Countdown

BOOK THREE

Arkady Kurshin walked along the tree-lined pleasant Via San Domenico, hate riding on his shoulders like a powerful dark cloud.

He limped slightly from his wound, but it had been nearly six weeks since Falmouth and he was almost completely recovered. It was early evening. Traffic downtown had been snarled up, as usual, making it difficult for him to meet his rendezvous schedule and still take his usual precautions. His face was different now, though, as was his hair, his clothing, and his manner of speaking. Here he was a Frenchman visiting Italy. At the corner across from the Hotel Aventimo, he stopped to light a cigarette. There wasn’t much traffic, but down the block music came from the open doors of a small cafe, and a young couple strolled arm in arm beneath the street lamp, disappearing around the corner. A large, swarthy man, dressed only in slacks and an opencollar shirt, stepped out of a dark doorway up from the hotel and looked pointedly across the street at Kurshin. If he looked right or left, it would mean that the rendezvous wasn’t safe. He did neither, and Kurshin went across the street. “You were not followed” the lookout asked. His voice was soft; nevertheless he spoke in Italian in case someone was listening. “Of course not” Kurshin replied. “My people are here? All of them”

“Yes, and it has become a real bitch keeping them out of trouble. You know how the navy is”

“We’ll be gone soon”

“Not soon enough”

Kurshin gave the lookout a hard stare. He could have broken the man in two with his bare hands, the impertinent bastard. But then respect was such an ephemeral quality. Baranov had let the word float down subtly that one of his handpicked few had erred. It would be up to him to rebuild his reputation, but if he failed this time Baranov would completely wash his hands of him. The lookout caught something of that from Kurshin’s eyes and he backed down. “They are waiting for you upstairs. Will you leave tonight”

“Thank you for your help” Kurshin said, ignoring the man’s question.

“Yes” the man said. “Will you or the others be needing anything else”

“Our transportation has been taken care of”

“There is a camper van in the garage. It won’t attract any attention, the roads are filled with them these days”

“And the boat”

“Waiting for you in Naples. The provisions are already on board, as is the paperwork”

“And the other items”

“On board as well” The lookout was actually the number-two man behind the KGB’s Rome rezident. A good and competent man was how Baranov had described him. He had made the arrangements for the hotel, their transportation, and the boat in Naples without knowing any of the other details of the operation. He had not been told that the men upstairs were naval officers, but then it would have been easy enough for him to deduce that fact simply by the way they talked and behaved themselves.

“There will be no track here in Rome” he assured Kurshin. “Good hunting”

“Thank you, Yuri Semenovich. Your contribution will not go unnoticed”

Kurshin turned, walked the rest of the way down the block, and entered the hotel, which looked almost like a small villa. Small and very private. The desk man was not on duty and the tiny lobby was in semidarkness. He took the narrow elevator up to the third floor and as he softly slid the iron gate back he heard a low burst of laughter from the room at the end of the corridor. Carefully he moved closer. He could hear them talking inside, though at first he couldn’t make out the words. Someone said something, and again there was laughter. “You’re goddamned right” another of them said clearly. Competent and dedicated men, and all of them English speakers. A rare combination for a Soviet naval officer. Kurshin knocked once at the door and all sounds from within ceased. A moment later he knocked twice, and the door was opened a crack. The room was in darkness, a club room odor of cigarette smoke, vodka, and male bodies wafting out. He pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. Someone to his left closed the door and the lights came on, leaving Kurshin blinking at the six officers each pointing a silenced Makarov automatic at him, and he managed a slight smile.

“Good evening, gentlemen” he said in English. “Either shoot me or offer me a drink. Frankly I’d prefer vodka” There was a camaraderie within the military services, especially the navy, that was completely alien to Kurshin. He had to force his bonhomie. He had almost always worked alone. This time, of course, it would have been completely impossible.

“Search him” one of the men said. They all were dressed in ordinary street clothes. One of the others laid his pistol down and quickly frisked Kurshin, coming up with his Graz Buyra. He stepped aside. “Now, drop your trousers” Kurshin’s eyes narrowed, though he understood the reason. “Now” the officer snappedkurshin did as he was told. He had taken the bandage off the wound high on his thigh. It was puckered and an angry red color.

One of the others stepped a little closer and looked at the wound. “It’s real” he said. The first officer lowered his gun. “Well, I don’t think the Americans would shoot one of their own people just to infiltrate us”

“Captain Makayev” Kurshin asked, pulling up his trousers. “At your service, Comrade Colonel” Captain First Rank Nikolai Gerasimovich Makayev said, and they shook hands. “When do we get out of here”

“Tonight” Kurshin said, looking at the other five men. “I have a camper van parked a couple of blocks from here. We’ll be leaving in singles and pairs, so we won’t attract too much attention to ourselves”

“Our orders”

“Not until we’re at sea” Captain Makayev nodded. It was a sensible rule that they all understood, though they had not been told very much about this assignment, other than that it would be extremely dangerous, but that those who returned would be well re warded. Each man in his own way was in very. great need of such rewards. “Now introduce me to the others, Captain” Makayev nodded. “You’ve already met my executive officer, Captain Second Rank Gennadi Gavrilovich Fedorenko”

He was the officer who had patted Kurshin down. He seemed very self-assured. They shook hands. “And our ship’s doctor, Avenir Akimovich Velikanov. He and Kurshin shook hands. “That wound of yours should be covered, Colonel” he said. “I’ll let you see to it once we’re out of here” Kurshin said. The doctor was an alcoholic, but he was competent enough for what he had to do, which after all would not involve saving lives. “Our nuclear engineer, Captain Second Rank Ivan Pavlovich Abalakin. Our missile man, Lieutenant Aleksei Sergeevich Chobotov, and our boy genius sonannan, Lieutenant Aleksandr Ivanovich Rama” Kurshin shook hands with them as well. “You all have experience on Alpha-class boats”

“Yes, sircaptain Makayev said, his eyes shining. “And we’re anxious to get to work”

“There’ll be plenty of it for you to do, Captain, believe me. And very soon.

