For Zukov, this return elicited deeper emotions.
Zukov had been deeply humiliated when the Soviet empire collapsed. As a naval officer in command on an Akula, he’d spent his entire life playing undersea cat-and-mouse with the Americans. Endless days and nights rehearsing for a war that would never get fought. He’d spent months under the polar ice cap, stalking the SSN George Washington, praying for any excuse to engage. Once he had tracked the carrier John F. Kennedy for weeks, staying dead astern of his prey, so that the signature sound of his screws went completely undetected by enemy sonar. All this, at a time when the ultimate weapon, his new command, Borzoi, was still on the drawing boards.
Like many of his warrior comrades, he was bored to stupor with the decade or so of “peace” following the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.
On a purely personal level, Commander Zukov was happy just to return to his homeland. Memories of his beautiful birthplace haunted him still. On a professional level, he was ecstatic at the prospect of killing a whole lot of Americans.
He sensed in the wild-eyed Cuban admiral, Carlos de Herreras, a kindred spirit. He’d seen the man in the missile compartment out of the corner of his eye. He had been rubbing his hands together gleefully, almost maniacally.
Bloodlust. He knew it well, for it coursed through every vein in his body.
32
“Hey, Doc, you awake?”
“Alex? Yes, I guess so. What time is it?”
“I don’t know. A little before midnight, I think. Sorry. I just need to—no, don’t turn on the light. It’s all right.”
Alex had temporarily given Vicky her own stateroom in the vain hope that she might get more rest the first few days. He’d promised himself he’d stay away from her for at least three days. He hadn’t even made it through the first night.
“Alex, your hand is freezing. You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry to bother you. I got up to use the loo and—sorry—can I climb in with you?”
“Of course you can, darling. Here, let me move over.”
“Thank you. Oh, God, you feel warm.”
“You’re trembling all over!”
“I know. It’s the strangest thing. I think I passed out. I went to my stateroom right after we—we said good night. Went right to sleep, too, out like a light. Something woke me up. A bad dream maybe. Anyway, I was looking in the mirror over the basin and then—I woke up on the floor.”
“You fainted?”
“I don’t know. I remember I felt really odd, looking at my face in the mirror. As if it weren’t me. Or, it was me, but only vaguely. I didn’t recognize myself. So, I—”
“Is this the first time this has happened? Close your eyes a second, I’m turning on the light. I need to look at your pupils.”
“Yes. I mean no, not the first time. Ouch. That’s bright.”
“It is, or it isn’t the first time?” she asked, examining him. His eyes, normally a hard blue, now looked breakable, like china.
“I’m not sure. A few days ago, just before I flew up to Washington, I was standing up on deck. Just looking at the stars. Thinking about you, actually. How much I missed you. And then, my breathing went all arsey-versey and my heart sort of went pounding off the rails and—”
“Is there a physician here on board the QEII?”
“Of course.”
“I want you to see the doctor first thing in the morning, Alex. No excuses.”
“Why? Hell, I just fainted, Vicky. I’m fine. See? I’m not even shaking anymore. This is just an elaborate ruse to come down and bother you. Check out which nightie you’re wearing. Good selection.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing serious. But you do need to see him. Get a complete blood workup done. He may want you to have an MRI.”
“It’s a she.”
“What?”
“The ship’s doctor. He’s a she.”
“Of course. Your nurse-uniform fetish. God, how stupid of me.”
“What do you think is wrong with me, Vicky? Brain tumor?”
“I think you’re fine, darling. I think you’ve had a panic attack.”
“Panic? Over what? I’ve never been happier.”
“I don’t know. You’re not really my patient, remember?”
“We’ll fix that.”
“You said you had a bad dream, Alex. Can you remember anything about it?”
“No. It’s a very bad dream.”
“Tell me about it.”
“May I have a sip of your water? Thank you. Well. It’s always the same at the beginning. I’m locked inside a small—I’ve never told anyone this before, Doc.”
“It’s all right, Alex. Tell me.”
“Can we just make love again instead? I’ll tell you first thing tomorrow.”
“No.”
“All right, all right. It’s frightfully mundane. I’m locked in a small room. A closet of some kind and—why am I talking about this? It’s only a stupid childish dream.”
“Dreams are important because they offer clues to our deepest feelings.”
“You sound just like a bad textbook, darling. ‘Our deepest feelings.’ Well, in my case this shouldn’t take long because deep down I’m a very shallow person.”
“Tell me the goddamn dream, darling.”
“Yes. Anyway, in my dream, I’m locked inside a small closet. It’s insufferably hot and foul-smelling. There’s a small hole in the door, and I can see into the next room.”
“What’s in the other room?”
“Nothing. But there’s a hole in its ceiling. And I know something bad is coming down through that hole. That’s the feeling I have. A bad thing is coming.”
“Is it always the same bad thing?”
“Yes. It’s—it’s a spider. It wants to kill me. It wants to kill everybody.”
“And you’re powerless to stop it?”
“Um, yes. I am.”
“Because of the locked door?”
“Because I’m so little. And the door. Yes, it’s locked. I’m hiding so the spider won’t find me.”
“How old are you in the dream?”
“I don’t know. Six or seven maybe.”
“What do you do? Where are your parents? Can’t they help you?”
“I don’t have any bloody parents. I never had any! I was raised by my grandfather!”
“Alex, calm down. It’s all right.”
“Sorry. There’s no one in the closet but me. I’m all alone. I’ve always been alone. I want to scream. But I can’t because then the spider will hear me and find me. After a while, I don’t care. I want to open my mouth and scream and scream but nothing comes out.”
“Alex, you’re shaking again. Are you all right?”
“No. I’m not all right. My dreams, my life. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference. I always seem to be somewhere on the road between Heaven and Hell, and I never know which way I’m headed.”
“Oh, Alex.”
“You know—I really don’t want to talk about this, Doc. Drop it, all right? I’m thirty-seven fucking years old. I managed, somehow, to make it this far through my life without a lot of psychobabbling doctors digging into my past, and I’m not bloody well about to start digging into it now.”
“Why are you so angry?”
“This is my life you’re poking around in. I’m a private person.”
“I’m just trying to help. You came to me, remember?”
“Right. My mistake. Sorry. I don’t need any bloody help. I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’ll go back to my bed now, thank you very much. Good night.”
“Alex, you need to talk to someone. Maybe not me, but someone.”
The door slammed and he was gone.
“Good night, Alex,” Vicky said, and turned out the light.
She lay staring into the darkness for about ten minutes, arranging and rearranging her pillows. There was no possible way she could go back to sleep. She’d been in bed for the best part of forty-eight hours. She felt great. Mild concussion? Obvious misdiagnosis. Minor concussion, that was this doctor’s second opinion.
She flipped on the light, got up, and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts. Then the white T-shirt with the big black hawk that the captain had given her when she’d first come aboard. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She’d completely forgotten about the bandages around her head.