Collins nodded and accepted the offering. “Damn. They let me sleep too long. It’s 0220.”
“Captain Everett left orders that you not be disturbed for eight, but I needed to see you before I depart Shiloh.”
“Depart?” he asked when he lowered the coffee cup.
“Yes, we’ve been under way for five hours. Simbirsk is in tow, and Peter the Great is bringing up the rear. I couldn’t board the cruiser earlier because Salkukoff’s commandos were everywhere after dark. I couldn’t risk it.”
“And boarding a moving ship at sea isn’t risky?” Jack asked as he finally stood up. He started dressing.
“Risky, but it will be unexpected.”
“We could wait until daylight and find some excuse to get Peter the Great to at least slow enough for you to board safely.” Collins slipped into his black T-shirt.
“It would be expected. Salkukoff is no fool. My chance of getting to him now is better. I expect the colonel will make his play soon after the sun rises. It’s now or never. I have a team of marines that will get me to the stern of Peter the Great; I gain egress there and do what was ordered. I only hope Captain Kreshenko appreciates the finer point of my orders and doesn’t line me up to be shot.”
“I have a feeling the captain won’t be too broken up about losing Colonel Salkukoff.” Jack put his boots on. “I think it’s still too risky, Colonel.”
“Why, I didn’t think you cared,” Henri said as he rose from the desk chair.
“Of course I do, Colonel. I would never deprive Carl of your company. He wouldn’t handle it too well if we lost you.”
Farbeaux fixed Jack with a look that told him where he could go with his sense of humor. He turned and opened the door to the waiting marine guard who was watching over the sleeping colonel. Farbeaux nodded, and the marine turned and left.
“Henri,” Jack said as he zipped up his Nomex vest. He held out his hand. Farbeaux looked at it and then took the offered good-bye. “You watch your ass over there.”
“That, Colonel, I intend to do, I assure you.”
“Good luck.”
Henri let go of Jack’s hand and left.
Jack took a deep breath and then sat hard onto the bunk. He started humming that silly tune that Matchstick had been singing in his dream. That and repeating the words about friends everywhere. Then he suddenly stopped and shook his head in wonder.
“Losin’ it, Jack.”
Will Mendenhall was sitting at his desk inside the security offices. The four empty cups of coffee sat before him as he stared at the far wall and its bank of dead monitors. He had shut everything down, with the exception of the duty officer’s station being manned from the outer offices. He had left orders that he was not to be disturbed.
The information that Virginia and Europa had recovered had been playing on his mind ever since he had heard the theory of a separate Russian government.
The door opened, and it startled Will from his thoughts. The director nodded and then went straight to a chair in front of Mendenhall’s desk.
“To ease your mind, Captain Mendenhall, I informed the president on our… well… our guesswork. It wasn’t something he really wanted to hear. So, for now, the ball is in the court of others.” Niles Compton slowly stood on aching legs and moved to the door. “All we can do now is our jobs.” Niles nodded and started to open the door but stopped. “Captain?”
“Sir?” Will said as he watched the director and his weariness at 12:30 A.M.
“Feel like getting out of here for a few days?”
Will stood and looked at the director, with hope in his eyes.
“I could use some time off, yes, sir.”
“If you promise not to inform Sarah, Anya, and Virginia of your leaving, it is my understanding that NATO command has ordered a full-scale search-and-rescue operation in the North Atlantic over some missing ships. I believe we have an F-15 getting ready for departure at Nellis.”
“Yes, sir!” Will said as he started making orders for his replacement. He suddenly looked up. “What do I say to Sarah and the others?”
Niles paused at the door once again and faced Mendenhall.
“What is that stupid excuse Jack and Carl use whenever they vanish unexpectedly and without orders?” Niles lowered his head in mock thought. “Oh yes — they’ve gone fishing.”
Mendenhall smiled as he knew the old excuse was used no fewer than twenty times when the colonel and captain disappeared without notice.
“Bring back the full legal limit of fish, Captain. Make it six to be exact. I expect nothing less.” Niles turned and left.
For Will Mendenhall, he was starting to know the director and liked what he was learning about the smartest man in government service. He especially liked it when Niles knew when not to be that smart.
The marine sergeant placed the “pop gun” on his knee as he carefully aimed the short-barreled shotgun-like device toward the stern railing sixty feet above the choppy wake being spun by the four giant bronze propellers of Peter the Great. Behind him, Henri Farbeaux aimed the night scope up and saw that the stern was as clear as it would ever be. As jumpy as all sailors were, he didn’t want to get shot at in this last critical moment. Farbeaux nodded that the fantail was clear of Russian personnel.
The navy motorman manning the Zodiac goosed the throttles on the two 150-horsepower motors, and the Zodiac sprang forward into the shadowy lee of the stern. The marine top sergeant popped off the charge, and the small hook shot up and out of the Zodiac. The rubberized hook caught on the top railing that lined the extreme aft end of the giant cruiser. The rope played out behind as the sergeant pulled on its rubberized coating as hard as he could. He was assisted by another marine, and the rope came taut.
The five-man marine and navy crew assisted Henri to the forward-most position in the large rubber boat. The Zodiac bounced hard as the froth being churned up by Peter the Great’s massive propellers almost flipped it, but a quick swerve out of the churning vortex helped in its recovery.
“Good luck, Colonel,” the top sergeant said to Henri over the eardrum-breaking charge of the Russian cruiser and the noise of their own motors. Henri just nodded.
He would never have let Colonel Collins know just how out of sorts he was in when it came to remembering his special forces training back in France in what seemed like a hundred years ago. He lowered the goggles and then took a deep breath. The top sergeant held up a remote. He flipped the safety switch off.
“Now remember, this thing will pull your arms out of their sockets if you don’t let go at the right time. Just as you reach the topmost railing, let the hell go, or we’ll be unspooling your arms from the motor and the pulley at the top for the next month.”
Again, Farbeaux only nodded as he adjusted the pack he wore at the small of his back. It had been so long since his training, he felt foolish when the large marine had adjusted the pack from the front — where it would have caught on the railing and flung him back into the sea — to the back, where it wouldn’t be in the way. Henri swallowed and then looked at the marine.
“Okay, go!” the sergeant called out as he pushed the illuminated red button on the remote.
Suddenly, the world was split by the sound not unlike an unspooling fishing line as Henri was yanked far harder than the sergeant said he would be. His booted foot was the last to clear the gunwales of the Zodiac as the Frenchman’s black-clad body shot from the boat. As soon as he was clear, the Zodiac peeled off and then took up station just to the port side of Peter the Great, just in case the Frenchman came crashing back into the sea. The marines knew it was a useless gesture, because if Henri didn’t make the slingshot action successful, he would surely die from not only the fall but from the churning and explosive wake of the cruiser that would chew him up.