McGarvey stood on a windsweirr rocky promontory looking out across the azure Aegean Sea toward the mainland fifty miles to the northwest. He was winded and sweating under the fierce Greek summer sun and the breeze felt good on his legs and bare torso. He was running five miles a day now, up and down the craggy paths around the tiny rock-strewn island. A dozen families of Greek fishermen lived in a tiny village on the north side of the island, leaving him in relative isolation on the south side where he had taken up residence in an abandoned lighthouse. For the past few days he had known that someone would be coming. He had felt it in his bones. It was a common feeling for him, which had saved his life on more than one occasion(Pic out the small hydrofoil boat while it was still eight or ten miles out, by its long, creamy wake. Now it was barely a mile off the ancient stone dock in the village below. He had been brought here to this island the same way a month ago, and now someone was coming to him. Unconsciously he touched the healing scar on the small of his back to the right of his spine. Kurshin’s bullet had destroyed one of his kidneys and it had been removed that night in the Bethesda Naval Hospital. He had nearly bled to death on the operating table, and still a weakness would come over him at the odd moment. But he had been lucky, once again. How long would that hold? Turning, he started down from the crest of the hill toward the lighthouse two miles away, running lightly so as not to jar his back, but easily because it felt good to be alive and functioning again.

At first an old woman had come up from the village to help tend to his wound and cook his meals. But after the first week he had hiked across the island, showing up at the small tavern. After that he had been left alone; going into the village only once a week for food, newspapers, and other supplies. A week ago the doctor from Sfros on his monthly rounds had come up to see him, pronouncing him reasonably fit for light exercise. But by then he had already been running every day. The lighthouse was perched on a sheer cliff that dropped ninety feet to the sea. A narrow path led to a stone bridge across to it. Inside, McGarvey wiped off his face with a towel, and in his bedroom pulled out his Walther automatic, checked its action, and went back outside, across the bridge, and up the path beyond where it branched off toward the village.

It was just noon, and his stomach was rumbling. With all his work, and the fresh sea air and his daily swims before dinner, he had built up a healthy appetite. But who was coming. a very few people new But as on that night at the hospital, he had the feeling that Kurshin had another source of information. Someone other than FELIKS in the Pentagon.

Someone in the Agency. He climbed farther up the hill where he took up a position from which he could see the village path. By now the hydrofoil would have landed, and if someone were coming UP here to him, they would be showing up soon. Paranoia, the thought came to him as it often had over the past few years. Mistrust. Suspicion. Once he’d thought he knew something about honor, but in this business the opposite seemed true just as often. A lone figure appeared at the crest of the hill and started down the long side, moving slowly, awkwardly. He was dressed in dark slacks and a light-colored shirt, but it wasn’t until he got a little closer that McGarvey could see he walked with a limp and was using a cane. He knew who it was. Stuffing the pistol in the waistband of his shorts, he scrambled down the hill and went back up to the path.

Trotter was just coming around the corner, and he stopped as McGarvey came up. I saw the boat coming in, but I didn’t know who it was, McGarvey said. Trotter’s eyes went to the pistol. He nodded. “How are you doing, Kirk”

“Better. You”

“They gave me a plastic hip. We’ll see how it turns Trotter glanced up toward the lighthouse. “Anyway, I’ll be back in the office on Monday “

“There’s been nothing in the papers about En Gedi. “No” Trotter said.

He nodded toward the lighthouse’ “Let’s go inside. It was a long hike up from the village. I’d like to sit down”

“Sure” McGarvey said, leading the way. There was an awkwardness between them that he was having difficulty getting a handle on. He could usually anticipate his old friend, this time he didn’t know. They sat on the stone veranda overlooking the sea.

, o ives, sausages, and feta cheese. On this side of the island the afternoons were pleasant. “You hit him, you know” Trotter said.

“Kurshin”

“Yes. We found blood at the back doorway, and then across the clearing to where the helicopter was parked. We found it back in Alexandria with a lot of blood in the cockpit. The Agency had debriefed him in the hospital but had refused to answer any of his questions. “No sign of him from that point” Trotter shook his head. “He definitely didn’t return to the embassy; the Bureau was watching the place around the clock.

“Then he’s disappeared again”

“He hasn’t been spotted anywhere. Not Moscow, not East Berlin”

“What about the other two men at the house”

“Baranov’s Department Viktor people. Some of the best. They’re both dead, of course. “What’s been done about it, John” McGarvey asked.

“Until now we haven’t done anything like that on each other’s MA. At least not directly as a KGB operation”

“I don’t know” Trotter admitted. “Ultimately that’s the president’s decision”

“But” McGarvey said sharply. Trotter hunched his shoulders as he sipped his wine. He looked out to sea again. Other islands dotted the horizon.

