“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.”