatively calm waters. Ships coming and going left trails for the rest to follow until they reached the open water. Icebreakers were moored nearby, ready for their brief rest while summer settled in. After that, the autumn cold would put them back to work until the ice became too thick.

The docks were as filthy as they looked from the sky. There were piles of goods everywhere, and no one to haul them away. The support systems had broken down and were taking an unusually long time to get reestablished. Some trucks showed up, but not enough to rescue most of the perishables from the cool spring nights.

Their car stopped next to an old freighter tied to pier number six. Rust covered the hull, and it appeared it would fall apart at any moment. It rode halfway out of the water, indicating that it had been loaded, but not filled to capacity. Except for a few lights, the ship was basically dead. Andri bounded up the gangplank and met the captain, Sergei Losttomovich, at the top. Mohsen and George followed, catching the conversation as they neared.

“Has anyone else arrived?” Andri was eager for news.

“Everyone but the bus from Saint Petersburg. I did receive word that it left. I do expect them soon.” Sergei was light enough about the subject, yet his serious side was apparent. “These are the guests?”

“Yes. These men will be traveling with us.” Andri’s concern about the two had changed. He seemed to dismiss George and Mohsen as unimportant.

George felt his position losing ground. Mohsen was oblivious to the situation.

“Good.” Sergei’s demeanor took on a happier tone. “Then we can do business right now.”

Andri stopped him cold. “The deal is you get paid when we breach. Not before. If we are unsuccessful, you don’t collect.”

Sergei fumed quietly, but it didn’t matter. He only wanted to see the money more than anything. He didn’t like being snapped at, especially on his own ship. “I agree, that was said. Just remember, we all will be in the middle of the ocean when payment time comes.” He reached over and slapped the case George was holding. “There had better be money in there. The ocean is a cold place this time of year.”

The uneasy silence that encompassed them was broken by a bus rumbling around the corner and stopping next to the freighter. Sasha exited, with his crew behind him. “Captain Stemovich,” he chirped.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Related Ideas, Different Paths

“Come, Sasha. Don’t waste time.” Marina heard the words from one man standing on the freighter. She, like Nick and the others, stepped off the bus and began surveying the surroundings. They were all fatigued and needed some exercise. They hadn’t stopped the entire trip except for two refuelings. The bus did come equipped with a toilet—something rare in Russia—but during the ride the men had dribbled on the seat, and Marina refused to let herself sit down. It was the first taste of what it would be like to live in close quarters.

Single file they all walked up the gangplank to the witness of Andri, George, Mohsen, and Sergei. Sasha stood them in line as a poor muster of personnel and presented each man and the position for which he thought the person qualified. Nick listened as the tasks were dealt to each individual, and he thought them menial as far as positions on a sub were concerned. Most of the jobs basically dealt with watching gauges and charts and reporting anything abnormal. Nick was assigned the duty of nuclear reactor tech. This led him to believe that Andri had already filled the crucial positions with others. Probably with men he could trust.

He was somewhat apprehensive about meeting Stemovich because he knew that he had worked under his grandfather. It made him a little paranoid. He noticed that Andri kept staring at him. To his dismay, he was right. Stemovich approached, with Sasha glued to his shoulder.

“You will regulate the power plant?” Andri’s gaze made Nick uneasy.

“He served on the Catherine,” Sasha said.

“The Catherine? Dangerous ship on which to serve.” Andri maintained his stare. “You seem familiar.”

Nick was ready to sweat. He looked too much like his grandfather. “I would remember, sir. I don’t believe we have met.”

“I suppose not.” Nick had been the first to refer to Andri as “sir.” It satisfied his ego, and he found favor with Nick because of it. A bonus was that it established a small sense of trust with him and Andri’s stare became less intense. “What is your name?”

“Nicholas Kulakov.”

“Good, Nicholas. I’m glad to have you with me.”

Marina had stood next to Nick in wonderment at how he quickly he had endeared himself to the captain. Again, in a tight situation, he had said just enough of the right thing to get him by.

Andri’s attitude changed when he glared at Marina. “You are to monitor communications?” Marina didn’t back down from the tone. “Yes. I will do a very good job.”

Sasha was a little edgy. Clearly Andri didn’t think Marina was a good choice, and it reflected badly on him. “She was the only one qualified. The rest were no good,” he said.

“I will not be responsible for her safety.” Andri turned to Sasha and held one eye on Marina. “You will have a single task at an appointed time. Before that moment, I expect you to stay unseen until you are needed.”

“Understood.” Marina didn’t worry about her safety. That was one thing she was sure she could control.

Andri left without saying anything else. He pulled Sasha aside and gave a few last-minute instructions. Then he signaled George and Mohsen to follow. The final utterance was an order to Sergei. “Let’s get underway.”

Only two people had things to do on the War Eagle—the sonar operator and Josh. The rest of the crew had to wait as the ship sat under the breaking ice pack, listening.

It was quiet in the RRCC. McLeary had left to catch a few winks while O’Neil tuned into some local Russian radio. He didn’t understand the language, but he did find a station that played rock ’n’ roll, Russian style. It sounded more like punk, so he kept it on his headphones.

Josh had been putting the finishing touches on ODIS’s orbits around the globe. The ship, being in shallow waters and the receiver greatly improved, was able to see several subs sleeping on the bottom.

He had done every task he could think of to prepare for that moment, and he was satisfied that he was ready. Bored, he began playing with ODIS’s lenses. Josh had tapped into a few satellites early, before they flew over his position, to check as far east as he possibly could. Because he was now farther north than Houston, he discovered that he had greater control and a larger window for him to use in his observation. Sometimes it helps to get out of the office. Satellites that were coming into position over the Barents he easily picked up and activated as they passed across Latvia, Estonia, Saint Petersburg, and the White Sea.

There was not much to look at. Early spring was always a season when people kept themselves inside with the windows closed. Yet he still hoped for that one chance that he might catch someone doing something interesting. The lens was passing right over the port at Saint Petersburg when the picture struck Josh as odd. He checked his map against where the satellite was located and the area where the lens was aimed. Something wasn’t right. He sat up in his chair, disturbing O’Neil and prompting him to take off his headphones.

“What’s up, Cap?”

“Something here really is bothering me.”

O’Neil peered at the screen. “Where are you?”

“The docks in Saint Petersburg.”

“What’s there?”

“That’s what I want to figure out. There’s something not right. I’ve looked at these docks before, and they don’t look the same.” Josh had to keep pulling the lens back to the docks as the satellite flew farther north. His window was closing. “Something fundamental.”

“Cap. Ships go in and out of there all the time. Of course it’s going to change.”

Josh again pulled the lens back. “Maybe you’re right. But most of these ships I remember. Most of these barges were here last time I looked…” Then it hit him. Not offering any more conversation, Josh raced the lens up the docks to where the Saratov’s freighter was supposed to be. The space was empty. He ran the lens all over the port, looking for the ship that carried the modified torpedoes and missiles. It was gone. He turned to O’Neil. “Get your captain. Have him bring Mikhail.”

O’Neil could tell it was serious, and rather than call the captain over the phone, he went and retrieved him personally. Mikhail arrived first, then Jim.

“Got something?” Jim felt the concern in Josh’s mood.

“I don’t like jumping the gun, Captain, but you need to see this.” As Josh spoke, he pushed the lens back as far as he could. It wouldn’t reach the docks anymore. His window over Saint Petersburg had closed. “Fuck.”

“What was it?” asked Mikhail.

“The modified sub that we had tracked from the Gulf of Finland to its dumping in the Barents had its armaments stripped in Saint Petersburg. Those missiles and torpedoes and some other junk were separated and loaded on a single small freighter. Admiral Sukudo and I didn’t panic about the sub heading off because it was unarmed. Harmless. Well, I did a flyby over Saint Petersburg—”

Jim finished the sentence for him. “And the freighter was missing.”

“Right,” confirmed Josh. “It’s gone, and I have no idea where.”

“Was a name or registry picked off it?” questioned Mikhail.

Josh felt like he had dropped the ball. “No. We became too concerned with the sub, and we overlooked the freighter.”

Jim wasn’t going to panic over something he couldn’t control. Plus, he didn’t see it as that big of a problem. “Those armaments were specially designed for one vessel?”

“That’s what we think,” said Josh.

“If we know that the sub is up here, and it’s the one to be pirated, then it would make sense that the freighter follows when it’s time to come up. If it went somewhere else, we won’t worry about it. They could have moved the ship to hide the modified weapons.” His rational diffused the subtle panic in Josh.

“True. There’s nothing we can do about it unless it arrives,” Mikhail said.

Josh wasn’t completely convinced. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe not.” He tapped in a few commands on the keyboard to access a new satellite, and he raced the lens ahead of the satellite’s path toward the Barents. The picture rested in Onega Bay, just southwest of Dvina Bay, near Archangel.

“Our sonar will pick up any movement before you do. I don’t expect you to stay here constantly watching your screen.” Jim wanted Josh to take a break. He wanted to make sure that his head stayed clear so he wouldn’t jump to conclusions. He watched as the lens slowly drifted over the bay and then across land and then into the waters of Dvina Bay. “What are you looking at?”

“White Sea, I think,” replied Josh. “A small port city called Archangel is up here…coming into focus now.” Josh zoomed the lens in on the docks and ran it up and down. “Not much here but some icebreakers.” He pulled the lens back and flipped to thermal. A small red dot glowed in the water as it headed out of the bay into the White Sea. “My mistake,” he said. “There is one ship steaming out.” He flipped back to his normal lens and focused on the boat. Then he zoomed in. “Well, fuck me.”

O’Neil had listened to the whole conversation and butted in without thinking. “What?”

“Our missing freighter.”

Jim was understandably a little skeptical. “Are you sure, Captain Brand? Big coincidence finding your misplaced ship just like that.”

“I’m lucky that way, Captain. I’m sure this is her. Right down to the rust. It’s her.”

Jim still didn’t want to completely take his word.

“Look at her, Captain.” Josh zoomed in to blow up the entire ship in the frame. “What’s odd about this boat?”

“She’s half out of the water,” Mikhail offered. The wheels were turning in his head.

“Is that unusual? There could be many reasons for that.” Jim needed more convincing.

“Coming from Archangel, yes. It is unusual.” Mikhail took hold of the possibility now. “This time of year Archangel restocks for the summer. It accepts more goods than it ships out. Almost all cargo ships and freighters leave empty, riding high. This ship is half-loaded. That’s odd for the time of year.”

Josh looked vindicated.

Jim still had a doubt but didn’t want to risk it.

“We have to take this freighter seriously. It could be the beginning,” offered Mikhail.

When Jim committed, he went all the way. It was one of the best things about him being in command. There was no hesitation. Either go in for the long haul or don’t go in at all. “Can you show me where you figure that souped-up sub is sitting?”

Jim flipped ODIS to infrared and moved the screen to expose more of the Barents. He pointed to a small red glow three hundred and fifty to four hundred miles north of the freighter and fifty miles northwest of the Kolguyev Island.

“We’re looking at two days for that old tub.”

“Thirty-six hours,” replied Mikhail. “That freighter was running at top speed, and it was not even out of the bay yet.”

“Linc!” Jim yelled over his shoulder.

Lincoln Dowl appeared in seconds. “Yeah, Cap?”

“Rig for silent running. All nonessential personal should secure and remain in their quarters. Ahead slow. Take us into Russian waters. I want to be three thousand yards away from this dot (referring to the Saratov’s signature on the screen) in six hours. Maintain your depth.”

“Aye, Captain.” Lincoln began barking orders over his shoulder to the CIC. He then returned briefly. “Oh, Cap. Weather report has a storm coming from the west. Should get here within forty-eight hours.”

Everyone now knew why the freighter was making such haste.

Nick found the freighter to be as poorly maintained inside the hull as outside. It looked something like a ghost ship. Garbage littered the passageways, and the obvious lack of crew suggested that it was operating with minimal personnel. Lighting in the bowels was terrible. The engine echoed throughout, and it sounded like it was ready to blow from the strain of running at flank speed. It definitely was a ship on its last voyage. Expendable was the word that crossed his mind.

Sasha led the rest of the crew along the passageways until he came to the mess hall. In there were twenty-three other men. They were in a jovial mood until Sasha and the others appeared. Then the chatting stopped. “We’re all here now,” said Sasha, taking control of the meeting. “You might as well get to know one another. You’ll be spending quite a bit of time together in the next few weeks.”

A voice blurted from the background. “We don’t care about that. What’s the job? When do we get paid?”

“Greedy bunch of bastards you are.” Sasha didn’t like being interrupted. “As you probably have figured out, since you’re all submariners, we’re going to borrow a submarine from the Russian government.” This produced a few snickers. “It won’t be returned.”

“For who?” asked another voice.

“Not your business. We’ll pay each of you one hundred thousand dollars at the end. You don’t ask for whom, how long, or why. That’s the deal. You function the same as a crew in the Soviet Navy. You do what the captain asks with no hesitation. The better you perform, the sooner you get paid.” By bringing up the money, Sasha bought their loyalty. Each man had his own reason for being there, and each thought that the money could solve his problems. The crew was only borderline professional. “Good day,” spat Sasha as he left.

The cook leaned over to his assistant. “Soviet Navy?”

The assistant merely shrugged and went back to his duties.

The new arrivals took seats in the mess and melded in with the rest. Nick followed suit, leaving Marina standing in the middle of the room. There was nothing said as the others undressed her with their eyes. A small, greasy man with a crooked smile and gray teeth ventured forward. She met his gaze with an icy stare. The rest watched. The man raised his hand to stroke her hair, and she flipped it away, not giving any ground. He turned back to the pack and smiled. This brought more snickers from others.

Nick found himself growing very concerned. He visualized a gang rape happening any moment, and he would be powerless to do anything about it. She had to have known that this would happen, he thought. The debate raced inside his head whether he should intervene now and risk having the rest of the crew be skeptical about him or let events run their course.

Marina had anticipated this if she made the crew, and she knew how she’d handle it. When the greasy creature turned back around to face her, he grabbed for her breasts. Without hesitation, she caught the fingers on his left hand and broke them with a snap of her wrist. The man screamed in pain, yet Marina wasn’t through. She grabbed his arm and with leverage pushed him to his knees, breaking his wrist at the same time. Then she brought her right knee to his face, shattering his nose. To drive the point home, she kicked him hard in the testicles.

The room was dumbfounded as they watched the little man gulp out screams of pain between gushes of blood that poured from his face. His fingers were mangled, his wrist was twisted, and his balls had been kicked into his throat. The men in the room couldn’t believe what they had witnessed, even Nick. Marina stood relaxed, like it was old hat.

Nick was the first to recover his senses, and he began to applaud and laugh. Slowly, one by one, each man smiled and chuckled at the stupid little one lying semiconscious on the floor. The act endeared Marina to the crew, and they gave her the respect she was due. She would not be bothered for the rest of the trip. No one wanted to wind up like the small one.

There was one thing that Joseph Shepetovka liked about Moscow. That was the cold. When it was cold, he didn’t have to worry as much about spies infiltrating his meetings. People didn’t enjoy traipsing through the bitter night if they didn’t have to. It assured him somewhat that his group would be people who were committed to seeing the old communist regime established once more.

Joseph initially was glad to see the Gorbachev programs of Peristroyka instituted so the Soviet Union would be brought up to date with the rest of the world. He had been a factory worker in the Ukraine, manufacturing tractors for the collective farms. Things always seemed a little better south of Moscow than anywhere else in the state, and many people prospered in his area. He being one of them. His life never had a high point, but it neither had a real low one, either. Sometimes money was tight, but his job was always there, and he did have an apartment with a woman whom he had married for convenience.

Politically he had supported communism as long as it kept a roof over his head. Gorbachev was change, but it was slow enough that Joseph thought that some good would come of it. Yet when Gorbachev was in the midst of a coup from the conservatives in the 1990s, he still felt secure because returning to the old ways was not bad for him, either.

Yeltsin had scared him. He watched as the burly man and several thousand supporters quashed the coup and reestablished Gorbachev in power, but not for long. When Gorbachev was ousted through political means, Joseph saw this as his way of life, his security, being kicked out of his country. He was afraid of losing his job and his home. Both events happened as the infrastructure of the country collapsed. His wife ran off with another man, and Joseph became homeless. That was unthinkable in the Soviet Union. Yeltsin had destroyed his life.

With not much more than the clothes on his back, he set off to Moscow to protest the new Russian government. He found that he was not the only one. Many people from across the country didn’t want to change from the old way. In those early days, not many people admitted it. There was a sense of fear if a person still wanted communism to thrive. Joseph had lost it all; to him, it didn’t matter if he was persecuted for what he thought was a good way of life.

It was hard living, those first couple of months in Moscow. He had expected his death to come at any time and put an end to his misery. He attended a few rallies and found a few friends in some protest marches across Red Square. These people took him in and helped him get along. To make some money, he was fortunate enough to get hired as a maintenance man in a local Moscow hotel. His situation reinforced his belief that communism was the best government, and Joseph became more involved in the activities of what was left of the party.

Every day he anticipated the police might come and lock him up as an enemy of the new state. When the Russian courts decided that it was not illegal to be affiliated with the Communist Party, it gave the old Soviets new life. Now more people came out from hiding to voice their opinion about the new Western-style government and urge a return to the communist way. Since Joseph had been there in the beginning these people looked to him for guidance. He quickly assumed charge of a small pocket of communists, and they met every week to plan how they could establish a party in the existing government. For years, they held peaceful marches and demonstrations and tried to recruit people back into their organization. They found exceptional favor with those who had become disillusioned with the government after years of abuse and corruption.

Then came Ochinkin. Ochinkin’s first presidency found the West strong, and so Russia did not move. Ochinkin waited, served his term, was appointed prime minister of Russia (a post he had previously held briefly), and then was elected president for a second time. It was this second election that spoke to Joseph. The corruption Ochinkin brought with him on his second tenure Joseph would use against him. The West had fallen because of weak leadership from America, and Ochinkin knew this and began expanding his corrupt influence to the benefit of business associates. The rewards were heaped upon only a few. Change was at hand, Joseph felt, and so was the expanding Soviet ideology. To Joseph, the Soviet Union was lurking under the veneer of the Russian flag.

Joseph was preparing for a meeting in the basement of the hotel where he worked. Management knew nothing about it. He had good news to tell his people. In a week, there would be a gigantic rally in Red Square for the return of the communist state. He was hoping it would be the springboard to an even larger movement across the country.

All was in place for the rally. Other leaders estimated that at least two hundred thousand people could occupy the square, calling for the return to Soviet principles. Joseph was ready to whip his followers into a frenzy. He had a very good feeling about this one.

Boris had not felt better in months. The tanks were in good shape. His fuel and supplies had been delivered, and his men were ready to fight. They didn’t know their purpose, nor did they care. All had returned to the base and were sleeping soundly in the barracks. Soon they would move. He waited only for the signal that would send him rolling into Moscow.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Acquirement

Bumper heard the old freighter coming from miles away. Running at top speed, she made one of the most earsplitting noises he had ever tracked. For at least thirty hours, he had watched Josh off and on checking the ship’s progress before his computers could pick her up. It was a straight route to the sub. Lincoln had moved the War Eagle into position, and now they were a few thousand yards beyond.

Jim had popped in periodically over the last six hours, and again he showed up. “How’s it coming, Bump?”

“Headed right for us and making good time. I’ve got her about five thousand yards due south of the ship.”

Bumper’s sonar operator butted in. “Ship reducing speed. Now running at one-third.”

Jim had held out hope up until now that something would happen to diffuse the situation. Now it became apparent what was to take place. “Okay. I’ll be in CIC. Keep me informed.”

“Aye, Cap.”

He walked past the RRCC and saw Josh asleep in his chair. He gave him a light nudge. “Open your blinker, Captain. We’ll need it.”

Josh woke quickly and flipped on ODIS to locate the nearest satellite.

Jim continued to the CIC. The room held every officer, waiting to be instructed. They knew that it was time. “Let’s go quietly to general quarters.” They filed off to their posts to prepare. “Ship status?”

“Depth is two hundred and sixty, with forty feet under our bow,” replied Lincoln.

“Not much room to hide in.”

“No, sir,” Lincoln agreed.

The intercom crackled. “Conn sonar. The freighter just dropped an active buoy!”

“Fill the tanks. Put her on the floor. All stop. No one talk!” Jim wasn’t expecting the old freighter to have any sonar buoys. He had positioned his sub close, and the danger of being found had increased tenfold.

The War Eagle responded quickly and quietly nestled herself on the bottom. She rolled to a five-degree angle and came to a rest in a shallow depression covered by solid rock to her port and starboard.

“Status sonar?” requested Jim.

“She’s pinging away, trying to find their vessel. Shouldn’t take them long. She’s just a stone’s throw.”

“Hope they don’t find us instead,” remarked Lincoln.

“We’ll play dead Russian submarine if they do. Just another hunk of shit in the graveyard.”

A sudden ping rang through the ship, and it stopped everyone. It was the confirmation that there was no turning back. Another ping rang past.

Mikhail joined the men in the CIC. “That bastard. Stemovich is going to arm his ship.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Blow it up now. Send a torpedo right into its side. Then sink the freighter. We’ll pick up the survivors and beach them on the coast.” Mikhail was adamant about his suggestion.

Jim only scowled.

“Stop a crisis now, Captain. Before it’s too late,” pressed Mikhail. “There’s more to this than we know. There’s always something more.”

Another ping rang through the ship. Then the pings grew steady and constant.

The box cracked again. “Conn, sonar. They got her.”

Jim didn’t answer Mikhail.

The Barents was showing a peculiar calmness. It was something Andri wasn’t used to, and it made him edgy as he stared over the bow of the freighter. The gray clouds hung above in a stalking sort of way, giving the impression that they were waiting to strike.

The ship had glided to a stop, indicating that sonar had found a vessel where he had marked it on his map. One of the crew hustled his way, shouting that they had registered an object, and he waved back, signaling that he understood. It is at hand. The time he had waited for was going to be realized when he dove on his submarine and raised her to the surface.

Six men were on deck, jumping into dive suits when Andri approached. A tank and a suit were laid out for him. He stripped in the cold and began to fit himself. There was an air of excitement among the others, but they tried to hide it. All this was business, nothing else. No one spoke.

Mohsen and George arrived in good spirits. George especially. He had determined that they were doomed, so he found the nearest bottle of vodka and began to sip. He had told Mohsen he needed to rest and locked himself in his cabin and gotten drunk for half the trip. He woke up with a hangover and began again. This time with a little moderation. Later, he cleaned himself up and grabbed some chow with the crew then returned to his quarters. The $200 million never left his side. He figured now it was the only thing keeping him from becoming fish food. That, and that Stemovich must not be a cold-blooded killer. For thirty-six hours, George knew his fate rested in the hands of Andri. One word from him, and both Mohsen and he could have gone for a swim. It was obvious that there was an objective to what Andri was doing. He also knew that delivering a sub to Kuwait probably wasn’t it. That possibility went out the window when they sailed from port.

He stood behind Mohsen and watched as the men put on the last of their gear. Mohsen was ecstatic. George thought he was going to shit in his pants as the men made their descent over the side. He had come to think little of Mohsen. Whatever happened to him, George figured he deserved it. He was trying to think of a way of saving his own life. He felt it would come to that. He also felt that he would have to threaten burning the money or throwing it over the side to remain alive. Something that drastic in exchange for a small lifeboat. Yet a boat without the company of Mohsen.

Sergei, too, came to see the men off. He bothered George. George knew he was aware of what was locked to his wrist and thought that at any time his crew would have cut his hand off to get it. George also noticed that there were few men aboard who were actually the ship’s crew. In fact, he hardly saw anyone other than the men designated to the sub. He knew there were men in the ship’s engine room and a few on the bridge. Other than that, only a few were available to do the essentials. Maybe twelve in the whole ship’s complement. Enough left over to run the cranes in the cargo holds. Stemovich’s crew had them outnumbered, and that fact kept George safe for the moment. Any way he looked at it, he was going to get fucked very soon.

Sergei slapped Andri on the shoulder as he stepped down. “We’ve got it about one hundred meters to port. Bring her up slowly so we don’t collide.”

Andri nodded and continued his descent over the side.

Sergei turned around right into the smiling Mohsen. George knew what was going through his mind. He could tell from the look on his face that he was waiting for the opportunity to toss Mohsen over. Mohsen still was oblivious to the situation, and George felt like he needed another drink. He leaned over the side and watched as the men disappeared under the dark water.

“Are you excited, Mohammed?” Mohsen asked.

George scowled, wondering how Mohsen ever rose to the rank he occupied. “Very,” he replied.

“Soon we will have all our goals accomplished, and our country will be free to do as it pleases. You and I, friend, will be heroes.”

This comment enraged him. He wanted to throw Mohsen overboard himself. Two men with $200 million, in the middle of the Barents Sea, surrounded by money-hungry Russians, and he didn’t feel that his life was in danger. It was beyond George. He wanted to tell him that he was in the CIA and that the United States was onto Kuwait and his little plan. He wanted to slap him and dump the money over the side, but he couldn’t. He decided to let Mohsen die in ignorance. Maybe at the last moment he’d say something. He’d wait until then; it might be the last feeling of satisfaction he would ever have.

“Yes, Captain, we’ll be heroes” was what he managed. He looked over again, and Andri was gone. A glance back showed Mohsen bouncing in place like a kid waiting to go to the bathroom. God, I hate him, thought George.

Each man had a light. It was the only way to see one another after about sixty meters. Then the water got black. Andri led. Something in him instinctively gave him a direction. It was like finding a lost child. As the parent, he knew exactly where to look.

He couldn’t help but feel a rush as a tremendous black shape emerged in front of him. A sleeping giant lay before them, waiting to be roused from its bed. A slumber that it was never designed for and never should do again. Andri’s life purpose was at hand, and he was in complete control. He found it hard to contain his pride as he swam over the ship’s dorsal fin and located the escape hatch behind the sail. He was afraid that the Saratov would be encrusted with sea creatures, but that was not the case. Someone had been smart enough to cover the entire ship with a thin coating of grease, discouraging any small animals from making the submarine their home.

He and three other men entered the chamber and closed the rest out. Andri pulled a lever, and compressed air blew the water from the chamber. It smelled bad and musty. Yet to him, it was a wonderful aroma. They descended into the ship and tightened the hatch so the others could follow.

Inside, the four men went to their positions without speaking. One went forward to the torpedo room, one went to the engine room, and one went to the reactor. Andri went straight to the conn. To anyone else, it might have felt like walking through a coffin. Everything was turned off, and the men had only their lights to guide them. Andri could have found his way without one. The ship was spotless and secure. Nothing was out of place, and he enjoyed drinking in everything he recognized. Finally, command and control.

The compartment overwhelmed him. He had forgotten the attention to detail that he had demanded during the ship’s construction. All the seats were leather with built-in back supports. Many of the surfaces were a polished wood with the gauges embedded in finished metalwork. The room glistened in the beam of his light. He was jarred from his trance when a small voice spoke over the intercom.

“Conn, this is the reactor room.”

“Go ahead,” he replied.

“The batteries are almost completely drained. There is enough power for some lights if you require it.”

“How’s the reactor?” Andri wanted to surface as soon as possible.

“Ready to begin winding up. I’m awaiting the order to drop the controlling rods.”

“You have the order. Start up the reactor.”

His moment had arrived.

Jim had listened to the whole thing. He heard the divers swim to the sub, enter, and bang around on the inside. Now he was listening to pumps on the vessel begin to push water in and out of the turbines in the engine. Bumper stood by, pointing out when the reactor began to fire. He started the computers and immediately recorded the signature. “He’s ours now, Cap. We’ve got a print. Once he starts, his screw we’ll get that too. It’ll make him a hell of a lot easier to find.”

This guy is a fucking maniac. Seven men to raise a sub? Jim wondered what the ship looked like. He poked his head into RRCC to see what Josh could provide. “You got anything?”

“Sure have,” he replied. Josh found a satellite running right over the freighter. He was pleased because his whole network had come in line exactly as the freighter stopped. He would have window after window to observe what was about to happen. “Come take a peek.”

The freighter was in full view. He raced the lens up along its decks to give Jim a picture of what it looked like. He briefly stopped on the two men looking over the side, and then zeroed in on a crane operator dropping a cable inside a dark cargo hold. “Gee, I can’t guess what will be coming out of there,” he said with much sarcasm.

“All we can do is watch the show,” Jim commented. He wanted some solution, but he couldn’t think of any at the moment.

Mikhail poked his head in to glance at the screen.

“Don’t say it,” Jim warned. He knew Mikhail’s opinion and didn’t want to hear it again.

Bumper stuck his head around the corner. “She’s pumping out the ballast, Cap. Reactor’s at sixty percent. Enough to get her going.”

“Thanks, Bump.”

They waited a few more minutes, staring at the freighter on the screen. Nobody had anything to say. Bumper stuck his head around the corner again.

“She came off the floor and is holding at two hundred. I think she’s charging her batteries.” He returned to sonar.

“Seven men holding a ship at two hundred.” Jim couldn’t believe it. “I am intrigued, I hate to say.”

“Look here,” Josh said, pointing. “The crew’s coming up to see her break the water.” He motioned to a file of men emerging on the deck of the freighter. They joined the two others in looking over the rail.

Another ping ran through the ship as the freighter tried to locate the Saratov.

Nick was one of the last to arrive on the deck. He spotted Marina looking over the side with the rest of the men, anticipating the arrival. The little man she had beaten a day and a half early was there too. There wasn’t any doctor, so he wore a makeshift sling for his arm, and his nose was covered in bandages. His eyes were completely black but lacked any swelling.

Nick had tried to case the freighter on the trip but found every door to the holds locked and inaccessible. He didn’t even see Marina, though his cabin was next to hers. She ignored him when she emerged, which he agreed was good. She, mentally, was in her own zone. There was no room for error from here on out.

Sasha briefly made an appearance every so often to see how everyone was getting on. The submarine crew members kept to themselves. If you weren’t in the mess, then you were in your berth.