“I owe you my life. Kurshin would have killed us all”

“But he accomplished his objective. He got to Rand and most Rely he got the information he’d come for”

“We’re not so sure, Kirk. The reason you haven’t read anything about En Gedi is because absolutely nothing has happened. June thirtieth came and went without incident. For all we know Kurshin could be dead somewhere.

And maybe Rand’s disk is with his body”

“Any idea what was on it”

“No.

I don’t know that either. Our lines of communication have been severely curtailed. But I do know that Lev Potok will be all right, again thanks to you”

“Which leaves Baranov” McGarvey said, beginning to understand finally.

“The reason you’ve come here”

“Not the only mason, Kirk” Trotter said, turning back to him. “I came here to thank you, and to see how you were getting along. Whether you know it or not, or care to admit it, you at the very least delayed their plans, and possibly even destroyed them”

“Still, there’s Baranov. Always Baranov” Trotter nodded glumly. “The general asked me to come speak with you.”

“Authorized you, John” McGarvey said a little crossly. “Let’s get our terminology straight right at the beginning”

“Yes. Authorized”

“No bullshit now. Tell it to me straight. What is it you want? Exactly.“

“There is going to be a Law Enforcement conference in East Berlin in seven days. The heads of the police forces from every country in the Warsaw Pact will be there. So will Baranov. “Along with half the KGB to guard him”

“We have come up with a copy of his itinerary”

“No mean trick “We have our sources as well, Kirk, you know this. At any rate there is a possibility, just a possibility, of taking him out”

“And Murphy is authorizing such a mission”

“Not yet” Trotter said. “He’s going to the president with it. But first he wants to know if you would be willing to take it on” Trotter’s eyes narrowed. “I am your friend, whether or not you want to believe that, and I’m telling you up front that the Agency will give you all the backup it can … but only to the point that you enter Germany. After that you would be on your own. I mean totally on your own. If you you were unbalanced, and that your action was totally yours”

“Why this now? Why the sudden change of heart”

“The man is insane, and Gorbachev either won’t or can’t do anything about him” Trotter leaned forward. “The man is consolidating his power, Kirk. He has most of the military establishment behind him now. The old guard who believe that Gorbachev has gone too far”

“When do you need my answer”

“If he goes ahead with En Gedi, and he is successful, we think he means to take over the entire Middle East”

“When”

Trotter sat back again. “Soon, Kirk. The conference begins in seven days and the general still has to go to the president with it”

“Why me”

“Again I won’t lie to you” Trotter said. “But the answer should be fairly obvious. You’re the right man for the job. It would be a vendetta, something everyone concerned would understand”

“I appreciate your honesty” McGarvey said. He got up and went into the house where he found a pack of cigarettes and lit one. It was his first since he had come to the island. Assassins were meant to assassinate.

His sister would say that he was finally developing a conscience. It was war, wasn’t it? Kill or be killed. Each time the call to arms came, he had more and more difficulty in accepting his role. Until now. Vengeance will be mine, the Lord said. But he wasn’t living in the modern world.

Trotter had come to the veranda door. McGarvey could feel his presence behind him. “All right” he said, without turning. “I’ll do it”

“We’ll brief you in Athens on Tuesday if we get the green light. But we’ll have to keep you at arm’s length, you understand this”

“Yes”

McGarvey said tiredly.

“Are you up for this, Kirk? I mean if the president gives us his go-ahead” McGarvey shrugged. “How do any of us know whether or not we’re up to something, unless we actually do it” Again there was a silence.

“I’ll get back then” Trotter said. “But I brought someone with me”

McGarvey turned around. “Who”

” Lorraine Abbott”

“Why”

“Because she insisted”

“Take her back with you, I don’t want to see anyone now. “She doesn’t know about this, of course, and she mustn’t.”

“Take her back with you, John, I mean it”

“I can’t”

McGarvey put on a shirt and walked back to the village with Trotter. They didn’t say much to each other on the way over, both of them lost in their own thoughts. The afternoon sun beat down with a vengeance, the interior of the island extremely hot, and they were sweating freely by the time they made it across. Most of the men were out with the fishing fleet. The village had a deserted air to it. Lorraine Abbott sat at an outside table in the tavema just across from the dock. The only boat was the long, sleek hydrofoil that had brought her and Trotter over from LAVRION on the mainland. She was in the shade, but the mass of her blond hair made it seem as if she were under a spotlight. She wore a short khaki skirt and military blouse with epaulets, a thin gold chain around her long, delicate neck, and simple earrings.

“Hello, Kirk” she said, her voice soft, mellifluous. McGarvey hadn’t heard anything like it since he had come to this island, in fact not for years, since his ex-wife. His own reactions were disturbing to him.

Excess baggage is the bane of any field officer. Hadn’t that been drummed into his head? Wasn’t it true? “What are you doing here” he asked a little more harshly than he had intended. “I came to see you”

“No” McGarvey said, shaking his head. “Go back on the boat with John.

Return to the NPT. “I’m no longer with the service”

“Then return to your lab, Doctor”

“I’m on a leave of absence”

“Not here” McGarvey insisted. “You don’t belong anywhere near me. You can’t know how close you were to being killed. Christ, this is not polite society” He turned on Trotter. “Tell her, John. Take her back with you”

“I tried” Trotter said, spreading his hands. “I hope to Christ someone is still watching her”

“The Bureau is taking care of it”

“Then why isn’t she at the safehouse” Again Trotter spread his hands.

