Behind Zakayev, something that sounded like a cheap radio speaker filled with static made a croaking noise. A moment later a flat, mechanical-sounding voice that had been carried underwater by slow-moving sonar waves reverberated into the CCP.
“Colonel Yuri Abakov calling Colonel Alikhan Zakayev.”
“It’s Nina…” a mystified sailor said, pointing to the device.
Zakayev looked around as if expecting to see that someone he knew had entered the CCP.
“The underwater telephone,” a groggy Litvanov said, pointing to the lit-up equipment mounted on the bulkhead behind Zakayev.
“Colonel Yuri Abakov calling Colonel Alikhan Zakayev,” said the voice.
Zakayev stood rooted in place, the SC1 mike still in his hand listening to a voice from the past.
“K-480 to K-363. This is KGB Colonel Yuri Abakov calling KGB Colonel Alikhan Zakayev.”
The failed 1991 coup in Moscow. Abakov had moved up, became Colonel Abakov in the FSB, Zakayev realized, and now this. How long had they known about his plan? Days? Months?
“KGB Colonel Yuri Abakov calling KGB Colonel Alikhan Zakayev. Ali, can you read me?”
Zakayev dropped the SC1 mike and picked the Nina mike up from its cradle.
A petty officer stepped forward and adjusted the gain. “This is General Zakayev speaking.” His voice rumbled through the sea, distorted but recognizable.
“Hello, Alikhan Andreyevich. It’s been a long time.”
“You picked a strange place to meet wouldn’t you say, Yuri?”
Litvanov was on his feet, a hand to the back of his head. He waved off a sailor coming to help.
“In the middle of the Baltic. Yes. Very strange. Perhaps we can do something about that.”
“What?”
“Find a place more conducive to rekindle an old friendship.”
“We were never friends, Yuri. Colleagues.”
“Still, it would be good to talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
“But there is much to talk about. We may be able to settle a few things we both have on our minds.
Perhaps we could even strike a mutually agreeable deal.”
“There are no deals to be struck. No compromises. I suggest you tell that to your handlers in the Kremlin.”
“The Kremlin. Pah! This is between you and me….” Abakov’s voice started to break up and fade. “Can you hear me, General?”
“I hear you. Between you and me, eh? And the Russian Navy.”
“We can call off the Russian Navy if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“So? Have they made you the captain of the K-480, Yuri?”
“No, not quite. The captain is an American.”
Silence.
“Ali?”
“An American…?”
“Yes, it’s true. Captain Jake Scott, U.S. Navy.”
“I knew it,” Litvanov said, and reached for the mike. “Let me talk to him.” Zakayev pulled the mike away from Litvanov.
“Put Captain Scott on Nina,” said Zakayev.
A short crackling silence on the Nina, then, “This is Captain Jake Scott,” he said in Russian.
“So, Captain Litvanov guessed right,” Zakayev said. “He said an American had command of the K-480. Is the Russian Navy so desperate that they put Americans in charge of their ships?”
Scott said, “Tell Kapitan Litvanov that I respect his expertise as a sub driver. He’s as good as any American sub driver I’ve ever met.”
“He heard you, Captain Scott. And so you’ve been trailing us for a long time.”
“Since you sailed from Olenya Bay.”
“And who else is aboard the K-480 with you, Captain Scott? An official from the Kremlin?”
“Dr. Alexis Thorne, first science attaché, United States Embassy. She’s an expert on spent nuclear fuel and the effects of radiation poisoning. But let’s not waste time, General. We know that you plan to blow the reactor aboard the K-363 and I’m not going to give you a lecture about what that will do to the Northern Hemisphere. You already know all that. As Yuri said, maybe we can find a way out of this — if you’re willing to talk.”
“What about?” Zakayev said. “The Russians are just like you Americans: They make promises they have no intention of keeping. I helped the Americans when they needed leverage against the Russians, and when our collaboration became a liability they decided to kill me. Isn’t that true?”
Scott didn’t hesitate. “Yes, that’s true.”
“And your Admiral Drummond led you to me?”
“No, you did. When you sent your people to kill Frank Drummond and the sailor from your boat and make it look like they’d committed suicide. And when you killed Ivan Serov in Murmansk. It all added up after we discovered the K-363 was missing.”
A long, humming silence over the Nina.
“Tell me this,” Zakayev said. “Was it because of Admiral Drummond that the Russians sent you out in one of their submarines to track us down? So you could have your revenge?”
“No. We and the Russians thought you had cruise missiles aboard and planned to attack St. Petersburg from the Barents Sea. We offered to help them track you into the Barents, but it didn’t take long for us to figure out you weren’t there. And when the Russians realized you had no cruise missiles to fire, they wanted to capture you. That’s when we were ordered to track you south.”
“And kill us.”
“Yes.”
Litvanov, moving around the CCP, stripped a work jacket off one of the men on watch, and covered Veroshilov. He looked around the CCP, his eyes flitting between the sonar repeater and navigation plotter, the men at their stations watching him.
“Do the Russians know what we plan to do?” Zakayev asked Scott.
“No one knows but us, which may be to your advantage if you are willing to reconsider.”
“Why haven’t you told them?”
“We’ve been too busy dodging your torpedoes.”
“And if we try to escape?”
Litvanov looked at the fire control console, at the panel’s settings. A hand to his head came away sticky with blood. He looked at his hand but didn’t seem to comprehend. He appeared to be in a trance.
“You won’t get far,” Scott said. “U.S. and Russian planes are over the Baltic. And you’ve heard the PCs just as we have. There’s no escape. And if you still think you can blow the reactor, we’ll torpedo you before you can melt it down. It’s your call. Kapitan Litvanov’s an excellent skipper and is no fool. He knows it’s over.”
Zakayev threw a look over his shoulder, turned around to face a dull-eyed Litvanov.
“Georgi, did you hear that, he says—”
Litvanov’s fist slammed into Zakayev’s gut like a piston. Zakayev doubled over and Litvanov brought both bunched fists down on the back of his neck. The little general collapsed at Litvanov’s feet.
Litvanov snatched the pistol from Zakayev’s hand and whirled around to show it to the men in the CCP, and that he was once again in control of the ship.
Silence rumbled over the Nina, then: “General…General Zakayev…?”
Before his men could register shock or surprise, Litvanov snapped an order: “Sonar! Echo range active sonar. One ping!”
A split second later a pulse of pure sound like a cry from hell struck the K-480’s hull and rebounded.
Aboard the K-363, targeting computers captured the range and bearing data, shot it down the line to two torpedoes waiting in their tubes. The next sound was Litvanov roaring, “Fire one!”
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