The moment was close. For the first time, there actually seemed to be a sense of camaraderie within the crowd. Even Sasha had forgotten his arrogant flippancy for the moment. Nick moved to the rail and looked out himself. He didn’t look down but out. He saw it moving in fast. The water was calm, but a huge storm was on the horizon and headed straight their way. He calculated that they had about three hours before it hit. Then all hell would break loose. He hoped he’d be on the sub by then.

“Where the fuck are the destroyers?” That’s what bothered Jim. The freighter had waltzed in and parked without so much as being questioned.

“Huh,” Josh responded. His mind was elsewhere.

“The destroyers? Where are they?”

Josh flipped to infrared and pulled the lens back to locate the four ships that regularly patrolled the area. They weren’t gone. They were conveniently at the edge of their patrol zones. Two were making for the coast in a hurry. “Storm must be a bad one. Looks like two are going to port.”

“Hell of a coincidence.”

“It’s no coincidence.” Mikhail had been listening around the corner. “Stemovich went to great lengths to raise his sub. Those ships aren’t that far away by accident. It’s by design. There’s too much going on here to just hand over a ship to the Kuwaitis.”

“Mikhail,” said Jim. “I can’t look past that.”

“Listen to me.” Mikhail was angry, and his accent got heavier. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why give them the best sub down here? Why not an old Alfa or Typhoon? Why arm it? And why send the destroyers so far away?”

“All we have to go on is what I’ve been told. I’ve got to stick with that.” Jim knew it didn’t add up.

“Answer one thing then, Captain. If you were the captain of that submarine out there, what would be the fastest way out of trouble?”

The answer was academic. “Under the ice pack. It should be the first place he’d run to.” Jim watched the two destroyers in the west begin to head for port.

“I’ll bet he’ll go up the coast. He’s not going to go to Kuwait at all. Stemovich wouldn’t piss on someone from the Middle East, much less hand over his best vessel. He’s got other plans.” Mikhail was convinced that now there was more to this than they had first thought.

Bumper leaned around the corner again. “She’s coming up. Engine and reactor are running, and the screw is turning at standard speed. I believe it’s a test.”

“Damn,” muttered Jim.

The length of the Saratov caught most by surprise. They stared in wonderment as she slowly emerged from the depths. She was pitch black, and the red hammer and sickle of the old Soviet Union burned on its sail. To any navy man, it was a beautiful sight. Nick even found himself immersed in admiration for the ship. Air spewed from the ballast tanks as she blew herself dry and rose completely. Andri appeared at the top of the sail and looked stoic as he signaled orders for the freighter to move in and begin transferring weapons. Two hydraulic doors collapsed behind the sail, revealing the missile bays, and the nose opened like gills, exposing the brackets that carried the torpedo clips.

With Sergei in the wheelhouse, the freighter maneuvered close enough to tie the two ships together. A few smart men from the sub’s crew made their way down and roped the vessel off to rock with the freighter in the increasingly active sea.

The freighter’s crane was fast at work. The first of eight nuclear missiles was raised in the air and swung over the side to the awaiting bay. Men scurried to guide the weapon on the carriage, which then hydraulically pulled the missile in and locked it into place in the sub. Each missile took about twenty minutes to load, and the sea was becoming increasingly rough. After four were secure, Andri made the decision to forego the others and begin loading the torpedo clips.

The bow of the Saratov, still open, awaited its deadly cargo. Andri had designed this aspect of the ship to resemble a rifle, with side-by-side double barrels. Each barrel was capable of holding two clips of torpedoes that sat on top of the tubes. When firing, the bottommost torpedo of the clip would be removed and drop into the tube. The tube would be flooded and the torpedo expelled. All loading was done mechanically, giving the forward part of the hull the ability to be flooded in crash dives. The ship could arm itself and fire at an astounding speed, making it a considerable weapon.

The clips were a little clumsier to load. They were heavier and had to fit perfectly into the ship’s brackets. The strain on the old cable was noticeable to the crew, and none of the men rushed to help guide the weapons to their place. Andri scowled as he watched his ragged crew of men scurry about, readying his ship. He was easily transforming himself into the role of captain—and the attitude that went along with it. At last, the final clip was secured and the fins on the bow closed. The sea began to pitch, prompting the sub’s crew to board. Andri removed himself from the sail. He had one more piece of business to perform.

He made his way back to the freighter and through the few who were left to go aboard the sub. Sergei stood smiling next to the rail, holding a large ditty bag. He handed the empty bag to Andri as he arrived.

“I thought you would say goodbye,” he said sarcastically.

“I will pay you, as promised. Yet I am still missing four missiles.”

“I will put them on if you have the time.” Sergei knew that the storm was upon them, and Andri wanted to submerge. “Plus, my men are loading the last of your supplies. You should be thankful.”

Andri didn’t care. He was ready to go. “Mohsen, the case.”

George stepped forward and unclasped it from his wrist. He knew his insurance was gone.

Andri took the case and opened it away from Sergei. “What was the fee?”

“One million for me and my crew. One million for the captains of the destroyers.” Sergei tried to peer over the case to see how much money was there. “And one million for the extra guest.”

Andri shot him a cold glance but didn’t stop putting money in the bag. When he was through, he tossed it at Sergei and began walking to the stairs with the case and remaining money to disembark.

“How do I know it’s all there?” yelled Sergei.

“Look in the bag” was the reply.

Sergei did and was overwhelmed by cash. He shifted it about and showed it to his men, who all cheered. “Goodbye, Andri Stemovich! It was nice doing business with you.”

Nick, Marina, and the small man with the broken arm were the last of the crew to climb down on the sub. Andri stopped and held the small man back. “No.”

“What?” he questioned.

“You have proven to be irresponsible. I cannot have you as one of my crew. You are my planesman, and you have a broken arm. It will not work, and no one rides for free.”

“You’re joking. I’m the only man here qualified to be a planesman. You need me.”

Andri caught Nick by the arm. “Nicholas will be my planesman. I will show him how.” With that, Andri stepped down the stairs. “Plus, no one serves with me who gets beaten by a woman.”

Mohsen was quick to be right after Andri. He was eager to see the ship that his country had purchased. George stayed at the rail. He knew what the score was and watched with slight amusement when Andri turned and ordered Mohsen back on the freighter.

“What?” screamed Mohsen. “Kuwait bought this ship! It is not yours!”

“Step on my ship, and you will be shot.”

Mohsen was astounded. “What’s going to happen to me? Where do I go?”

“Hell will be a better place,” said George from the freighter, though no one heard him.

Mohsen panicked. He ran back past Nick and Marina to George. “Mohammed! He is taking our money. He is taking our ship!”

George scowled at Mohsen. “I’m surprised that he didn’t take the money earlier.” He had reconciled himself to the fact that he was probably dead.

“What will happen to us?”

“Well,” George spoke in English. He didn’t see any reason to play the game anymore. “I’d say we’re fucked. Andri will leave, and Sergei will throw us to our death before we reach port.”

“I can’t believe this. I must get back to Kuwait.”

George remained calm. “That wouldn’t be such a bright idea. I’m sure the emir at the very least would have you shot for such a blunder. No, you might as well die here.”

Mohsen freaked. The crew of the freighter had gone inside, and he ran after them to plead for his life. The small man with the broken nose also looked worried.

George didn’t care. He watched as the lines were dropped, and the sub drift away. Andri appeared at the top of the sail for one last look. George was the only one left on the deck. The two men stared at each other as the Saratov slowly made its way off. George could only think of one thing. I was so close to retirement. The wind from the approaching storm became stiff, and the ship rocked more violently.

Jim, Mikhail, and Josh had been stuck like glue to ODIS as they watched the arming of the Saratov. Mikhail was the only one with anything to say. “It’s impressive.”

“Better than the War Eagle?” Jim was trying to get a feel for the new sub.

“Overall, maybe,” replied Mikhail. “The thinking is there. I don’t know if the engineering went along.”

“What are their strengths?”

“Torpedoes. Inventive design. Remarkable in its simplicity.”

“What else?”

“It’s made for deep dives. Yet I don’t think that they’ve improved their maximum depth by that much. Maybe we’ll find out. The missiles—they are good because they are compact. Not much range, and he has to surface to fire them. That’s a drawback.”

“Jesus Christ, Mikhail. I’m not going to have a dance contest with this guy. I’ve got to know how to beat him.”

“I told you we’re going to fight him. You should have sunk it before now.” Mikhail had run out of answers and refused to be snipped at. “The missiles are based on a platform design that the Soviet Union was working on when I left. Two missiles rise on a small carriage and turn to the direction they need to be fired. It’s compact but limited in a pressure situation. The vessel has to expose itself. That’s the problem.”

Bumper again entered the RRCC. “Cap. She’s going down. We’ve got her climbing in speed, and all I can say is that she’s quiet. Hard to find if we lose her.”

“Sounds like she’s cleaner than us, Mikhail. Makes me feel like I’m sitting in a ’57 Chevy instead of the most advanced submarine in the world.”

Mikhail actually enjoyed the sarcastic tone of Hickman’s voice. One thing Mikhail was sure of was that the War Eagle was superior. The Saratov looked good, but did it have the substance? It made him look forward to finding out if he was right.

Bumper came in again. “She’s come about.”

Jim stood. “Okay. There will be no talking until that ship is far enough away for us to lift our ass from the seafloor. Until that time not even a fart. Pass that on, Linc.”

“Aye, Cap.”

It was apparent that Nick and Marina were the odd ones out. Both were wandering around in amazement. Nick had never seen a sub laid out like the Saratov. The detail was extraordinary. It was a little cramped, but this went mostly unnoticed because the crew running her was so small. Andri came up behind them.

“Nicholas, please sit in the planesman chair. I will instruct you as to the operation.” He turned to Marina. “You, communications. Wander little. It’s located aft, port side.”

Marina left. She didn’t want to be where the action was, anyway. She located her room and familiarized herself with the equipment. Some of it was strange, but a manual came with the equipment, so she began to study.

On the bridge, Andri took his command post as captain. Nick seated himself next to the helmsman, a small man named Victor. Victor kept to himself and showed his displeasure at Nick’s arrival. He obviously knew the little man who Marina had beaten so severely and wished he were there instead.

“Nicholas,” began Andri. “You control the depth of the Saratov. To dive, push down on the control column in front of you. To rise, pull up. The two most important gauges to watch are the depth and pressure. Only dive on my command and rise on my command. It’s not very complicated, but it does require your complete attention.”

What Andri was not aware of was that Nicholas was an excellent pilot and would have little problem driving the sub. He took to it like a frog to water. Same principles, different size.

Andri then got on the ship’s intercom system. He was finally where he needed to be, and it gave him a great sense of accomplishment. Sasha came to the bridge and acted as his XO.

“This is the captain,” Andri said into the intercom. “You are now the crew of the Soviet submarine vessel Saratov. All crew have been contracted to follow my orders unflinchingly, and I expect nothing less. At the end of our mission, you will all be paid, and you can leave. Any insubordination will be dealt with quickly and decisively. We may be down some time. Never question an order I give. Any hesitation in carrying those orders out will cost you when you get paid. I will find it necessary to test you, and the test begins now. Engines ahead standard.”

To Andri, it was cut and dried. He was the captain, and they were the crew. He fully expected them to behave in such a manner until his mission was over. “Planesman, take us to a depth of thirty meters. Come about to heading zero-one-five.”

The Saratov leaned port five degrees and sped to standard in her turn. The ship was truly underway.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Close Encounters

The storm smashed into the freighter as the Saratov made her dive. George was still on deck looking across the sea when the icy wind picked up, and the swells began to rock the boat. He still didn’t go in.

The old freighter lurched with the groan of her tired engines. Looking up, he could see Sergei in the wheelhouse giving orders to the engine room to make steam. He brought her around 180 degrees and had her at full speed in a futile attempt to outrun the tempest. At least he’s smart enough to get the hell out of here first, he thought. But there was something more.

George noticed the oncoming gale didn’t bother Sergei as much as the water off the starboard side. He kept looking that way. When his sonar man dropped another buoy off the ship, George knew that they were in danger. He ran to starboard; nothing was in view. The only conclusion was the Saratov. She was out there doing something that made Sergei nervous. George didn’t have to think very hard to figure out what it could be. Then began a cold rain.

A hard ping echoed through the ship as the freighter’s buoys registered the Saratov. They had found her and pinged her again and again.

“Course two-seven-zero,” ordered Andri.

Nick’s counterpart made the adjustments on his yoke, and the Saratov gracefully slid about.

“Make depth for periscope.” Andri observed the ship’s reaction as Nick brought her up until his gauge crossed a small red mark with periscope stenciled on it.

“Periscope depth, Captain,” said Sasha. He was trying to set an example for the rest.

Andri pulled the periscope up and found the old freighter. “Mark target’s course and speed.”

“Target marked and plotted,” spoke a voice from the rear of the cabin.

“Load tube number one.” There was a small noise in the ship as the clip dropped a torpedo into its chamber.

“Tube number one loaded.”

“Flood tube number one.” Andri paused. “On my mark…hold…mark…fire one.”

“Holy shit! They just flooded a tube.” Bumper yelled this from the sonar room.

Jim ran forward to listen for himself. The level of suspense on the ship rose.

“Torpedo in the water,” said Bumper’s sonar operator. “Repeat. Torpedo has been fired and is pinging to acquire target.”

“Are we in trouble?” Josh had overheard the commotion and saw Jim and Mikhail move forward.

“Only if we talk too much” was Mikhail’s reply.

“Torpedo has acquired target. One thousand yards to impact.”

The pings from the freighter and the torpedo mixed as they resonated throughout the War Eagle. It was a discorded cadence before the war.

George looked at the wheelhouse for a reaction. Sergei pointed at something in the distance, allowing George to find the periscope skimming through the bucking waves. He didn’t wait. He knew something bad was happening, and it was time to get the hell off. He ran across the deck to the port side and scrambled into one of the lifeboats.

Glancing back, he saw Mohsen emerge from the deckhouse and begin running toward him in a panic. He was screaming something that couldn’t be made out. It confirmed George’s fears. He began lowering the lifeboat when the freighter turned hard to starboard. The waves smashed against the old ship and drove her farther into the water. Mohsen fell on the slippery deck and slid halfway across. That’s when the torpedo hit directly in the midsection.

It was the only defensive maneuver Sergei had available. He watched the torpedo rise from the water and head toward his ship. One hundred meters out, he threw the ship into a hard starboard turn. She groaned as the rudder cut the water, and she bent low in the waves. Fortunately, the explosion wasn’t that fantastic since it hit an empty cargo bay. He threw the wheel hard to port to right the ship before it took on too much water. She came about, and the hole left in the side by the torpedo lifted three feet above the waterline. Only the high waves crashed in, and Sergei figured his pumps could handle that. He also knew that since he didn’t go down that Andri would probably send another one after him.

He called for the radio to send out a distress signal. His sonar man replied that the Saratov was coming about to line up for another shot on the starboard side. Sergei ran the wheel to port to reduce the target size. It was a mistake.

The old boat shuddered again and cut deep on the port side as she came around. George had lowered halfway down by the time Mohsen got back to the rail. He had been cut by flying debris during the explosion and had a mild concussion. George glanced up to see him now hanging over the railing, holding on for his life as the cold wind, icy rain, and water grabbed at him, thirsting for his life.

Trying to drop from the freighter while it was in a hard turn at flank speed was dangerous. George was bounced off the side three times before he could release the lifeboat from the ropes. He slammed against it twice more as the freighter made its way past him. Then he watched the ship pull away, churning through the waves, trying to escape the sub and the elements.

If the ship hadn’t been so old and so poorly maintained, Sergei might have had a chance. He cut her harder to port and ignored letting her right as she began to shudder and moan. It was a groan that passed throughout the superstructure. The torpedo had struck one of the ship’s metal ribs and cut it in half. As the freighter leaned harder to port, the fatigued metal began to tear like paper. Welds broke and rivets popped as the speed of the ship and the pounding of the waves tore off the bow of the freighter. She went down in a matter of seconds, her screws still turning at flank speed as the aft section rose from the water. Then the ferocious ocean covered her grave.

George watched it all. For one moment, the ocean subsided to let it sink into him. Then it resumed pounding his lifeboat, waking him back to reality. Struggling, he pulled the canvas across the top and lashed it down to keep the waves out. Then he tied it off thoroughly, locking himself in the darkness. He lay in a pool of freezing water in the bottom of the boat. The swells pounded the small craft, often sending him careening against the sides. He prayed to God that the lifeboat wouldn’t overturn and transform into a floating coffin. He was truly miserable.

Bumper didn’t need to speak the obvious. The explosion from the torpedo was close enough for the crew to hear. They sat in silence as minutes later they heard the old freighter dive to her grave. Everyone was at a loss for words, and a silence came over the ship. Then the sonar op turned to Jim. He had a look of terror on his face. “Sir, the sub is headed right over the top of us.”

“Holy shit!” Jim was panicked but kept it under his breath. The War Eagle was in no position to escape a fight. “Linc! Shut everything down now! Quiet that fucking reactor! No one talks!”

Lincoln relayed the orders, and the War Eagle played dead. All the electronics were turned off, and the control rods were pulled out of the core. The crew sat in the darkness and listened to the Saratov pass. “Fuck, this is tight,” he whispered to himself.

“Captain. Contact bearing one-one-five. One hundred meters. Target is lying on the bottom.” The crew of the Saratov also was in silence, and this was the first thing said to wake everyone from their trances.

Andri plotted the position on the glass as they cruised over the War Eagle. “A ship isn’t supposed to be here.” He pulled a map from a drawer and confirmed what he thought. The demise of the freighter was already a distant memory.

“How do you know, Captain?” asked Sasha. “They have dumped many submarines out here.”

“Because I’m the one who originally came up with the plan for where they were supposed to put them. Whatever this one is, it’s in the wrong place.”

Sasha smirked. “Maybe it’s not even one of ours.”

That thought was alarming to Andri. He knew he had been careful throughout this whole scheme. He knew that he had taken every precaution to protect himself, right up to sinking the freighter. No one could even guess where he had been or gone. He had money; he had his sub; and he had his crew. They became a part of him when they fired on the freighter. They were all solidified in the plan, whether they liked it or not. Too much was at risk for some intangible to step up and prevent what he needed to accomplish. “Ahead two-thirds. Helm. Come about to course two-zero-five. Ready tube number one.”

“Aye, Captain.” Again the Saratov responded with grace as she went into her turn.

“Here she comes, Cap.” Bump was the only one to speak, yet it was written in everyone’s eyes. Even Josh’s one good eye widened as he contemplated their fate.

Jim quickly returned to the bridge. “Linc, this is an order. No one is to make a sound. I don’t care if they get hit by the fucking torpedo itself. No one makes a sound. Then move them all to the starboard side of the ship.”

Lincoln and a chief ran off to relay the order themselves. Jim knew that they were sitting ducks. There was no time to raise and turn for a fight. The best he could do was sit and take the punishment.

Bump stuck his head in the CIC. “Tube flooded, Cap.” There came a quick whistle from behind him, which drew his attention for an instance. Then a faint ping rang throughout the ship. “Fish is in the water. Torpedo acquiring target,” said Bump solemnly. The crew began to sweat.

The torpedo searched for its victim. It wasn’t a very complicated piece of equipment by today’s standards. In its nose was a small, active sonar device. It looked for the first metallic object in front of it and locked on. The fins on the back made slight adjustments in the weapon’s angle and depth as it raced to its destination and then detonated on impact. Finding the War Eagle was child’s play. Where the War Eagle was sitting was another matter.

The War Eagle was positioned in a slight depression on the ocean floor. On the port side, less than half the sub was exposed because it sat beneath a small ocean shelf. On top of the shelf, rock formations breached the ocean floor. The torpedo had locked on between two of these rock formations and was headed at a steep angle toward it—too steep.

The explosion happened forty feet from the side of the War Eagle. The attitude of the torpedo had driven the weapon into the bedrock on its quest to strike the sub dead center. Still, the great blast shook the ship as debris was driven against its hull. But none of it tore through.

Inside, in the dark, the crew hung on for life. It was the ultimate test of discipline. As the War Eagle shifted, absorbing the shock wave, not one man uttered a sound. Several urinated in their pants, but that was acceptable.

Jim strained his ears for some sound of a compartment breach. No reports came in, and no one panicked. His ship had taken a hit and survived. Somehow. He wasn’t willing to bet on it twice. The War Eagle settled, and silence crept over them again. “Slowly flood tube three,” he whispered.

The weapons chief heard the order but wasn’t sure it was the captain who gave it in the darkness. “No weapons are loaded, sir. We’d be flooding an empty tube.”

“I know, Chief. Just flood it.”

“Aye, Cap,” he responded.

“Tubes being flooded…no, one tube being flooded, Captain,” relayed Andri’s sonar operator.

“Just one?”

“Aye, sir. Only one. No bow caps opening. I don’t even think it’s loaded.”

It was obvious that something had gone wrong with their torpedo. A strike like that should have produced the sound of a whole compartment breech. That was bothersome. But to Andri, the important sound he was looking for was the sound of men and machines trying to raise the ship from the bottom. “There is nothing else?”

“No, sir. All is quiet.”

There appeared to be nobody aboard the ship. The complete silence confirmed it. Puzzling was that the torpedo could only jar a tube loose enough to flood. Should I fire another? Or would that be a waste? Andri figured he was now looking for peace of mind. He couldn’t waste another torpedo on that. His proof was already before him. There was no one aboard. “Make course two-one-zero. Let’s leave this place,” he ordered. “Make depth sixty meters.”

Bumper came back to the CIC and fumbled to find Jim in the darkness. “She’s turned, Cap. She turned back and took off at two-thirds speed.”

A collective sigh of relief blew throughout the ship. They wanted to celebrate but knew that would give them away. “Linc?” called Jim.

“Here, Captain,” he responded as he approached, stumbling in the darkness.

“Damage?”

“None so far. All departments weathered it well. Of course I don’t know what kind of shape the outer hull is in, but no leaks here.”

“Good. Everyone is to rest for the next two hours. After that, we can lift off and inspect the damage. Have Bumper track that fucker as long as he can. Then see if Captain Brand can keep on his tail. I owe that bastard one right in the nuts.”

Lincoln smiled. “Certainly,” he said.

“Roust me from my cabin when it’s time. I’ve got one hell of a message to send.”

The storm had blown over the Toledo hours ago. The violence of it had made even the most weathered of navy men feel queasy. Booker’s crew was finally recovering and getting back into the operation of launching helicopters when a message from the radio room was brought to his attention.

“Sir,” said a sheepish ensign who was the radio op on duty.

“What is it, ensign?”

“Well, sir. I intercepted a real funny transmission originating from somewhere east of us. It doesn’t make any sense.” He extended a piece of paper to Book. It read:

To my Japanese friend. Our drunken lady got off the floor loaded and walked out the door going the wrong way. I am unable to follow her at the moment. Thought you should know.

“Was it coded?”

“Yes, sir. Low frequency and compressed, then scrambled. An unusual combination, even for the navy.”

“Our navy or the Russian Navy?”

“I have to think it was meant for us, sir. It became unscrambled once I figured out the order of packaging in the message. I don’t believe the Russians could have even gotten past that part.” The ensign was confused. His operator’s school never had any messages that remotely looked like the one he intercepted, and he wasn’t quite sure what the procedure was for something like it. “It was specifically aimed for one receiver and no one else.”

“The crew is going to hate you.” Book liked to joke when something uncomfortable hit him.

“Why’s that, sir?”

“We’re going to stay here another week because of this message.”

Guilt set upon the young ensign. “Yes, sir.”

“Good job, though, son.” Booker knew that stateside Sukudo was reading the exact same thing. All hell was going to be unleashed. There was nothing more menacing than a drunken woman.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Caution or Hesitation

The first sign that shit had hit the fan was when the marine MPs pulled up in their jeep. Dan had returned to the Kitchen every day to eat lunch. The food seemed addicting, and he found a strange solace in the crowded diner. Like everybody, he sat eating, discussing conflicts with himself.

The marines made a beeline for him. Dan reached into his pocket and threw payment on the counter before they drew near. Everyone else stared at the event.

“Dan Archer?”

“Nothing personal, guys, but you’re the last people I wanted to see.”

“Mr. Archer. Would you please come with us? You are needed.” The marines stood rock steady and took a protective pose to make sure nothing could happen to him.

Things must be worse than I imagined, he thought. “Okay, guys. Let’s go.”

The marines escorted him from the diner, sat him in their jeep, and then sped off.

Anthony DeCurtis had never in his life received a berating like he was now catching from the president of the United States. What had made it worse was that some rear admiral had brought this to the president rather than the CIA. He had clearly made the wrong choice when he went with Levi’s recommendation. On top of everything else, Sukudo, the rear admiral, was sitting in the Oval Office watching, while Anthony got verbally spanked.

“What the fuck was going through your head, Tony?” The president rarely swore, and he was sufficiently pissed to warrant many expletives. “You knew that there was a plot to steal a nuclear sub, yet you ignored it?”

“Sir. We concluded that it was all to be a hoax.”

“Some fucking hoax. Not only does this Stemovich son of a bitch have the sub; he also has nuclear weapons! How the fuck can you ignore that?”

“We didn’t know about the nukes, sir.”

Sukudo sat in the corner. Though the situation was extremely serious, he loved watching this CIA fuck get a new asshole torn. Then the door opened, and Dan entered.

“Hello, Mr. President.” Dan figured that would be the correct thing to say. He saw Sukudo, and they shook hands.

The president stood and offered him a chair next to Anthony. “You’re the one who was on top of this thing from the beginning.”

“Well, sir, someone is going to have to enlighten me on what has transpired. I’ve been out of touch.”

Sukudo interrupted. “Stemovich pulled it off, Dan. He picked his sub off the floor and slipped away. Fully armed.”

Dan knew that was going to be the answer, but his stomach knotted after hearing the conformation. “Shit. What about the War Eagle?”

“She’s incapacitated for the moment. That’s my best guess.”

“Who else knows?”

“Just us in the room,” remarked the president. “You can appreciate the magnitude of the conversation that I’m going to have with Ochinkin. What do you think about that, Tony?”

For the first time, Dan noticed Anthony. He saw that his boss was physically shaken and was trying to hide in his chair. “I think we ought to wait until Levi drags his ass in here—”

“Yes, we ought to wait for him,” said the president. “I’d like to hear his explanation. Until then, I want some options before I start consulting with my staff. For Christ’s sake, State isn’t even aware of this. I don’t even know if I should keep it in the CIA or hand it over to the military.”

This is what Sukudo hated about the president: indecisiveness in crisis situations. He was always looking for other people’s opinions. It indicated to him that the president wasn’t willing to accept responsibility for his decisions. “The navy is already alerted to the situation.”

“Fine, Admiral,” admitted the president. “Now do I inform the Russian government or not? And exactly how do I do that, with what implications? What would happen if the Russian parliament got hold of the situation? As of right now, we’d be firing on a Russian sub. How do we know that the plot isn’t rooted in the Russian government itself?”

“I can only give certain answers. I don’t make policy, Mr. President.”

Dan wondered how much Sukudo had told the commander in chief. He wondered if the president knew that there might be an American agent on board. “I think that there would have to be some way to resolve the situation without it becoming a global issue. We know that Kuwait has hired him to destabilize the Middle East. Perhaps through diplomatic channels we can prepare for the worst and look like the savior in that region. Give an advanced warning of some kind.”

“The plan was for him to nuke Baghdad.” Levi had hobbled into the office and caught the end of Dan’s statement. When in doubt, act aggressive was Levi’s motto.

Anthony gave a sigh of relief. Now he could shift most of the blame to Levi, and Levi could explain.

It was the first time Dan was ever glad to see him. He thought this time Levi would be exposed as the idiot that he was. But this feeling of slight joy was immediately wiped away. He could see that Levi had prepared himself. He did not walk in like a man in trouble, but rather like a man who had a strategy. To Dan, that was even more dangerous than the lost sub.

“Ironic, isn’t it? The origin of OPEC’s formation so many years ago would be the place of its breakup. Kuwait actually has a plausible scenario. The sticky part is the missiles,” Levi mused.

“Mr. Carp. Anthony has been waiting for you.” The president cast his eyes upon him suspiciously. “Can you detail for us the mission of which you were in charge?”

“I will admit that the situation did not unfold the way I first envisioned. I can extrapolate that the Saratov has been stolen and armed. I have found out from my Russian agents in the navy that the submarine Stemovich wanted was known as the Saratov.”

Everyone nodded.

“Well then, let me put it this way, Mr. President. While you’re sitting here looking for options, you should be looking for opportunities.” Smugness oozed from him.

It dumbfounded the room. No one had a clue as to what was to spill from Levi. Dan feared it the most. The president was easily influenced, Sukudo had told him.

“A situation has come along that only we know about. So far.” Levi looked relaxed in his explanation. “The short of it is that Stemovich has been hired to nuke Baghdad and blame it on the Israelis. I ask you, what’s the bad part of that plan? We are out of Bagdad, and the hoodlums have returned.”

This enraged Dan. He knew that in Levi’s subtle manner he would coo everyone into some twisted line of thinking. He couldn’t afford that. “Nuclear war, Levi. You fucked up. Now is no time to try and save your ass.”

The distraction agitated Levi. “All right. Here it is, Mr. President. Our country is in the toilet. You can’t cut the debt, the deficit is still out of control, people are out of work, and inflation is giving signs of rising.” Everyone was appalled at the way he spoke. “The economy needs an enema, and there is no way you’re going to be able to administer it because of the special interest groups that control Congress. Politically, you’re a lame duck halfway before your second term is over.”

Dan again asserted himself. “What the hell does this have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with this situation. Just look down the road. What will happen if a nuclear missile from Israel takes out Baghdad? First, we get rid of the fucking tyrants who try to run that broken-down country. Secondly, the OPEC nations split because Kuwait will refuse to take sides. This will also prompt Saudi Arabia, the United Emirates, and several others to rethink their position. No one wants to become an enemy of the United States by attacking Israel. After all, we beat Iraq in one hundred hours the first time. So we step in to negotiate the peace again. At that same time, the whole region will scramble to buy new arms to protect themselves from one another. We’ll sell them all they can handle and more. This action will produce jobs and expand the tax base. The deficit will shrink. You can implement your programs, and I think you can imagine it from there.”