“I signed a release” she said. “I won’t be cooped up any longer”

“Then they’ll try again to kill you, and this time they’ll probably succeed”

“Not as long as I’m with you” McGarvey’s jaw was tight. “You can’t know how wrong you are, Doctor. How terribly, tragically wrong you are. Go away from me. Leave now while you still have the chance. “No”

“I’m leaving here in a few days”

“Then I’ll come with you”

“That will be impossible, Dr. Abbott” Trotter said.

ie looked from McGarvey to him “You’re sending him out again” she asked incredulously. “You can’t be serious. “I can’t say anything more, you know that” Trotter said. “The man was nearly killed. He lost a kidney, for God’s sake. Are you all crazy” She turned again to McGarvey. “Tell him, Kirk.” she started, but something in the look in his eyes stopped her. “Now, will you go back with John” he asked.

“No” she replied firmly. “If you’re leaving in a few days I’ll stay here until then”

“You don’t owe me anything” McGarvey said, raising his voice. “Yes I do.

I owe you my life. But I didn’t deserve that remark. I’m here because I want to be here”

“Why” Her eyes were wide just then, and she blinked. “Because.” she started. McGarvey just stared at her. “Because I have nowhere else to go” she finished her sentence.

It was late evening. The air had cooled down as it did every night, and a soft breeze blew across the veranda at the lighthouse. They had remained in the village tavema until the fishing fleet had come in, and then had had a simple dinner and listened to the concertina player and watched the men dance. All through the evening they had avoided touching each other, and for the most part their conversation had been desultory.

Not once did they bring up what had happened to them since Israel, or that he would soon be going back into the field. On the way up the path in the darkness, she slipped and nearly fell, so that he reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her. The contact had been electric for both of them, nearly taking McGarvey’s breath away. She was like his ex-wife Kathleen, in many respects yet she was different. She was softer around the edges, more sincere, even little-girl-like at times. It was confusing. He had taken a shower, and he stood now in his robe smoking a cigarette and staring out across the dark sea, listening to the waves against the rocks below, and wondering what was happening to him. He had come a long way since Santiago, and in many ways an even longer distance from his life in Switzerland, and then Paris. Lightyears, in fact. The question was: Where was he going? But then, that was the question everybody asked themselves. He didn’t know if there could ever be any good or accurate answer. You just took it as it came, a step at a time.

She came from inside and stood beside him. He could smell her pleasant, clean odor and see her from out of the corner of his eye, but he did not turn to look at her. “It’s very beautiful here” she said after a time.

“Yes, it is”

“But it’s odd, somehow. There’s a strange flavor to it. Maybe it’s just the Greeks, but it feels very, very old. Almost as if we were living in a graveyard. Do you know what I mean” McGarvey had felt almost the same thing. “I think so”

“When I was a little girl, thirteen or fourteen, I think, I went back to the Midwest to visit some of my cousins. There was a county fair we all went to one night. Ferris wheel, bumper cars, Tilt-a-whirl, cotton candy, foot-long hot dogs, all that. And there was a palm reader, an old woman in a tent at the end of the midway. My cousins teased me about it, but I had my palm read. It was something that just hit me at the time”

McGarvey finally turned to look at her. She was dressed only in a short silk nightgown with thin straps. From the dim light inside he could see that her complexion was slightly flushed. Her chest rose and fell too fast, as if she were trying to catch her breath.

“What did she tell you” he asked, his voice nearly catching at the back of his throat. She turned to him and smiled a little uncertainly. “I don’t remember 0 of it” she said. He said nothing. “She told me that I would fall in love, but that my life would be difficult”

“Why”

“Because he would be a dangerous man. But she told me it would be all right, that he would be there to protect me”

“Why” McGarvey asked softly. She shook her head. “I don’t know” He took her in his arms then, and as she came to him she sighed deeply as if she had finally been able to take a deep breath, as if finally she were out of danger. He had tried to tell her, but she hadn’t been ready to listen then, and he was of no mind now to repeat his warning. They kissed deeply, and afterward he picked her up and carried her inside to the big bed upstairs.

“Where is he at this moment” the president asked. “On a small Greek island about fifty miles off the mainland” the DCI Roland Murphy said. They were alone in the president’s study. “It’s isolated out there, which gives us pretty good control over the situation. “Has he given you his answer”

“Yes, Mr. President, he has. John Trotter went out to talk with him. He said he’d do it”

“Even under the strict conditions you imposed on him” the president asked. “Once he enters Germany we totally divorce ourselves from him”

“Yes, Sir” After a beat the president shook his head. “I don’t like this, General. In fact I like it even less than your last operation” ‘ “I didn’t think you would. But you said yourself that Gorbachev no longer has any real control over Baranov. And it’s not inconceivable that an accident could happen and Baranov would rise to power”

“We lived through the specter of another KGB chief becoming party chairman”

“Baranov is an entirely different animal, Mr. President. We’ve been suffering from his handiwork for too long now. The president leaned forward. “If we make him a target, you’ll be a natural for retaliation”

“Yes, sir, I’ve taken that into consideration”

“Could it be pulled off”

“If it was anyone else other than McGarvey, I’d say he’d have a less than fifty-fifty shot at it. But with him … he has a habit of doing the impossible”

“We’ve treated him shabbily”

“He is an assassin, Mr. President”

“Yes” the president said, nodding thoughtfully. “But have you stopped to ask what that makes us” Murphy let the remark pass. “I need your go-ahead, Mr. President”

“They’d crucify me “Yes, sir. But you’ve never seen the report. This conversation is not being recorded. And McGarvey will be kept at arm’s length throughout the entire operation”

“What about afterward? Assuming he is successful. “We keep him at arm’s length” Again the president hesitated for a beat. “You’re a tough man, General”

“It’s a tough business, Mr. President” Murphy said. “Do I have your authorization”

“Only to put everything in place” the president said. His eyes bored into the DCI’S. “I want you to listen very closely to me now, because I don’t want any mistakes. You can put your people into place, but the trigger will not be pulled until you get word from me. Under no circumstances will McGarvey assassinate Baranov until you have personal word from me”

“It’ll put him in a nasty spot. He could be left hanging.”

