Black Sea Affair (14 page)

The voice. The twisted smile. His presence seemed sinister. She felt the urge to pray. "Yes, they are beautiful, are they not? The children are enjoying them so much."

"How you like to swim with dolphins?"

"Well, I don't swim all that well."

He reached forward.

She stepped back.

"What's the matter? You no like sailors?"

"No. That's not it. You . . ."

"Come with me, miss. The
kapitan
wants to see you."

She looked down. Her orphans, all twelve of them, stood around her in a semicircle. Their concerned eyes were as wide as the full moon. She flashed a reassuring smile at them. "It is all right, children. I will return to you in just a few minutes."

Captain Batsakov sat behind his desk in his stateroom, pouring the clear liquid from the bottle with the red, white, and yellow sticker wrapped around it.

Stolichnaya, the famous Russian brand, was Batsakov's vodka of choice. His lips caressed the glass. Alcohol seeped down his throat, warming the internal cavities of his body.

Vodka was the drink of angels, and Stolichnaya was the vodka of God.

Only the weak believed in God.

No matter. Stolichnaya numbed his soul. That mattered.

Besides. The soul did not exist. The soul was a fairy tale. Just like these beliefs in Allah and God and Jesus or whomever.

Only the here and now mattered. Only the money that he was about to make mattered.

He reached into the drawer and extracted the black Makarov PM 9 millimeter pistol. He brought the gun to his nose and sniffed the smell of burned powder from the last time he had shot at sea lions off the port side of the
Alexander Popovich
.

Three knocks came at the door.

"
Dah
!"

"
Kapitan
!" Aleksey Anatolyvich called from outside in the passageway.

"What is it, Aleksey?"

"Miss Katovich is with me."

Batsakov disengaged the safety of the pistol, worked the slide, loading a live round into the chamber. The silencer was in place. Good.

What a waste this would be. Would he shoot her in the cabin now? He could keep the body in the closet and dump it overboard at dark. Or perhaps he would simply use the gun to scare her into keeping the children in line. The problem with that tactic was that she might tell someone. He took another swig of vodka.

"Send her in."

Batsakov placed the pistol in his lap. The door opened. The beautiful brunette stood in the entryway of his cabin.

Aleksey pushed her in the back of her shoulder. She stepped forward into the cabin, almost stumbling.

The door slammed closed. The sight before him caught him unexpectedly off guard. The white sweater drew attention to her sun-kissed complexion and seemed to accentuate the radiance of her blue eyes.

Obviously, Aleksey had escorted her to her stateroom to change before her important meeting with the captain. He imagined her fussing about her appearance and her wardrobe, as women often do, and insisting that she be allowed to change and freshen up before being brought into his presence.

That thought brought him a smile.

His eyes drank in the sight of her long legs, her trim waistline, and her curly brunette locks. At that point, Batsakov realized that he was staring like a salivating dog.

"Please be seated, Miss Katovich." He hid the pistol in his lap and out of her view.

"Thank you,
Kapitan
." Her eyes danced nervously around the cabin. She sat upright in the aluminum chair just in front of his desk. She crossed her legs, exhibiting a perfect, statuesque posture.

"Are you enjoying your cruise?"

"I enjoy seeing all my children so happy. We were watching the dolphins just before you called me up here."

"Hmm." His eyes fixed on hers. "Care for vodka?"

"No. Thank you,
Kapitan
."

Captain Batsakov knew what he had to do. Just bring the pistol above the desk and shoot her between the eyes. He took another sip.
Just
get it over with, Yuri Mikalvich
. He refilled his glass with another round of Stolichnaya.
Think of the security risks. Think of the riches that will
await upon success of this mission . . . No, we will not kill her yet.

"Why would a beautiful, intelligent young woman like you be doing work with orphans? The pay must be pathetic. Why not work for the government?"

She mustered an uneasy smile. "I was an orphan,
Kapitan
. God took care of me, and he called me to give my life to take care of the fatherless."

"Hah." Batsakov nearly choked on his vodka. "You believe in God, do you?" Her face seemed to change from a nervous contortedness to a confident peacefulness. What was it about these God-believers that triggered this sort of idiotic trance whenever they talked about their religion?

She folded her hands across her perfectly crossed legs and leaned forward, her nervous smile now looking something less than nervous. "Yes,
Kapitan
. I believe in God. And I believe in the living Son of God."

He sneered. "And just who would that be? This so-called
living Son
of God
of whom you speak?"

She leaned back, still smiling, obviously ready to talk some more about her religion. He used the opportunity to unobtrusively slip the pistol under his belt in the middle of his back. He would lead her from the outer office area of his cabin back into the bedroom, where he would do what needed to be done.

"That would be Jesus,
Kapitan
."

Batsakov snorted. "Well, just make sure that you and this Jesus of yours keep these children out of my way, and out of my crew's way, and that they wander nowhere other than the main deck and their cabins unless escorted by a crew member. Am I clear on this?"

"Perfectly clear,
Kapitan
."

"
Kapitan
Batsakov!" The excited voice of the first officer blared over the intercom.