The president was mesmerized. He had looked weak from his first term in office, and he was still trying to shake that image. These were desperate times, he felt. It might be time for a desperate call. “Oil prices will skyrocket?”

“Only for a short time. US oil companies will dump money back into their own wells. Think pipelines. More jobs will be created. It just snowballs.”

Sukudo listened in total disgust. The president was living up to his old standards. He wanted to interject, but he knew his objections were on moral grounds. Morals weren’t any politician’s strong suit.

“Mr. President,” Dan interjected. “We are talking about wiping out a city with millions of people. Plus, the environmental hazards and I’m sure a hundred other things. You can’t predict what will happen in the long run after that missile is launched. Just because it is halfway around the world doesn’t mean it’s not our problem.”

That brought the president back to reality. Still, he considered heavily Levi’s words.

“Gentlemen, believe me, I understand the weight of the situation. I must also say that I will never send Americans to another nation to fight without complete support of the people of this country and the United Nations. That being said, I must examine Mr. Carp’s philosophy of looking for opportunity in this situation. Some aspects of this dilemma could be construed to be in our best interests if we only monitor the events for now. The situation is evolving without us. We might as well explore the hidden options. Luckily Admiral Sukudo had the foresight to track the sub.”

After hearing that statement, Levi easily put two and two together and knew where Dan had retreated to those missing days.

“We do know where the sub is. Right, Admiral?”

Sukudo nodded. He remained extremely relaxed. “Within one hundred miles. If it makes it to the Mediterranean, we’ll know.”

“Good, then. I still think we have time. I’ll discuss it with my advisers and staff.”

Every good thing that Dan had ever felt about the man who he had helped vote into office ran out his ass. He was floored. “Discuss what? You’ll at least notify the Israelis?”

“Mr. Archer. This is a very complex issue we are confronted with. It is not a spur-of-the-moment decision. Our course of action has not been decided.” Those words from the president seemed to end the conversation.

Anthony was only too glad to get up and leave. He was the first to thank the president and make a move to exit. Sukudo left without a word. He was not impressed. Dan was thoroughly confused. He did not understand what the president meant, and Levi had to tug at his sleeve to urge him through the door.

After the door was closed, Levi braced Dan against the wall. “Next time you go around me on any op, I’ll have your ass, and your admiral’s ass too.” He limped down the hall to walk with Anthony, who was waiting at the junction. Surely there is a fence to be mended there, he thought.

Sukudo emerged from around the corner and smiled at Dan. “That guy’s a real prick.”

“You’re being nice. To Levi, that would be a compliment.”

The two strolled off. “I hate to bring this up now, but what I told you about the president: I told you so.” Sukudo chuckled.

“You know, you’re in a damn good mood considering the conversation we heard.”

“Understand one thing, Dan. This isn’t about a sub being stolen from the Russian Navy. This is a game of chess. One game with more than two players. Winning isn’t the real objective. Each player wants the outcome of this game to end in a way for it to benefit him the most. The president is stalling for time, trying to figure out his ending. Levi has his own goals. What that dumb son of a bitch Stemovich doesn’t know is that he is the pawn. We are the players. We’re the ones who will decide how the game ends.”

“I’m glad you can be so confident,” Dan commented sarcastically. “What is your goal in this competition?”

“That’s not up for discussion.”

“I think it should be if millions of people are going to die.”

Sukudo leaned into Dan’s ear. “Don’t worry. Baghdad isn’t going to get the missile.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Stemovich isn’t headed that way.”

The War Eagle came up just high enough to poke her antenna through the water, but only long enough to send the required message. The storm was so strong that it forced her back under, annoying Jim that he couldn’t inspect the outer hull. “Come right two-seven-zero. All ahead standard.”

“Standard aye, sir,” echoed a voice from behind.

“Bump, how far did he get before we lost him?”

The voice box crackled. “About fifty miles. He held this course all the way.”

Jim walked back into the RRCC to find Josh working his controls. “Jesus Christ, Captain. I can barely keep up with him. Luckily, he hasn’t dived any deeper. Yet,” offered Josh to begin the banter.

“Still got a lock?”

“Yup. He seems to be cruising along the Russian coast, using a deliberate path. No fucking around. He’s got a plan.”

“How long do you think you can keep up with him?”

“I’ve got his heat signature stored in my computer.”

“Good, ’cause we’re not going to catch him until I find out what the damage is to my ship.”

Mikhail had been inspecting the hull for the past several hours. Without going out, he had found no leaks or any type of stress to the sub. He walked up, hearing the tail end of Jim and Josh’s conversation. “There is no problem with this ship. The blast didn’t even scratch it. We can go after him right now.”

“Are you sure?” replied Jim.

“We’re undamaged.” Mikhail glanced at ODIS’s screen as Josh tried to enhance the view. He recognized the Russian coast. “He’s not leaving Russian waters, is he?”

“It doesn’t look that way.”

Mikhail peered at the map even more closely. “Andri is interested in remaining close to home. His path suggests that he has a place off the coast to hide.”

Jim butted in. “I don’t care where he goes. I’m more interested in what he plans on doing when he gets there.”

O’Neil was present and half listening to the conversation when a message came in. He jotted it down and handed it to the captain.

“Well, we finally got a name on our mystery sub: Saratov. Mean anything to you, Mik?”

“No.”

“Okay, since we don’t seem any the worse for the wear, let’s put the War Eagle in a little hunt. Our Saratov has got to stop somewhere.”

Nick marveled at the advancements in the Saratov, even it being twenty something years old. Three hours into their journey, Andri set an automatic drive on the ship, which let the vessel run strictly by computers. It was as close to an autopilot as Nick had ever observed on a submarine.

Andri instructed him that he and his counterpart could leave to grab a bite in the mess or stretch their legs. They were to return in half an hour. He went to the galley and fixed a quick snack, then began to peruse the ship and look for Marina. The sub was so state of the art for a Russian vessel that he wondered how Andri had made such a quantum leap in engineering. From the beginning, he had noticed that the ship was designed for maximum depth. He also noticed that the ship was so automated it took few crew. Sleek, long, and beautiful—more a work of art than an instrument of war.

In the stern, he noticed a compartment that seemed to be a separate section—a nook that was four feet by four feet and oblique. It hung from the upper deck, and a small hatch with a tiny, thick window near the floor was the only means for which to enter. Nick opened the hatch and stuck his head inside. Anxiety hit him. The memory of the pod ride clouded his mind, and his claustrophobia swelled. He threw his head back into the aisle, breathing deeply to quell the panic. Then he noticed Andri standing behind him.

“I don’t believe that you have been completely honest with me, Nicholas.”

Nick shook the feeling off and gathered himself. “Oh?”

“No, you haven’t. I have watched you inspecting my ship, and you cast an appreciate eye. The Saratov stimulates you. Correct?”

“I have found her quite intriguing.”

“Nonsense,” Andri happily snorted. “You have never seen anything like her before. You admire her.”

“I admit that I am amazed at the craftsmanship. It is a rare thing.” Nick knew that Andri’s head was swelling, and he wanted to keep him in a good humor.

“You wonder at this small compartment?” He was now eager to reveal the workings of his creation, especially since there was someone who could enjoy it. “Do you know what it is for?”

“It’s some type of escape vessel.”

“Very good, Nicholas.” Andri was mildly surprised. “Do you know how it works?”

Nick looked toward the ceiling and referred to the seal that held the pod to the ship. “I imagine that a lever on the inside blows the seal, and the pod floats to the top.”

“Close enough. The seal blows and floods this compartment of the ship. The pressure holding it in place relaxes, and the craft separates and floats to the surface. I designed it for a crew member to escape with vital information in the event the ship is in peril. After all, it could take one man to stop a war.”

“Has it been tested?”

Andri smiled. “No. I didn’t have time to thoroughly test the structure. I compensated for that by reinforcing the capsule to handle greater depths.”

“How fast does it rise?”

“I don’t really know. I have the calculations, though. A balloon inflates when it is clear of the ship. Or it is supposed to. That should help it travel upward.”

Nick wanted to learn more but felt that he was getting carried away with the questions. The pod was like the one they were developing in the States. There was a little déjà vu for him. “Remarkable.”

“I knew there was more to you than what Sasha let on. I could see it. You enjoy these ships. You understand them. I believe that we will work well together.”

“I think so, too, Captain,” replied Nick.

Andri slapped him on the back before he left. He was confident that he had found someone upon whom he could rely.

Nick went the other way and soon stumbled into the communications room and Marina. He looked around to make sure no one else was present before he began speaking. “Can you believe this thing? There is crap on this sub that the United States is only developing right now.”

“Keep quiet, Nicholas. We can’t be too careful.” Marina was somewhat subdued. She heard the torpedo sink the freighter and the other detonate. It was not an ideal situation for her. She was confined and underwater, truly out of her element.

“I’m saying that this is one fucking dangerous weapon.”

“I know. He fired upon the ship.”

Nick had forgotten about the freighter, and the reality of the events came floating back to him. “Yes, he did, and I can understand why. We will all be sought after now, not just Andri. It assured him that the crew would stay in for the long haul. We’re now all criminals.”

“Nicholas! Remember, we are here to prevent this. We can’t let him sell this ship to the Arabs. It could mean the end of my country.”

“He’s not going to sell this thing. He didn’t even allow the Arabs on board. Andri has a different agenda, and it has nothing to do with the Middle East.”

Marina felt especially helpless. She couldn’t even leave her cabin to find out the plan, and Nick seemed to be enjoying the adventure. “This is bad. We have to find out what he is up to. You, Nicholas. You have to find out what is his real intent.”

Nick wrestled with how that was going to happen.

Marina spoke again. “This bastard is capable of starting a nuclear war. If we can’t stop him, then no one can. We may even need some help, and there is none around. “

“You’re wrong,” he replied. “Help is out there, somewhere, following us. Of that I’m sure.” Nick took some comfort in the thought of Mikhail and the War Eagle.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Nicholas. The US Navy would sink us as soon as they could. We are the only ones left to stop this lunatic. The only questions are how and when.”

Marina showed signs of desperation, and it flowed over to Nick. “There will be a time, Marina. It will come.”

Nick returned to the bridge and found himself the last one to take his place. Andri was in his position, looking like the austere captain of such an important vessel.

“Planesman,” ordered Andri. “Dive at a twenty-degree angle to three hundred and fifty meters.”

Nick pushed forward on the column, and the Saratov began her descent. At 350 meters, he leveled her out and continued on course.

“Fuck!”

Jim heard the word resonate from the RRCC. He knew it was Josh’s voice, and it was confirmed by his appearance in the CIC.

“She dove, Cap. ODIS lost her when she hit her first thermal. There’s no way to track her until she comes back.”

“Is ODIS set to scan?”

“Already working.”

“Okay then, it’s a game of hide-and-go-seek. Flank speed, Mr. Dowl.”

“Flank speed, sir,” Linc replied.

“Mikhail!” Jim knew he was close.

“I’m right here,” he said from behind Hickman.

“Mik. I want to know every wild, harebrained scheme this Stemovich son of a bitch may have in mind. I want to hear all of them before we get to the coordinates where we last saw him.”

It was easy for Sharon to see that Dan was more than agitated when he walked in the office. She followed and sat across his desk from him. “You didn’t have a very good day.”

“You can say that again.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“I don’t think so. Unless you know how to replace the president.”

The comment caught her off guard, and she didn’t know what to make of it. “Anything other than that?”

“Things aren’t going as well as I had hoped.”

“Maybe you need a nice night to relax. I can take you to dinner. Tell you how well the secret campaigning for the director’s chair is going for you.”

“Jesus. I’d forgotten that you’d been up in arms about that. Many people on my side?”

“Everyone. They won’t stand to have Levi promoted to the job. What do you think?”

“I think now we have an opportunity.” Dan knew he had some chance because the operation fouled on Levi. Levi had done an excellent job saving his ass, but he was still wrong about the events. It was to Dan’s benefit no matter what happened.

“Then let me buy you a drink.”

He felt the sudden urge to shed all his responsibility for one night. He had to go somewhere where he didn’t have to think about work for a few hours. “I’ll take you up on the dinner.”

“Okay then,” perked Sharon. “Let me just call my girl…”

The statement was somewhat embarrassing for both, and each blushed.

“Go ahead. I understand,” said Dan. Beth Rudnick, he thought. That was someone whom I had forgotten all about.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Idle Hands

The last several days hadn’t been good ones for Levi. He sat in the darkness of his office and tried to relax. He knew he was playing the biggest game of his life. More was on the line now than ever in his career. The military-industrial complex was expecting him to deliver one last time. After that, he wouldn’t be bothered by it ever again. That drove him to see his plan through. This one success and he would rule the world’s most complex intelligence organization without constraint.

He was still surprised at how easy it was to plant the seed in the president. He laughed to himself as he remembered how the leader of the free world had seized on his idea. He could almost envision the president’s thoughts as he sowed the dangerous seeds. As long as the US stays clean, there would be no problem, only prosperity. The rest happens on the other side of the world. No need to get caught up in other people’s affairs. At least not until asked. If Levi hadn’t been so cold-blooded, he, too, might have even been disgusted by the president’s inaction.

Dan Archer—he was another problem. Anthony had remarked on their walk out of the White House that if it weren’t for Dan they would all have been finished. Luckily for Levi, Dan had hooked up with Sukudo and kept an eye on the situation. Anthony was ready to jerk the op from Levi except for the fact that he seemed to be in the president’s favor by the end of the meeting. Dan hadn’t damaged his position for the big chair—not much, anyway. That was the most annoying thing of all. Levi knew he couldn’t continue working in the CIA if Dan received the promotion. He’d have to retire before he reached his single personal goal. Unthinkable. He picked up his phone and dialed Beth. She answered, crying.

“Beth? What’s the matter?”

“Levi, why the fuck did you have to call now? I don’t want to talk to you.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of this. “Then don’t pick up the phone when you see my number. Who were you expecting?”

“You know who. I’m sure you called to rub it in.”

“What, Beth? Tell me, and I’ll see if I can help.”

Beth knew her father all too well. She knew he was a manipulating ass, yet she needed to talk, and he was the only one on the line. “You can help by killing that bastard, Dan Archer.”

This did surprise him. Levi wasn’t expecting that to drop from his daughter’s mouth. “Why?”

“You have got to know. He’s out with Sharon again. I’m sure they’re having a grand time yucking it up across DC.”

What was that saying about a woman scorned? “Honey, I’m sure they’re just working late. Nothing more. Plus, I though Sharon was like you.”

“Who fucking knows anymore? Who cares? A woman as beautiful as her can decide day to day what she wants. God, it pisses me off! That fucking spook of yours is ruining my life. He’s going to take Sharon. He’s all she talks about.”

It was becoming apparent to Levi that he might have another option. Beth was pissed. She would be quite cooperative in finding out Dan’s movements through Sharon again. Especially if Sharon ran at the mouth about what a great time she was having working with her boss again. All he had to do was convince her of this. “Beth, I can’t help you unless I know what Dan is doing. If I had something on him that could get him fired, I could help. Until then, he stays. Does Sharon say anything about what he does?”

“Not as much anymore. He’s been keeping her in the dark. She’s been trying to rally support for him to take the director’s chair.” Beth sniffled.

This incensed Levi, but he controlled himself. “Well, if you could distract her, that would be very helpful. If Dan doesn’t make the chair, then I can fire him. But only after I get in the chair myself.”

The news cheered up Beth a little. At least she now had some direction. Something she didn’t have before the phone rang. She was ready to deal with the devil to expulse Dan Archer from her life. “I’ll see what I can do, Levi.”

“Thanks, honey. If you hear of anything else, give me a call right away.”

“Okay.” Beth sniffed once more then hung up.

Levi put the phone down and swished the conversation through his head. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Jim walked the length of the boat as it moved through the water, trying to get a feel for her. Like a good race-car driver, he could understand his machine and knew when something was wrong by the way it rode. The torpedo had knocked that sensation out of him. He tried to rationalize why he was so passionate about the War Eagle. Possibly because it was clandestine. Possibly because the ship never had a skipper other than him. My personal multibillion-dollar toy. He grinned to himself.

He gave up pacing and returned to the CIC. Hopefully the feeling would return if he tried not to concentrate so much. Relaxing seemed to help. The bridge was quiet. The planesman held a steady depth and course as they raced to the last image point of the Saratov. Lincoln was in the back, sipping coffee and plotting routes.

Josh Brand finally pulled his butt from the RRCC, took a Hollywood shower, and went to his bunk to catch forty winks. McLeary and O’Neil were starting to complain about the way he smelled. They must have said something.

The crew had rotated, and the tension had subsided. Things were operating smoothly, except everyone knew what would be at the end of their journey. Miraculously, they still had the element of surprise.

Jim was contemplating hitting the bunk himself when Mikhail returned. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Good, Mik. Give me your best guess.”

Mikhail, weary and subdued, laid out pictures and maps of Russia in front of Jim. “I went back and started from the beginning, with the sub. I am convinced that Stemovich stole the Saratov because it serves a specific purpose. I looked at the pictures again, and I will say that Russia won’t see another as advanced as her for decades. He outdid himself.”

“You’re not saying he stole it for himself?”

“He has a clear purpose.”

“I would like clarity right now,” mumbled Jim.

“Next, I looked at the ship’s armaments. He’s going to use his nuclear capability.”

Jim was startled by the confidence with which Mikhail spoke. “Why?”

“A Russian does not take something that he doesn’t intend to use. It is in our culture not to waste. Stalin enforced that point upon us. He armed his ship first with missiles while a storm was breathing down his neck. The missiles had priority over the torpedoes. They are key to his success.”

“Success in what?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Do you think he has the United States targeted or some other country?”

There seemed to be pain in Mikhail as he answered. “I don’t believe so. If his intent was to harm another country, then he has taken a strange course. His risk of detection is great if he ventures out of Russian waters. He has stayed extremely close to the coast. It makes me believe that he won’t sail very far away.”

“A city in Russia then?”

“Moscow, perhaps.”

“Moscow? He’s headed the wrong way for Moscow.” Jim pointed with his finger. “In fact, he’s got to make a hell of a journey to get in position to launch on Moscow.”

“I know. He’s coming back.”

“What’s he doing in the meantime?”

“I believe we can call it running an errand. I don’t know what it involves, but he’s got to do something or get something before he can continue with his plan.”

Jim felt one of those tension headaches coming on. “Why Moscow then?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with terrorism. Andri is too professional to succumb to that. I had to think about what could happen if a missile were to blow out the city. The worst case would be that the severed communications with the satellite provinces would send them into a panic and start World War III. Yet I find that unlikely. What I had to examine was the event, along with the man who was going to create that event. I can extrapolate that Andri is a devoted navy man. No engineer would remain in the Soviet military, much less strive to become a captain, if he didn’t like it. Secondly, the navy, more than any other branch of the military, has passionate ties to the October Revolution and the existence of communism. It was the naval branch that embraced Lenin first. All branches of the Soviet war machine benefited from communism, but the navy received most of the perks. Then I asked myself not what Andri would get from destroying Moscow, but what would the navy gain?”

“What could they gain from it?” returned Jim. “Moscow is hundreds of miles inland. It’s the heartbeat of Russia in dealing with commerce. Other than that, it’s like DC, loaded with bureaucrats and government.”

“Exactly,” replied Mikhail. “Destroy the government—”

“And you get a new government,” finished Jim.

“Not a new one,” said Mikhail, holding up his finger. “You get an old one. Probably located in Saint Petersburg.”

“But you start World War III.”

“I don’t know how he will get around that. We have to assume his strategy takes that into account.”

Jim glared at Mikhail. “Assume he doesn’t nuke Moscow? Really?”

“He is a Russian, not a jihadist. He is not doing this for himself or for God. He’s doing it for his people. The people of Russia.”

“We can rule out money as the motivating factor.”

“Money was the decoy. Even the CIA thought money was the best explanation—possibly the only explanation. It wasn’t even in the equation for him, so no one looked at him thoroughly. There was no secondary thought put toward his motivation. We all missed this.”

For argument’s sake, it all sounded very appealing to Jim. Some scrap of sense in an insane situation. Still, at best, it was only a hypothesis. “What do you have to support this position?”

“I am Russian. So is Andri. If I were Andri, it would be what I would do. There isn’t a world large enough for him to hide from a bullet if he were to turn over that machine to Kuwait, but in the new Soviet Union, he could be celebrated as a hero.”

“I’ll keep it in mind if we happen to pass him heading the other way.” As reasonable as the explanation was, Jim couldn’t formulate a plan with it. Nor could he radio back to the States something that was pure speculation.

“One more thing that has to be obvious for his plan to succeed. He’s going to need help.”

For the crew to rest, the Saratov was set at one-third speed, and the computers put on automatic. Andri had already prepared a heading, and the ship slipped along effortlessly. Sasha and one other were left on the bridge to monitor as the crew slept a full eight hours before returning to their posts.

Marina had slept while the crew was on duty. Now, when practically everyone was in dreamland, she had the opportunity to explore the ship.

If Marina had known even the slightest thing about submarine technology, she would have been overwhelmed by the advancements. As it was, she was rather impressed with the size of the Saratov. Exploring in her socks to avoid noise and refusing to open any hatchway, she kept her sleuthing extra quiet. Fortunately for her, most passages were unlatched, and she could enter and exit freely. Only the hatch to the missile bay was locked tight. Andri obviously didn’t want anyone but himself in that compartment.

Getting forward posed little problem, since she could pass under the bridge where Sasha stood guard. Every little sound seemed to echo, and she was amazed at how quietly it sailed. At times, she thought the vessel was at rest.

She was in the bow when she began to overhear a conversation between Sasha and another man. Marina sneaked closer. She became conscious of her breathing and tried to hold it as she moved within earshot. Outside the bridge, she settled down to eavesdrop, knowing that if caught, Sasha wouldn’t hesitate to slit her throat.

“What does Andri intend to do?” spoke the extra man.

“The captain, you mean.” Sasha was quick to correct. “It is of little concern to you. You have signed on to work, not to question.”

“I’m here for the entire journey. I would go to hell and back for one hundred thousand American. But I’d like an idea of the type of crime that I will be involved with.”

“Trust me,” Sasha replied. “After we’re done, no one will think us criminals. We will sail into Leningrad as victors.”

“Leningrad? That brings back memories. Are we to rename Saint Petersburg again?”

“The people will have their country returned to them. Then you, my friend, and the rest of the crew will be given safe passage to any place you want to go.”

The man was puzzled. “You will be able to grant this?”

“Of course,” boasted Sasha. “I will be the new president’s closest adviser.”

“And who will be the president?”

“Your captain.”

Marina gasped. She didn’t want to believe what she was hearing.

Sasha suddenly felt a coolness crawl up his spine, and he looked forward. “Is anyone there?” he asked. “Is anyone forward?” He stepped closer to the hatchway where Marina sat. Sasha was halfway through, and again he repeated his question. He listened intently, and then satisfied that he had heard a ghost, he returned to the interior bridge.

Marina slowly made her way forward and down to the second level, then under the bridge. She felt better when she entered the stern and made it back to her cabin.

Like a cobra striking its victim, the hand pulled her in and threw her on the bed. Marina was terrified for one second until she saw that the hand belonged to Nicholas. He was upset and spoke in a very quiet but stern tone.

“Where the hell were you?”

“I had to check out the ship. I can’t remain cooped up in this room while the rest of you get to wander.”

“Marina, you’ll get your head blown off if they catch you sneaking about. If you want to walk around, appear when everyone is awake. Don’t act so much like a spy.”

“One of us has to remember why we’re here,” she chided. “I overheard Sasha brag about their mission. These fools actually think that they will soon be in control of Russia.”

“How?”

Marina stood. Her clothes were drenched with sweat, and she began taking them off. “I don’t know. It has something to do with Saint Petersburg. That’s all I understood.”

Her shirt pulled over her head, and she exposed her breasts to him. Nick couldn’t ignore his primal call screaming from as far down as his DNA. Her looks and the smell of her sweat were too much for him. He took a quick step toward her and firmly grasped her arm. Their eyes met, and within a second, they became intertwined.

She, too, sensed it. Their place, their situation, only stimulated her more. It was going to be furious. It had to be fast because of where they stood, which added to the excitement.

Nick felt the heat and responded. After gently pushing her against the door, he moved his body behind hers. Her panties dropped to her ankles, and she thrust her rear back, opening her passage for Nick to fondle. He felt her nipples become taut as he reached around and ran them through his fingers. She quietly gasped, wanting more, immediately. She placed one foot on the bunk and pushed herself farther back into Nickolas.

His pants fell, and Marina reached between her legs to guide him. He knew they were in a dangerous situation, but it was way off in the distances of his mind. The passion was prominent, and the only thing he was conscious of was the way they fit. Never had he experienced such a consuming physical sensation.

Marina couldn’t help but marvel at the torrents of moisture that sprang from her thighs and flowed down her leg. Now the two thrust together as if they were trying to meld into one. She felt him burst, and his message traveled throughout her. She had never experienced such a climax. Nick became as solid as a steel bar and pulled Marina close to him before relaxing. They fell back, still connected, onto her cot. Tears came to her eyes. They stayed motionless for minutes, each trying to recover and lead their minds out of the haze that they had so much enjoyed.

“My God,” whispered Nick.

Marina rolled over, freeing herself from the connection. “This had to happen. I knew it would, and I’m glad.”

“So am I,” replied Nick.

“Nicholas, don’t let any feelings interfere. We must stop this ship above anything else.”

It was back to business as usual.

It was hard for the president to concentrate on any domestic affairs while he knew there was a rogue nuclear sub somewhere in the ocean. He had gone over Levi’s explanation, or plan, several times. It was distasteful to think that a whole city filled with unsuspecting people could be annihilated. The end result being prosperity for the United States. In any event, if he were to pull off a quick economic recovery by using the Middle East paranoia, he surely would have a good light shine on him in the history books. A wartime president to add to his stature. He was at the end his second term, and he needed a victory—desperately.

He had been smart enough to consult with the chief of staff. Though the president didn’t let on as to what was really happening, he did get the assurance that Patriot missile batteries where positioned in Saudi and Israeli territories. These batteries were instructed to shoot down any missiles in any air space within the Central Command region. His chief found the request disturbing, especially since he was kept in the dark about the complete situation. It did not make for a good working relationship.

He was willing to gamble on Levi’s plan up to a point. If a Patriot missile shot the weapon from the air, then the United States could reap the glory as the nation that had defended the region one more time, while secretly inciting the suspicions between the countries behind the scenes.

Played right, the United States would be the victor no matter what happened. Hopefully, the situation would take care of itself, with a little guidance from the president.

Oh, what a night. Dan forced himself to sit up in bed, even though his head felt like a lead balloon. There was the stale smell of alcohol in his room. First things first. He had to pee. There was nothing more important than that because his penis was rock hard, and it wasn’t because he was excited. He stumbled into the bathroom and managed to bend far enough over to get it pointed down to hit the water. His mind went over the night, and he remembered beginning with dinner at a small restaurant, Sharon his only company.

Dinner had been nothing special. Dan wanted more than anything else to relax. He sucked down two beers before they ordered and three more during the dinner itself. Sharon drank an equal amount in wine. By the time dessert arrived, they were in a good stupor and sitting quite close to each other as they conversed in their intimate booth.

Conversation had been hard going until the booze kicked in. Then everything spilled out. Sharon asked questions about Dan’s life, and he responded by saying that he was basically happy but somewhat lonely. His job never allowed for very many good times, and he felt that it was improper to burden a woman with a commitment when he was hardly around. Sharon had even been so bold as to dig deeper into his personal life, and Dan had obliged.

She giggled as he let her know that more than once he’d gone to one of the local massage parlors and paid women for sexual favors. Those instances happened mostly when he was a junior in the company and working twenty hours at a stretch. Now in the day of AIDS, he frequented less often and always used a condom. In the end, Dan couldn’t believe that he was telling her this and even laughed at the fact.

Sharon had absorbed every word. She could see that Dan again trusted her. Such personal thoughts and actions she knew were only revealed to people who were considered friends. This made him more appealing. He was sharing secrets about his life, and she liked that. She even found many of the stories stimulating. Then Dan grinned and remarked that it was her turn to reveal everything. She gladly did.

She knew what he wanted to know. It was what every man wanted to know when they found out she was gay. Why? To Sharon, it had never really been anything physical. It was emotional. She had been raised in a strict Seventh Day Adventist home and never given a sex talk. At the age of twenty-one, her first real boyfriend had gotten too drunk to get an erection on the night she was to lose her virginity. Of course she blamed herself as being inadequate and inexperienced, and her self-confidence was destroyed from the beginning.

She finally did have sex, but the experiences were a debacle. Often she’d cry, and eventually she gave up trying at all. She found a sympathetic ear in a female friend, and after many long nights of trying to hash out the problems, they began experimenting with each other. The tenderness of the situation and the nurturing she found satisfying. Physically she was pleased because she had always been attracted to shapely bodies of both sexes. Women just seemed to be more tender emotionally, which translated into a healthy sexual relationship. But there was doubt in the back of her mind of what sex she’d finally found herself drawn to. Whenever she dreamed or envisioned herself with another in a passionate moment, it was always a man, not a woman. Perhaps now she was ready to cross back.

Dan listened as if the world was being revealed to him. Men don’t often get such detailed, credible information about things like this. He was astonished at how forthcoming Sharon had been about her lifestyle, and he did not press the issue. He sat in amazement as she went on. She spoke of being gay and the sex itself. She described in drunken detail about many a night decked out in leather and chains and the playful pleasures derived from that type of physical activity.

Then the evening became even more relaxed. They decided to be a couple of clowns and walk down to Dave and Buster’s and play video games. Most of the kids looked at them as if they were crazy as they drunkenly pumped quarters into an outdated pinball machine. Half the games they tilted, and the manager asked them to leave. Then it was on to a lounge where they sat at the bar and made bets on how many men would try to pick up Sharon. A dollar a man. Dan, being a member of the ever-scheming male gender, left the establishment with twenty dollars of Sharon’s money.