“As you-said, General, this is a tough business”

The US. Los Angeles-class attack submarine Indianapolis ran submerged, two hundred feet beneath the surface of the dark sea on a course of 210 degrees out of Sixth Fleet Headquarters at Gaeta, Italy. She was one hundred miles offshore in a run-and-drift mode in which she would make fourteen knots for a half hour, and then shut down to drift for the next half hour. She had been in the eastern Med for the past two weeks, taking part in a naval exercise with the Nimitz and her support group, called LOOKUP. The Soviets had become active in the region recently and the exercise was designed to test their willingness to remain in the area, based on their battle group strengths coming through the Bosporus. The mission completed, Indianapolis was heading back to her patrol station, code-named ROUNDHOUSE, off the Italian coast for further orders. She had made it nearly six hours early and had gone into her run-and-drift mode to give the sonar operators some more practice. They had picked up a couple of ships on the surface, identifying both as freighters. There were no other submarines in the area, and they would have been very surprised had there been. Commander John D. Webb, J. D. to his friends, looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes until two in the morning, local time. He switched on the light over his bunk and sat up, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. At forty he was beginning to burn out on submarine duty. This was his fourth boat and she was a beauty, but his thoughts lately had begun to turn more and more to Norfolk where he and his wife Lois had a small house, and to the sub school at New London, Connecticut, where he had been offered a teaching job. Time now, he wondered as he got up and used the small head, to call it quits?

Lois certainly wouldn’t fight him. Their marriage had survived this long against the adversities of a navy career. Time now to reap some of the benefits. Slipping on his shoes, he walked next door to the officers’ wardroom where he poured himself a cup of coffee, and then headed forward to the attack center, passing the sonar room where the duty supervisor and one of the kids were playing a game of chess. They both looked up as the captain passed. Lieutenant Earl Layman, his executive officer, had just shown up; he had the conn with another officer and six enlisted men. “Just about time to get the mail” Webb said, ducking through the batch. Layman looked up from the chart table. “Good morning, Captain. We’re back on station” He and Webb had served together for nearly five years now. Layman was next in line for his own boat and he deserved it. The two of them were almost exact opposites in every respect. Where Webb was short, dark, and husky, Layman was tall, pale, and lanky. Webb had graduated from — Oda Kansas State with a degree in engineering, while Layman had graduated first in his class from Harvard as a mathematics major. Webb was a pragmatist, Layman was an idealist.

But their differences never got in the way, in fact they were complementary” Best damned skipper and exec combination in the entire Navy” Admiral Wannover, CINCSUBATLANT, called them. Webb picked up the telephone. “Sonar, conn, what’s it look like out there”

“Nothing in the past hour, Skipper”

“All right, Tonnny, keep your ears open, we’re heading up” Webb put the telephone down. “Earl, bring the boat up to periscope depth”

“Aye, Captain, bringing the boat uplayman responded. “Reduce speed to five knots and come right to zero-zero-five degrees” Webb said softly.

II Reducing speed to five knots, coming right to zero-zero-five, aye”

The problem with submarines had always been communications. While they were submerged the only effective means of contacting them was through either the ELF (Extremely Low Frequency) or VLF (Very Low Frequency) systems. The former was based in Wisconsin and could transmit to submarines anywhere in the world, even subs that were as deep as a thousand feet. The problem with the system was its speed. It took fifteen minutes to transmit a single three-letter code group. And communications were only one way. With the VLF system, an updated C-135 aircraft flying at thirty thousand feet over a sub’s patrol station would trail an eight-mile-long wire antenna. But again communications were slow and only one way. The alternatives were communications buoys either sent up by the submarine, or dropped from a passing ship or aircraft, or for the submarine to come to periscope depth and raise her satellite antenna. The latter systems, however, exposed the submarine to detection. Lieutenant jg. Robert Hess, the ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) officer, popped his head around the corner from his cubicle. “Are we going upstairs, Skipper” Webb turned to him. “On our way up, Bob. Have you got something for us”

“Negative. But if we have the time, I’d like to put up the ECM mast. We can use the practice” The Electronic Counter Measures mast, like the boat’s two periscopes, could be raised or lowered. It contained three directional antennae and two omni-directional arrays. Anything transmitting electronic energy within a hundred miles of their position was detectable with the system. “Permission granted. But we’re not going to be long”

“Aye, aye, Skipper” Hess said, ducking back. It took another three minutes to reach periscope depth, where Layman leveled the boat, and the satellite antenna and ECM mast were raised. “We have an uplink”

the radioman reported. “Send our ready-to-receive” Webb ordered. “Aye, Captain” the radioman replied, and he activated the high-speed burst transmitter that sent the Indianapolis’s identification code, position information, and the ready for reception signal in less than a quarter of a second. One second later the complete message was received, and the printer chattered into life.