"What is it?"

"
Kapitan
, we have found the Egyptian freighter."

"This soon? Impossible."

"We are not sure, sir. We need you on the bridge."

"Be right there." Batsakov looked at Miss Katovich. "Wait here. Help yourself to my vodka or anything else you would like. I will be back later. There is more that we must discuss. I wish to make sure that we have no misunderstandings concerning our expectations of you." He threw on his pea coat and stormed out of the cabin.

Office of the president of the Russian Republic
Staraya Square, Moscow

President Evtimov paced across the red carpet just in front of the large executive desk.

"Read that communique again, Foreign Minister."

"
Dah
, of course, Mr. President." The Russian foreign minister cleared his throat and again read the short communique that was delivered only thirty minutes ago by the ambassador from the United States of America.

Dear Mr. President,

These are difficult times in which we live. We know that sometimes it becomes necessary for nations to employ military force by legitimate means for the purposes of self-preservation and the advancement of democracy.

Both of our great nations have been in recent years the victims of terrorism, and as a consequence, have often found it necessary to resort to military force to ensure peace and stability within our national boundaries.

While we recognize the right of the Russian government to act in this manner, we have concerns about the size and might of the Russian ground forces currently deploying in the Caucasus region.

Our allies in the region have expressed concern that armed conflict may spill over and beyond the southern borders of your great nation.

We hope and trust that your intentions do not go beyond the borders of your country. Part of our concern about the size of your force is that the firepower that you are mobilizing appears to be disproportionate to the strength of any rebel forces concentrated in Chechnya. The United States remains committed to human rights violations of innocent civilians caught up in military action. We support basic human rights of citizens all over the world, including the human rights of innocent citizens in Chechnya.

To the extent that you could provide words of reassurance that we may pass on to our allies, I would be most appreciative.

Very respectfully,

Mack Williams

President of the United States

"Prepare this response to the president of the United States, and deliver it to the American ambassador." President Evtimov looked at his foreign minister.

"Dear Mr. President,

"Thank you for your cable of this day in which you expressed your country's concern about human rights within the Russian Republic.

"Russian ground forces have been mobilized in what is a purely peacekeeping mission. Our forces are currently operating to foster a common goal of our two countries, namely to preserve democracy within the Russian Republic.

"To the extent that military action may be required in the preservation of our democratic goals, rest assured that our forces will not attack civilian targets. Thank you for your concern about the future of democracy and human rights in the Russian Republic.

"Very respectfully, Vitaly Evtimov, president of the Russian Republic."

The USS
Honolulu

The Mediterranean sea depths

2040 local time

They sat around the small table in the middle of the galley. Their faded wash khaki uniforms took on an electric-looking hue under the fluorescent tube lights mounted just overhead. All bore faces of stone. This was the second officers' meeting called in the last ten hours.

They rose, all twelve of them, as the commanding officer of the USS
Honolulu
stepped through the hatch from the outside passageway.

"Attention on deck!"

"At ease." Commander Pete Miranda motioned the men back to their seats.

"Gentlemen, we're close to showtime, " Pete announced. He quickly studied their faces. Eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Some showed signs of fear. Pete felt fear himself. A little fear was a good thing. Beneath the fear, beneath the bloody veins, their eyes showed a steely determination like none he had ever seen in a submarine wardroom.

"Let's get down to business. I'll start by asking the XO to brief us on our current position." Pete looked at Frank Pippen, who was seated immediately to his right. "XO?"

"Cap'n." Frank stood, took one step back to a mounted easel board, and rolled down a navigational chart showing the waters around the Greek peninsula. "Gentlemen, as of our last sounding, we were here." He pointed to a spot in the Mediterranean south of the Peloponnisos Peninsula and northwest of the Island of Crete. "Our current position puts us approximately fifty miles southwest of the Greek Island of Kythira.

"Within the next couple of hours, we will cross into the next time zone, UTC plus 2, and soon after that, we reach the entrance of the Aegean Sea. From there, we turn northeast and move under the waters surrounding the Cyclades Islands. We will clear the islands approximately one-hundred-fifty miles east of Athens, and from there we head due north to the waters just off the Island of Limnos. That's where we dock with the freighter and proceed through the Dardanelles.

"We'll piggyback under the freighter through the Sea of Marmara to the entrance of the Bosphorus. If we slip though, they cut us loose about twenty miles into the Black Sea, and we go hunting." Frank looked at Pete. "Skipper?"

Pete rose as Frank returned to his seat. "Gentlemen, we have several complicating factors. First, we're in a race against time.
Alexander
Popovich
could get out of the Black Sea before we get in. Now one advantage we have is speed. We're three times faster than the freighter.

"Also, intel now believes that this freighter is scheduled to make a port visit to Odessa in Ukraine before leaving the Black Sea. If that's true, that could be our lucky break. This means that if we clear the Bosphorus, we'll sail due north and set our patrol area off the Ukrainian coast, in the waters off Odessa. Hopefully, we'll spot her and sink her before she ever makes that port visit.