Dan shook himself off in front of the toilet and remembered that since he was too drunk to drive Sharon home, they had rationalized that they could drive to Dan’s house because it was close. That was stupid. He remembered that Sharon had passed out on the couch almost as soon as they had gotten in the door, and he had gone straight to bed. He hoped she wouldn’t be embarrassed.

The water heated up nicely, and Dan hadn’t been in the shower longer than a minute when he heard Sharon’s voice. “Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go pee real bad.”

“Go ahead. I won’t look. Don’t flush the pot, though. I’ll get scalded.” He heard her giggle as the seat clinked against the tank.

“Did you have fun last night?” she asked.

“I haven’t partied like that in a long time.”

“I wanted to thank you for not taking advantage of me when I was drunk.”

“Ah, I was there to unwind. I had nothing else on my mind.”

The shower curtain parted, and a naked Sharon Dailey stepped in to join him. He was startled and somewhat shocked. “Hungover?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said cautiously.

“I know the best cure for a hangover.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Like I said, I wanted to thank you.” She pressed her body hard against his and her lips to his mouth. It was exactly like the dream she had been having.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Big Bang Theory

The War Eagle passed the point where they had last recorded the Saratov.

Josh sat in the RRCC fiddling with ODIS’s orbit, trying to figure some way to increase the capability of the thermal scan. McLeary had been helping. He had gone to the ship’s digital library and pulled data on the French SPOT satellite. That satellite was nowhere near the sophistication of ODIS, but he hoped he could find something that might be helpful on the transmitter arrays. He found nothing of any significance. “Hey. This says there’s a picture of Noah’s ark in here.” McLeary pointed to a black-and-white picture of what amounted to small squares. To the untrained eye, the ark was not visible and eluded the ensign. “I don’t know what they were thinking when they took this. I couldn’t find a boat on this picture if you paid me.”

“SPOT is shit,” said Josh. “Those French bastards are kidding themselves if that’s the best they can do.” He dropped ODIS’s screen to black and went into the computer files. “If you want to see Noah’s ark, ask me. I’ve seen it a couple of times over the years. Sections of it become visible on Ararat, mostly between July and September.” The screen came up with the picture of Mount Ararat in Hungary. Using the pointer, Josh clicked on the picture several times, increasing the resolution. On a small glacier, a square wooden object began to appear. Josh zoomed in so far that the planking on the top of a large wood corner was clearly visible. “I took these years ago before we really nailed the resolutions in the pictures we get today; but it’s still pretty good. Any closer and the screen begins to distort.”

O’Neil heard the conversation and was looking over their shoulders as the ark came into clear view. “Holy shit! How did a barge get there?”

“I know. Makes you wonder.”

“How come the defense department hasn’t released these to the public?” To McLeary, it only seemed to make sense that proof of such a find should be shared.

“Do we really want to show the military leaders of other countries how proficient we are at spying? I think not. We’re the only ones who use the amalgamation of three different cameras in millions of different spectrums to produce one picture. No one else can figure out how. Thank you, Steve Jobs.”

“I can’t believe that’s sitting in your computer chip, and you act like it’s nothing.” McLeary’s mind was doing flip-flops trying to grapple with the conformation of the biblical flood.

“I know what you’re going through. I did it myself when I first saw this thing. You look at the world with a new perspective—for a while. Don’t try to figure it out until this trip is over. Right now Uncle Sam needs your undivided attention.” Josh was right. He could show them many things that would blow their minds, but he wanted to make sure they kept their heads on straight for now.

He returned the screen to ODIS, which had a lens coming off mainland Russia and drifting into the Arctic Ocean. It was then that he saw the small, faint red dot begin to blink. A millisecond later, the computer latched onto it and identified it as the ship they were looking for. The Saratov was coming up.

Before Josh could open his mouth, the sonar room reported. “Sonar to bridge. Hull popping. We have a fix. Dead ahead, ten miles.”

Jim didn’t bother to respond. Instead he went for the RRCC and Josh. “You got him, Brand?”

“Yes. Caught him just before the sonar.”

“Like hell you did!” yelled Bumper. “I had him first.”

“He’s on top now, sitting still.” Josh smiled.

“All stop,” ordered Andri.

“All stop,” returned his engineer.

Andri had climbed up into the sail and was opening the hatch as the Saratov drifted slowly in the waters. A small breeze bit at his face, but in contrast, the sun gleamed brilliantly from the sky. He stood, stretching in the cool air as he gazed through binoculars, sweeping the lens across the horizon. Sasha joined him.

“All ready, Captain.”

“Good, Sasha. Then there is no reason to wait. There will be no turning back after this. Succeed or die.”

Sasha was unwavering. “I understand. We will not fail.”

To Andri’s surprise, he had noticed that as the plan progressed Sasha had become caught up very deeply in what they were going to accomplish. Andri enjoyed his unwavering loyalty, but he was concerned about the man blindly following his every command. He reminded Andri somewhat of the old German Nazi officers. Nothing seemed to faze them, no matter how unpleasant. That was unsettling, no matter what he was about to do. When men have no conscience about their actions, then evil runs amok, he thought. So it happened in my country. Now we take it back.

“Go below and secure quarters for launching.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sasha dropped away.

Below, Andri could hear the warning bells announcing the securing of the ship. When everything calmed down, he picked up the microphone to the bridge and relayed his orders.

“Open missile hatch.”

On the stern of the ship, the massive hatch that covered the missiles slid back and exposed two missiles sitting abreast.

“Raise platform.”

The whirring of more hydraulics continued as the projectiles spun out of the bay five feet above the back of the Saratov. Both lay simply on a carriage that was connected to what could only be described as something like an auto lift that garages use to raise the cars above the workmen’s heads.

The carriage was able to lift, spin, and point the missiles in the direction they needed to be fired. A computer guidance system tied into the lift then angled the projectiles at the right height and direction and calculated the time it would take for them to travel to their targets. All it needed was the coordinates.

A small keypad by Andri’s hand served as the final sequence before launching. He entered the location of the target, and the computer configured the launch angle and direction. The missiles spun quickly around once and settled on a low trajectory looking over the south horizon. The pad flashed red, and another bell rang through the ship, signaling that one missile was armed. He picked up the mic to utter the final order. “Fire.”

There was an eerie silence in the War Eagle. Those who didn’t know exactly what was going on knew something bad had happened. All eyes and ears were trained on the RRCC. Jim sat next to Josh as they watched the whole launch sequence.

“Can you track it?”

“As long as it doesn’t go too far south, yeah.” Josh was more fascinated by the launch than worried about it. The same couldn’t be said for Jim.

Mikhail had appeared in time to watch the event. “How far away are we?” he asked.

“Ten miles.” Jim was trying to think of the proper procedure, but he couldn’t remember a scenario for this particular situation. “Linc. Make sure everyone is prepared for nuclear war.”

“Aye, Cap,” Linc sounded from the back.

The order caught Josh’s attention. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”

“I want to make sure we are ready for nuclear fallout. We don’t even know where that thing is going to land.”

“Someplace close,” interrupted Mikhail. “The missile is only going to be airborne for about five minutes. Maybe less. He kept it low, on the surface. It’s a solid fuel rocket, and it’s small. The range is not great.”

Josh was confused. He assumed that every country had a defense for this situation. “Can’t Russia stop it? Can’t they shoot it down? You would think they would have picked it up the minute it was launched.”

Mikhail shook his head. “Things haven’t changed that much in Russia. The old Soviet response is slow. The missile will hit its target before they can launch any countermeasures. They saw it launch, but there’s little they can do.”

Their names are not important. The two Russian army privates were rabble-rousers and were sent to one of the most hated posts in the whole Russian army. It used to be called Red Army Base 29. Now no one knew for sure what the title meant, but they did know that the Russian government still wanted it protected.

It was a tract of land twenty kilometers square. Maybe more. Their job was to continuously drive around the perimeter repairing the twenty-foot-high chain-link and barbed-wire fence. There was only one entrance to the base, located on the west side. All other roads leading out of the square had been fenced over years ago, disappearing under the wild grass. No one ever went in or came out. The lock on the main entrance had rusted over with age, and to get through it one would have to use a blowtorch.

It was break time for the two. They were enjoying some soda and pornographic magazines when they heard it. Both craned their neck upward and upon seeing the missile threw themselves to the ground as their training dictated. It whistled away and headed for the mountains in the distance. Ten seconds later, they witnessed a small flash of bright light. Twenty seconds after that came the roar of the explosion, and then they saw the mushroom cloud. It was tiny, but it was lifting above the mountains.

The two scrambled into their jeep just as a small shock wave hit the vehicle. The motor died, and all the electronics were fried by the resulting EMP burst of the blast. They got out and started running. This would have to be reported in person.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was real stupid.” Josh had been successful in following the flight of the missile using ODIS. In the intensity of the moment, he had forgotten that such concentrated flashes of light like the ones produced by nuclear explosions could fry the satellite’s delicate circuits. “Shit.” The screen went completely black as he furiously tried to find out if the satellite was toast.

Jim was bewildered. He didn’t know if ODIS had messed up or if he had seen the explosion. “What happened? Did it go off?”

“Yes. It burned up my circuits.” Josh was not happy. He now had to put the satellite in a decaying orbit to let it burn up on reentry. The others would have to be configured to cover up the hole left in the orbit by the ineffective vehicle. Then he’d have to request that another be built and sent up. No one in the air force or the congressional committee was ever glad to see him. Usually Josh’s mistakes ran into the billions of dollars. “Wait a minute. Wait. I’ve got another coming into the window.”

The screen flashed again as the next of ODIS’s flybys took over. Josh was able to zoom in on the area where the missile had detonated. Everything was on fire. It had not landed in a populated place or an area that seemed to have much of anything, but still, the ground was scorched, and the rock acted like it was melting. The territory looked as if hell itself had floated to the surface for a quick vacation and then slipped away.

“My God,” whispered Jim. “They try to prepare you for this, but it still leaves you overwhelmed.”

“Does this mean that we’re at war? Nuclear war?” O’Neal asked.

Mikhail was quick to jump on the question. “Do we know where the missile landed?”

Josh called up the coordinates on the computer and located the nearest community. “Yeah. The nearest inhabited area is a town. Looks to be a small village called Kazymskaya. The explosion was located between three rivers. The Kazym, the Nadym, and a tributary to the Ob.”

Jim was still amazed at the destruction. “How many people do you think he killed?”

Mikhail seemed relaxed. “Not one. Our good captain is smart. He has thought this thing out right down to the last detail. We can’t take anything for granted from him.”

“What?” Jim was perplexed.

“No one was killed except maybe some deer and squirrels. Andri shot the missile at an area that was already polluted with nuclear radiation and waste. Come with me.” He led Jim to the back of the CIC where there was a lone computer terminal. On it, he called up a map of the Soviet Union dated 1948.

“See here. This is a map of Stalin’s Soviet Union three years after World War Two. Here is the area where Andri exploded a missile. In the middle is a small town known as Yertimov. Back in the late forties and early fifties, Yertimov was one of the sites used for experimenting with nuclear bombs and power generators. It was an ideal location, far away from prying eyes. But the Soviet Union made one mistake about this little town…” Andri then pulled up a map of the same area labeled 1949. “See.”

It wasn’t what Jim saw; it was what he didn’t see. Yertimov was gone. Erased from existence. He stated the obvious. “Yertimov is missing.”

“Correct. Yertimov all the sudden didn’t exist. This is from maps that the Soviet Union supplied to the world. Their government removed the town, giving away that something incredible had happened out there. After all, a country doesn’t lose a town in one year.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know exactly. I can guess that there was an explosion of some kind. Something that makes Chernobyl look like child’s play. I do know they fenced off the region after that. Years later that area was where a lot of radioactive waste went. The place couldn’t support life. I did hear a rumor when I was young that after the accident they didn’t even send in people to pull out the dead bodies. They left them to rot. Nobody looked for survivors. They closed the place in. It was probably recovering when Andri dropped another nuclear weapon in it. He is avoiding killing, for now. He’s setting the table for negotiation.”

Lincoln tapped Jim on the shoulder. “Sir. Should we surface and radio in what we witnessed?”

Jim contemplated the ramification. “No. This didn’t get past the Pentagon. They’re probably at DEFCON 4, and the president is on the line to Ochinkin, trying to sort out the mess. We may confuse matters. Hopefully they can piece the thing together and realize that it wasn’t the United States.”

Over the speaker, they heard the sonar room. “Bridge, sonar. Hull popping. She’s on a crash dive.”

“He’s acting like he’s at war,” stated Mikhail.

“He is,” replied Jim. “His own.”

“Crafty.” Mikhail thought back over the event and smiled when he said this.

“I don’t see it, Mikhail. It’s a bully strategy,” said Jim.

“He is preparing to state that he will do whatever it takes. Time is against him now. There have to be others. Others close to the government.”

“Whose attention does he want? Russia or the United States?”

“Definitely Russia. This was his errand. He’ll be coming back.”

Josh walked up behind them. “I won’t find him again. At least not until he surfaces. That could be anywhere. If you have any suggestions, I could use them.”

Jim reached for the intercom. “Sonar, give me course and speed on the sub.”

“Sub’s headed due west. Sounds like he’s got her wide open. Three hundred and fifty meters and still diving.”

“Still think his next target is Moscow?” asked Jim.

Mikhail nodded. “Moscow has to be a target.”

“Where does he have to be to set up for that?”

“Here.” Mikhail laid his finger in the White Sea in the northwest of Russia. “This is where we can expect him to be in two days. He’ll run right under the ships going out to find him. There will be so much noise that he’ll never be detected.”

“Good. Then neither will we. Lincoln!”

“Aye, Cap.”

“One hundred and eighty degrees about. Bring her to fifteen hundred and secure for silent running. Then all stop.”

“Aye, Cap.”

“If he intended to get someone’s attention, then I’d think that he was looking for something other than war. We’ll let him come to us.” After listening to Mikhail, Jim was beginning to get a feel for Stemovich. He didn’t want to try to guess the man’s entire plan. It would be dangerous to think that far in the future. He wanted to try to think just a few steps ahead of the situation. That he was feeling comfortable with. If the politicians on the surface couldn’t do their jobs, then he would be the last measure. Unfortunately, Jim knew that he would have to make the call when the last measure would have to be used.

Marina was asleep when the launch sequence took place. Her eyes opened when she heard the bells. The launch itself shook her out of her berth. She knew immediately what had happened. She put on her clothes and appeared on the bridge as Andri ordered the crash dive. Everyone hung on in silence as Nick drove the ship deep into the cold waters of the Arctic. He was visibly troubled by the sweat pouring down his face.

“Level at seven hundred meters,” ordered Andri.

“Seven hundred,” rasped Nick. Up until the time it left the carriage, he thought it would never have happened. It was a misgiving from growing up in the nuclear age. Everyone knew that even the craziest of dictators would never launch a nuclear missile. Reprisal would most certainly be swift and severe, with the United States in the forefront. It gave a false sense of comfort for the children of his generation. Hundreds of outcomes ran throughout his head. Most ended with the sinking of the Saratov and his death. What did that matter in the wake of the destruction he had been a part of? How many lives did he have a hand in destroying? Perhaps death would be a good end after all.

Nick gazed over his shoulder briefly and saw Marina out of the corner of his eye. She was pale with fear and sadness. She, too, could only imagine the ramifications from the launch. It was clear now their mission was to kill Andri. Even if it meant their own destruction.

“Assume course two-six-four,” barked Sasha.

“Two-six-four,” repeated the rudder man sitting next to Nick.

This was more alarming. Nick expected to hear a course that took them straight under the ice pack. A place for them to hide. Instead he had set a course west. Straight into the oncoming ships that the Russian government was sure to send. It was extremely dangerous and gave everyone on the bridge no comfort.

“Full ahead,” said Andri. He was calm and cool. His plan had yet to fail. He drew confidence from this, and his ego began to swell.

When Dan finally got out his front door, he was met by the same two marines that had sought him out at the diner. This time each had a smile, as if they knew what had happened between him and his guest.

“Mr. Archer. You are needed again.”

The words were uncomfortable. He knew that the sub could not have reached the Mediterranean by now. Something must have gone wrong, terribly wrong.

Instead of the White House, Dan found himself being sped to the Pentagon. The marines escorted him inside and straight through the security lines without being checked. They went unopposed into elevators and high-level security areas. Eventually they wound up in one of the deep basements of the great building. It was the only time they had to present their badges.

Where they finally took Dan was to a huge meeting room next to a gigantic control room displaying a computerized map of the world. It didn’t take an expert to figure out what most of the little flashing lines that covered the map meant. They were the US and Russian air forces on full alert. In the corner of the giant room was a blinking sign. It read DEFCON 4. The world was on the brink of disaster, and only a few knew it.

In the room sat the president. He beckoned Dan to come in. Along with him were the heads of all the military branches, his chief of staff, and the secretary of state. The mood was serious but not desperate.

Sukudo was in the room too. He sat next to Admiral William Baxter, his only superior in the navy. Baxter was unemotional and had confidence in Sukudo to handle the details. After all, it was the navy that was on top of the situation.

One person Dan expected to see here would have been Anthony DeCurtis, his boss. He was conspicuous by his absence. Dan didn’t know if it was on purpose or not.

“Come in, Dan,” the president said, gesturing for him to come in. “Gentlemen, this is Dan Archer. One of the reasons we have somewhat of an upper hand on the problem.”

Everyone nodded. Sukudo shot him a welcoming glance as he sat down.

“Admiral Sukudo, would you please fill Mr. Archer in on the events of the last six hours,” ordered the president.

“Yes, sir. Well, Dan, as you can probably guess, the Saratov never made it to the Mediterranean. Instead it charted a course east up the northern Russian coast and launched a short-range nuclear warhead.”

Surprisingly, Dan found himself more analytical than emotional about the news, yet he couldn’t muster a reply.

“The good news was that no one was killed. The warhead was purposely detonated in an area of Russia that lacks any population.”

He exhaled, relieved about the information. “Where’s the War Eagle?” he asked.

“We think they’re in pursuit. We aren’t sure, though. I received a message from Jim Hickman two days ago informing me that he had lost contact with the Saratov and would try to pick it up again. We couldn’t figure out why he had fallen so far behind until we heard from the aircraft carrier Toledo, now operating in the Arctic Circle area.”

“The captain is a friend of yours, isn’t he?” asked Admiral Baxter.

“Booker, yes. Book intercepted the message sent to me and had his sonar operators go over the sonar tapes they recorded for twenty-four hours prior to the message. He accounted for every sound except two faint, almost dead waves that the operators couldn’t hear, but his equipment picked up. His best people enhanced them as much as possible, and their best guess was that it could have been two torpedo explosions. If that’s true, we have to assume that the War Eagle sustained damage and had to repair before she continued on.”

“Had to repair? It can’t be that bad if she went back in the hunt.” The president was in rare form in his assessment, which drew contemptuous looks from the staff.

“Hard to say. There may be many reasons for them to continue the chase, whether they’re damaged or not.”

Dan was getting excited. “Do we know where the Saratov is now?”

Everyone looked to Admiral Sukudo.

“I have found that I have made an error,” Sukudo continued, rather embarrassed. “Normally in situations like this we’d rely on Josh Brand to supply us with pictures from Houston. I mistakenly put him on the War Eagle to help them get near the Saratov. There isn’t any real replacement for him in Texas. They got some computer nerd to step in, and he crashed the system. Seems Josh didn’t want anyone messing in his files so he booby-trapped the codes. We can’t get anything from there.”

“Make sure Captain Brand is fired upon his return,” said the president.

The air force general seemed to slouch in his chair a little but held his tongue.

The president continued. “Basically we’re always one step behind this guy, Dan. I want to know his next move. We need to get in front of him.”

“Ah.” What the president said surprised Dan. Everyone looked to him for an answer. “I don’t think I can help. I don’t know anything about military strategy or the technical stuff.”

“You know the man. Stemovich.”

“Not really, Mr. President. I’ve only read the standard reports on him and a few other things. The guy who would really know would be Mikhail Nemokov, but he’s also on the War Eagle.”

“Is there anybody else on that fucking ship we could use, Sukudo?” the president demanded.

Dan spoke again, hoping to break the tension. “I wouldn’t be sure of anything with Stemovich. I could perhaps throw out some options if I had the right information. I would think that we could put something together in this room.”

“Good enough. What do you need to know?”

“Well. Was the nuclear target of any importance at all? What could Stemovich have gained by firing on a nonpopulated area?”

The senior ranking army general spoke. “In the various scenarios that we draw up for a ground assault across Russia, we know that area to be a nuclear wasteland. Seventy years ago, there were several little communities thriving in that zone until the Russians became sloppy with their testing. Some towns were wiped completely off the map and more evacuated because they had other types of serious disasters. The whole place was fenced in. Then things became worse. Reports said that they used the area to dump nuclear waste from their power plants. In a ground assault, we wouldn’t even go in. You run over that ground, you’re dead in a week.”

“So he wasted a missile,” Dan thought out loud. “He got nothing in return. Could it have been a test?”

“Probably not,” said Sukudo.

“He sure as hell got my attention,” said the president.

“Yes, he did.” The comment struck Dan as funny. “You know what, though? He didn’t want your attention.” A TV sat in the corner of the room. He went over and pressed it on. “Does this get CNN?”

“Yes,” replied the bewildered president.

Dan cruised through the channels until he found CNN. He watched, and everyone watched with him. The sports went by, then the weather, and then the news came up, and the lead story was on the shaky stock market.

“It’s not here.”

“What?”

“The explosion. No one knows about it. It’s not here.”

The comments were confusing to everyone, but mostly to the president. “Of course it’s not on the news. He put the missile in an unpopulated area. Not that many people in Russia know what happened. The government suppressed the rest.”

“Exactly.” Dan smiled. “Ochinkin knows.” Things were becoming clear in his mind.

“Excuse me, Dan, but what the fuck are you trying to say?” The president was getting impatient. “Who do you think I’ve been on the phone with for the last four hours? Convincing him that we had nothing to do with their problem.” This wasn’t entirely true, and the president knew it.

“He wanted Ochinkin’s attention, Mr. President. He could care less about the rest of the world. This explosion was his wake-up call. He knew exactly where to explode a nuclear bomb so it would get Ochinkin’s attention without panicking the world.”

The room went silent as everyone mulled over the thought and tried to figure out why. Sukudo was the one to ask. “Why?”

“I don’t think there’s any way of knowing until he resurfaces. I’d try to stop him immediately. He’s dangerous. If I could, I’d blow him out of the water right now.”

Sukudo fidgeted in his chair. Again the room was silent.

“We could have the War Eagle sink her, right?”

“Yes,” answered Sukudo. “If we knew where she went. We can’t keep tabs on our subs very well after they have sailed. Jim has to call in for orders for us to find him.”

“Well, he’s at least on a schedule then. When he checks in, give him the order.”

The president sat upright. “Our good Captain Hickman is not on a schedule. He is out there on his own with no support or clear-cut mission. He’s going to notify us when it’s convenient. It’s as bad as Stemovich, except that our navy gave him his sub.” The president was being sarcastic because he wanted to make sure that Kenneth got the message that there were elements in his tactics that were very sloppy. One of them was sending the War Eagle out with the vague order to locate the sub. Then what?

“We’re cut off?” Dan echoed what the rest of the room had recognized before he even arrived. “Then our only hope is that the Russian Navy or the War Eagle gets to him before he reaches his objective. Is Ochinkin aware of the presence of the War Eagle?”

The president shook his head. “No, and he won’t. My impression from the conversations we had was that the Russian Navy was going to handle the problem. It was something of a matter of saving face on his part. So I didn’t tell him.”

“What if the War Eagle has to fire on the Saratov?”

“I think that situation, if it came to that, could be overlooked, considering the implications. Plus, we don’t want the Russian Navy taking potshots at our sub. It’s best not to tell them that the War Eagle is out there.” The president was unsure in his comment, and everyone knew it.

Another voice in the room spoke up. “Let’s work on the objective since we can’t do anything militaristically.” It was the first time the secretary of state had uttered a word. Dan found him to be a lofty man who contemplated much before making any decisions. A good counterbalance for the president. “After all, we have basically come to the conclusion that Andri Stemovich is not a madman, but rather a man with a well-thought-through plan. Obviously he has help. Where?”

It was a very astute observation for a man who didn’t have all the details. Embarrassed, Dan stood there wondering why he had never thought of it. “Good question,” he blurted. “If Levi Carp were here, he might be able to answer it. He is on the Russian side of operations.”

No one had a comment. After a minute, Sukudo raised his head. “Maybe we should ask what he wants to accomplish. If the first missile was a tap on the shoulder, what will he want or do next?”

The crusty old army general was the next to speak. “Gentlemen. It seems that his goals are not strategic or militaristic. Rather they seem to be political. In military terms, he has done nothing to acquire anything of any value other than the sub. That he is using as his tool.”

“If it’s political, then it has to be Moscow. It only makes sense. Can he strike at Moscow from the north?” Things had begun to click in Dan’s head again.

“Very easily,” replied Sukudo.

“Is anything happening in Moscow?”

“There’s a demonstration.” The voice came from the door. Dan wheeled to see Levi standing there. He looked well composed and slithered into the chair next to the president. “Levi Carp,” he said, introducing himself. “I oversee most of the Russian matters. CIA for those of you I don’t know.”

“What have you got?” said the president.

“In thirty-six hours, Red Square will be filled with over one hundred thousand people or more, demonstrating against the government and crying for the old rule to return—and I mean old. They don’t even want to see Gorbachev. They want someone extremely hardline. Perhaps a military leader.”

“Ochinkin said nothing about that.”

Levi gazed at the president. “Then he didn’t tell you that he has a well-trained tank battalion sitting on the outskirts of Moscow.”

“No.”

“I wonder why not, Mr. President? I would suppose that they are his insurance, to keep him in power.”

“That may be, Mr. Carp.” The president didn’t enjoy Levi’s attitude. “But we need Ochinkin to remain in charge. That’s in our best interests.”

The knot had returned to Dan’s stomach. “I don’t believe Stemovich orchestrated a demonstration to coincide with him threatening Moscow. I do believe that Stemovich is setting himself up for the ‘Big Red Chair.’ That tank battalion is probably Stemovich’s thugs. The demonstration is just icing on the cake.”

Levi turned to Dan. Though they had to appear that they were working together, there was venom in his tone. “There is nothing to support that conclusion.”

Dan hated what Levi had to say. “It’s the only conclusion,” he replied.

“Stemovich will give the ultimate demand. Surrender or die.” Of this Levi was sure.

Dan silently disagreed. “What happened to Kuwait, Levi?”

“I don’t think they’re a player anymore.”

Interesting choice of words, thought Dan.

Going home that next morning was hard to do for Sharon. She didn’t want to get out of her car when she saw that Beth had not left for work. What was she going to say? How did she feel now? It wasn’t going to be a pleasant meeting.

The house was quiet when she entered. Up the stairs and into the kitchen, she looked for Beth. It was silent. In the back of her mind, she knew Beth was in the bedroom, yet she still went through the house before opening that door. Eventually it became unavoidable.

The door creaked to reveal a spotless room and a well-made bed. The curtains were open, and light poured in the windows, giving the area a pristine appearance. Beth stood in the corner in a black leather dominatrix outfit. A leather whip dangled at her side.

“I think you have been a bad little girl,” she said.

Sharon knew what she was trying to do. Beth was trying to remind her of all the pleasurable nights they had spent in adult play. All the times she had screamed in ecstasy when she experienced the whip in all its glory. She was trying to remind her of all the sex games they had played over the years, fulfilling each other’s fantasies and holding on to each other for support and comfort. This would never be again, and Beth knew it. It was a desperate attempt to keep her. It wasn’t going to work.

“No, Beth. Not now.”

“On your knees, bitch,” Beth began.

“Come on, Beth. You know as well as I that things must change.”

Beth couldn’t keep it up. She sat on the bed and wept uncontrollably. “He took you, didn’t he? He took you away.”

“No, Beth. It was time for me to go to him. Dan took nothing.” Sharon went to comfort her. She noticed that she had lost all feeling for the woman. Everything was gone. Their past was now only a memory. “We both have to move on.”

Anger began to well up in Beth. “Oh fuck! I can’t believe that I could be so stupid. I can’t believe that I talked myself into thinking that you and I could spend the rest of our lives together. I always knew a man would get you. You’re too beautiful. Fucking men.”

“No, Beth, it was me. Just me. You were right. I couldn’t make up my mind, and now I know. What we had was special, but I have to follow who I am.”

Beth had worried all night about this moment. She found now that it was easier to surrender than to hold on. “Fine,” she said. “If you have happiness elsewhere, I don’t want to be in the way.”

Sharon tried to hug her and received no response. “I’ve just got to pack a few things for now.”

“It’s already done,” Beth said between her tears. “I put a few things in a bag for you. I guess I’ve seen this coming for a long time.”

“You know me better than anyone.”

“Don’t you forget it.” She tried to sound upbeat but couldn’t. “Just take the bag and go. We’ll work out the rest later.”

Sharon found the suitcase and began to leave. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” replied Beth. “Something. Get out of this leather I guess would be a good start. You?”

“I’ll stay at a hotel for a few days until I can find an apartment.”

“You’re not going to move in with him?”

“It’s not like that. I need to be free, to finally decide who to be.”

Beth couldn’t think of anything else to say. She wanted Sharon to leave. It was over. “Good luck. Call?”

“I will.” Then she left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Destructive Reasoning

“Mr. President, you can have it both ways.” Levi knew that the man was ready to listen to anything. The situation was uncomfortable for the president mainly because he knew more about what was happening than the Russians. It was an ethics conflict that he was trying to resolve by fooling himself that he was putting the good of the nation first.

After the meeting in the Pentagon, the president requested Levi, Dan, and Sukudo to accompany him to his office in the White House. There was little talk in the car. Dan saw firsthand how the president’s top officials reacted with their boss. They all wanted to wait, he thought. No one wanted to put the United States in a situation that could be misconstrued as war. For them it was better to stand on the side and see what would happen next. Even if it meant that a nuclear bomb might wipe out Moscow. This was appalling to him.