“They could have said thanks, job well done, or something”

Layman said when he read the message. Webb smiled. “What’d you expect, Earl? Two more weeks we’ll be back in port. Not so Tough. Layman had to grin as well. “That’s what we’re out here for”

“Right” Webb said. “Lower the masts and take us down”

“Hold on a second, Skipper” Hess called from his cubicle. Webb turned and stepped around the corner. “Got something”

“I think so” Hess said. He was listening intently to a pair of earphones. “It sounds like … like a mayday, but very faint. Broken up.

Sometimes garbled”

“A long ways om. “No, sir” Hess said, looking up.

“Close” He turned a couple of knobs on his console. “My DF puts him a couple of hundred yards out”

“What else”

“Nothing, sir. Just the very faint SOS. Sounds like his batteries might be just about gone” The Indianapolis was equipped with the BQQ-5 passive/ active sonar suite. There had been no reason for them to go active in the past twenty-four hours. They had missed the target above, apparently because the boat was dead in the water. Back in the attack center Webb picked up the phone. “Sonar, conn”

“Aye, conn”

“We have a target on the surface, fairly close, and probably stationary.

Ping it once for range and bearing, give it five seconds and ping a second time for movement. “Aye, Skipper” A moment later everyone aboard the ship heard the lone pong as the sonar went active. “Range one hundred seventy-five yards. Relative bearing, 175 degrees”

The second pong sounded throughout the ship. “She’s dead in the water, Skipper”

“Search periscope” Webb said. The larger of the two periscopes rose up and broke the surface of the night sea. At first he couldn’t see much, so he dialed in the image intensifier and suddenly he could see the white tops on the waves. A small pleasure boat wallowed in the seas.

She showed no lights or any activity on deck. Webb made a quick 360degree sweep to check for any other ships or aircraft but there was nothing.

“Looks Re a small cabin cruiser” Webb said. “Dark. Nobody in sight” He flipped another switch on the periscope’s control panel and the image of the small boat appeared on a small television screen to the left. “Still getting that SOS, Bob”

“Yes, sir” Hess called out. “But it seems to be getting fainter. Her batteries are going fast now” The Indianapolis’s patrol station and her position at any given moment, like that of any other US. missile or attack submarine, was top secret. By surfacing now they would be giving themselves away. But then they could not simply ignore the code of the sea. Webb picked up the telephone. “Communications, conn. “Aye, conn”

“Get a message off immediately to COMSUBMED. Tell them we’ve detected an apparent SOS from a small private cabin cruiser. We’re surfacing now.

“Aye, Skipper”

“Surface the boat, Earl” Webb said. He punched another button on his phone. “Quartermaster, conn. “Aye, conn”

“We’re coming to the surface, Tony. Looks like we’re receiving an SOS from a small cabin cruiser. She’s showing no lights, no activity on deck. Get together a boarding party. Better bring Davidson with you”

“Aye, Skipper”

“And, Tony”

“Yes, sir”

“Take along your sidearms. “Yes, sir” Lieutenant jg. Tony D’Angelo, the boat’s quartermaster, said, “we’re on our way”

The seas were running only two or three feet so that the Indianapolis, whose main deck was barely on the surface, provided a stable platform. Quartermaster Tony D’Angelo, Medic Chief Petty Officer Robert Davidson, and Petty Officers Charles Markham and Don Gilmore scrambled out of one of the aft maintenance hatches. D’Angelo-a tough, beefy Italian from Brooklyn-raised binoculars to his eyes and searched the sea behind them, almost immediately picking out the cabin cruiser barely one hundred yards away now. She was long and sleek, more like fifty or fifty-five feet, he figured. Probably worth a half a million at least. A definite pussy wagon, like only the Italians knew how to build.

Markham and Gilmore had pulled out the rubber raft and it inflated with a noisy hiss as they tossed it over the side. “All right, lock it up”

D’Angelo said. Markham closed the access hatch and a seaman below dogged and sealed it. “You copy, Tony” D’Angelo’s walkie-talkie crackled. He looked up at the bridge on top of the sail. Webb and Layman were looking down at him. “Aye, aye, Skipper” he radioed back. “Watch yourself”

“Yes, sir” The night was warn, but the sky was overcast and the sea was very dark. The submarine showed no lights, and rowing away from her D’Angelo got the impression he was looking back at some prehistoric sea monster, which except for her lineage, she was. Twenty-five yards away from the cruiser, he was able to pick out her name on the stern. He radioed back to the Indianapolis. “I can see her name now, Skipper. The Zenzero, out of Naples. Means ginger, the spice. “Any damage evident”

“Negative. No sounds of machinery, no lights, nothing. She’s definitely dead in the water”

“Any signs of activity on deck, or through the windows”

“Negative, Skipper” D’Angelo radioed. “Wait just a minute, we’re going around to the port side” They came around the stern of the cruiser.

Markham was in the bow of the rubber raft. “The boarding ladder is down, Lieutenant” D’Angelo could see it. He also spotted empty davits amidships. “Skipper, their boarding ladder is down, and one of her runabouts is missing. Looks like she might be abandoned”

“Hold up there” Webb radioed back. They came up alongside the ladder and Markham secured a line to it. “Tony, we’re still receiving the SOS, but it’s very faint now. Someone is definitely aboard”

“We’re starting up”

“Just a second, we’re doing a radar sweep. We may be able to pick up that missing auxiliary” The rubber raft rose and fell on the swell relative to the much bigger cruiser. D’Angelo cocked his head to listen, but there were absolutely no sounds on the gentle night breeze.

