"Come!" Donovan responded angrily. When no one answered, he walked to the door, seeing the photograph. Cautiously opening the door, he swiveled his head, looking up and down the passageway, seeing no one. There was only the faint sound of voices coming from the bridge. He picked up the photograph, slammed the door, as beads of sweat formed on his brow, his mind becoming confused. He started walking to his desk, then stopped, lowering his eyes to stare again at the picture and the antenna tip stuck under the tape. Why hadn't they come for him? An answer to the question didn't seem to matter. He had to take care of Stevens and hope it would give them the time they needed.
Walking quickly to the safe next to the locker, he spun the dial several turns. He yanked a walkie-talkie taped to the underside of the top, thinking how easy they made things. A casual stroll past the Quarterdeck one evening, where a careless shore patrol officer left the device, made it easy to slip it into a pocket. Unlocking the porthole, he aimed the antenna toward the open sea.
KGB Officer Vernichenko answered immediately. "You have news for me, Comrade?"
Alexei's back straightened. "Yes, I have news," he answered as he glanced toward the desk. "I'm sure I've been discovered. They know who I am."
"How can you be sure?"
"Stevens and I had a brief meeting on the bridge earlier. Perhaps it was his arrogance, but I knew then." Alexei explained the photograph incident and where the picture was taken. "And I'm positive he's the one who left the photograph under my cabin door."
Vernichenko responded, "I've done my own checking on our friend 'Chief Stevens'. He's not a 'chief', but a 'commander', and he's not just a Navy SEAL. He's working for Washington with their Naval Investigative Service." Vernichenko sounded confident as he continued. "It's too late for them anyway. We're moving forward. Moscow is expecting us to carry out the original plan before daybreak. They weren't pleased we had to wait these extra hours." He sat back, staring up at the ceiling, taping his finger against his lips, thinking out loud. "That's why the Americans moved so suddenly into the Sea of Japan."
"I don't understand."
Sergei leaned forward, close to the microphone, his voice a snarling whisper. "You, my friend… it was because of you. With you as a suspect, they wanted to see what we would do… I'll stake my career on it."
"Then explain why I'm still in command?" Alexei shot back.
"Perhaps the photograph incident was to frighten you into making a mistake. After all, you have the right to inspect any area of the ship. You have master keys. How could they know your true reason for being in that room?" He paused a moment. "They must not have complete proof. But with their attention on you, our plan may be easier to carry out now."
Alexei was beginning to feel like a piece of bait, losing the importance of his original mission. "I assumed they—"
"You know we don't assume, Comrade," he said condescendingly. With his lips nearly touching the microphone, Vernichenko's tone was threatening. "And, Comrade, I advise you to avoid Stevens from now on. No personal agenda will be tolerated. You will not jeopardize our mission. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," answered Alexei, trying to disguise his anger, wondering if Vernichenko was psychic.
Vernichenko immediately said, "This will be our last transmission. Now, tell me, do you have the devices in place?"
"I've set them in the RAM Room and in after-steering. The hydraulic lines will be severed; the ship will be out of control." The RAM was the hydraulic system used for rudder control while after-steering had backup, manual control lines in case the bridge-to-steering became non-functional.
Vernichenko nodded approvingly. "That's good. At the crucial moment, you will set off the devices and your mission will be complete. We will meet soon, Comrade." He stood up and angrily slapped at the radio switch, ending the transmission.
The trawler lurched, throwing him sideways. He grabbed his black leather coat and went out on deck, balancing himself against the wheelhouse. A cold spray washed over the bow as the boat crashed into a wave. He wiped the water from his face, enjoying the harshness of the evening. "So, 'Captain Donovan', you have been discovered. Perhaps this is not so bad for us — but what about for you?" He smiled. A military man himself before joining the KGB, he believed in serving his country purely for the love of Russia. Alexei had been promised a very comfortable living once his assignment was completed, cutting against the grain of Vernichenko's ideals.
All the months of planning were soon to culminate. Whether Alexei Pratopapov survived was not critical. And he had not been given specific orders to ensure Alexei’s survival. In his eyes, the mole was just a pawn being used for one purpose, and one purpose only — the Bronson's technology. He stepped into the wheelhouse, as the door slammed behind him. "Captain, change our course toward the American carrier," he ordered. He pointed to the young third officer standing next to the radar table. "You. Go below and tell First Officer Kiriatkin to meet me in my cabin in fifteen minutes. Tell him to prepare his equipment."
He went by the navigator and stared at the compass, thinking, "Comrade Pratopapov," he said quietly, "in the meantime, I think I will give you a little gift — the body of Stevens."
Chapter Eight
Flight ops had been underway for the past thirty minutes, the sound of jet engines continuous. Adler walked into the EOD locker and unzipped his green jacket. "So, you come up with anything yet?" He dropped his jacket on the desk then pulled the chair closer.
Grant was stretched out on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. He turned over, propping himself up on an elbow. "Yeah, think so. But I'm gonna need your help again, Joe."
"Sure. No problem, sir."
Grant pushed himself off the bed, running his fingers through his hair. "We've gotta do it now, while flight ops are underway."
Twenty-five minutes later, Joe Adler walked onto the bridge, the red overhead lights giving the appearance of a photographer's dark room. Captain Donovan was leaning over the radar screen. Dean Morehouse stood near the doorway leading to the Roost.
"Hey, CAG, need to get some ordnance info from you about the F-14's for tonight's operation," Adler said loudly.
"Sure, Senior Chief." The two men spoke for only five minutes, Adler taking the conversation where he wanted it to go. "Appreciate your help, CAG. I tried to get Chief Stevens to come up here with me. Don't believe he's seen night ops from this level, but he's down in the aft hangar bay doing his ritual laps." That was it… Adler's assignment. Now, Grant could only wait and see if Captain Donovan made a move.
"XO!" Donovan bellowed.
"Sir!"
"You have the bridge. I'm going to the flight deck then grab something to eat."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
"Captain's off the bridge!" the boatswain's mate announced.
Donovan stopped by his cabin. He made a decision… he'd take care of Stevens, and screw what Vernichenko directed. There'd be no way for him to find out. Stevens' death would make it that much easier for him to carry out his plans and, ultimately, his own escape. His intention was to make Grant simply disappear, and what better way than into the depths of the Sea of Japan.
Hurriedly going to his locker, he reached on the top shelf, groping toward the back, then removed a deep, metal box. Laying it on the edge of the desk, he unlocked it. The Smith & Wesson .38 had only been fired at the practice range. His stare fixed on the gun as his thumb pressed each round into its chamber. He removed the leg holster and strapped it to his leg, secured the gun and pulled his pants leg down. As he straightened up, there was a brief glimpse of a reflection in the porthole, the face of a man who was one step closer to fulfilling his role, to becoming the Russian he was born to be. The lines around his eyes and creases in his forehead seemed much deeper, perhaps reflecting the depth of his commitment and dedication. He brushed away the beads of sweat along his temple, his hand as steady as a rock. He smiled briefly, then left the cabin.