Black Sea Affair (13 page)

Captain Batsakov's skull was about to explode.

He would get his ship off the pier, if he had to go horsewhip the little devils up onto the deck. And if the FSB tried to board, he would take them out to sea, shoot them in the back of the head, throw them to the sharks, and tell the authorities that they fell overboard when they had overdone it on vodka.

He checked his watch, snorted, and stormed across the deck to the gangway. From there, he looked down and saw the white bus that Radimov was talking about. In fact, he saw Radimov milling about down in front of the bus. Why wasn't he herding the blasted urchins out?

Batsakov bounded down the gangway. He reached the concrete pier, accepted and returned a sloppy salute from the half-drunk sailor at the bottom, and met eyes with Radimov, who still stood in front of the parked bus.

"Radimov! Get these . . . these . . ." He held his hands in the air, searching for something more diplomatic to call them than devils. "These
young individuals
off the bus!"

A young woman stepped around the front of the bus. Her black curly hair bounced on her shoulders. Her slim waistline complemented casual jeans and an unkempt green shirt. She smiled.

"These
young individuals
, as you call them, are mine." Her blue eyes blinked at him. "And who, may I ask, are
you
?"

He was about to announce "I am the captain of this ship" when a sporty-looking black Volga 3111 automobile pulled toward them. Bat-sakov winced at the faces of the two FSB agents who had invited themselves on board his ship less than forty-eight hours ago and announced that he would be forced to host a floating kindergarten.

The two FSB agents, in black suits and black sunglasses, stepped out.

"Ah,
Kapitan
, " said the first one, whose name Batsakov remembered as Federov. "I see you and Miss Katovich are becoming acquainted." The agents walked toward the captain and the woman.

"We were getting off to a good start." The young woman locked her eyes on Batsakov again. "I'm Masha Katovich. I work for the relief organization that sponsors summer trips for these orphans." She extended her hand, as if expecting him to kiss it.

He obliged. "You aren't FSB like your friends here?" That brought laughter from her, but no reaction from the stone-faced agents.

She flicked her head toward them. "I envy their salaries and their car. I am but a mere social worker,
Kapitan
."

"I wouldn't describe you as a
mere
anything, my dear." She had mollified his anger about the late sailing, he realized. "I shall gladly transport your orphans to wherever you wish to sail."

"
Kapitan
, " spoke the second one, whose name he had forgotten in the immediate glow of Masha Katovich. "Unfortunately, my colleague and I cannot sail with you. Developments in Chechnya have us occupied. You will be met by other FSB agents at the pier in Odessa. They will come onboard and bring the children off. There will be no need for you to disembark. If you choose to disembark, wait until after the ceremonies at the dockside. Meantime, Miss Katovich will assist you during the course of your journey."

"Miss Katovich is coming with us?"

"If that is okay with you,
Kapitan
." She smiled at him.

"But of course. My ship is your ship."

"Then with your permission, I will round up my
young individuals
and get them on board. I am sure you are anxious to set sail, and apologize if we have held your ship up in any way."

"Please, bring your children aboard. And no apologies are necessary, Miss Katovich. Radimov here will assist you in finding your berthing spaces."

She smiled, nodded, stepped into the bus, then barked a command. A minute later, they emerged, like baby geese following their mother goose. One by one, in single file, holding a single linen bag with whatever possessions they owned, they marched up the gangplank and onto the deck.

Batsakov followed them up to the deck and ordered the gangplank removed.

It was time to sail.

The USS
Honolulu
The Straits of Sicily

10:40 a.m. local time

Pete and Frank had just finished their inspection of Torpedo One when the 1MC began blaring. "Alert one! Alert one! Incoming emergency action message! Alert one! Alert one! Incoming EAM!"

"Weps, report to your duty station!" Pete ordered the weapons officer. "XO? Come with me!"

"Aye, Captain."

They rushed back through the narrow passageways. Sailors wearing dark blue ball caps stepped back and shouted, "Make way! Make way for the captain!"

Pete stepped into the radio room. "Attention on deck!" the radio officer called.

"At ease, " Pete barked. "Where is it?"

"Here, sir."

Pete ripped the message from the radio officer's hands and spread it out on the table. Frank looked over Pete's shoulder.

EMERGENCY ACTION MESSAGE

FROM: NATIONAL MILITARY COMMAND CENTER -- WASHINGTON, D.C.

TO: THE USS HONOLULU , THE USS CHARLOTTE

SUBJECT: ACTION MESSAGE REMARKS:

Russian weapons-grade nuclear fuel confirmed missing.

Russian freighter
Alexander Popovich
reportedly underway from Sochi 0700 hours Zulu time this day.

Russian high command apparently unaware of presence of fuel on board
Alexander Popovich
.

Russian forces amassing on Chechen border.

The USS
Honolulu
rendezvous with Russian freighter Volga River for execution of Operation Undercover.

Proceed through Bosphorus, then seek out and destroy
Alexander Popovich
in Black Sea.

The USS
Charlotte
establish patrol area Sea of Marmara. Stand by for updated coordinates and orders.