Absolutely nothing. “All right, we’ve got it” Webb radioed. “We’re painting a small target about eight miles out and heading almost directly south. Probably trying to make Sicily”

“What do you want us to do here, sir”

“Go ahead and board her, find out what’s going on”

“What about the auxiliary”

“We’ll message COMSUBMED, they can contact the Italian coast guard”

Webb radioed back. “Don’t worry, Tony, we won’t leave them”

“Aye, Skipper. We’re going aboard now” Markham scrambled up the ladder first, D’Angelo right behind him, and then Gilmore and Davidson. The cruiser was laid out with a large foredeck, a much smaller afterdeck, with the main saloon taking up most of the ship’s length. A ladder ran from the afterdeck up to a large, covered flying bridge. Everything about the aluminum-hulled vessel was rich and finely finished. D’Angelo pulled out his .45 automatic and led the way aft, where an opensliding glass door led into the well-furnished main saloon. The interior of the ship was in complete darkness. Gilmore pulled out a flashlight and shined it around the interior. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

“We’re inside now, Skipper. Everything looks fine”

“No sign of anyone yet” Webb radioed. “Negative”

“Tony, the signal has just about died. Check out the radio room first, and then make a quick sweep through the entire boat, including the engine spaces. COMSUBMED wants us out of here on the double”

“Aye, Skipper” D’Angelo radioed, and he stuffed the walkie-talkie in his pocket. “Charlie, check the engine room. Don, you take the cabins belowdecks. Doc and I will find the radioman” Markham and Gilmore took the stairs below, as D’Angelo and Davidson went forward through the saloon, past a small but efficient-looking galley to port, and what appeared to be a well-stocked pantry to starboard. The owner’s stateroom opened straight ahead. To the port was a big head with a bathtub, and to starboard a narrow, closed door was marked RADIO ROOM. D’Angelo raised his pistol and slowly pushed the door open. He was beginning to get spooked. Something all of a sudden didn’t seem right to him, though he didn’t know exactly why. The radio room was crammed with electronic equipment. A few lights shone on one of the consoles, and the very faint sound of the Morse code SOS message came through one of the speakers.

But there was no one there. “What the hell” D’Angelo said, stepping the rest of the way into the tiny compartment and shining his flashlight over the equipment. A small tape recorder had been plugged into one of the transmitters. It was sending the message. “What’s going on.”

Davidson started to ask when they both heard the sliding glass doors in the saloon close softly. The medic spun around. D’Angelo shoved him aside and rushed down the passageway. Something popped and began to hiss angrily to his left. He turned at the same moment his entire body was gripped with an incredibly painful spasm. “Charlie.” he screamed, grappling for the walkie-talkie in his pocket, but he was failing, an impenetrable darkness descending over him.

Arkady Kurshin, dressed in black, crouched in the darkness of the Zenzero’s afterdeck, counting slowly to ten. Dr. Velikanov crouched behind him. “Now” Kurshin said softly. He pressed a button on a small transmitting device, and the cruiser’s airconditioning units rumbled into life. He counted another ten seconds and hit the button again shutting off the air-conditioners. Checking over the rail to make certain the submarine had not moved, and that no other boat was coming across, he pushed open the saloon door and went inside. D’Angelo, his eyes open, his tongue protruding from his mouth, lay on his side in the middle of the big room. Davidsor lay crumpled in a heap in the passageway just behind him. “Get started, we don’t have much time”

Kurshin told the doctor. He turned and hurried down the stairs belowdecks. Gilmore was dead at the foot of the stairs, and Markham’”, body lay half in and half out of the doorway that led into the engine room. He seized Gilmore’s body beneath the armpits and dragged him up the stairs, dumping him in a heap in the middle of the saloon. The doctor had his bag open and the equipment he needed laid out beside him on the carpeted floor. He had already opened D’Angelo’s jacket and shirt and had cut away the dead man’s undershirt, exposing his broad barrel chest. “Tony, what’s going on over there” D’Angelo’s walkie-talkie blared. Ignoring it, Kurshin hurried back downstairs, where he grabbed Markham’s body and dragged it back up to the saloon. Dr. Velikanov had opened a twelve-inch gash in D’Angelo’s gut. The wound was bloodless although some of the dead man’s body fluids were seeping out. The smell was horrific. “Tony, for Christ’s sake, what’s going on over there” the walkie-talkie crackled. “Do you copy” As the doctor continued with his gruesome task, Kurshin yanked open the jackets and shirts of the other five sailors, cutting their undershirts open with his own knife. “How much longer” Kurshin asked. Dr. Velikanov was already sewing up the gash in D’ Angelo’s gut, using coarse thread and big running stitches.

He glanced up, his jaws tight, his eyes narrow. “Five minutes and this butchery will be done”

“Tony, this is Captain Webb. I want you out of there now”

Kurshin scrambled over to D’Angelo’s body and pulled out the walkie-talkie. He keyed it and, holding the unit well away from himself, screamed hoarsely. “Christ … Christ … Skipper, we’ve got a fire started over here … there are … dead bodies everywhere … God, it’s … horrible.”

“Tony, is that you? Tony, get the hell out of there, now, it’s an order”

“Skipper … this place is … about ready to blow … oh, God “Tony!