Now the four of them sat in the Oval Office. It was obvious the president wanted more. With all the options he had received, he still wanted more. An option that was without risk. “Mr. Carp. There was a time when your opinion about this matter carried the most weight. I now have a problem with formulating my decisions completely on your word.”

“I can understand that, Mr. President, but who could have foreseen what Stemovich was going to do in the future? Nobody could have predicted his course of action. We thought we had him, given the available information. We heard the plan from Stemovich’s own mouth, for Christ’s sake. No one knew he had a hidden agenda.”

Dan had been glancing at Sukudo as Levi spoke. Kenneth was acting very peculiar. He had a smirk on his face as he listened to Levi’s explanation. If one man could have guessed the hidden agenda, it might have been Sukudo, thought Dan. What was he going to gain if he put out that conjecture so many nights ago? He remembered the conversation they had before in the White House hallway after the first meeting with the president.

Levi continued. He was steady in his manner, which made his idea even more convincing. “This is the perfect opportunity to do nothing. If Stemovich fails, good for everyone. If he doesn’t…then very good for us. We get back to the Cold War. Not only do we spend money on firing up the huge defense industry, but our allies and some new allies begin buying our weapons to defend themselves. Remember, the Soviet Union was carved up. If Stemovich comes to power, he may want those satellite countries back. My guess will be that they won’t want to return. Need we remember the Ukraine.” He raised his finger to accentuate the point.

The president again considered it seriously.

Dan couldn’t be silent anymore. “That is the perspective of a complete idiot.” With those words, he sealed the poor relationship he had with Levi. It was time to draw lines and see exactly where everyone stood, even the president. “Yes, Mr. President, you could do nothing, and when a warhead slams into Moscow, the whole world will jump. The French have at least eighteen ICBMs pointed somewhere over in that region. They may mistake what is going on and let their tiny but lethal arsenal go. Or what about all the Russian missiles resting in silos in the Balkans? Someone could punch a button down there, and who knows what would be destroyed? There are more players involved here than us. That means we can’t take any chances. We must sink Stemovich at the first opportunity and come clean with the Russians. We have the most sophisticated fucking navy in the whole world, so let’s use it!” Dan delivered his statement with passion and fire. The tone and tenacity with which he preached almost put the president out of his chair.

Then the president came to Sukudo. “You’ve been here since the beginning, Kenneth. What is your opinion?”

Dan drowned in a moment of elation. Finally the president was going to listen to reason. So when Sukudo spoke, Dan wasn’t ready for his words.

“I’d wait. Let Russia live in turmoil. As long as they fight among themselves, we won’t be threatened. Neither will we return to the fifties, sixties, or seventies, where we sat on the brink of a world nuclear holocaust. Keep their attention focused within their borders. We have bigger problems looming—China.”

Dan not only felt betrayed by the man, but he had taken the conversation to a new level. “What?”

The president inquisitively shifted in his chair. “China is a bigger problem?”

“It’s simple.” Sukudo acted as if he was a teacher ready to reveal a secret. “Even if Stemovich were to take over the Russian government, the country will never be as powerful as it once was. China is now our big threat—militarily and economically. They have been left unchecked for years. It’s only a matter of time before they get to be as good as us. Let this situation play itself out. I doubt there will be another missile. I know it sounds reckless in the immediate future, but we have to look at long-term goals. An incident like this could throw the Chinese into paranoia and switch their focus from the West to Russia. China has stepped too far away from basic communist principles to ever return; they can’t. China is where our caution should really be placed.”

It was way out there for Dan to grasp. Nobody in the room was primed for what Kenneth said. Because his ancestry was from the Far East, there seemed to be a great amount of credibility in his words. Dan tried to take everything he had heard and piece it all together. But it didn’t fit.

“Well, Admiral, that’s an interesting point of view.” The president by now knew he was in over his head. It was one of those days when he thought the job too big. “Your opinion doesn’t make things less complicated.”

“I understand that, but it is my opinion,” offered Sukudo.

Dan ran what Kenneth said over again in his head. It was more than odd, but he wasn’t sure how. On one level, it made perfect sense. On another, he couldn’t believe that he had endorsed Levi’s recommended action—or nonaction. Still on another, it seemed to come out of nowhere. It was so far out in left field that Dan was surprised that Sukudo had said anything like it at all, which was exactly why nothing added up for him.

The president was clearly uncomfortable with the subject and felt inadequate to be pondering the realities. To him any decision he made might have the wrong ramifications for his administration and the way history would record his term. That, he especially didn’t like to think about. It was petty, but he did want a library when his last term was finished. “I’ve got to wait on this, gentlemen. I don’t even have a gut feeling on what would be a proper course of action. Some of the variables have to drop by the wayside so I can get a better grasp.”

That meant to Dan that the president was going to do nothing. So what else was new?

Everyone held their breath. The Saratov paralleled the War Eagle. She was five miles to the north and passing. For sonar, it was like being right next door.

Jim could have kicked himself. He didn’t get his ship deep enough. The War Eagle was five hundred feet more shallow than the Saratov. This would make it hard for him to slip behind and into its shadow. He couldn’t dive because opening any doors for the ballast would immediately be heard. He’d have to ease the War Eagle down and behind over several miles. That would be tricky. It required great patience.

To listen to the Saratov, Bumper had relieved his ensign of the headphones and sonar equipment and took them on himself. As the Saratov passed, he enhanced the signature and fed the computer a better footprint for the tracking. To a top-notch, experienced operator like Bumper, the Saratov was almost inaudible. The quietest ship he had ever followed. At times, it disappeared completely from his ears. Only the computer seemed to have a constant lock. He knew that was tenuous at best. The computer took in all the variables and attempted to plot the most reasonable course for the ship. Then passive sonar would focus on that area where the computer expected the prey to show. Luckily it had been correct.

“She’s a real ghost, Cap,” he said over his shoulder. “Past and moving off.”

“Linc, ahead slow.”

“Aye, Cap.”

“Okay, Bump. Don’t lose her. At the end of fifty miles, I want to be right in her behind.”

Jim hadn’t rested in a long time. Mental fatigue often was the real enemy in these circumstances. Being this close was daring; moving closer was dangerous.

The excitement was awesome for Boris Valsovich. His tank battalion was bivouacked outside of Lyublino, and Moscow towered on the horizon. There was been word of a calamity in the east. Something that involved radioactive material, and the local towns were being evacuated as a precaution. It was only known to the military.

Boris knew, though. He now knew that Andri had succeeded in the beginning of his plan. He had sent a very real message to the Russian government. It was beautiful to Boris. With one well-placed nuclear explosion, the Russian government was going to have one option: surrender. No one would be hurt. The transition would almost be peaceful. Then back to the communist way. The Balkans would be the first countries to rejoin the new Soviet Empire.

It sent chills of joy up his spine. It also proved a much-argued point in warfare. Can one government be held hostage? Yes, thought Boris. The trick is making sure that the government never gets in that position.

In thirty-six hours, he would make contact with Andri and roll his tanks onto Red Square. There he would demand that Ochinkin resign, and the Congress of the People’s Deputies recognize Andri Stemovich as their interim president. It shouldn’t take more than six hours on the outside. It had better not be longer than that because Boris had only enough fuel left in his tanks for six hours. They had burned the rest getting the men ready to fight and mentally prepared to run over civilians if need be. There wouldn’t be any hesitation like the failed September coup of long ago. Yet Boris could not see much military resistance. He had the most powerful battalion in a three-hundred-kilometer radius. No one should pose much of a challenge. The people would realize the futility and give up.

Thirty-six hours, he thought, grinning. Thirty-six hours, and we’ll be back.

Thirty-six hours. Joseph couldn’t keep his mind on his work. He was so occupied with the details of the communist rally that he hid in the boiler room of the hotel and went over every last detail. Everything had to be perfect. Most importantly, the people had to remain united. If the police came, they had to stand their ground and never waiver. It was going to be the first real step back to communism.

He glanced over his notes again and ran his finger across a number that had been rubbed out and upgraded several times during the course of the final week. It wasn’t two hundred thousand people anymore. At least a quarter of a million were going to pack Red Square. The movement was gaining considerable ground. Joseph couldn’t help but imagine what role he might play in the new government. His mind even fantasized about being the Communist Party’s new leader. If things fell right, it would not be unreasonable to think of reaching that high point.

In the back of his thoughts the realities of his present job began to call. He still had several things to attend to before the day was through. He glanced down at his watch. “Thirty-six hours,” he mumbled. That was the time left before the rally.

The Toledo was already as far north as Booker Dunbar wanted to take her. The message he received from his friend Sukudo asked him if he could even spread his exercise around the tip of the Norwegian coast. Dangerously close to Russian waters.

By this time, his XO had begun to subtly question the real nature of their exercise. It was obvious to him that there was something more in their being so close to the ice pack. It had to be important because the positioning of the ship put it at great risk. It had to be there for a better reason than just a drill.

Normally there wouldn’t have been any reason for Booker to ease his ship so far north, but the Russian Navy and Air Force were acting very peculiarly. Reports had every Russian vessel in that area steaming east at high rates of speed. The Toledo was buzzed several times by Russian fighter bombers, and then they, too, flew east, almost giving them permission to travel farther north.

His helicopter crews, dropping sonar buoys, actually reported receiving a thumbs-up from one Russian pilot. It was puzzling as to what exactly was going on in the Arctic Ocean above the Russian coast, but it wasn’t good. Fortunately, Booker had a little more information than the average naval captain. He now deployed his helicopters in a line perpendicular to the coast, effectively cutting off an escape route for any sub that might venture around the tip and try to slip away. To his men, it was a boring exercise. To him, it was a giant gamble on a hunch, as he tried to mind read Sukudo from thousands of miles away. Somehow it’s going to be my ass, he thought.

Everyone was trying to sleep on the Saratov. Nick couldn’t. He returned to Marina’s quarters to see what she had been up to since the launch. She was very distraught over the situation.

“Nicholas, we have no alternative but to sink the ship and go with it. We can’t let him surface again. If he does, then he’ll launch another missile.”

Nick knew the consequences, but he wasn’t ready to die just yet. Andri was keeping the crew uninformed of his intentions. He couldn’t risk anyone second-guessing his decisions before his plan was complete. “Don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic! It wasn’t your country that received a nuclear bomb. It wasn’t your country that now may be in the throes of a revolution! Don’t tell me not to panic.” She was seeing the situation as hopeless. Knowing that her death was imminent made her even more unnerved.

“Shut up, Marina,” said Nick sternly. It was the first time he had really asserted himself, and it was the signal that he was now going to take charge. “The only way we are going to die is if we lose our heads. We can still get out of this if we can think of a plan. Jesus Christ, we were closer to dying when they recruited us.”

His forcefulness was calming to her. She felt that now she didn’t bear all the burden of the mission. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good. There are opportunities here. We just have to figure out the right one.”

She relaxed, embarrassed at her moment of confusion. “I’m sorry. For a minute, things overwhelmed me.”

“A cool head keeps us alive.” Nick sat next to her to help get her mind focused again. “I know that we can’t be out here all alone. Someone has to be following us. We have to assume that.”

Marina got back to her old self. “Sonar hasn’t picked anything up. How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know the US and its equipment. I also know their captains. If those men don’t want to be heard, they won’t be. We may have to give them some help in finding us, though. This ship doesn’t make enough noise.”

“It’s not like we can bang on the side with a hammer.”

“No, it’s not. We have to think of something obscure and repetitive. Like the radio.”

Marina shook her head. “No. Andri specifically said that the radio would only be turned on once. Not before that time, not after. One message. That’s it.”

“When?”

Marina shrugged.

Nick grabbed Marina by the hand and quietly led her to the communications room. Once the door was closed, he quietly said, “Turn it on.”

“Nicholas, they will know.”

Without hesitation, Nick reached over and flipped on the master switch. The radio came to life. She tensed, waiting to see if anyone came storming in to see who was on the set. When no one appeared, they relaxed.

“Someone will see up front.”

Nick smiled. “They have too many gauges and dials and so few people. It won’t even be noticed. Set this for the lowest frequency and turn the volume all the way down. Does it have a repeater?”

Marina nodded yes, and then flipped another switch. The radio made no sound, but it was emitting a very weak, extremely low repeating frequency. “If they find this, I’ll be killed.”

“Raped, then killed.” Nick meant this to have some levity. Marina didn’t understand the spirit it was said in.

“Nicholas—”

“Don’t worry. No one will touch you. Remember, I’m a friend of the captain.” The sentence brought up a notion he had, and he decided to follow it up. “Maybe I ought to see the captain.”

When Nicholas stood outside Andri’s cabin door, he could feel his palms sweat. He had been through a lot to get to this point. None of it scared him as much as conversing with this man and the possibility of giving himself away.

Come was the word from the other side.

The cabin was small. The saving grace was that one person occupied it instead of two. Andri lounged on his cot, causally looking over some charts on his computer.

“Captain.”

“You should be resting.”

Nick closed the door and leaned against the wall. “I can’t, sir. I am troubled about the mission.”

Andri sat up in bed. Concern printed itself across his face. “I was afraid of this. That some of my crew would worry about the implications of the launch. I was counting on the selfishness of every individual to keep himself removed from the situation. Only to act as my crew until it is all over.”

“Captain. It is hard to ignore our actions.”

“I am somewhat glad, Nicholas. I am glad that one man other than me on this ship would struggle with the implications of a nuclear missile. No one else has stepped forward.”

Nick wondered if he’d get an explanation.

Andri continued. “You need not be worried about where the missile hit. I can absolutely guarantee that the target was unoccupied. A garbage dump. Too lethal for any person to live nearby. It was a safe place to detonate a bomb.”

“May I ask why, Captain?”

“I’m not here to destroy anyone, Nicholas. I am here to help my country. It is in jeopardy, and drastic measures need to be taken.”

“What I mean is, why launch a missile at all? Especially if it’s basically ineffective.”

Andri jumped up and grabbed Nick’s head with either hand. He stared into his eyes trying to read his mind. Nick was confusing to him. He couldn’t decide whether to be worried or pleased that Nicholas was trying to figure out his plan. The curiosity told him that Nick was bright and intelligent. Something to look for in a crewman. On the other hand, Nick’s question posed a threat. He presented himself as a man with a conscience. Any man with a conscience was unpredictable in these circumstances. He did feel some type of kindred spirit with him. They were both navy men, of that he was sure. “Do you know why I built this ship?”

Nick shook his head.

“I built it because I wanted to prove to the Soviet government, the United States, and the world, that communism works. That it was the right way to live because it could accomplish great things if its leaders were just in their thinking and benevolent in their actions. You have to understand, Nicholas, any government designed to serve the people cannot be bad. It can only have bad leaders.” Andri stepped back and sat down.

“My whole life I heard the world speak about the inefficiencies of the Soviet system. How our products were inferior and we were not allowed to participate in the world economy. These were the things that defeated my country—the inability to prove our merit.” He paused for a moment. “Unfortunately, we had poor leadership. They understood mass, but they neglected quality. They couldn’t see the concept that a few quality things were greater than many poorly created things. That is what the Saratov was to prove. This one ship, one vessel, would be of more value than many other vessels of lesser quality. I was hoping that they could finally understand that philosophy by seeing this creation. That it would then be applied in every figure and form of our country. Only then could we enjoy what communism was really meant to do. Serve the people, serve them well, and serve them equally.”

Nick was transfixed by the emotional reaction and the passionate spillage. He had to literally shake himself to clear his head.

“Do you understand now, Nicholas?” Andri lay back down and placed his arm over his eyes to signal the end of the meeting.

Nick opened the door to leave. “I do, Captain.” Then he exited.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

More Waiting

Josh couldn’t figure out what was causing ODIS to blink. The screen did it every second. He’d have a clear view, and then it would fritz for a second and back. “ODIS, you seem to have the hiccups.”

O’Neil had been watching and offered some help. “We could take a look at it again, Cap. If you like.”

“Might as well. It’s not like I’m going to be able to find a fucking thing anyway.”

It was fifteen minutes before O’Neil began scratching his head. “Sir, all I can figure out is that you are receiving interference. Something that your gear can’t unscramble.”

“Unless it is not.”

O’Neil wrinkled his brow. “A radio signal?”

“ODIS can’t relate to unscrambled signals that run naked through the air. He always puts it through the decoder first, unless I tell him not to. If the signal is original, then the decoder fucks it up, and I get this. That’s why ODIS operates at the end of the bandwidth that accommodates very little radio traffic.”

O’Neil didn’t want to sound stupid or show up a superior officer. He hesitated when he spoke. “Sir, I thought that your radio waves couldn’t reach this deep?”

“They can’t…” Josh caught the question. “Wait. Mine can’t. Can yours?”

O’Neil shook his head. “Not this deep. Not in this part of the world.”

“Then where?”

O’Neil dialed his set down to the lower band of frequencies on his radio. Slowly he moved from channel to channel, listening for the repeating signal. On his next-to-last channel, he found the sound. “Shit! Here it is!”

Josh punched the intercom. “Conn. We’ve got something.”

Jim was there in seconds. Mikhail was his shadow. “What is it, Josh?”

“Sir, we’ve got an open channel coming across communications.”

“Bullshit,” returned Jim. “I’m too deep. We have no source that can punch them down here.”

“Sir,” O’Neil spoke up. “Sir, I don’t believe that the source is far away. I think it’s coming from the Russian sub.”

Mikhail laughed and slapped Jim on the shoulder. “Nicholas! He wants us to find him now. He wants to make sure that we are nearby.” Mikhail was elated because it signaled that Nick was not only on the sub, but that he was alive. Mikhail had a feeling that Nicholas was all right; he just wasn’t sure how far he had gotten. It took a great deal of concern off his shoulders. Now if he could be sure that Nick could get off the sub.

“Can we be positive?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, we could triangulate it off the sonar. The radio gives us a definite lock. We could even program our torpedoes with the frequency.” Jim didn’t need anything else to tell him that it was the Saratov. It had to be the only explanation.

Levi didn’t like being called an idiot, especially in front of the president. He felt his grip on the director’s office begin to fade and go the way of Dan Archer. This was unacceptable, intolerable. He had to do something. The situation in Russia was out of everyone’s hands now. The president didn’t trust him, which surely meant that he wouldn’t be receiving the appointment. He had to change the rules of the game. It was time to cross the line. He picked up the phone and dialed Beth. “Hi, honey.”

She had remained home all day after Sharon left. She had stayed in bed and only got up to pull more food from the kitchen. The covers were a mess, and she was physically ill. Now Levi was on the phone. Could my day get worse? “Not now, Levi,” she responded glumly.

“Beth, what happened? Is everything all right with you?”

“No, Levi, it’s not.” She began to cry again.

“What happened?”

She didn’t want to say, but Levi was the only one asking. “She left, Levi. Sharon left me today.”

He didn’t know how to respond. His daughter had lost her lover, and she was acting like it was the end of the world. Levi couldn’t understand it. It was the state of mind he was hoping for, though. “I’m sorry Beth, honey. I know you were fond of her.” He paused. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Yeah,” she said, sniffling. “Get rid of Dan Archer for me.”

“It was Dan. How interesting.”

“Of course it was Dan, Levi. Who the fuck else would it be? Get the little fuck out of the company.”

The sinister wheels began to turn in his head. Beth was going to help him out. “Honey, you know that I can’t do that now. I told you that before. He and I are competing for the same job. I can’t do anything to get him out of your life. If you want Sharon back, you have to think of something on your own.”

“I do want her back.”

“Would she still be with you if Dan was somewhere else?” Levi was ready to lead her down the trail.

“Of course. She had no reason to leave. If she came back, I’d forgive her.”

“Then I think that there is no reason why she wouldn’t return once Dan Archer is out of the picture.” There was a long silence over the phone. Levi could almost hear her weigh the option in her mind of how that was to be accomplished. He could hear it always come back to the single solution. The only absolute solution. “That is, she would come back to you until he returned, possibly.”

Beth would do anything to get Sharon back. Levi’s last statement emphasized the point that if Sharon returned she wouldn’t want her to leave again. It left her resolute. “I know what you are suggesting.”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said. “I want you to think out your options.”

Beth could read between the lines. “Will you be there for me?” She wanted assurance. The same assurance she got when she had killed her abusive husband, Scott, in revenge. Levi said he would handle the investigation, and he did.

“Haven’t I always been there for you?” He knew all too well how he would handle Beth putting a bullet in Dan Archer. She’d be run to the police station, in the front door and out the back. He’d find some poor crack addict woman to fill her spot. A woman whose mind was so erased by drugs she wouldn’t know if she was coming or going. “I am always there if you get into trouble. This time, though, you’d be doing both of us a favor. It’s what family do for one another.”

Beth was too engrossed in her thoughts to hear anything else Levi had to say. She lay the receiver back down and began to plan what had to take place. She couldn’t just kill Dan Archer. She had to make sure Sharon understood why and how much she was loved. Sharon was the key. Sharon had to understand that she was missed. Sharon would have to be there. That would be the only way.

After the meeting with the president, Dan tried to corner Sukudo, but he was gone. He had left moments before the president dismissed them. He got up and walked out without waiting.

Dan had spent most of the day on the phone trying to track him down. That fucker has to explain himself. I can’t believe that he didn’t support the idea to stop this problem now.

In his head he knew that Kenneth had to have some reason for his statement. He wanted to hear it, though. Everything had gotten way out of hand. There was a man who wasn’t officially an agent on a Russian sub. The sub itself was running all over the Arctic, launching nuclear missiles. Another sub that couldn’t get the order to stop it. Superiors who couldn’t make a decision and a bucket full of other problems. Everything was going to collapse. And where was Bluebird? Dan wondered if he had even made it to the Saratov.

The last time George had contacted the system was right before he had left the Kuwait International Airport. Mohsen was with him, then nothing. He was going to be crushed if George didn’t make it through the ordeal. He was so close to getting out.

Sharon strolled in and poked her head through his door. She had a big smile. “Hi, Boss.”

He was startled out of his concentration. “Oh. Hi, Sharon.” He recalled the morning shower and became embarrassed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I would like to leave early today to put a deposit on a new apartment.”

He didn’t want to ask any more questions. Her sentence made it plain that she had had enough of Beth. “Sure. I think it’ll probably be slow today.”

“Okay, thanks, Boss. And, Dan, don’t be embarrassed. I may want to take you out again.”

Sheepishly, Dan smiled. He almost felt ashamed about the good time they had.

Getting off the Saratov was the problem. Nick saw absolutely no way of leaving the ship safely until they were in port. The alternative was to sink her. That was easy enough for him. Living past that event was the obstacle.

The ship had settled into a routine. The Saratov remained on autopilot. About every fifteen minutes, Nick would check the depth of the sub and the other gauges. Satisfied that it was running smoothly, he then strolled off to another part of the ship to inspect.

Andri had remained on the bridge the entire time of his watch. He’d either be charting maps, making log entries, or filling in for one of the crew. The latter he didn’t mind. He enjoyed physically controlling his creation almost as much as commanding it. Hours after the launch and between their ultimate destination, Andri was the happiest. His mood relaxed the crew.

On one of his returns to monitor his station, Nick saw that Andri was quietly motioning him to come speak. It wasn’t secretive per se, just private.

“Since you’ve been aboard, you have had ample opportunity to thoroughly inspect the ship. I’m interested in your opinion.” Andri felt strongly that there was something in Nick that bonded the two.

“You have a fine vessel. I could never imagine a ship so well crafted, Captain. It is truly an achievement.”

“Good, Nicholas. I was wondering what your analysis would be after you finished exploring. I have built the perfect vessel. It’s quiet, fast, and powerful. Absolutely no mistakes.”

It wasn’t in Nick’s nature to let someone rave about themselves without putting them in check. “It is very good, Captain. Perfect, I’m not sure.”

“Have you found a problem?” said Andri defensively.

“No. It has nothing to do with the operating of the ship itself, but your escape pod bothers me. I don’t think it will work.”

“How?”

“I don’t see the mechanism it uses to separate it from the ship.”

“I have it held to the Saratov with exploding bolts. Close the hatch, hit the button, and the bolts explode, and the pod is free to rise.” Andri was puzzled that Nicholas couldn’t see such an obvious system.

“I understand that. But won’t the water pressure on the hull hold it against the ship? The deeper we are, the less chance the pod has of detaching from the sub, unless the pressure on the inside of the Saratov is the same as on the outside.”

“The situation assumes a compartment breach. A crewmember may have to sacrifice himself to ensure that.”

It was not the answer Nick wanted to hear. He wasn’t sure now that it was a good idea to criticize the Saratov. He had come to respect Andri and, in some slight way, sympathized with his mission. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He only wanted his country back. “It is a minor detail, Captain, in the face of astounding thinking.”

“Thank you, Nicholas. Your observation is noted.” The tone of his voice had changed. He had dismissed Nick with the sentence, and Nick quickly obliged.

Walking back to Marina in communications, he didn’t know what effect this would have on Andri. One small comment from him seemed to put off Andri. That was bad because it could get them all killed. Oops, thought Nick.

He startled Sasha when he burst in the room. Marina was crouching against the back wall. She had fire in her eyes, and she was ready to fight to the end. Her nose was bloodied and her clothes torn.

Sasha stood with his back to the door. He was beginning to unzip his pants when Nick appeared. “Leave us, Nicholas,” he said. “Your little whore doesn’t think I’m good enough for a roll.”

Nick’s emotions shot past rage. With one hand, he lifted Sasha off his feet and slammed him against the back wall. “You little bastard. Touch her again, and I’ll castrate you myself.”

The fury was completely unexpected by Sasha. He didn’t know why Nicholas should suddenly have feelings for a woman whom he professed to be a slut. It made no sense that he would protect her since he seemed to object to her being there at all. Though he was being held against the wall and his pants were by his ankles, Sasha was immediately suspicious about the two. Everything they had said began to unwind.

Nick returned him to his feet, and Sasha, somewhat embarrassed, pulled his pants up. Without a word, he moved to the door. One last look, and he left.

They didn’t have to speak to know that they were in trouble.

“Are you hurt?”

Marina shook her head.

“Why was he here? I thought his tastes lay with the men.”

“They do.” She choked as she gained her composure. “This was a dominance thing. He was going to have his way to show me that he was in charge. He was arrogant enough to tell me that.”

“I would have thought that after witnessing the beating you gave the other guy, he wouldn’t have tried.”

“I was asleep.” She buttoned the rest of her clothes, and with a final shake, Marina returned to herself. “I’m all right now. What about Stemovich?”

“Our captain believes that he can restore communism and the faith of the Russian people. He thinks that the government can work if it is run by the right leaders.”

“Who? Him? How will he get to head a government from a submarine?” Marina was disgusted.

“He’s got help—has to. Someone in Moscow, probably. Stemovich is just the persuasive force. He claims that he put the first nuclear missile in an area that was already contaminated by radioactivity. He said no one was hurt.”

Marina mulled it over. “I hope that’s the truth.” She paused. “What about the other missiles?”

“Don’t know. It seems that he doesn’t want anyone to die. But he did sink that freighter.”

“Did he give you any indication where we were going?”

“No. His talk was more to indoctrinate me.”

Marina snorted. “He’s a madman. He wants to plunge my country back into state servitude. He is the criminal.”

There was an uneasy silence between them.

“Okay,” she said. “How do we get off?”

“We have to wait until we surface again. There’s no other way.”

“What about the escape vessel?”

“Won’t work. We’re too deep.”

“What about the reactor? Surely we can sabotage that.” Marina didn’t care so much if they got away. She was more concerned with stopping Andri.

“Don’t be so eager.” Nick always believed that there were options. “Yes, we could go after the reactor, but not now. That’s a last resort. I don’t want to die.”

She came forward and hugged him. “I do not look forward to the end, either, Nicholas, but I see no other way.”

Booker knew that when an unscheduled supply flight was due to arrive on the deck of the Toledo that Sukudo would be in it. He didn’t expect any supplies of any type, nor did he need any. When Kenneth burst through the door of his operations room, no one was surprised.

“Jesus Christ, Book. You moved her farther north than what I thought. Good thing, though. I was going to order you up here anyway.”

“May I talk to you alone, Admiral?”

Upon that suggestion, all personnel but the two vacated the operations room.

“Okay, Ken, you have pulled some sorry-ass stunts in my day, but you have got to let me in on this one. We are technically in Russian waters, and they don’t seem to mind. In fact, they seem to encourage it. NORAD’s at DEFCON 4, and I’m running my crews into the ground having them drop sonar buoys. Not to mention the icebergs.”

“Have you heard anything unusual?”

“No.”

“Damn,” Kenneth said. “I was sure that little fucker would head straight this way.”

“Who, Ken?”

“Stemovich. The bastard lifted the sub and nuked an unpopulated section of Russia. He’s got to be headed this way.”

“What? This is the asshole we spoke of before? Jesus Christ.”

Sukudo nodded.

“He toasted a missile, and the world hasn’t erupted?” Booker was in disbelief.

“That’s right. He put one right where no one would notice it but Mother Russia. Damn smart. Kept it out of the papers and yet got the US and Russian governments’ attention.”

“Ken, I’m not sure how to handle this.”

“The spooks think that he wants control of Moscow. They think that he thinks he can force the government to surrender, and he can start a new one.”

Booker still didn’t believe it. “Can it succeed?”

“It’s possible,” replied Sukudo. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Well, shit. We have to stop him. Right?”

“Right,” replied Sukudo. “And we can, if we can get to the War Eagle. I need your radio operators to find her and to signal her somehow to blow his ass out of the water, but only on my order. I don’t think we have much time left.”

Things started to move fast for Booker. “Can’t you contact her by satellite?”

“No. She’s running too deep. She’s got to come up. When she does, she has got to know what to do immediately. Any hesitation, and we could be in a deep, steaming pile of beauty.”

“All I have is one really important question for you, Ken.”

“What’s that?”

“What in the hell is a War Eagle?”

Sukudo smiled. “The last secret between us.”

Bumper knew the Saratov was slick, and he finally found out how slick. After losing her signal, he couldn’t get a lock for fifteen minutes. The computer kept projecting that her course should be dead ahead, but she simply wasn’t there. In another five minutes, he triangulated her position with the help of the radio frequency. She had turned south, and they had run right by her. “Conn sonar, course correction, bearing one-eight-nine.”

