Dan had finished vomiting enough for him to bring his head back over the rail. “No, we’re not. We need to ask a favor of you.”
Nick looked across Mikhail’s and Sukudo’s faces. Sukudo was very serious, and his grandfather looked at him with great sadness. The expressions shook him a little. “Favor?”
The crew on the platform put the ERRIS to bed and prepared it for the next day. It took Dan fifteen minutes to explain the situation. Occasionally, he would have to stop because of his seasickness. Sukudo would fill in the rest of the details while Dan was momentarily incapacitated.
“You want me to hop on a crew for a sub that hasn’t been stolen yet?” It was confusing and complex. Nick got the story as one big pill, finding it hard to swallow.
“Just in case the stunt is pulled off.” Sukudo tried to sound reassuring.
“If I get on, how do I get off before you guys blow the damn thing out of the water?” It sounded crazy. “A renegade sub? Governments don’t hesitate to kill those ships.”
Dan was feeling better and could stand without holding the rail. “You’ve got to remember this probably won’t even happen. We’re only trying to hedge our bets.”
“That’s right, Nick,” said the admiral. “This is a long way from being a done deal. We feel that if it goes the distance, we’ll have someone there who knows how to sabotage the damn thing — or help us stay close.”
“We’re still not sure we can even locate it.” Dan was beginning to get his sea legs.
Nick was not impressed. “Come on, Admiral. This is suicide. Whether I’m there or not, you’ll blow it sky-high.”
“I’m a goddamn admiral! That counts for something in my navy. If I say hold, by God they’ll hold!”
Nick knew it was unrealistic to expect that of Sukudo. The admiral had to act in the best interest of his country first. He seemed to have forgotten that for the moment. He would certainly remember if the issue arose.
The presence of the mission went beyond the sub for Nick. The situation went straight to his roots. The United States had given his whole family a better life. He’d heard the stories about the Soviet Union and couldn’t imagine living there, even now. Looking upon his grandfather reminded him of that. The feeling that his service was not complete crept inside. He had bailed out of the navy early, and now he had the chance to repay his country in full. The obligation spread within him.
“Knowing you guys, you’d never find the ship, anyway. You’ll need me. I am Russian, but I’ve never been to Russia.” Nick smiled. “I guess now’s as good a time as any.”
CHAPTER TEN
Locating the Tools
It was a faint light that glowed from the lamp. Andri had to squint at the map before him. It was a hypersonic recreation of the floor of the Barents Sea beneath the Arctic. He laid transparencies of water currents and ice flows over the map and plotted the exact position of the Saratov.
Taking a red ink pen, he marked the region in which the boats were grounded. Then he plotted a course from the mainland to an area that lacked swift currents. Next to the red X was the depth. It read eighty meters. He sat back and smiled slightly, enjoying the thought of finding his greatest creation.
Again, he was expecting Sasha. The little man entered right on time and quietly took a seat across the room.
“Were you successful?” asked Andri. He continued without looking up.
“Very,” chirped Sasha. “Boris is ready to swarm Moscow on your signal. He is preparing his tanks as we speak.”
“Did he give any indication about what he would do if he met any resistance?”
“I have no doubt that the tanks will roll, no matter what. He saw what happened when they tried to unseat Gorbachev. He won’t hesitate, and his orders will be obeyed.” Sasha tried to sound as certain as possible.
“Good,” said Andri, turning in his chair. “Boris has the largest battalion in that area. He can have buildings secure and the leaders under arrest before any call for support. Hopefully they will be so preoccupied looking north they’ll never see him coming from the south.” Andri removed a larger map of the old Soviet Union from a drawer and placed it on the coffee table. He circled Moscow and drew an arrow representing the direction in which Boris would attack.
“I have to ask you something, Andri,” said Sasha. “Even if Moscow is successful, what about Saint Petersburg?”
“Leningrad,” snorted Andri. “Leningrad is composed of sailors. My people. They will not resist one of their own. They will embrace the movement, and we will sail into port, heroes. Do you forget your history? It has always been the Soviet Navy to take the first steps in revolution. It will not be any different.”
“No, Andri. I remember. I only wanted to know if you had thought of these things.”
“I have thought out everything, Sasha. Nothing is left to chance.”
Sasha didn’t agree with that, but he dared not say so. Believing that sailors would follow because they belonged to the same organization was naive. Andri might not have forgotten the lesson during the attempted coup in Moscow, but he seemed to have forgotten the reaction in Saint Petersburg. He seemed to brush aside the unifying reaction of the people in that city against the coup.
Russia was in economic shambles, like much of Europe, and the protest for the return to socialism were growing every day. The question was whether the rest of the country would recognize a government installed by military might. That was a large gamble to take.
George collapsed on his bed when he arrived home. Flying across time zones had screwed up his internal clock. He wanted two hours of sleep, and then he would deal with the operation.
Four hours later, the ringing phone dredged him from his snooze. He lay in bed and opened one eye as he listened to the message. It was a friend wishing him well and hoping his return would come quickly. He rolled over to go back to sleep, but the problems of Mohsen kept creeping in. Again he was without a plan. Again he felt uncomfortable and irritated.
He rose to shower and motivate himself into action. He’d have to locate Mohsen first then somehow find out his itinerary. It was spying by the seat of his pants, and George hated it. Ridiculous ideas like approaching Mohsen and telling him what he knew came to mind. It would be unprofessional, but it would stop the operation. That would send him home early.
Another option was to have the CIA eliminate Stemovich. There were several ways to stop the conspiracy in its tracks, and George entertained them all. In fact, marching into Mohsen’s office sounded extremely good. Payback for Levi Carp harping at him about his last two months of service. Then George paused. It made about as much sense as anything else he had encountered in the operation. Why not let Mohsen know his little secret was out? Played right, George might be able to find himself tagging along. After all, there were very few alternatives. He didn’t want to take the chance on losing Mohsen in a crowd again. If he put himself directly in the plan, then he would get firsthand information. If it blew up, so be it. George would be back in Washington sooner than expected. It would be a strange conversation, but he decided to see Mohsen that day.
Josh was under the impression that his covert flight would take him back to Groton or at least to the port in New London, Connecticut. Instead the jet headed over Virginia and landed at a small airfield ten miles from the Norfolk naval base.
The first hint that the submarine situation had expanded was the two marines sent to greet his arrival. They were strictly business. Something was coming down hard, and Josh couldn’t wait to find out what it was. His marines treated him like royalty while suspiciously looking over their shoulders to see who might be watching. The portable linkup to ODIS Josh kept by his side. The cloak-and-dagger circumstances gave him a thrill. The same thrill he used to experience when he sat in the cockpit of his Warthog.