“She knows nothing of this,” he repeated.
“I knew something was wrong with you,” Sasha said. He pulled a sidearm and pressed it against Nick’s chest.
“You are not a nuclear engineer, are you, Nicholas?” asked Andri sadly.
Nick shook his head.
“Are you a spy?”
“No,” replied Nick. “I am an engineer, first. I am here to see your ship, second.”
There was a sign of relief in Andri’s face. It was a matter of semantics; Nick wasn’t a spy, technically. That seemed to help. “I could have almost guessed that. You have shown too much appreciation for the Saratov. You have evaluated it. Does it pass?”
The question caught Sasha by surprise, considering that they just caught a traitor. He took half a step back in disbelief.
“Yes,” he replied grimly.
“Only one country probably has the resources to put you aboard. When were you on to me?”
“It wasn’t you. It started with the Kuwaitis—”
“You needn’t say any more. I can see how their sloppiness brought you here. That is too bad. You must have been surprised when we didn’t sail for the Mediterranean.”
“By that time, I was along for the ride. I was ready to go wherever you were leading.”
Sasha interrupted. “What about the woman? She said she knew you from before.”
“No, I didn’t. I said I didn’t remember him.” Marina had gained her composure and knew it was time to step in. “I needed the money. I would have said anything to get on this ship.”
“He knew you. Your mole!” Sasha was on the verge of an eruption.
Nick stepped forward. “I ran into her in the bar just before I went to your interview. We had a transaction.”
It took everything for Marina to act as if he was telling the truth, and she slightly nodded.
Sasha looked in disbelief. “Are you joking?”
“I was as surprised as you when I saw her in the room. Not my best judgment.”
Andri was unamused by the conversation and handed Marina a small note. “We will discuss that later. You, Marina, will complete your job. You will set the radio at this frequency and send this message until you receive a reply. Nicholas… oh, Nicholas.”
“Hull’s popping. Tanks blown and going fast,” crackled the message from the sonar. Jim didn’t react in time.
Several hundred meters below the Saratov, the War Eagle struggled to maintain her invisibility. Jim ordered that they maintain their depth and slowly rise. It would be an hour before they would be back on the Saratov’s tail.
When the War Eagle came shallow, Josh was the first to notice that his screen had quit blinking. He typed in a few commands to ODIS, and the lens responded by zeroing in on the waters around the War Eagle. He flipped it to thermal, and low and behold, the Saratov lit up. It was only a small dot, but it blazed white-hot as the nuclear reactor’s radiation lit up his systems. Josh pushed in to get the reading in full frame. “Hey, did you guys lose your signal?”
McLeary jumped on the headset. “Yup. It’s gone.”
“That’s okay. We’ve got the bastard now.” Jim flipped back to his zoom lens, and he could make out the periscope traveling through the water.
McLeary got on his headset. “Conn, radio. We’ve lost contact with the open channel. Captain Brand has reestablished visual with the ship, though.”
This time it was Mikhail who appeared. “How shallow is he running, Josh?”
“Just under the surface.”
“He’s waiting.” Mikhail peered closer at the screen. “See there. His antenna is up, and he’s slowed. He’s either sending or receiving.”
“Can we jam him?” wondered O’Neil out loud.
“We don’t want that! Not yet anyway. He doesn’t know we’re here. Let’s give him a chance to show us his intentions.”
“Sir,” O’Neil said bluntly. “Shouldn’t the captain make those decisions?”
“What decisions?” asked Jim as he leaned in the RRCC. “He’s waiting for something.”
“It would seem that way,” answered Mikhail.
“Can he launch?”
“No. Not from that position. He has to surface. It would take at least five minutes before he could get one off. Longer, maybe.”
Jim rubbed his eyes to quell the fatigue. He was used to it by now. “Let him run. He’s not going anywhere, and he’s not threatening action. Linc, load tubes four and five.”
“Aye, Cap,” Linc said from the back.
“O’Neil. How long before we can squeeze out a message?”
“I can squeeze one out anytime, Cap.”
“Radio in our position and condition. Nothing else. Don’t wait for conformation. I want people to know we’re still alive, nothing else.”
“Aye, Cap.”
Jim leaned over his shoulder back into the conn. “Linc, how long before we match the Saratov?”
“We’re almost there now, Cap. Thirty minutes. We don’t want to be sloppy.”
“Put your games faces on, boys. If he makes an ugly move, it’ll be his last.”
It was a mass migration. People suddenly appeared from alleys and streets to rally in front of the Kremlin and voice their support for communism.
Joseph had found his calling. He walked with the fire of pride coursing through his veins. It was his group that was the first to enter Red Square and begin the demonstration. He envisioned himself as the leader of these men and women. He would never be anything else, nor would he settle for less. After a victory today, he would have to establish himself as a leader in the Soviet Party or whatever governing body they decided to erect. For Joseph, it was time make his own way rather than follow. His communist beliefs could work if they had the right leaders.
As the crowd approached the Kremlin, their chanting began to ride on the spring breeze. “Ochinkin out, communism in.” The crowd let it sing in the air, and they became engulfed in the emotion of the movement. There was no anger. They were just beginning.
He knew the protest could easily lose its direction and its purpose. He had to keep his head if they were to succeed. Any wavering outside of the demonstration had to be controlled by a strong leader. Joseph planned to be that one—the main leader, if possible. He wanted to be the one who kept the crowd focused, who kept it from becoming a mob. If the state sent in the police, then he would have to be in the front. If they sent in water hoses, he would be the one to direct their path. He didn’t think it would come to that, but it was an event he had to consider. Today would be his day. The first day of the new following.
A shark sits in a pool. A shark sits in a pool.
Boris sat astride his command tank and listen intently to the message coming over the radio. It really had no meaning as far as the construction of the words was concerned. What it signaled was the time for him to roll on the Kremlin and demand the return of communism. The moment couldn’t be better. Politically, Ochinkin was in a fight for his life. The Russian parliament was striking down the powers they had granted him a few years ago and were looking for a new path for the country—perhaps even a new leader. Little did the government know what path they were about to be instructed to take.
The bad news for communism was that Ochinkin still had support from the majority of people. He had won a straw vote from the public promising better times. The battle in the Russian Congress was to define who really held power; for now, it was Ochinkin.