A gentle sway in the motion told him that the correction was taking place.

“How much time did we lose, Bump?”

“Fifteen minutes, sir. Sorry.” He expected Jim to be pissed.

“We’ll make it up.”

Bumper reconfigured his sonar and began scanning for the Saratov footprint. When the bow swung around, the computer could faintly track her again.

McLeary entered the RRCC to find O’Neil and Josh playing the child’s game of rock-scissors-paper. “Really? Considering what’s going on just outside of our tin can?”

“Nothing else to do. Our equipment’s tied up following the sub,” said O’Neil smugly.

“How’s that?”

“We’ve got a radio frequency off her. They’re just towing us along and don’t even know it. Sonar won’t admit to that.”

“That’s bullshit,” said a voice from the adjacent room. “You guys can only tell us if she’s in the area. You can’t track her.”

Josh smiled. “They hate it when someone else does their job,” he said.

“Fuck off,” said the voice.

The three men grinned.

McLeary liked what he heard. “There’s no reason to monitor the radio. Right?”

“Right,” replied O’Neil. “Sonar’s got her occupied. Nothing can come in even if we wanted it to.”

“Oh, I like the easy days,” said McLeary. “Paper covers rock.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Keep Your Eyes on My Hands

It came quite unexpectedly. Andri was the only one who was completely sure of their position, but Nick figured that they had to be somewhere near the Russian coastline, perhaps between the opening of the White Sea and the Barents Sea. The only disturbance they had encountered on their journey was when the complete Russian fleet sailed above their heads. At that time, the only evasive action Andri took was to dive deeper and make sure everyone stood still. He obviously knew more about the shortcomings of Russian sonar than the United States.

Their course had been so quiet that it began to worry Nick. He was not completely confident that the War Eagle was following, and he still didn’t have a plan for getting off the ship.

Since the whole mission had been one of haste and improvisation, Nick figured that it might be bad luck to break with tradition so late in the operation. Make it up as I go along. After all, he had lost all his options; he didn’t want to lose his luck.

“Bow. Ten degrees up, blow tanks,” barked Andri suddenly.

Nick gently pulled back on the yoke, and the ship began to rise.

“Come to periscope depth then reduce speed to one-third and hold course.”

With sweeping beauty, the Saratov lifted herself to the correct depth and held. Andri took his time as he peered through the periscope, scanning the horizon for any danger. Satisfied that he was safe, he made his way to the communications room and Marina. “You have the bridge, Sasha,” he said. “It’s time to send my message.”

Nick wanted to jump from his seat when he heard that. Marina didn’t know he was coming, and the radio was still on.

He burst through the door without knocking. She was quietly reading Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilych and was startled by Andri’s sudden appearance.

“It is time for you to do your job, Marina. I hope you have studied the manual on how to use the equipment.” Andri looked down and saw the radio on and functioning. “Practicing,” he asked sarcastically. “Who are you calling?”

Marina fumbled for an excuse. “I didn’t know it was on. It made no sound.”

Andri looked closer and noticed the frequency and the repeater activated. “Were you trying to call someone working for the United States or perhaps leaving them a trail?” He dialed the set to a higher frequency and flipped off the repeater. “Tell me, slut, or I will feed you to my crew.”

Marina couldn’t answer.

“Tell me now!” he yelled.

The shouting immediately drew Sasha, with Nick on his heels. They found Andri towering over Marina, ready to bash her skull with the small chair of the radio operator.

“Captain, no!” Nick shouted, and he grabbed the chair from his hand.

“I have been betrayed! Do you know what she has done?”

“It wasn’t her,” Nick said. “It was me. I turned on the radio. She knew nothing about it.”

The confession stunned Andri. A man he had confided in turned out to be his traitor. He could understand it being anyone else, but Nicholas? Nicholas was a kindred soul for Andri. How could he have betrayed me?

“She knows nothing of this,” he repeated.

“I knew something was wrong with you,” Sasha said. He pulled a sidearm and pressed it against Nick’s chest.

“You are not a nuclear engineer, are you, Nicholas?” asked Andri sadly.

Nick shook his head.

“Are you a spy?”

“No,” replied Nick. “I am an engineer, first. I am here to see your ship, second.”

There was a sign of relief in Andri’s face. It was a matter of semantics; Nick wasn’t a spy, technically. That seemed to help. “I could have almost guessed that. You have shown too much appreciation for the Saratov. You have evaluated it. Does it pass?”

The question caught Sasha by surprise, considering that they just caught a traitor. He took half a step back in disbelief.

“Yes,” he replied grimly.

“Only one country probably has the resources to put you aboard. When were you on to me?”

“It wasn’t you. It started with the Kuwaitis—”

“You needn’t say any more. I can see how their sloppiness brought you here. That is too bad. You must have been surprised when we didn’t sail for the Mediterranean.”

“By that time, I was along for the ride. I was ready to go wherever you were leading.”

Sasha interrupted. “What about the woman? She said she knew you from before.”

“No, I didn’t. I said I didn’t remember him.” Marina had gained her composure and knew it was time to step in. “I needed the money. I would have said anything to get on this ship.”

“He knew you. Your mole!” Sasha was on the verge of an eruption.

Nick stepped forward. “I ran into her in the bar just before I went to your interview. We had a transaction.”

It took everything for Marina to act as if he was telling the truth, and she slightly nodded.

Sasha looked in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

“I was as surprised as you when I saw her in the room. Not my best judgment.”

Andri was unamused by the conversation and handed Marina a small note. “We will discuss that later. You, Marina, will complete your job. You will set the radio at this frequency and send this message until you receive a reply. Nicholas…oh, Nicholas.”

“Hull’s popping. Tanks blown and going fast,” crackled the message from the sonar. Jim didn’t react in time.

Several hundred meters below the Saratov, the War Eagle struggled to maintain her invisibility. Jim ordered that they maintain their depth and slowly rise. It would be an hour before they would be back on the Saratov’s tail.

When the War Eagle came shallow, Josh was the first to notice that his screen had quit blinking. He typed in a few commands to ODIS, and the lens responded by zeroing in on the waters around the War Eagle. He flipped it to thermal, and low and behold, the Saratov lit up. It was only a small dot, but it blazed white-hot as the nuclear reactor’s radiation lit up his systems. Josh pushed in to get the reading in full frame. “Hey, did you guys lose your signal?”

McLeary jumped on the headset. “Yup. It’s gone.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got the bastard now.” Jim flipped back to his zoom lens, and he could make out the periscope traveling through the water.

McLeary got on his headset. “Conn, radio. We’ve lost contact with the open channel. Captain Brand has reestablished visual with the ship, though.”

This time it was Mikhail who appeared. “How shallow is he running, Josh?”

“Just under the surface.”

“He’s waiting.” Mikhail peered closer at the screen. “See there. His antenna is up, and he’s slowed. He’s either sending or receiving.”

“Can we jam him?” wondered O’Neil out loud.

“We don’t want that! Not yet anyway. He doesn’t know we’re here. Let’s give him a chance to show us his intentions.”

“Sir,” O’Neil said bluntly. “Shouldn’t the captain make those decisions?”

“What decisions?” asked Jim as he leaned in the RRCC. “He’s waiting for something.”

“It would seem that way,” answered Mikhail.

“Can he launch?”

“No. Not from that position. He has to surface. It would take at least five minutes before he could get one off. Longer, maybe.”

Jim rubbed his eyes to quell the fatigue. He was used to it by now. “Let him run. He’s not going anywhere, and he’s not threatening action. Linc, load tubes four and five.”

“Aye, Cap,” Linc said from the back.

“O’Neil. How long before we can squeeze out a message?”

“I can squeeze one out anytime, Cap.”

“Radio in our position and condition. Nothing else. Don’t wait for conformation. I want people to know we’re still alive, nothing else.”

“Aye, Cap.”

Jim leaned over his shoulder back into the conn. “Linc, how long before we match the Saratov?”

“We’re almost there now, Cap. Thirty minutes. We don’t want to be sloppy.”

“Put your games faces on, boys. If he makes an ugly move, it’ll be his last.”

It was a mass migration. People suddenly appeared from alleys and streets to rally in front of the Kremlin and voice their support for communism.

Joseph had found his calling. He walked with the fire of pride coursing through his veins. It was his group that was the first to enter Red Square and begin the demonstration. He envisioned himself as the leader of these men and women. He would never be anything else, nor would he settle for less. After a victory today, he would have to establish himself as a leader in the Soviet Party or whatever governing body they decided to erect. For Joseph, it was time make his own way rather than follow. His communist beliefs could work if they had the right leaders.

As the crowd approached the Kremlin, their chanting began to ride on the spring breeze. “Ochinkin out, communism in.” The crowd let it sing in the air, and they became engulfed in the emotion of the movement. There was no anger. They were just beginning.

He knew the protest could easily lose its direction and its purpose. He had to keep his head if they were to succeed. Any wavering outside of the demonstration had to be controlled by a strong leader. Joseph planned to be that one—the main leader, if possible. He wanted to be the one who kept the crowd focused, who kept it from becoming a mob. If the state sent in the police, then he would have to be in the front. If they sent in water hoses, he would be the one to direct their path. He didn’t think it would come to that, but it was an event he had to consider. Today would be his day. The first day of the new following.

A shark sits in a pool. A shark sits in a pool.

Boris sat astride his command tank and listen intently to the message coming over the radio. It really had no meaning as far as the construction of the words was concerned. What it signaled was the time for him to roll on the Kremlin and demand the return of communism. The moment couldn’t be better. Politically, Ochinkin was in a fight for his life. The Russian parliament was striking down the powers they had granted him a few years ago and were looking for a new path for the country—perhaps even a new leader. Little did the government know what path they were about to be instructed to take.

The bad news for communism was that Ochinkin still had support from the majority of people. He had won a straw vote from the public promising better times. The battle in the Russian Congress was to define who really held power; for now, it was Ochinkin.

The Congress itself was still littered with Soviet hard-liners and some moderates who could be swayed. Boris knew that even though they were pushing Ochinkin into a corner, they still had to watch their backs. Once they understood the chaos that was about to ensue, they would be presented with the opportunity to restore the communist structure. They would probably jump on it. Hopefully even get through a vote to make it seem legal. Then their jobs and all the perks and benefits would be secure. Ochinkin would be thrown out. Valsovich would remain with his tanks to enforce that law.

“Sir,” said Boris’s radio op. “It’s transmitted again.”

Boris shook himself from his trance. “Send a reply. ‘Reform has begun.’”

He looked out across the field of his battalion as the commanders sat quietly waiting for him to give a signal. They had been waiting all morning, sweating it out on the inside of the T-33s. Everyone wanted to move. Everyone wanted to do something other than wait.

When the command tank fired up and began to roll away, it didn’t take long for the rest to follow. Anticipation of their noble cause had ended, and the battalion moved with a sense of purpose. They were going in to restore their country, to restore their pride.

To Boris, things seemed to be perfectly in place. There were only two events he didn’t want to have happen. He didn’t want to see support for Ochinkin swell in the streets like it did for Yeltsin back in the ’90s. That would mean he would be left no option but to take the Kremlin by force. If that happened, he didn’t want to see the siege last more than six hours. That was as long as he was prepared to fight. That was as long as he could fight.

The idea of getting Sharon back coursed through every fiber of Beth’s body. She would have to understand that no one but me was meant for her, she thought in her twisted mind.

Getting a gun was easy, especially in DC. A short drive to one of the seedier neighborhoods where prostitutes and crack dealers sat openly on the street corners accomplished this task. A few inquiries, and a seller was standing next to her car, presenting three small handguns.

Fifty bucks, and a .32 automatic was all hers. She placed it in her glove box and drove to the nearest shop for the shells. Shortly after, she was on her way to CIA headquarters. There she would end all her troubles.

“Reform has begun,” said Marina. “Someone’s received the message.”

Sasha stood next to her with his pistol pointed at Nick’s chest. He had made Nick stand in the entryway for two hours while Marina sent the same message over and over.

“Again.”

“Reform has begun,” she repeated.

Sasha flipped on the intercom over his head. “Bridge, this is the executive officer. Reform has begun.”

Seconds later, Andri entered the small chamber. He was grinning from ear to ear. “He was ready.”

“There’s nothing stopping us now, Captain. Soon Russia will return to the rightful government.” When Andri was excited, Sasha became elated. He lived to serve the man. He felt that Andri’s well-being was directly connected to him. He thought of himself as his guardian, physically and emotionally. He took credit for both.

“I can’t believe that it is over.” Andri leaned against the wall and sighed.

Marina was puzzled. The way Andri spoke it sounded like they would sail straight into the nearest port. “What’s over?”

“Well, more correctly, it is out of our hands. The rest of the plan is being completed in Moscow. Hopefully it will go without incident.”

“What will?” queried Marina.

“The transfer of power. The removal of Ochinkin and the establishment of a Soviet government. It should all come to pass in the next six hours.”

“Impossible,” she said, gasping. “It couldn’t be that easy.”

“It wasn’t. It took years of preparation, comrades, and patience. Now it is close at hand. Tanks are rolling into Moscow as we speak.” Andri began to gloat. “You see, my Saratov was not that important. It was used as a threat to convince Ochinkin that we were serious. There was never any plan to launch a missile on Moscow. That would be counterproductive. If we incinerate Moscow, the country would further fracture. It was important that Moscow remain intact. It is the glue of the country. The leaders in that city now believe that a madman has his finger on the trigger and is willing to use it. I think they will choose life instead of the alternative.”

“A bluff,” said Nick. “You wanted them to think you’re crazy enough to do it.”

Andri smiled. “Rather anticlimactic for us.”

“God damn, that is a huge gamble. While everyone was up here chasing you, your counterpart was positioning himself in the city. Readying for the surrender of the government when you surfaced.”

It was a strange scene. Andri gloated, Sasha gloated, and Nick admired the well-conceived plan. Marina, on the other hand, stewed in the corner. There was no way that communism could retake her country. It was unacceptable, and she’d have to do something.

“Let us not get too far ahead of ourselves, Captain,” cautioned Sasha. “We have the question of these two.”

“They will remain here.” Andri flipped up a service panel on the radio and removed some key breakers. “We’ll lock them in. We’ll let them go after we dock. They can do us no harm.”

Sasha would have preferred them dead, but he grimly obeyed. They exited and locked Nick and Marina in the room.

“We have been so stupid. Andri was never the threat.” Marina was on the verge of tears. “It’s all been a wild goose chase.”

“We weren’t stupid. He was well prepared. Smart. I should have guessed that he was not a madman. He’s been too methodical, too precise. His were not the actions of a psychotic. The man had a mission and saw it through.”

“Shut up, Nicholas!” Marina was fuming. “You speak of this man as if he had done something wonderful. He has destroyed my country, you fool! Do not admire him.”

Nick had forgotten about Marina and her passion. He was content to ride out the rest of the trip and gain his freedom when they reached port. Deep down he felt that even if Andri was successful, the Russian people had been brought too far in their independence to go back to the “old way.” It sounded ideal but unrealistic. He was confident that Andri would keep his word. They would be let go after they docked.

To Marina, it was a desperate situation. Her country was on the verge of political collapse. She had to do something—anything—to prevent that from happening. She dug through her handbag and found a metal nail file and a bobby pin, then went to work on the simple lock.

“How far away, Bump?”

“Two thousand yards, sir. Closing slowly. The Saratov hasn’t deviated from her course.”

The twenty minutes of their ascent allowed Jim to catch a catnap. It was restless at best, and he woke feeling more tired than before, though he looked better.

“What does she look like, Josh?”

“Might as well be running on the surface. He’d make better time to get where he’s going. As shallow as he is, it’s very easy for us to pick him up.”

Being a captain who had stalked Russian and Chinese subs for so many years, Jim had developed a sixth sense about his counterparts. He could always tell when the other was ready to make an important move. He felt the time of that move was close. The trick was not to jump the gun.

“O’Neil, did we send a position report out?”

“Yes, sir,” replied O’Neil.

“Linc, tubes four and five loaded?”

“Affirmative.”

Unknowingly Jim was sending a message to his crew through his questions. He was making sure his ship was ready, conveying to the crew that their captain was in a state of anticipation. Of what, they didn’t know.

“Linc, have the torpedo room pull down two fish and load tubes one and two. Better safe than sorry”

“Aye, Cap. Tubes one and two.” Lincoln Dowl never questioned or hesitated. But as he radioed the order to the bow, he couldn’t help but be concerned. His captain expected a confrontation, and loading the War Eagle for multiple rounds of fighting made him sweat.

Booker was becoming agitated. “I haven’t a fucking clue as to why there is no response. They flashed their position, and the waves went dead. We’ve been trying to raise them for over an hour now.”

The word had spread across the ship that they weren’t really performing a drill. They had been sent north for some secret operation. The other men in the war room listened intently to the conversation. It was the only way to piece together the puzzle.

“Jim’s a very smart man, Book. I’m sure there is a good reason why he hasn’t responded to your hails.” Kenneth took it all in stride. He had found out that his multibillion-dollar baby was still in good shape. That was all he needed to know. The action of the War Eagle also indicated that they were tracking the Saratov successfully.

“Admiral, I’d really like to see this end before it gets out of control.” Booker despised the situation. They were in unfriendly waters, his crew was beat, and a renegade sub with nuclear warheads could be sailing straight toward them. Suddenly being in the navy wasn’t any fun, and he got the feeling that this was more of a personal operation for the admiral than a professional one. “Can we at least notify the Russian Navy or Air Force of their suspected position?”

Kenneth didn’t want to answer that. It would be the logical thing to do. This was somewhat of an insane situation from all perspectives. “No. Never.” The War Eagle was in the area, and he didn’t want to put her in jeopardy.

It made absolutely no sense to Book. When an ensign strolled in and handed him a communiqué, it made even less sense. “Read this. It may change your mind.”

The message was simple: “Tanks are rolling on Moscow.”

It didn’t faze Sukudo. “No.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Metal Versus Flesh

It was hard to tell which group was more stunned—the protesters or the tank commanders. Boris couldn’t believe that his worst-case scenario stood before him at least 150,000 strong, with still more coming.

As each tank rolled off the main highway into Red Square, they all turned their big guns on the crowd. Boris had prepared for this, and though he was surprised, he didn’t flinch as he led the line to the other side, away from the mass of people.

The crowd consisted of all kinds. Old people, young people, crippled people, women with their children, and more. All watching. He noticed that many signs had been erected, but he was unable to read them because the writing was facing the Kremlin.

Except for the roar of the tanks the entire square was silent. There was a shock of disbelief as the armor spread out evenly and positioned itself on the flank of the crowd. There he signaled for all vehicles to halt and present an attack posture. Like they had during their drills for over the past month, his commanders executed the maneuver perfectly and without a pause. That made Boris feel good. It was a subtle signal that his men were behind him 100 percent.

“You people have one hour to disperse,” he blasted over his loudspeaker to the gathered crowd. He knew hesitation could lead to failure, but he had to give them one opportunity. He had to be at least that reasonable. If he could take control of the government without bloodshed, then the new government would have more credibility in the world’s eyes. After his statement, he glanced briefly across his battalion to make sure that they were in position, and then he gave the signal to batten down the hatches. Every tank commander climbed inside and locked their weapon up as tight as a drum. Boris poured himself some tea from a thermos and sipped it as he waited for the hour to pass.

There was an uneasy silence and an uncomfortable milling about in the crowd. They had heard the message to leave, and no one really wanted to, but there wasn’t anyone jumping in front telling them to stay. They were without a leader.

Joseph knew that this was his time, but he was finding it increasingly harder to muster the courage to speak. He wanted to be the voice—to be the one to remind the people about why they were together. He had passed it through his mind many times how he’d easily saunter to the front and give a rousing speech, and they would assault their opponent and crush the tyrants before them. It seemed as if it would be so simple and that it would automatically happen. That wasn’t the case. Now he realized that he was more than scared. He was terrified.

Though the tanks were an ominous vision at the other side of the square, somehow Joseph began to move the hundred meters or so to the front of the crowd. It was evident as he waded past that everyone was waiting for someone else to make the first move. Waiting for that one person to remind them that what they were there for was right.

He stood at the front, waiting for anyone else to seize the initiative, but it didn’t happen. Eventually Joseph told himself that if he didn’t move now he’d never be able to look at himself, ever. When he stepped forward, all eyes turned his way; it was most uncomfortable.

He spoke with a shaky voice at first. “People of the Communist Party! What stands before us is only our fear. The tanks on the other side are not as opposing as what is within all of us. You have overcome more within yourselves just to stand here today than it would take to stand and overcome those who would strike us down.”

There came a smattering of applause and some jeers directed toward the armored vehicles. It was enough from which to draw strength as he continued to summon courage. The crowd was quieting as all tried to hear the man who stood before them. He was getting the attention of the whole crowd.

“Today we are at an impasse because the faltering Russian government must acknowledge our views, our needs, before they can move forward. They cannot navigate around us, nor can they circumvent our position. We leave them only one option, and that is to travel through us. Since we leave them only that course, then they will be changed when they reach the other side. They will have returned to the government that we all believe to be the only true governing body of Russia: the Communist government.”

Surprisingly there came quite a lot of strong support from the people nearest him. More in the back were still trying to get closer to hear. Joseph’s confidence began to rise.

“Do not fear what is across the way, for they are not our enemy. They are only the instruments of the Russian government to silence our voices. If we fail today, then we will have failed for all time. Hesitation means defeat.” The men began to get angry, and more obscenities were shouted in the direction of the tanks. “Passive action means defeat. We have but one moment to strike, and that moment is now. The government leaders were the ones who brought about this confrontation with the military. It proves to what lengths they will go to keep the ruling class alive.”

The words were beginning to whip up anger in the crowd. Though many could only see him and not hear, they still felt the passion run with the speed of lightning.

“I caution you, though. Do not become a mob. To win here today means organization. We don’t have the weapons to match the tanks, but we do have more heart. We have the strength of our people.”

“What do we do?” a voice cried from the back.

“Take down your banners and bring them to the front. When all are gathered, we will run up on the tanks and drape the cloth over the driver’s ports so they cannot see. They will be blind, and we will be able to continually beat against the machines until they surrender, retreat, or are destroyed.”

Within seconds, the orders were relayed to the people holding the banners denouncing the Russian government, and they were passed forward. Men tore the pieces into sections and distributed them equally across the front line. Then the eyes trained on Joseph again. “We are ready,” spoke someone.

“You three,” he said, grabbing the men closest to him. “Go find some type of construction equipment—giant trucks and tractors. We need something to oppose these tanks.”

The three ran off.

“Good,” said Joseph. “Some may die today, but it will be the best day to die. It will be a day when the Russian people took back their government and proudly proclaimed themselves communist for all time.” There came a great cheer. “Do not hesitate, do not falter, my friends. It is in the first few minutes when we will know if our efforts are to be in vain.” He had brought the crowd to a boiling point, and a few began to inch their way toward the tanks. “Go now!” Joseph yelled. And he and the people rushed forward.

“Captain, sir!” yelled Boris’s tank driver, looking out the driver’s porthole. “They’re coming.”

Boris opened his hatch just as the first few men crossed the last ten meters and jumped on his tank. He was able to get back in and lock it before they made it to the top.

“They’ve covered my sight, sir. I can’t see.”

The crowd outside was screaming, yelling, and pounding on the side. Boris was confident that he was completely safe, yet the noise was very distracting. All tanks commanders reported in that each tank had been attacked, were blind, and waiting for instructions. None felt they were in any danger.

He gave the order to sit tight. Though his battalion was engulfed in human bodies, they could not be threatened. Like any well-trained military man, he would let the crowd rant and rave, and then when their hour was up, he’d move, and he’d be unbending. His battalion would perform with a purpose, blind or not. When the bodies began to crush under the tracks, the mob will disperse. There would be no hesitation after he gave the word to roll.

“You have thirty-five minutes,” he blurted over his speaker.

The crowd stopped. Then it struck again more fiercely.

“Where the fuck is Levi, Anthony?” Anthony found himself in the Oval Office again, being torn apart by the president. “Can’t you guys get any fucking thing straight? How did this disaster miss us?” The president was referring to the TV screens in his office. CNN was broadcasting the riot in Red Square. “It is clearly larger than we anticipated, right?”

“Yes, it is, sir. We’re looking for Levi now. He oversees that division, and I don’t know how he misjudged such a huge uprising. There should have been signs.”

“You’re fucking right there should have been signs! The oddest thing is that Ochinkin can’t figure out why the tanks showed up at all. He didn’t order them. And he doesn’t know who exactly oversees the battalion. Do you?”

Anthony could only shake his head.

After a slight rap on the door, Levi entered. He knew what was happening in Moscow, and he knew why he had been summoned.

“Levi, do you know about this?” the president said, motioning toward the TV.

“I do. It’s an effort to overthrow the Russian government. The tanks rolled in, we believe, on a signal from the Saratov.”

The president was sarcastic. “Why are the protesters there at the same time, Levi?”

“Sir, my reports indicate that they were having a pro-communist rally. It is an odd coincidence.”

“They’re there for the same reason?” It perplexed Anthony.

“Apparently. We don’t know why they started attacking each other. It seems to be one giant fuckup.”

“You’re telling me that it was a fucking mistake that a riot is being fought in Red Square?” The president was in disbelief. “I can tell Ochinkin that his enemies, for some strange reason, started attacking one another?” He started to laugh, then swiveled in his chair to look out the windows onto the lawn. “Jesus Christ, has the world gone nuts? I’m supposed to hold a press conference in ten minutes. What should I say?”

“Sir, if I could suggest—” started Levi.

“Oh, please do,” the president replied with a wave of his hand.

“Well, the reporters and news agencies smell that this is some type of overthrow. Since we really can’t see where this may end, don’t commit to either side. After all, they’re fighting against each other and not against Ochinkin.”

The president spun around. “You always land on your feet, don’t you, Carp? There’s always some angle for you.”

Levi sensed that he was mad and had little room for his opinion. So he pushed it even more. It meant that Levi had to get tough with him. “Listen, Mr. President. You have avoided making any hard, concrete choices throughout the whole affair. You were looking down the road to see if you could use the situation to your advantage. You were trying to meet campaign promises by reestablishing a threat somewhere in the world so it could give you an excuse to start up weapons plants and stimulate the economy. You were selfish and self-serving. That is the course you decided on with your inaction. Now is not the time to change.”

The president sat stunned, boiling.

Levi continued. “If you commit to Ochinkin now, and he remains in power, then it is the worse for us. In a single moment, you risk losing your threat, and we continue to drown in economic stagnation. The best scenario for us is if he is overthrown.”

“What if I don’t commit, and he stays in power?”

“Nothing is hurt,” replied Levi. “Maybe a small setback in your relationship. If anything, he won’t think you’re so approachable. That will be good.”

Anthony was watching the broadcast as the two explored the political ramifications of the situation. Even after working in the CIA all those years, it finally got to him. “Stand for something, Mr. President.”

“Excuse me?”

“Stand for something, you wishy-washy bastard. Do something for someone else rather than for your political gain. Why isn’t the secretary of state in this meeting? Oh, because we kept him in the dark, too…along with your cabinet.”

It was now Levi’s and the president’s turn to be startled. They stared at him in silence.

“I’ve stomached enough of this. I resign, effective instantly.” Anthony got up and opened the door. “By the way, you spineless fucker,” he said to the president. “I didn’t vote for you.” He left.

It was an awkward silence they stood in. Levi didn’t have a comment. It was the president who spoke first. “I guess this makes you director of the CIA.”

Levi was dumbfounded. He shouldn’t have been. It was the position he had been trying to achieve his whole life, and now he had it. “Thank you, sir.”

The president snapped his fingers to bring Levi back to the situation. “Come back, Levi. We still have to figure how to play this hand out.”

“Okay, Mr. President. Let’s take it one step at a time.”

Sukudo lounged with Booker in the captain’s quarters. What he was waiting for finally came on the satellite TV. CNN interrupted with a special report from the president on the Moscow crisis. They watched the scene in the White House pressroom as the president walked in and approached the podium. Levi stood directly behind him as he glanced across his speech before he made his statement.

“I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t have a formal comment on the situation going on in Russia, but I have been in contact with Mr. Ochinkin, and as far as he can determine, the Kremlin and parliament have not been threatened yet. One note, the appearance of tanks greatly disturbs the leader of this country as well as many others, and we condemn the use of force in this situation.”

The floor was opened to reporters.

“Mr. President. Were the tanks positioned by Mr. Ochinkin to defend the Kremlin?”

“Mr. Ochinkin has assured me that he or any other member of the Russian Congress did not call in the tanks. They apparently are operating under the leadership of another man or group.”

“Russia is no longer in control of its military?”

“We can only determine that it’s not in control of the tanks we see in Red Square.”

“An overthrow?”

“Unknown as yet. No one is attacking the Kremlin.”

“Does US intelligence have any idea who this outside group is?”

“No. We are unaware of their intent. Furthermore, Mr. Ochinkin is apprehensive about using the Moscow police because of the presence of the tanks. He is willing to wait for reinforcements from an armored battalion moving up from Kiev.”

A spunky female reporter sitting in the back of the room was the one to ask the questions the president didn’t want to answer, and she didn’t stop.

“Is the US prepared to support Mr. Ochinkin in the event that his position is threatened?”

“We are prepared to denounce any type of aggression that may take place in Moscow.”

“What I mean, Mr. President, is the United States, in the event of an overthrow, prepared to denounce the aggressors and sever all ties with Russia? Is the United States willing to take any action politically or militarily to thwart any attempt these people may take to establish a new government? How far will the United States go to see that Mr. Ochinkin remains in power?”

The president fidgeted. “The most opportune situation would be for the tanks and the people to disperse and for this incident to end on its own. But if the government should change hands, it would be our obligation and in our best interests to work with whomever is instituted as the new leader of Russia by the people. If that were to happen.”

She persisted. “What if the new power holders in Russia are hardline communists wanting to return to their Soviet style of governing?”

It was a question he had anticipated and rehearsed for. “Impossible. Democracy won’t simply be driven back into communism. We don’t see how that situation is plausible. It can’t happen.”