Set DEFCON 4 by order of National Command Authority.

Pete looked at Frank. "XO, All department heads report to the galley in thirty minutes for an officers meeting at" -- he glanced at his watch -- "ten hundred hours Zulu time."

"Aye, Captain." Frank picked up the microphone, switching to the 1MC. "Now hear this. This is the XO." Frank's voice echoed throughout the passageways of the submarine. "All officers report to the galley at ten hundred hours Zulu time. This is the XO."

"Give me that." Pete reached for the microphone. He flipped a switch opening a direct line to the control room. "Radio. Conn. This is the captain. Notify engineering. I need full power. Now! That is all." Pete slammed the microphone back in its holster. "May God protect our souls."

CHAPTER 8

The
Alexander Popovich

Forty miles east of Sochi, Russia

12:45 p.m. local time

Captain Batsakov peered out through his binoculars, pretending to scan the deep blue horizon of the Black Sea. The key now would be finding this freighter.

At his current speed of 15 knots, or 17.3 miles per hour, it would take at least thirty hours for
Alexander Popovich
to reach the rendezvous in the western sector of the Black Sea. That, of course, meant that they would arrive in the rendezvous sector as the sun was setting, complicating matters even more.

Locating civilian freighters on the open seas was problematic. Not even the great navies of the world were efficient at tracking freighter traffic. Trying to find the Egyptian freighter in the dark would be next to impossible. So they would probably have to steam in circles and wait for the sun to come up, and hope that the freighter was in the area.

Of course, sunlight was not a problem at the moment. This fact was apparent in his binocular-assisted view provided of the lovely Masha, who was currently waving her hands like a traffic policeman down on the deck. How was she able to stand there so calmly, smiling while keeping track of those twelve little devils who were running around on the deck like monkeys released from a zoo?

"
Kapitan
?"

"Yes, what is it, Petrov?" Batsakov did not put aside his binoculars.

"The galley, sir. They wish to know if you would like some food brought to the bridge."

"
Dah
,
dah
." Batsakov waived his hand. "Vodka and a sandwich would be fine."

"Right away."

After a moment, another voice materialized over the captain's shoulder. "Stunning, isn't she?"

Batsakov dropped the glasses and locked eyes with his first officer, Joseph Radin. "Are they prettier than in our day, Joseph? Or do our old minds play tricks on us?" He handed the binoculars to the first officer, who took a grinning turn. "Or perhaps our luck is getting better on this voyage."

"You know,
Kapitan
, sometimes our old minds can cloud our better judgment." Radin set the binoculars on a ledge as a steward brought a silver tray with a bottle of vodka, two clear glasses, and an assortment of finger sandwiches.

"
Spaceeba
." Batsakov took the vodka. "That will be all." He nodded at the young mess steward, dismissing him. Then, taking a sip, he lowered his voice. "Do I hear a cautionary tone in your last comment, Joseph?"

The first officer put his hand on Batsakov's shoulder, lowering his voice as well. "
Kapitan
, you and I have sailed together for a long time.
Dah
?"

"
Dah
."

Radin nodded his head once down toward their beautiful visitor. "What if she is FSB?"

The suggestion was like a wet blanket. Batsakov felt his eyes widen. "I asked her. She denied it and laughed."

"Of course she denied it. But can we take this risk?"

The first officer's point was well taken. Batsakov filled Joseph Radin's glass.

Radin continued. "Even if she is not FSB, can we afford to have her witness the transfer of our cargo to the Egyptian freighter? Suppose someone asks her? Suppose she is interrogated by FSB? Or worse, what if she
is
FSB?"

"What are you saying, Joseph?"

Their eyes locked. "We cannot afford a slipup,
Kapitan
. This mission is worth more money than either of us have ever made in our lives. We all know, unfortunately, that accidents sometimes happen at sea."

Captain Batsakov let his eyes wander down to the deck again. "Perhaps you are right, friend. But what a waste. Let's keep an eye on her before making a final decision on this."

Their glasses clanked and they drank.

She had been sitting for no more than five minutes when she heard their excited voices.

"Masha! Masha!"

Masha Katovich removed her sunglasses and looked up from her deck chair. Two skinny blonde boys, their ribcages visible as they panted excitedly, stood over her. They made excited gestures with their hands.

"Anatoly, Sasha, what is it? I'm trying to catch a nap."

"Masha! Masha!" Their voices ran together. They pointed to something out over the side of the ship. "Get up and come look!"

A gust of cool breeze refreshened her face. "Why not?"

She dropped her novel on the deck, then pushed herself up. The children stood near the side of the ship. "Get back away from the railing!" she shouted. They ignored her, and instead laughed and pointed out to the sea.

"Dolphins!" Ten-year-old Natalia smiled from ear to ear.

A hundred yards or so off to the side, fifteen or twenty bulb-nosed dolphins danced and played in the water. The chorus of laughter and chattering from the children warmed Masha's heart.

But the cold hand on her shoulder from behind startled her.

"Miss Katovich." A bearded deckhand, smiling with two missing front teeth, was standing so close to her that she could smell the liquor on his breath."You like dolphins?"