"All rise!"
The three flag officers of the tribunal marched in bearing wrinkled and angry-looking faces.
"Be seated, " General Igor Smirnov snapped. Wearing thick plastic black-rimmed glasses, he leaned forward at the defense table. "Commander Brewer, we have considered your motion concerning the Geneva Accords." Smirnov paused, almost as if expecting an answer from Brewer. "We shall delay a ruling pending further study and advice by Russian international law attorneys." A slight smile crept across Zack's face. Perhaps they had bought more time, Pete thought.
"However, " Smirnov continued, "we cannot delay these proceedings. Therefore, we shall allow the prosecution to continue its case and rule upon Commander Brewer's motion at the end of the trial."
Zack rose. "Objection, General. It is this process that violates Articles 4 and 17 of the Geneva Accords." An explosion of flashes followed.
The red-faced Russian glared at Zack. "Sit down, Commander, or our guards will remove you from the courtroom and leave your client's defense to Lieutenant Vaslov. I remind you that you are a guest of this country, not a member of its bar."
"I will sit, but I will not withdraw my objection, " Zack barked.
"You are in contempt, Commander."
"Hold me in contempt if you'd like, " Zack snapped. "Proceeding under these circumstances is contemptuous to the Geneva Accords, and every established principle of international law."
"The guards will escort Commander Brewer to the temporary holding facility. This court shall stand in recess for one hour as we work to ensure that the commander receives a full briefing of the procedures and rules of Russian military courts."
"All rise."
Pete rose as Zack shucked off the hands of the Russian guards and walked with them voluntarily up into the chancel area, where he disappeared behind a door.
USS Charlotte Gulf of Finland
What's our range to the target?" Commander Puckett asked. "The freighter has now opened up a distance of four thousand two hundred yards. That gap is widening, sir."
"Good, " Puckett said. "That gives us some firing room. Are the Mark-48s unarmed?"
"Aye, Captain. Torps one and three are unarmed and ready for firing."
"Very well, " Puck said. "Fire torp one."
"Firing torp one."
A swoosh rushed through the boat, as the first Mark-48 torpedo, weighing 3400 pounds and nineteen feet long, popped out the forward torpedo tube and lunged into the water.
"Fire torp three."
"Firing torp three."
Another swooshing pulsation followed.
"XO, status of SEAL team?"
"Ready to go in the water at your command, sir, " Lieutenant Commander Todd Swanson said.
"Very well, " Puck said. "Torp one range to target."
"Torp one range to target thirty-eight hundred yards and closing."
"Torp three range to target."
"Torp three range to target thirty-nine hundred yards and closing."
The Al Alamein Gulf of Finland
Kapitan, we are picking up FM radio from Kotlin Island and St. Petersburg!" the radio officer announced.
"Good." Dadir felt himself smile. "We are nearly at point-blank range."
Salman Dudayev burst onto the bridge, out of breath. His face was red and contorted.
"Kapitan, we may have a problem."
"What, Salman? Is something wrong with our bomb?"
"No, Kapitan. I have been monitoring Russian broadcasts on the radio, " Salman said. "The Russians are trying an American submarine captain in St. Petersburg for sinking the freighter Alexander Pop-ovich – the same freighter that we got the plutonium from."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes, Kapitan. Apparently the Americans sunk her with a submarine in the Black Sea."
Sadir thought for a second. "The Black Sea? That is impossible. There are no American submarines in the Black Sea."
"It is all over Russian radio and also the BBC, Kapitan. Somehow, they did it. Somehow, the Americans must have discovered that the plutonium was once aboard the Russian freighter."
Sadir thought about that. "Even if this is true, the Americans sank the Alexander Popovich in the Black Sea. We are now a long way from the Black Sea. It appears that the Americans have sunk the wrong ship."
A violent shaking rocked the stern of the freighter, as if the ship had been hit by a giant sledgehammer. Men on the bridge staggered from the vibration. That was followed by a second shaking.
"What was that?" Sadir demanded. "A collision with a ship? What is our depth here?"
"Depth one-three-zero fathoms, sir, " the helmsman said. "We must have struck something that we missed on the radar."
"Bridge, engineering, " the voice came over the bridge loudspeaker from the engine room.
"What is it?" Captain Sadir asked.
"Sir, we've lost propulsion."
"I will be right there." Sadir motioned to Dudayev. "Salman, come with me."
Captain Sadir stormed out of the bridge, headed for the engine room.
They moved swiftly through the icy Baltic water. In black wetsuits and black fins, twelve United States Navy SEALs glided under the dark hull of the disabled freighter.
On their backs, they carried oxygen tanks and weapons. Some carried flotation devices to be deployed, while others carried lightweight harpoon guns with rigging line.
Lieutenant Michael W. Reel, United States Navy, was their leader.
Making handsignals illuminated by underwater flashlights, Reel directed his team members into a semicircle just below the aftsection of the stern.
It was time.
Reel pointed to his second in command, Lieutenant JG Leo Maloney, then pointed at his watch.
Reel gave Maloney a full five fingers, signaling to set stopwatches at five minutes. Maloney complied, then clicked the stem of his watch, setting off the five-minute countdown. Maloney mimicked his leader.
Reel followed with a thumbs-up, and the SEAL team parted – five SEALs following Reel to the waters off the starboard side of the ship, the other five following Maloney to the port side.
Captain Sadir rushed into the ship's engine room. The whine of turning gears and spinning shafts made it difficult to hear. Crew members were scurrying about, and the ship's chief engineer was turning a valve with a wrench. "What is the matter?" Sadir demanded.
"Something is wrong." The chief engineer laid down the wrench and raised his voice above the level of the noise.
Sadir nervously struck a cigarette. "Elaborate."
"Our engines are spinning, " the engineer said, "but the screw is not pushing us through the water."
Salman Dudayev spoke up. "Could this all be related to the sinking of the Alexander Popovich? Have the Americans found us?"
"I have considered that, " Sadir said. "But we are not sinking. If the Americans know about us and wanted to torpedo us, we would be at the bottom of the ocean now."
"I do not like the feel of it, " Salman said.
Sadir turned to his engineer. "What are our options?"
The engineer cast a worried glance. "If this were a matter of repairing our engines, our options would be good, Kapitan. But the propeller is in the water. It is hard to access. We would need to send a diving party overboard to assess the problem. And even then, we may have to call for assistance. We are not prepared for major underwater repairs."
Sadir considered that. He could not afford to radio for help. That would attract too much attention. And if he drifted in the sea lanes for too long, he would attract attention like a sitting duck.