“Mikhail,” said Jim. “I can’t look past that.”
“Listen to me.” Mikhail was angry, and his accent got heavier. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why give them the best sub down here? Why not an old Alfa or Typhoon? Why arm it? And why send the destroyers so far away?”
“All we have to go on is what I’ve been told. I’ve got to stick with that.” Jim knew it didn’t add up.
“Answer one thing then, Captain. If you were the captain of that submarine out there, what would be the fastest way out of trouble?”
The answer was academic. “Under the ice pack. It should be the first place he’d run to.” Jim watched the two destroyers in the west begin to head for port.
“I’ll bet he’ll go up the coast. He’s not going to go to Kuwait at all. Stemovich wouldn’t piss on someone from the Middle East, much less hand over his best vessel. He’s got other plans.” Mikhail was convinced that now there was more to this than they had first thought.
Bumper leaned around the corner again. “She’s coming up. Engine and reactor are running, and the screw is turning at standard speed. I believe it’s a test.”
“Damn,” muttered Jim.
The length of the Saratov caught most by surprise. They stared in wonderment as she slowly emerged from the depths. She was pitch black, and the red hammer and sickle of the old Soviet Union burned on its sail. To any navy man, it was a beautiful sight. Nick even found himself immersed in admiration for the ship. Air spewed from the ballast tanks as she blew herself dry and rose completely. Andri appeared at the top of the sail and looked stoic as he signaled orders for the freighter to move in and begin transferring weapons. Two hydraulic doors collapsed behind the sail, revealing the missile bays, and the nose opened like gills, exposing the brackets that carried the torpedo clips.
With Sergei in the wheelhouse, the freighter maneuvered close enough to tie the two ships together. A few smart men from the sub’s crew made their way down and roped the vessel off to rock with the freighter in the increasingly active sea.
The freighter’s crane was fast at work. The first of eight nuclear missiles was raised in the air and swung over the side to the awaiting bay. Men scurried to guide the weapon on the carriage, which then hydraulically pulled the missile in and locked it into place in the sub. Each missile took about twenty minutes to load, and the sea was becoming increasingly rough. After four were secure, Andri made the decision to forego the others and begin loading the torpedo clips.
The bow of the Saratov, still open, awaited its deadly cargo. Andri had designed this aspect of the ship to resemble a rifle, with side-by-side double barrels. Each barrel was capable of holding two clips of torpedoes that sat on top of the tubes. When firing, the bottommost torpedo of the clip would be removed and drop into the tube. The tube would be flooded and the torpedo expelled. All loading was done mechanically, giving the forward part of the hull the ability to be flooded in crash dives. The ship could arm itself and fire at an astounding speed, making it a considerable weapon.
The clips were a little clumsier to load. They were heavier and had to fit perfectly into the ship’s brackets. The strain on the old cable was noticeable to the crew, and none of the men rushed to help guide the weapons to their place. Andri scowled as he watched his ragged crew of men scurry about, readying his ship. He was easily transforming himself into the role of captain — and the attitude that went along with it. At last, the final clip was secured and the fins on the bow closed. The sea began to pitch, prompting the sub’s crew to board. Andri removed himself from the sail. He had one more piece of business to perform.
He made his way back to the freighter and through the few who were left to go aboard the sub. Sergei stood smiling next to the rail, holding a large ditty bag. He handed the empty bag to Andri as he arrived.
“I thought you would say goodbye,” he said sarcastically.
“I will pay you, as promised. Yet I am still missing four missiles.”
“I will put them on if you have the time.” Sergei knew that the storm was upon them, and Andri wanted to submerge. “Plus, my men are loading the last of your supplies. You should be thankful.”
Andri didn’t care. He was ready to go. “Mohsen, the case.”
George stepped forward and unclasped it from his wrist. He knew his insurance was gone.
Andri took the case and opened it away from Sergei. “What was the fee?”
“One million for me and my crew. One million for the captains of the destroyers.” Sergei tried to peer over the case to see how much money was there. “And one million for the extra guest.”
Andri shot him a cold glance but didn’t stop putting money in the bag. When he was through, he tossed it at Sergei and began walking to the stairs with the case and remaining money to disembark.
“How do I know it’s all there?” yelled Sergei.
“Look in the bag” was the reply.
Sergei did and was overwhelmed by cash. He shifted it about and showed it to his men, who all cheered. “Goodbye, Andri Stemovich! It was nice doing business with you.”
Nick, Marina, and the small man with the broken arm were the last of the crew to climb down on the sub. Andri stopped and held the small man back. “No.”
“What?” he questioned.
“You have proven to be irresponsible. I cannot have you as one of my crew. You are my planesman, and you have a broken arm. It will not work, and no one rides for free.”
“You’re joking. I’m the only man here qualified to be a planesman. You need me.”
Andri caught Nick by the arm. “Nicholas will be my planesman. I will show him how.” With that, Andri stepped down the stairs. “Plus, no one serves with me who gets beaten by a woman.”
Mohsen was quick to be right after Andri. He was eager to see the ship that his country had purchased. George stayed at the rail. He knew what the score was and watched with slight amusement when Andri turned and ordered Mohsen back on the freighter.
“What?” screamed Mohsen. “Kuwait bought this ship! It is not yours!”
“Step on my ship, and you will be shot.”
Mohsen was astounded. “What’s going to happen to me? Where do I go?”
“Hell will be a better place,” said George from the freighter, though no one heard him.
Mohsen panicked. He ran back past Nick and Marina to George. “Mohammed! He is taking our money. He is taking our ship!”
George scowled at Mohsen. “I’m surprised that he didn’t take the money earlier.” He had reconciled himself to the fact that he was probably dead.
“What will happen to us?”
“Well,” George spoke in English. He didn’t see any reason to play the game anymore. “I’d say we’re fucked. Andri will leave, and Sergei will throw us to our death before we reach port.”
“I can’t believe this. I must get back to Kuwait.”
George remained calm. “That wouldn’t be such a bright idea. I’m sure the emir at the very least would have you shot for such a blunder. No, you might as well die here.”
Mohsen freaked. The crew of the freighter had gone inside, and he ran after them to plead for his life. The small man with the broken nose also looked worried.
George didn’t care. He watched as the lines were dropped, and the sub drift away. Andri appeared at the top of the sail for one last look. George was the only one left on the deck. The two men stared at each other as the Saratov slowly made its way off. George could only think of one thing. I was so close to retirement. The wind from the approaching storm became stiff, and the ship rocked more violently.