He tried to move to another reporter, but the woman continued. “Since you’re willing to abandon Mr. Ochinkin so quickly, what type of message does it send to other countries with struggling leaders?”

There was no answer. He had not even examined how the other leaders would react when he openly sat on the fence during such a crisis. Quickly he raced over all the answers he had given and realized that he could be seen only as a weak leader in the eyes of the world. His peers would not respect him since he did not take a stand either way. He couldn’t believe that they were so wrapped up in manipulating the crisis to their advantage that they overlooked such an obvious consideration. He feared that the backlash from other countries could be devastating. “I’m sorry. I’ll make no further comments at this time” was all he said. He could feel the phone ring in his office, only imagining what leader would be calling to find out why the free world wouldn’t support freedom. There was going to be some damage control to do.

Admiral Sukudo flipped off the set. He smiled as he thought about the hole the president had dug for himself. He knew now was the time to end the chase. Now was the time to return the ships to port regardless of what happened in Moscow. “Okay, Book. Let’s sink that bastard out there. Put her on the seafloor, and there’s a better chance that Ochinkin will hold his job.”

“What about the War Eagle?”

“That’s my worry. Find that Russian sub and blow her to hell. Send some of your aircraft farther out to locate her.”

Booker flipped on his intercom and gave the command that sent everyone aboard the Toledo scrambling. “Sound general quarters.”

For the complete hour, the crowd pounded on the tanks. Boris repeatedly checked in on his commanders, and none reported any significant damage. All were ready to move. He did notice that near the end of the hour the incessant pounding had only irritated his men and made them more eager to lash out against the throng. That was good.

When the last second had ticked off, all the tanks in the battalion restarted their engines. The sudden roar made many of the demonstrators jump from the vehicles and leave. Since all the tanks were covered and blind, Boris ordered his battalion to proceed forward at 2,300 rpm, then on his signal, make a hard right and fire a round indiscriminately into the crowd. His tank commanders obeyed, and the vehicles moved. They were unaware they were killing their own communist comrades.

When the engines fired, many of the protesters fled. Joseph was surprised at how many had left during the hour. Some he couldn’t blame, for they were women and children. For sixty minutes, he had encouraged his people to grab anything to beat on the tanks to drive the crews from their weapons, but it didn’t work. When the hour was up, he estimated that the crowd had dwindled to no more than seventy thousand.

They weren’t prepared for the tanks to move. Joseph thought that because they had blinded the drivers they had in effect immobilized them. He stood back in utter amazement when as one big dance troop the tanks proceeded forward in unison. That’s when the first people died.

Those who had never been close to such machines were now climbing all over them. When the hundreds of moving parts on the vehicles started in motion, it caught many protesters’ clothing and dragged them under the tracks. They screamed and cried and finally exploded in a burst of blood as the fifteen tons of metal ground them into the pavement. Those who witnessed it were horrified. People with various parts of their anatomy crushed off screamed for help. Those who had lost an arm or half a leg stumbled through the crowd in shock as their blood spewed from their wounds.

Then the tanks turned right, catching more unsuspecting people who were too close and dragged them under. The big guns rotated left and pointed down without warning. All recoiled, releasing shells into the densest part of the crowd. The volleys killed hundreds. Others lay wounded and dying in a circular pattern around the area where the shells had exploded. Those who were riding on the tanks now leaped off and went to the aid of the injured. The crowd saw that it was at the mercy of the armored killing machines.

Several men came to Joseph for guidance. He had stood back in horror and watched it all happen. Those surrounding him were waiting, some with tears, some with anger. He had to respond. “We must get the wounded away before we begin our attack.”

“With what!” someone yelled.

As if on cue, the three men Joseph had sent off at the beginning of the fight appeared in Red Square behind the tanks. Two were driving very large front-end loaders used to scoop up rubble and deposit it in the back of huge dump trucks. The third was driving one of those dump trucks.

“There!” yelled Joseph. “Use the truck to move the injured. I need to talk to the tractor drivers.”

The tanks still moved with precision. They made another turn and rotated their guns and fired. This time it had little effect, since the crowd now knew what was going on and were keeping a safe distance.

Joseph ran to the front-end loaders and found the two drivers in shock. They were not expecting to see so many crushed bodies and blood running like a river across the ground. He shook one to get his attention. “Use the bucket on your tractor to knock off the tracks on the tanks.”

“What?”

“Use the bucket to disable the tanks. Come in from behind and catch the tracks with the corner of the bucket. They can’t move if their tracks break off.”

The driver signaled that he understood and roared off to disable the armor. Joseph found the other man in tears as he wept at the sight of the dead bodies. He didn’t bother to explain. He jerked him out of the cab and drove the tractor himself.

Since the tanks were still blind, they were very easy to ram from behind. The huge buckets quickly snapped the links in the tracks, and the vehicles stopped. Within fifteen minutes, they had disabled twenty of the forty tanks in the battalion and were cruising to disable the rest.

The reports between the tanks alerted the drivers that something was out there making the tanks inoperable. Yet no one could exit to see what it was. Boris had made the decision to stop their movements when the fifth tank went down. He still ordered the guns to fire in the hope they would hit whatever it was, but until then, he was trapped, and his driver was still blind.

The tide was turning against them. Boris had never imagined that the crowd would be aggressive. Throughout his life, he had seen tanks roll across protesters, but those protesters had always taken a defensive position because of the arms and military power. This tactic was new. Worse, it seemed to be working, and he was in trouble.

As long as his men stayed inside, they would be safe for a while. He had to address the issue of getting the covers off. It was imperative that he see. He had to make every move count. Boris tried to lift the hatch on the top of his tank and found that it wouldn’t budge. It was because three men stood on top to keep the crews inside while the front-end loaders ran up and severed their tracks. More calls came in from commanders saying that their tanks were now stalled.

It was the last straw. He had to take the fight to a new level. He gave the order for the remaining mobile tanks to rotate left and for the gunners to open fire, but to hold the burst until they were ready to rotate back. The fifty-caliber guns spit out rounds that ripped at least fifteen deep into the crowd. Those who weren’t expecting the guns to fire were sawed in half. The ground was thick with human entrails, and the air filled with cries of more people dying. Many couldn’t stomach the fight and fled to the safety of the streets, trying to hide anywhere.

Joseph screamed in horror as he watched his fellow demonstrators get mowed down. People attempted to run for safety, sprinting away in pure terror. He couldn’t believe that he was so close to winning before the movement broke. Then he looked around and saw the magnitude of the slaughter.

Bodies were piled upon one another. The wheels of his tractor were caked with blood, and the path that the remaining tanks had taken was embedded with flesh. His counterpart on the other loader was still tearing the tracks off the remaining vehicles; all Joseph could do was weep.

The crowd had scattered in all directions. Though many of the tanks were immobile, their remaining imposing force did not allow for even the Moscow police or ambulances to intervene. They stayed at a great distance, waiting for the fight to end. A few brave souls ran out and began to drag to safety those who were wounded and crying for help. Within several mounds of bodies, arms would protrude and wave to indicate that people were alive under the dead and needing help.

The command tank Boris was in felt the thump from the tractor outside. His driver knew right away they had lost their track. The machine guns had been silent for at least two minutes. No one was pounding on the sides, and he couldn’t hear the screams of people. He knew that it would be a gruesome sight, but he expected that when he gave the order to shoot. Analyzing his situation, he figured that he could turn the incident to his advantage when he spoke to the Russian Congress and told them to reinstate communist rule. It would show that their intent was genuine, and they were ready to sacrifice any life—even the whole city with a nuclear bomb, if need be.

Still, when he found he could finally open his hatch, he gagged at the carnage that surrounded him. To the back, he saw the culprits who had immobilized his whole battalion. Two men sat atop the front-end loaders and stared back in amazement. People now were only trying to save the injured. He reached down and pulled the piece of fabric covering the sights of the driver. His battalion would only be out of commission for a short time while his men repaired the broken links in the tracks. His tanks were still positioned to do heavy damage, even if many could not move. Even now he felt that he could pull off his demands.

The rest would be simple. He was going to walk to the Kremlin and tell the first senior official that if he didn’t meet with Ochinkin in fifteen minutes, his tanks would roll on. He would have at least ten back to command by that time. Then his demands would be conveyed to the parliament building for the Russian Congress to be put to a vote. If the hard-liners didn’t come through for him, then he’d roll. There were very few options. Boris hoped that it would all go very swiftly. After all, the Russian Congress was made up of enough old Soviets that it was possible.

As he climbed out to let his men begin repairs, he glimpsed at the piece of fabric that had covered his tank. The red cloth was emblazoned with the traditional hammer and sickle insignia of the Soviet Union. He grabbed the cloth and held it up, spreading it before him. Then the tragic irony hit. Boris could extrapolate enough from the scrap that the crowd gathered there today was not for the support of Ochinkin, but against him. He had attacked his own people. People who were trying to attain the same goals. Revelation of the catastrophic error almost made him faint.

The first explosion was close. It was halfway down the line. From the back, a shell slammed into one of the T-33s and set it ablaze. Then another. Boris didn’t have time to react because it was his tank, with him standing beside it, that was next.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The Poker Game

The pictures were broadcast live. Though the journalist stayed at a distance, anyone watching the TV could make out the holocaust. Russia did nothing to censor it because even the president of Russia had no idea exactly what was taking place. It wasn’t a bad deal having his old communist opponents wipe one another out in Red Square. The citizens of the world were transfixed by the mass killing—even the president of the United States. My fucking God.

The event was so grisly that it stunned Levi as well. “We’re told those are the tanks sent up from Kiev to restore order.” He motioned to the armor behind Boris’s broken battalion now assaulting the immobilized units and destroying them completely. “They were closer than we thought. They were on a train en route to a base north or Moscow. When the fighting broke out, they unloaded and drove in.”

“Oh fuck, did I do the right thing?” wondered the president.

“Yes, you did. You were acting in the best interests of your country. We didn’t know what the end would be.” Levi tried to sound reassuring. “Nothing was hurt from our position.”

“You little bastard! People weren’t supposed to die,” yelled the president. It prompted his secret service agent to poke his head in and make sure everything was all right. “A week ago you had all the answers! ‘Don’t worry, Mr. President. This could be the opportunity to fulfill your campaign promises. Revive the economy. Let the sub go. It’s in our best interest!’ Remember that pile of shit, Levi? I never once thought that it would end like this! You could see into the future then! You were very fucking confident about it.”

Levi wasn’t going to let him push all the responsibility onto him. “Maybe so, Mr. President, but remember, you took my advice because you saw the opportunity to achieve your own goals. You never once were that concerned with who got hurt as long as you could use the situation to your advantage. You didn’t seem to mind if those Arab bastards got nuked. Now you’re squeamish because some Russians got blown to pieces. It happens every fucking day in the CIA. It’s the cost of doing business! It’s the price of fame, Mr. President. Live with it!”

“You’re fired!”

“My ass! You fire me, and I go to the press. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“You’ll destroy the credibility of the United States.”

“Try me, Mr. President. I have about the same amount of morals and ethics as you.”

Levi left. He didn’t care. He knew his job was intact. Over his lifetime, he had held many things over many people’s heads. Now he owned the president of the United States. He could see it on the man’s face. It was a good feeling. Maybe I should have voted for him, he thought as he exited.

In the CIA building, everyone was glued to the TVs. Phones and faxes poured in, and the people seemed to handle the work without taking their eyes off CNN. That included Dan and Sharon. Dan watched it on his private TV in his office while Sharon watched at her computer.

Shit is going to hit the fan now, he thought. An incredible anger welled inside his gut. Levi had been sloppy, and this was the result. If the War Eagle and the Saratov proved to be victims of his incompetence, Dan wasn’t sure if he would be able to restrain himself.

Sharon came to the door. “Can you believe this?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Did anyone see this? I mean, didn’t we know about the troops and everything?”

“Who knows? That was Levi’s area. If his people knew about it, he sure didn’t do anything to stop it.”

Sharon shook her head. “He’s such a boob.”

“Maybe I can make a call or two to find out how this thing went down.” Dan flipped through his Rolodex and found the number of another agent in the building. “Hello, Max. You’ve been watching CNN?” There was a momentary pause as Dan’s face grayed. “You have got to be shitting me! How long ago and how come no one has heard about it?” He listened intently to an explanation. The wait made Sharon nervous. “Okay, Max. Thanks.” He hung up the phone.

“I take it there’s more news?”

“Max says that Anthony DeCurtis resigned, and Levi was appointed to the director’s chair.”

She was stunned. “That’s why he was with the president at the news conference. He’s in charge now.”

“I guess I’ll be looking for a new job.”

“Both of us,” she replied.

They felt the Saratov rise to the surface. The question was why? Moments before, Marina had picked the lock to her cabin, but she didn’t want to exit until they had formulated a plan. Something that could help her country. “Why are we up, Nicholas?”

“I don’t know. It could be for several reasons.”

The next sound they heard was the great door sliding back on the missile bays of the sub. Then the whine of the hydraulic lift as it pushed the loaded carriage above its back.

“Nicholas, he lied. He plans to launch!”

It was troubling, but Nick still felt that Andri was sincere in his statement about the bluff. There had to be another reason, and he couldn’t wait any longer to find out. “Let’s go.” He opened the door.

They sneaked down the corridor to the bridge. Everyone was at their stations, with Sasha in Nick’s chair at the dive control. Above they saw that the hatch to the sail was open, and Andri was out looking across the horizon.

Everyone was too engrossed in their work to notice the two slip up the ladder toward him. Nick felt he had no alternative. Andri had to explain. If he did plan on a launch, then Nick would have to do something before the order could be executed. Perhaps even kill him.

Once inside the sail of the ship, Nicholas climbed up alone. Marina followed halfway but stayed below so she could listen to the conversation the two would have. Nick’s emergence on the deck of the sail startled Andri.

“Nicholas?”

Nick could now see the missiles raised above the deck. Each sat in its own slot on the carriage with the hammer and sickle painted on the cones. “I thought you weren’t going to launch.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you surfaced?”

Andri raised his arm and pointed straight into the sky. “I want the enemies of my country to know that we are serious. I’m sure the United States, like Russia, will have satellites mapping this area within the next few hours. Then I’m sure they will confer and decide that we’re still prepared to follow through. Ochinkin and the Congress will have no alternative but to surrender to my comrade in the city.”

“All for show.”

“Yes. All for show. Missiles can’t be launched until the firing board is fed the coordinates for Moscow, and the firing pin is pushed. That computer is on the bridge, and I have given no orders for anyone to do that. My fight is over. It’s in the hands of my comrades now.”

Nick was relieved. The tactic made sense, especially since he knew for sure that the United States had something up there looking down. He was impressed by the educated guesses Andri was making. He had played his plan out thoroughly and perfectly. “Did you provide for the possibility that your friend in Moscow may very well fail?”

“There are many places where we could run to. Cuba, for instance. He will not fail, though. He commands a sizable force, and he is not afraid to use it. I predict that Ochinkin will surrender within several hours.”

It was only a moment. It was the instant when everything fell apart.

It started with the warning bells on the Saratov sounding. Then the missile carriage swung around and pointed south. Andri grabbed the mic to order a stop to the missile, but he was interrupted by his sonar man screaming something about “flooded tubes.” Then there came the launch. The missile ripped off the carriage and began to climb. Nick and Andri stood in utter amazement, neither knowing what to say. The words came clearly over the speaker, bringing them back to life. It was the sonar room. “Tubes flooded, torpedoes fired, submarine directly astern.”

The words gave Nick a moment of terror, yet Andri remained calm. “Close missile bay. Prepare for crash dive.”

Jim had no time to think. Sonar had reported the Saratov on the surface. He had watched her cruise through the sea on Josh’s monitor and still he had held off firing even when the missiles were brought up. They didn’t seem to have an aggressive posture, since the carriage lay motionless with the nose of the missiles pointed precariously at the water. It was almost like a maintenance check. Jim still wanted to get closer. He gambled that he could. He didn’t expect the carriage to suddenly react and point south. That’s when he blurted out, “Fire tubes one and two! Fire tubes one and two!”

Lincoln responded that the torpedoes were away before Jim watched the missile lift from the deck of the Saratov. He was still too late. The torpedoes weren’t even close when the missile took flight. It left him with a sinking feeling, and now he was in for a fight.

“She’s headed down,” the sonar room reported.

Jim had watched it all. The missile, the two men scramble inside the sub, and the bays close and submerge. Something wasn’t right. He had been watching the men in the sail as the missile fired. It surprised them as much as Jim. It didn’t seem deliberate.

He returned to the conn. He had to captain, and he knew he was going to be well matched. He had studied Andri’s moves throughout, and the only thing he took for granted was that Andri didn’t know him. He’d have to learn all about Jim Hickman as they fought. “Match his depth, planesman.”

“Aye,” said the planesman officer, and he began to call depths as they followed the Saratov down.

“We’re not going to have her for long,” echoed Bumper’s voice over the box.

“Release countermeasures,” Andri barked as he hit the bridge. Nick was right behind him.

“Countermeasures released” was the response.

“Dive.”

No one talked as the sub seemed to descend almost vertically. They all waited for the torpedoes to arrive, and they listened to the sonar tracking the path of the fish.

“Torpedoes have acquired target,” said sonar. A gentle ping echoed through the ship as the active sonar in the torpedo’s nose locked on.

The order came. “Release countermeasures again.”

The Saratov spit from her body two more small canisters pressurized with carbon dioxide. Once in the water, the cans released their gas, forming a huge cloud of bubbles that reflected the sonar back to the torpedoes and caused them to lose their lock. The torpedoes passed through the cloud and sped off in the wrong direction, still looking for their prey. Andri had gotten lucky.

The confirmation came from sonar. “Torpedoes passed.”

“Do we have a lock on the sub?” asked Andri.

“No, sir. We lost her after she fired, and we dived.”

“Who fired the missile?”

No one answered. The silence almost unnerved him, but he kept his temper because of the immediate situation. “Come hard right forty-five degrees. Release countermeasures.”

The Saratov pulled about and dropped the canisters. He needed the carbon dioxide cloud to buy him more time.

Nick knew who had fired the missile after no one claimed responsibility. He didn’t know why, but he was going as ask her the first chance he got. After all, she was still on the ship.

“Level off. Come right bearing one-three-three. How far are we from the bottom?”

“About one hundred meters.”

“Take her down ninety more and level.” Andri had to think. It was time for the ultimate captain’s test.

Moments later, Sasha signaled their depth. They were coming to a giant drop in the ocean floor. A huge crevasse that seemed to have no bottom. Andri was gambling that he could make it there before his enemy decided to fire again. He’d use the floor as his cover, hoping that his ship would blend in with the bottom, making it impossible for him to show up on sonar. He also used the time to get a feel for his adversary. He was obviously a patient man. One who studied before he acted. How long had he been behind them? He was well schooled because he didn’t fire again in haste. Instead he was waiting for Andri to become vulnerable, and Andri was intent on making sure that didn’t happen. He was going to try to use his enemy’s caution against him. He had to make it to the crevasse.

Kyle Gunnerman was the pilot of the old Bell helicopter making its way across the sea in search of the sub. He was equipped with two sonar buoys and two torpedoes. Four Sparrow air-to-air combat missiles sat astride his copter, making it look overburdened. His vehicle was the joke of the Toledo. It was outdated, slow, and ugly, and Kyle had been the unlucky pilot to draw the command of the craft.

He didn’t mind it that much. After a time, he got used to all the ribbing, and he and his crew actually developed a sense of affection for the old girl. She flew like a pig, yet there was a certain prestige about her age and being able to absorb so much punishment, unlike the more modern war helicopters.

He had spotted the Saratov miles away. It was hard to miss it since it had risen so far above the surface. There was genuine feeling of excitement as he dropped the column and dove the helicopter to a few feet above the water. He hadn’t been seen or heard, and he needed to get closer before he released his torpedoes for the kill. He pushed the throttle wide open, and the old girl began to feel like she was going to rattle apart. He was the only aircraft in position to sink the sub his ship was after, and Kyle wanted a direct hit. They wouldn’t laugh at him or his helicopter after today.

“Arm torpedoes,” he ordered his copilot.

The old girl skimmed across the top of the gently rolling waves. He still wanted to get closer, and he could see that the sub was doing nothing to dive. She was sitting like a duck on a lake. The scenario was perfect. The sun was directly at his back, and a slight breeze was blowing directly against him. The helicopter couldn’t be seen or heard from the Saratov. One other thing that helped him was that the Saratov’s reduced crew left the ship’s radar unmanned. It couldn’t get better.

“Okay, prepare to drop on my mark.” Kyle was confident that the kill was imminent. He was going to try to aim it right at the bow of the ship. One torpedo, one sunk sub. It was all too good until the missile launched.

The launch caught him completely unprepared. He hesitated a moment as he tried to figure out what to do. The sub was still there, but a missile was in the air. He should have dropped the torpedo on instinct alone, but he had botched that. The missile was getting away, and there was a positive chance that it was armed with a nuclear warhead. His gut told him to go for the missile. It now took priority.

“Shit! Abort drop! Ready missiles, fire!” A flip of some switches, and a sparrow released from the side racks and burst out ahead and up. It quickly chased the loping missile into the clouds and out of sight. The sparrow would cover five miles before it caught the slower Russian projectile and exploded, driving its nose directly into its solid rocket booster. It would be another three minutes before the debris would fall safely into the ocean from the sky.

Not knowing what would be the end result of the missile, Kyle returned his attention to the sub. It was gone. He felt like he had taken his eyes off it for only a second, but it was a second too long. “I don’t fucking believe it.”

“Drop a fish, skipper,” remarked his copilot. “He can’t be that far down.”

“Shit!” replied Kyle. “No. I don’t think he saw us. If we drop, it might alert him to the others. The best hope now might be to see if he’ll come up again. Radio the Toledo and tell them what we found. Maybe someone close by has a chance of getting a good lock on her.”

Being prudent was what Kyle thought he was doing. It was a long shot that the sub would surface again, but he didn’t want to waste his torpedoes on a ghost somewhere under the water. To him, the chase wasn’t over.

“Well, I’ve lost her,” said Josh as he closed down ODIS and strapped in. “She went too deep.”

Jim heard it from the conn. “Anyone else got a lock? Sonar got anything?”

“Sorry, Cap,” replied Bumper over the speaker. “Sonar lost her right after he released countermeasures.”

Mikhail finally emerged from beneath. “Did we hit her?” There was no tone of hopefulness about his language. He remembered full well that his grandson was aboard that ship.

Hickman motioned him over. “No. Tell me, any suggestion what this guy might do?”

Somewhat relieved, Mikhail offered his assistance. “Let me see a floor map.”

Scanning through a computer monitor, he enlarged a topo map of the area where they were swimming. It had rolling hills and valleys that ended abruptly at a gigantic rupture in the seafloor. It was a rupture in the earth’s crust so wide that its span went off the monitor. It was so deep that cartographers weren’t sure of the actual depth. It was also the obvious place to run.

Mikhail smiled. “What do you think, my friend?”

Jim didn’t answer him. Instead he turned to Lincoln. “Come about course one-two-nine.”

“One-two-nine, aye.”

“Do you think he’ll run?”

Mikhail shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I think it would matter only if he’s accomplished his mission.”

Jim exhaled sharply. “Load all tubes.”

You could breathe the tension in the Saratov. Everyone was attuned to his position, and there was very little talking. Nicholas stood at the back of the bridge and watched as Andri guided his ship quietly across the bottom of the seafloor to the safety of the underwater canyon. They all understood that they were very close to death. Marina still hadn’t shown her face, and the others ignored Nick.

“We are over the crevasse, Captain,” radioed the sonar room.

Andri had been breathing shallow, and he let a sigh of relief. “Good. Take us to nine hundred meters then come round to two-six-five and hold.”

The ship dipped gracefully and slipped easily into the depths. As she dove, the rudder man executed the turn and brought the bow around. The Saratov came to a rest and held her position.

“Load tubes one and two.”

“One and two loaded” came the reply. The next order was nerve-racking for Andri. It was an order that could quickly send them to their graves. “Flood both tubes.”

The ship was so quiet that the slight sound of the tubes filling with water pulsed within the sub. It also was a sound that carried very well through the water and would be recognizable to any good sonar operator.

Andri waited. He waited for the enemy to lock on to the origin of the sound and fire. He had gambled that his adversary had not followed him down yet, and he was right. The flooding sound amplified in the water, bounced into the wall of the canyon, and dissipated. It moved up but became distorted and unrecognizable in the distance it traveled. He had gambled correctly for the moment.

“Coming upon the fissure, Cap,” Bumper said.

“All stop,” ordered Jim. Something wasn’t right. Gliding over the top of the cliff was too easy and too dangerous. It was like opening a door and finding a man pulling the trigger of his gun. He knew that if that was where the Saratov lurked, he’d be in a fighting posture. Any good captain would use the canyon to gain the advantage, and Andri seemed like a good captain. To sail over it meant almost certain death for the War Eagle.

“He’s down there, you know,” Mikhail reminded him while he paused.

“I know where he is. I don’t know how he is.” Jim ran every scenario over in his head. “He’s waiting, and he’s ready for us.”

“Wait. Wait him out.”

“I can’t,” replied Jim. “He could sneak away. We’ve got to go in and stop him now. If he gets away, who knows where he’ll fire next.” He paused for a moment and then flipped on the computerized map. “You know what, though? We don’t have to go in right here. Linc!”

“Yeah, boss,” Lincoln replied as he joined them at the computer station.

“Linc. Take the War Eagle right along the edge of this cliff.” Jim pointed out the path. “After two miles, give me a hard-right rudder and cut the power plant. We’ll drop nice and quiet into this canyon and try to join our friend without him knowing.”

“Aye, Cap.” Lincoln trotted out to execute the order.

“How close do you want to get?” asked Mikhail.

“I’m not worried about getting close, Mik. Getting close is easy. We’ve done that. I just don’t want to get my tail shot off before we create the chance to engage.”

It took twenty minutes slowly to travel the two miles. When they came to the drop-off point, Lincoln signaled Jim, and the order was carried. The helmsman turned hard right, and the screw stopped. The War Eagle swung over the ledge and began her descent into the fissure. It was soft and quiet as they effortlessly slid farther down. Jim waited for Bumper to signal anything. Anything that might tell them if they were found out.

“Hold at three thousand.”

“Three thousand, aye.”

They all waited. It was that time in every crew member’s career when he realized why he was really being paid.

Now was the game. Both ships were in the chasm, and neither wanted to make a move. It was like fighting in a room with no lights. The first to make a mistake would die.

There was an uneasy feeling within the sub. Nicholas quietly roamed, looking for Marina, wanting an explanation.

He couldn’t find her. He looked forward, aft, and on either deck; Marina had vanished. Could she have gotten off? No, Nick concluded. He made one more trip to her berth, and then it hit him. Quietly he went to the rescue pod and unlatched the small hatch. He didn’t dare enter. “Marina? Marina, are you in there?”

“Nicholas?” was the response from a soft voice.

“It’s okay. It’s me.”

“Nicholas, I’m afraid. They will kill me now.”

“No. Don’t worry. They won’t look here. I’ll tell them that you jumped ship.”

She spit out a chuckle through her tears. “Don’t be foolish. They’ll find me.”

Nick knew this too. “Why, Marina? Why the missile?”

“Didn’t you hear what he said, Nicholas? Moscow was the key. It’s the glue that holds my country together. No Moscow, no communism. I couldn’t let them take over, even at the expense of one city.”

Nick didn’t understand, but it was an answer.

She continued. “Once Andri spoke of how to fire the missiles I knew I’d have my insurance. I know Moscow’s coordinates from airplane drops. Andri made it that easy.”

“All right.” Nick tried to sound reassuring. “We’re fine for now. There are bigger problems they have to deal with at the moment.”

“It’s another sub, isn’t it? The one you spoke of.”

“Yeah, I believe so, unfortunately.”

Marina perked up. “Then we are saved?”

“No. I don’t think it quite works that way. But you’re safe here. Stay put.” He shut the hatch.

Time measures very poorly in a submarine. It was never as long as you might think, and that was what Andri was fighting now. He remained hovering the Saratov in place so long that Kyle Gunnerman had returned to the Toledo, refueled, and flew back to the area. Andri knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The Russian fleet would be on its way. He could probably handle another sub, but not the Russian fleet.

What was troubling was that they weren’t able to locate the enemy. It was obvious where Andri would go, so it should follow that he would have been chased. No sub had come over the seawall; they would have heard it, no matter how quiet.

He was forced to conclude several things. First, that his enemy had not followed him in. Second, that if he was not going to be followed then he had the opportunity to escape. He could only imagine that the other ship lay right above, hidden on top of the ravine. The captain of that ship knew that if he were to come across he would surely find Soviet torpedoes racing toward him.

He had stayed long enough, and it was time to exit. His plan was to remain in the crevasse and follow it under the ice pack before he risked ascending to a shallower depth.

“Ahead thirty percent. Come to course zero-eight-five.”

The order woke everyone up. They carried out the order in silence, grateful to be leaving.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Patience Pays

“We’ve got a power plant.” Bumper tried to hold down his excitement. “And screws.”

Jim burst into the sonar room. “Where?”

“Directly ahead, about seven thousand yards. She’s coming about.”

“No shit. Prepare to fire at twenty-five hundred.”

“Six thousand and coming slow. She’s on a direct course now. We’re deeper, though.” The ship was silent except for Bumper’s voice. Several moments went by. “Five thousand.”

Jim stood. He was extremely cool as he plotted and imagined the course that his enemy was sailing. He had played his hunch correctly, and now the payoff was at hand. The game was patience.

“Three thousand.” came the distance again from Bumper.

“Flood tubes one and two.”

“Tubes flooded! Tubes flooded!” screamed the sonar operator.

“Fire!” yelled Andri. “Release countermeasures! Dive!”

The orders were executed immediately. The two deadly torpedoes launched, cans of gas spit from the belly of the ship, and Sasha pushed her into a crash dive. Within seconds, everyone was hanging on to something to keep from falling over. Everyone was praying that they would be successful in hiding under the cloud again.

“Torpedoes dead ahead!”

“What?” said Jim. We should have heard him flood his tubes. He couldn’t have known we were here, he thought.

“Torpedoes closing two thousand and have locked!”

“Fire tubes one and two,” ordered Jim. “Release countermeasures—dive, dive, dive!”

Much like the Saratov, the War Eagle ejected her fish and headed for the deep under the cover of gas.

With all the noise and countermeasures, one of the four torpedoes in the water locked on to the other and did both subs the service of eliminating each other. The Russian torpedo lost its lock and cruised through the bubbles in search of its victim. Unfortunately for the War Eagle, the torpedo was “smart.” That is, if it didn’t lock on to its target in an allotted amount of time, the small rudder would spin it around in a desperate attempt to find the enemy. It worked. Quickly it was on a course back and down after the War Eagle.

The US torpedo, equipped with better sonar, was not fooled by the countermeasures this time, and it remained locked on the Saratov until the end.

The War Eagle had gone into her descent when the first explosion from the colliding torpedoes shook the ship. Sonar signaled that the other had passed, and they waited for theirs to detonate. Jim kept her in the dive and considered pulling up when a gentle ping caressed his ship.

“Torpedo had reacquired” came from the sonar room.

“Release countermeasures Jim order, and he kept her going down.

Then they heard their torpedo slam into the Saratov.

The ship rocked and shuddered as Andri gave the orders to get her under control. The explosion had opened a section in the bow, and the automatic sensors had closed all bulkheads and pressurized each compartment.

“Full astern!” Andri screamed into the intercom.

Immediately the whole ship quaked, with the screw fighting the momentum.

“Blow all tanks! Blow all tanks!”

The torpedo had done considerable damage. The Saratov went vertical in reverse as she began to fight her way back up. It meant that great portions of the bow had been compromised. Whether it had breached his inner hull, he couldn’t tell, but he didn’t think it could withstand the pressure for long. Those up front were dead for sure.

He never wanted to test his theory on design this way, but as she began her ascent, it proved him right. Having a longer and thinner sub meant that after a devastating attack, the ship would stand a better chance at keeping enough ballast to pull her to the top.

Then there was another explosion, but it wasn’t on his ship.

“Should we blow tanks, sir?” Lincoln was waiting for Jim. He hadn’t given the order.

“No. Goddamn it! Planesman, level off now.”

The planesman pulled back on the yoke, and a great yawn groaned through the War Eagle, but she leveled.

“All stop.” He didn’t know why, but something didn’t happen when the explosion hit. What didn’t happen was the ship being knocked one way or the other.

“Damage?”

All ships operations reported normal.

“Bump. Where is that bastard?”

“He headed up. From the sound, he’s hurt pretty bad.”

It was the first good news Jim had heard since leaving the States. “You think the fight’s out of him?”

Bumper responded, “I don’t know, but it sounds like he has a real mess on his hands.”

Mikhail emerged from the bulkhead. “Follow him up and board him.”

“Could be going to fire another missile,” Lincoln thought out loud.

“Nonsense.” Mikhail snorted. “He’s finished, and he knows it. Go up and contact him. Get the crew off and sink the bastard.”

“Take her up nice and easy. Ahead slow, right rudder.”

The War Eagle began her climb. The steerage officer turned around. “Sir, rudder is nonfunctional.”

Then Jim knew what had happened. The torpedo had hit the fin and detonated. Most of the explosion had passed harmlessly over the narrow stern of the ship, but he was convinced his rudder was probably gone. “Take her to one hundred feet, Linc. Then put Froggy in the drink.” He referred to their frogman, who would assess the damage underwater. “Let’s not show ourselves—yet.”

It was a credit to his leadership that no one panicked. Nick could see that. They still were all very scared, though the Fathometer was unwinding. Soon they’d hit the top, and the ship would right itself.

Everyone hung on. There was little control in their ascent, and they all prayed just to make it up. Sasha read off the depth as she climbed, and the travel became faster as the pressure lessened. Then they surfaced, fell over, and settled into a sever list on the port side, bow down.

A collective sigh went throughout the sub.

“Secure all stations,” Andri barked. “Keep up emergency pumping until I understand the extent of our damage. Sonar? Sonar report.”

There was no response. The bulkheads were sealed, and there was no way for the people in the bow to move back. The computer wouldn’t let them since it read so much damage in the forward part of the ship. Their only hope, if they were alive, were two escape hatches in the nose.

Andri went into action. “Engine room all stop. We’ll assess the damage from the exterior.” He went into the mast of the sail and proceeded to the top. Sasha left his seat and followed.

Nick felt that if he and Marina were to get off the ship it had to be now. He knew the War Eagle was in the area, and he had to take the gamble on them getting away and getting picked up. It was obvious that the Saratov was going to be in trouble for some time, and it wasn’t going to be a good idea to be on her if they were going to be attacked again. He went to the escape pod to get Marina.

Kyle always fancied himself a good gambler. Mostly because he had the uncanny ability to know when a long shot was going to pay off. This was one of those times.

He had hovered in his helicopter twenty feet above the waves, waiting. His copilot had almost convinced him to drop his sonar buoy or leave, when the stern of the Saratov shot through the surface no more than a quarter mile away. The screw was turning madly as it chopped into the air before it lay down. Dumbfounded was the best way to describe his feeling.

Through his binoculars it was apparent that the sub was in a bad way even before she settled. Oil and grease spewed from the gaping hole in the bow. It looked like the nose could separate and fall off at any moment. The deck was ripped open, and the gash was so severe that he could make out several torpedoes strewn around a compartment.

“Holy shit, someone scored a hit,” said his copilot.

It was apparent that the Saratov wasn’t going anywhere, and there was no reason for him to attack. “Toledo, Toledo. This is Whiskey Bravo Seven. Have hostile in clear sight and holding attack pattern.”

It was Booker who responded. “Describe the ship, Whiskey Bravo.”

“Well, she’s Russian all right. She still holds the Soviet insignia on her sail. Ship has sustained substantial damage to the bow and looks to be inoperable. I’m confident that she’s no threat.”

Kyle waited for further instructions, but none came. “Awaiting your advisement, Toledo.” Still no answer. “Toledo, still waiting your response, do you read?”

The radio crackled, and an unfamiliar voice came over. “Whiskey Bravo Seven. Drop torpedo and sink the ship.”

“Please repeat, Toledo. Be advised that ship is inoperable.”

“Understood, Whiskey Bravo. Repeat, drop torpedo. Drop torpedo now.”

Kyle had a conflict with his orders on a moral level. They had the sub. It couldn’t fight back. Yet for some reason, the Toledo thought it was still a danger. He placed his thumb on the release button, and the torpedo splashed in the water with a small parachute dangling behind it. Immediately it acquired its target. That’s when Kyle saw two men emerge on the top of the sail.

Andri looked at the damage grimly and waited for Sasha to emerge. There was too much gone for the ship to recover, and he knew it. The next step was in question. There were no options left.

Sasha emerged and looked forward. “How bad is it, Captain?”

“Bad enough. We’ll have to abandon ship and hope we get picked up.”

“What about the enemy?”

“We haven’t been chased to the surface, so there’s a good chance that they, too, are having some difficulty.”

Sasha found it surprising that Andri was taking the sinking of his vessel, his creation, so well. His lifetime work lay before his eyes irreparable, yet he stood fast, showing little emotion. Sasha seemed to feel more defeat than him, and he turned away to compose himself. He gazed astern and caught the wake of the torpedo running across the water. There was no time to speak. Only time to react. He picked Andri up and tossed him into the ocean as the explosion erupted against the Saratov.

Sasha didn’t look back. He slid down the mast to the bridge and closed the hatch behind him. Men were scrambling in all directions, trying everything to keep her afloat as she began to fall uncontrollably.

“Full astern, full astern!” he screamed into the intercom. There was no response. He rushed across the compartment and threw every switch to blow any tanks left, but there weren’t any. The Saratov was sinking like a rock, and everyone on board was going for the ride.

Nick had been trying to coax Marina from the escape pod when the torpedo struck. She had been refusing because she knew there was no way they were getting off without Sasha coming after them. She was crying and on the verge of hysteria when the vessel violently shook.

It threw Nick back into the corridor, and he slammed against the wall, momentarily knocked silly. His next recollection was feeling the attitude of the sub change dramatically, and looking through the small window in the bulkhead door, he saw water pour through a gaping hole in the reactor room. Then he felt Marina tugging at his arm.

“Come on, Nicholas. We’re sinking!”

“I know” was all he could muster.

“Come on. We have to leave. We have to get out before we go under.”

That woke him up. “The lifeboat!”

They crossed the corridor and squeezed their way through the hatch and closed it tightly behind them.

Inside the pod was an eerie silence, and for a second, they both were caught in that. The ship tossed again, sending them tumbling over each other and calling them to their situation. Nick reached and pulled the lever that exploded the bolts and released the pod from the ship. They heard the simultaneous small explosions as the bolts disintegrated, but the pod didn’t budge.

“Where is it? Where is it?” Nick searched for the depth gauge in a small panic. “Ah, here, ah, fuck!”

“What is it? What is it?”

Now Nick was irate, and he lost all his composure. “I told that son of a bitch that this piece of shit wouldn’t work.” He banged furiously against the walls. “It doesn’t fucking work. We’re too deep.”

“What do you mean?”

“The pressure is holding us against the ship, see!” He pointed to the gauge as it wound past three hundred meters. “We’re too deep to get away.”

Marina only knew that what he meant was bad news for their survival. “What can we do? How do we get free?”

“We can’t.” Within one instant, Nick seemed to regain his composure. He seemed to reconcile himself with death. “The only way we get out is if the pressure on the inside of the ship is equal to the pressure on the outside of the ship. For that to happen, the bulkheads must blow. By then we’ll be too deep.”

A small rapping interrupted. The ship tumbled again, and it was several moments until they could see out the small view hole in the pod’s hatch. There on the other side was Sasha. His head was bleeding, and he was begging to be let in. The ship fell faster into the rift.

“Fuck you!” screamed Nick in what he thought to be a last stand of defiance. “Hey, you dumb fucker, I’m one hundred percent true-blue American. What do you think about that?” He had dropped the Russian language the second he saw Sasha pleading. “This at least serves you right.”

Marina pulled him back. “Nicholas, Nicholas! Please don’t. Hold me right now. Please hold me.”

He ignored her. His rage was too great, and he continued to scream at the pathetic Sasha. Clearly, he had lost his mind.

They weren’t watching the gauge when it passed four hundred meters. The bulkhead between the reactor room and the corridor had been too badly damaged to withstand any more pressure. It only took a millisecond for the door to fly off its hinges and flood the compartment. The instant compression of the air blew the pod from the ship like a rocket, leaving Sasha crushed in the depths. The Saratov fell to an unknown grave in the gorge, signaling the end of a few men’s ideals.

Claustrophobia came back. Nick knew why, and it took every ounce of him to control his mind. He and Marina waited for the pressure to crush the pod, but it didn’t come. Instead he heard the balloon eject and then inflate. He looked wildly for the gauge and saw it squashed to the bottom of the dial. Feeling around the seams he couldn’t tell if the pod was sweating from the pressure or if it was him. How deep can this go? We’ve got to be at the limit. It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing he could do.

“Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

“What does this mean, Nicholas?” Marina knew for now they weren’t going to die. They were away from the sub, and everything seemed to be holding, but Nick looked terrified.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait.”

She didn’t understand the possible dangers, nor did she care. She knew that suddenly their chance of coming out alive were better than a moment ago. That was something to be grateful for. Marina pulled herself closer to try to calm him down. It was reaction that their mouths touched, and at four hundred meters underwater in the Arctic Ocean, their primal instincts kicked in. Nick became very relaxed.

After Kyle reported the sub destroyed, Sukudo took the next flight off the deck. He ordered Booker to turn the Toledo around and head for home.

Book was glad to hear it, but he was still upset that Kenneth hadn’t confided in him the true nature of the mission that was taking place out there. He knew that there was no reason to sink the disabled vessel. It should have been boarded.

He stood on the bridge and watched as the transport plane was catapulted from the deck. His XO joined him with a cup of coffee. “We’ve got another transmission from Whiskey Bravo Seven.”

“What is it?”

“They’ve got a survivor.”

“Really?”

“Well, it sounds odd, but the man is pleading for them to hold position and wait to see if any of his crew comes up.”

“His crew? His crew? The fucking captain got off?”

“That’s what they gather, but they say his English is terrible and hard to understand.”

Booker almost laughed. “Okay. Why not? Have them stay a reasonable amount of time, then head in. I imagine he won’t go anywhere.”

“Aye, sir.”

Jim leaned against the bulkhead in the sonar room. Bumper had played the tape of the Saratov plunging to the deep several times for him. “We know for sure that’s she’s dying?”

“Yes. Mostly it’s water filling the ship, and the air being forced out. Without a doubt, she’s not coming back.”

“Anything nuclear?”

“No, I’m sure of that. There weren’t any real big explosions, so I believe that the emergency shutdown on that sub worked perfectly, and the reaction was stopped. We didn’t pick up any increased radiation, either.”

“No fanfare, no celebrating. We’ll head home.”

Bumper had been looking at Jim strangely, trying to convey that something was wrong. Jim looked over his shoulder and saw Mikhail standing behind him.

“Mik. Oh, sorry. Sorry about your boy, but we had—”

“I understand. It was a known risk from the outset. I just wanted to hear the tape myself.” Mikhail was rather subdued but not on the edge of depression.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Jim gave the nod for Bump to play it again. This time for Jim and Bumper to listen to it was uncomfortable because of Mikhail’s presence. As the ship drowned, so did Mik’s hopes of seeing his grandchild alive. It showed on his face.

The recording played, and the sounds of twisting and imploding metal were reproduced, then with one loud crunch the soundtrack went virtually silent.

Bumper turned in his chair to address the men. “That’s it. From here, she drops to the bottom. I’m not sure how far down. We didn’t pick up the vehicle hitting the floor. The ravine is deep.”

“That’s it, Mik—” began Jim.

Mikhail interrupted. “What was that?”

“What?”

“There was a sound there. When everything was silent.”

Bumper rewound and replayed the end. There was no sound except for a small hiss, which appeared from nowhere. “Oh that. Yeah, I heard that when I was listening. It sounds like a fuss in my equipment. Something interfered for a second.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. It was probably something small.”

“Was your system ready to be tuned?”

“Mik, I’m sure it was nothing. If Bump says it was nothing, then it was nothing.”

“Just enhance it for me.”

Bumper didn’t move. It was ridiculous for him to humor the old man. He was sad that his grandkid died, but he didn’t have to put up with being second-guessed by a civilian. Sub designer or not.

“Please. Enhance it.”

Jim sighed and gave Bump the nod. Bumper punched away on the keyboard and ran the tape back to the sound. He enhanced it and brought it up to a more audible level.

“Okay, here it is.” He played the sound, and to his amazement, it reproduced a balloon inflating. Then there was the faint sound of a cable coming taught and metal creaking. Then it went silent. “What the fuck?”

“What was it, Bump?”

“It’s something floating. An inflatable.”

There was hope in Mikhail’s voice. He didn’t know why or how, but he had some hope. “Can we ping it?”

The request wasn’t outrageous. It was just weird. Jim relented, though. He’d satisfy the old man if it helped. “Go to active sonar, Bump, and see if anything is out there.”

The War Eagle released the sound wave, and the whole ship listened to it travel in the depths. Nothing happened in the first couple of seconds. Then, very far off and very small, the wave came back.

“Jesus Christ, there is something out there.” Bump couldn’t believe it.

“Another sub?”

“No. Way too small.” Without asking permission, Bump sent off another wave. Again it came back. “Whatever it is, it’s coming up. Slowly, but up.”

Jim looked around the corner into the RRCC. There Josh was quietly conversing with O’Neil and McLeary. “Captain. Does your satellite still work?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Josh.

“Fire her up, please. We need to look for something.”

When the pod broke the surface, everyone was amazed but Andri. He smiled with great satisfaction.

“What the fuck is that?” remarked Kyle’s copilot.

The pod rolled over, and the small hatch swung to the top while the great steel sphere bobbed in the waves.

Kyle maneuvered above it, transfixed on who should emerge from the vessel. When the first person out was a woman, his jaw dropped to the floor. “She was with you?”

“Yes,” replied Andri. “My radio operator.” Then he saw Nick come up. It was a feeling of relief. He liked Nicholas very much. It didn’t matter who he was. Nicholas understood what he had created. No one else, even Sasha, had the insight to see how well the sub had been constructed. That made Nick respectable in Andri’s book.

“I guess we had better pick them up,” Kyle muttered.

Small cheers erupted from RRCC when Nicholas’s face appeared on Josh’s screen. ODIS’s console had been bounced off the wall, but its picture was clear enough for Mikhail to positively identify his grandson.

“He’s alive,” he said, smiling.

“With a woman, too,” McLeary added.

“Holy shit,” said Jim. “I can’t believe he pulled his ass out of that one.”

Mikhail’s chest swelled. “Of course he did. He’s my grandson.”

Jim, still in disbelief leaned his head into the conn. “Linc, Froggie was able to fix the rudder, somewhat. Head for home, best speed.”

“Aye, Cap.”

No one was more surprised than Nicholas when he saw the man helping him into the helicopter was none other than Andri Stemovich. Marina also was very confused by his presence and sat as far away from him as possible.

“I really didn’t expect to see you again, Captain.”

“Sasha pushed me over the sail when the torpedo struck. I felt you go under. I hoped you would get out. You see, my design worked.”

All Nick could muster was: “Yes, I guess it did.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Commitment to a Relationship

Beth had been in the CIA building many times since she was a little girl. Over the years, she had gotten to know the guards well, and they were aware of what position her father held.

Getting in was no problem. A few smiles, a couple of nods, and some polite conversation, and she entered easily through a back door, lacking any kind of security screening device, compliments of Levi.

She breezed past some familiar faces in the hall that had worked with her father on many Russian operations, and she seemed to be making her way toward his office. One more junction and she made the turn down the unfamiliar wing of the building that housed Mideast affairs. A marquee told her the office number for Dan Archer, and there she would find Sharon.

Dan had already begun cleaning out his office. Sharon had found some boxes, and she, too, was piling things on her desk in anticipation of being fired. She didn’t want to stay anyway, if her boss was to leave. Neither saw Beth peering around the corner, watching them shred files from Dan’s cabinets.

“Here are some of the first things we worked on,” remarked Sharon as she slid them in.

“I almost feel bad about the situation,” replied Dan. “No. I feel bad because of all the other people who don’t have the convenience to leave. After all, both of us can afford to go.”

“Sneaking off somewhere?” came Beth’s voice from the door.

They turned to see her aiming the pistol directly at Dan’s head.

“Beth! What are you doing?”

“What do you think, Sharon? I can’t let you go. You must come back to me.”

Dan boiled inside but kept his calm. “So, you’re Beth.”

“And you’re the one who fucked my girlfriend. Surprised to see me?”

“No, not really. I can only imagine how you got that gun in here.”

Sharon grew more concerned because Dan was using an aggressive tone with her. “Dan, don’t.”

“After all, when you’re Levi Carp’s little girl I bet you get about anything you want.”

“What?” Sharon jerked around. “I never knew that! You never told me that, Beth!”

The revelation pushed Beth off balance for the moment. “I—I didn’t think it was that important. I didn’t think it was necessary or that you would understand.”

“Beth!” cried Sharon. “You used me! Your father used me.”

“No, honey. No, I didn’t. Don’t you see? It was the only way for me to meet you and for us to be together.”

Dan laughed. “Blah, blah, blah. For a woman pretending to be a man you sure don’t handle pressure very well. What’s the matter? Your penis too small?”

“You shut up!”

“Or what? Pull that trigger, and fifty agents riddle you with holes. No way, babe. You can’t do it.”

“Sharon, leave,” said Beth calmly.

“That idea is the first good one you had all day. Get out of here, Sharon, and let us handle it a man’s way.” Dan didn’t care. He found being threatened with a gun very distasteful, and he tried to punch all of Beth’s buttons.

Sharon quickly slid behind Beth and back into her area.

Beth began, “You know, I’m not doing this for revenge—”

“Sure you are,” Dan cut her off. “It’s a typical male reaction when your girlfriend gets fucked by another.”

“Shut up, you fucker!” she screamed. “You’re making this hard.”

“Well, I ain’t going to make it easy. What did you expect me to do, beg for my life?”

“I’ve got to show Sharon how much I love her.”

“There’s some handy thinking. You love Sharon, so blow me away.”

“Fine, Mr. CIA Man.” She cocked the gun. “Have it your way.”

“You don’t have the balls!”

Dan didn’t know exactly what he heard first. The shot or the front side of Beth’s head exploding as the slug passed through it. Most of it wound up on his shirt before it was over. He stood rigid as he blinked himself back into reality and assured himself that it was not he who had been shot.

Sharon stood, quivering in the doorframe. A .38 pistol that Dan always kept in her file cabinet rested between her hands. Then she broke down.

It was the only time Sukudo had spent eight hours on a plane, and it felt good when he got off. A military car was waiting for him as the transport landed and drove him to the White House as soon as he got in. From the phone in the vehicle he called the president and asked for an immediate meeting. It was granted.

By the time he stepped out, it was six thirty. The great house was strangely quiet, as if the president had ordered everyone home. He was escorted to the now all-too-familiar Oval Office and found the commander in chief quietly waiting for him.

“Hello, Admiral.”

“Mr. President.”

“I guess you have something to tell me?” The president was relaxed. The past two days had been rough. He had been on the phone constantly defending his position to other world leaders. He had had little success. The papers had crucified him, and the opposing party in Congress had already begun questioning what he knew and when. Inadvertently, he had committed political suicide. Now there were rumblings of impeachment. It was so much that he couldn’t even get upset. He had a tumbler with three fingers of scotch and refused to take any more calls. “I hope it’s good news.”

“It’s not, Mr. President.” Kenneth was a strong man, but what he was about to do made it hard for him to remain still. “I’m asking that you resign.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I want you to resign.”

“How does a rear admiral in the navy ask for the resignation of his commander in chief?”

“Sir, you are not prepared to lead this country. You and your followers make up a ‘reaction government.’ That is, rather than take the lead, you respond to situations and hope to change them to your benefit. That makes you dangerous through ignorance, and that makes the world a very unsafe place.”

The president seemed unfazed. “That’s treason.”

“Perhaps. Or opinion.”

The country’s leader leaned back into his chair. “I was set up. Don’t think only by you. There were others. I was set up by many people on this one.”

“Mr. President, you came off in a bad light because you let someone else call the shots while you hoped to come out smelling like a rose. It makes my point exactly.”

“Then tell me one thing. About your recommendation on letting the sub go. Your excuse was more fiction than anything else. The Chinese never entered into the equation, did they?”

Sukudo shrugged. “I still want to see you resign. The complete details of this thing would get you impeached. Please try to save face.”

There came another knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Dan stepped in. He was wearing an overcoat and tried to hide his bloodstained shirt. After the incident in his office, he had been summoned and didn’t have time to change. “Mr. President.” He saw Kenneth and nodded. “How’s our sub, Admiral?” He was still angry about his betrayal in their last meeting.

“On the bottom of the ocean.”

The news surprised him. “It’s over?”

“Yes,” Kenneth replied.

That information made him feel better. The world would survive another day.

“Mr. Archer,” said the president, bringing the attention back to him. “Before Anthony DeCurtis resigned we had talked about either promoting you or Levi Carp to the director position. I now want you to fill that post.”

Dan’s expression said it all. “Thank you, Mr. President. I’ll inform Levi right away.”

“I’m sorry, Dan, but it will have to be handled in another fashion.” He removed a manila envelope from a drawer and flopped it on the desk. “That contains a presidential pardon. It is signed not only by me but five other US senators. Present that to the US attorney general tomorrow.”

Dan didn’t have to open it to understand what the president was asking. He was mildly surprised that he was revealing this in front of Sukudo. “What you are suggesting is illegal.”

“What I am suggesting is removing a man who holds the power to control world events. He is a greater enemy to this country than all the enemies across the world combined. You know that. He is too dangerous to have sitting in that chair.”

“I thought you appointed him?”

“I did.” He slumped behind his desk. “Now I come to find out that he even controls me.”

That comment put everything in perspective for Dan. There was no doubt what had to happen. With that, Dan left without uttering another word.

The two sat in silence for a moment. Kenneth was still waiting for his answer. Finally, the president relented. “Okay, Admiral. You’ll have your resignation tomorrow. Now get out of here.”

Booker had put off speaking to the captain of the Saratov. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. Obviously there had to be something illegal about what he had done, though there was not a state of war. He contemplated handing him over to the Russian government, but that didn’t really seem like the right thing to do. His XO asked if they should inform the States, and Jim gave him a flat no. Not until he had done his interview.

The other two were another matter. Nicholas was identified through his social security number. He was allowed to roam but under a relaxed guard. Then there was the woman. Who knew what to do with her?

He entered the holding cell where Andri rested. He found the man quite willing to accept guests. “Captain Stemovich, I’m here to ask you a few questions before I decide what to do.”

“There is only one thing you can do.”

Booker paused as he tried to imagine what the man was thinking. “What would that be?”

Andri smiled. “Grant me asylum.”

Booker got up and put his hand on the door to leave. “Clever, but I don’t think it is in the cards for you.” He exited.

Levi had celebrated by himself that night. He was eager to get into Anthony’s office, and with a little alcohol in his bloodstream, he decided to go sit in the big chair for fun. The halls of the CIA building were vacant because of the hour. There were some people working who took no notice of him as he slinked down the corridor. A quick stop at his office and then to the other room.

He quietly hummed, patting himself on his back as he mulled over the events that had gotten him to the pinnacle of his career. Now he could really do some things. He basically would be in charge of the world. He had the support system and the men. No one could match the United States when it came to spying. The first thing would be the world’s industries.

He opened the door to his office and found Dan Archer sitting in his chair. It was surprising, but Levi didn’t miss a beat. “I meant to see you tomorrow, Dan, but now is as good a time as any. You’re fired.”

Dan raised his gun and shot Levi squarely between the eyes. He didn’t even get up from the chair to pinpoint the slug. As he placed the gun on the desk, he noticed that his hand shook with adrenaline. The pardon was sitting on the desk in front of him.

Levi would be found coated with blood by Judy the next morning. The gun lying across his chest. Ironically, it would be the same weapon that his daughter, Beth, tried to use when she was going to shoot him.

EPILOGUE

It was the biggest news story since the assassination of JFK. Sukudo sat in his robe and couldn’t believe what he was hearing the next morning. It was the fifth time the story had been played in as many minutes.

The president was dead. The White House at 5:35 a.m. reported that the president of the United States was found dead in the Oval Office. Unconfirmed reports had it as a massive heart attack due to the stress he had been under since the protests in Moscow. Other sources had it as a suicide.

Sukudo leaned back in his chair. It was unbelievable. There was no doubt in his mind that the man had killed himself. He didn’t expect it, but it accomplished the same goal. Now the country could get back on track. A new leader meant new policies, and he would be there to help guide them along. It had been a long, arduous process, but now he felt secure that the United States was going to sail a better course.

His phone rang. He picked it up. “Yes.”

There was a hiss, and immediately he recognized it as a ship-to-shore connection. Booker was at the other end. “Kenneth, are you there?”

“Book? Yeah, Book, I’m here. What do you got? You’re not home yet?”

“No. Still three days out. I have a situation.”

“What is it?”

“Survivors.”

“Survivors? From the sub?”

“Yup.”

“Who?”

“Nicholas Shaw.”

“Excellent! That is great news!”

“A woman, Marina Romanov.”

“Okay, no clue who she is.”

“And one Captain Andri Stemovich.”

Sukudo was dumbfounded.

Several moments passed before Booker spoke. “I thought that one would tongue-tie you.”

As far as Scandinavian fishermen go, Van Hutton was one of the best. He had fished the waters around the Arctic and White Seas for eighteen years, and every time brought in a good haul. Today would be no different.

With his small boat chugging away, he turned her around and headed back toward the coast of Finland. His nets were in, and his golden lab, Walker, panted at his side, enjoying the time he spent with his master.

The small wooden dinghy was only a hundred meters away when he first noticed it. A sail had been raised, but it was not properly tied off and served little use. It bobbed helplessly in the waves, and instantly Van knew that whoever was in it had to be in some trouble.

Coming alongside he saw the half-swamped craft’s one occupant. The man didn’t even look up. He was either frozen solid or transfixed and waiting to die of exposure. The empty ration cartons strewn across the boat looked to be at least a week’s worth of food and water. The occupant had obviously been in the sea longer.

After tying the dinghy alongside, Van stepped in the boat and removed the hood from the jacket, exposing the man’s head. It was the first time the stranger even acknowledged his presence. He seemed genuinely surprised and half-crazy. “Excuse me. Do you speak English?”

Van nodded yes.

“Then could you take me to the nearest port?”

Again, Van nodded yes. “What is your name, and what are you doing out here alone?”

“George. My name is George. This is how I’m wasting the first part of my retirement,” he said. “You wouldn’t know what a hot dog is, would you?”

END

Copyright

© 2017 Cameron Poe

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54390-975-3

Content

Cameron Poe
RED AGENDA

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE Trash, Treasure, Trouble

CHAPTER TWO The Ice Chest

CHAPTER THREE The Empty Spirit

CHAPTER FOUR Strange Bedfellows

CHAPTER FIVE Everything Is for Sale

CHAPTER SIX Point Person

CHAPTER SEVEN Confidence and Conundrums

CHAPTER EIGHT Opinion Formulates Action

CHAPTER NINE Never Do Business with a Relative

CHAPTER TEN Locating the Tools

CHAPTER ELEVEN Haste

CHAPTER TWELVE Positioning

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Partners and Pressure

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Arrangements Should Never Be Made in Haste

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Pack the Bags

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Related Ideas, Different Paths

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Acquirement

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Close Encounters

CHAPTER NINETEEN Caution or Hesitation

CHAPTER TWENTY Idle Hands

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Big Bang Theory

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Destructive Reasoning

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE More Waiting

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Keep Your Eyes on My Hands

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Metal Versus Flesh

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX The Poker Game

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Patience Pays

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Commitment to a Relationship

EPILOGUE

Copyright