Tony” the walkie-talkie blared, but Kurshin switched it off and tossed it down on the floor. Dr. Velikanov was just about finished with Davidson. Kurshin hurriedly rebuttoned D’Angelo’s shirt and jacket and dragged his body out onto the afterdeck, making sure he kept well below the level of the rail. The beam of a searchlight suddenly swept across the ship. Kurshin waited until it had passed, and then dragged the body forward and dumped it over the side into the rubber raft. By the time he got back to the saloon, Dr. Velikanov was finished with Davidson and was halfway through with Markham. Whatever the man was, he was efficient.

Kurshin dragged Davidson’s body onto the afterdeck and dumped it overboard. The searchlight was still playing over the cruiser. “You’ve got two minutes” Kurshin said, hurrying again below decks. In the engine room he used a hacksaw to cut the fuel lines to both engines and then started the pumps. Diesel fuel began spurting out all over the place.

Setting an incendiary fuse for five minutes, he tossed it down on the floor and then set the other charges to blow five seconds later. He rushed back upstairs. Hurriedly he rebuttoned Markham’s shirt and jacket and dragged the body outside, where he dumped it over the rail.

“Ahoy the vessel Zenzero, this is the US. Navy” an amplified voice rolled over the water from the Indianapolis. “Stand by to be fired upon unless you immediately signal your identification”

“It’s done” Dr. Velikanov shouted from the saloon. Kurshin rushed inside, helped him rebutton Gilmore’s shirt and jacket, and together they dragged his body out onto the afterdeck and around to the port side, where they dumped it down into the rubber raft on top of D’Angelo’s body. “You have thirty seconds to comply, Zenzero”, the amplified voice boomed from the sub.

Kurshin yanked open a compartment door across from the boarding ladder, pulled out a rubber raft canister, and dumped it over the side, the raft immediately popping open and inflating with a hiss. Next he pulled out a waterproof equipment bag with its own flotation collar and dumped it into the water. He hustled the doctor down the ladder and bodily shoved him into the sea. Pulling out his knife he cut the painter holding the Indianapolis’s rubber raft to the ladder and shoved it away with his foot. He jumped into the water and in a few powerful strokes reached the equipment bag, which he hauled up into their own raft, and then clambered aboard himself. As he was shipping the oars, Velikanov climbed aboard, and they headed away from the cruiser, keeping it between them and the submarine. The raft was black, as were their clothes. They were completely invisible to radar, and twenty-five yards out they would be invisible to anyone aboard the sub. An explosion suddenly shattered the night, and flames roared out of the saloon door.

Thick billows of oily smoke, backlit by the flames raging through the Zenzero, rose two hundred feet into the night sky.

Captain Webb, shaking with barely suppressed rage, was watching through binoculars from the bridge atop the Indianapolis’s sail. Layman and three others had taken another rubber raft across. This time they were armed with M16s. He had ordered them to shoot anyone on sight. “Bridge, communications” the bridge speaker blared. Webb hit the talk switch.

“Bridge, aye”

“Skipper, COMSUBMED wants to know if we require any assistance, and they’re asking for an update “Tell them that there’s been an explosion and fire aboard the cruiser and that we may have casualties”

His walkie-talkie squawked into life. It was Layman. “Skipper, we just fished Markham out of the water”

“What kind of shape is he in, Earl”

“He’s dead” Webb was stunned into silence for just a beat, but then his anger rose up around him again as a fire brighter and hotter than that consuming the Zenzero. He hit the comms switch. “Communications, bridge.

“Aye, bridge”

“Have you sent out that message yet”

“It’s in the machine now, Skipper “Belay that” Webb shouted. “Send instead, stand by”

“Yes, Sir” Webb keyed his walkie-talkie. “Any sign of the others, Earl”

“I don’t know, Skipper. We’ve spotted something floating low in the water on the port side of the cruiser, we’re heading over there now”

“Any sign of life aboard”

“Negative, negative. If anyone was aboard, they’re sure as hell dead by now”

“What happened to Markham? Was he burned”

“No, Sir” Layman said, and Webb could hear the strain in his voice. “No burns, no blood that I can see, no injuries. His eyes are open, and he’s just dead” Besides the lookout, the only other person on the bridge was the Second Officer, Lieutenant Kenneth Woodman. He was a young man who would someday make a good skipper. He knew the boat, he got along well with the men, and he knew how to take orders. Webb turned to him. “I want you to get below. Help Owens set up the dispensary for casualties.

I don’t know how many, or what shape they’ll be in, but I suspect it’ll be bad”

“Aye, Skipper” Woodman said. “And, Ken”

“Yes, Sir”

“Not a word to the rest of the crew. Understand”

“Aye, aye”

Woodman went below. Webb keyed his walkie-talkie again. “What’s your status, Earl”

“Hold on, Captain, we’ve got another body in the water. Webb raised his binoculars and searched the waters around the furiously burning cruiser, but he couldn’t spot Layman’s raft. They had already gone to the opposite side of the Zenzero. “My God, Skipper, it’s Davidson. He’s dead too. Just like Markham. He’s not been burned or injured in any way that I can see, and his eyes are open. Skipper, it looks like he’s… like he was in pain”

“What about the other object you spotted floating in the water”

“We’re on our way over to it … but it’s hard to get much closer …

it’s damned hot ” Webb keyed the comms switch. “Bob, what are we showing on radar”

“Still clear, Skipper” Hess came back. “What about that auxiliary? Are you still painting her”

“Yes, sir. She’s about ten miles out now, but she seems to have slowed down “Same course”

“Yes, sir”

“Keep an eye on her, Bob. Anything electronic coming from her, let me know immediately “Aye, Skipper”

“It’s our boat, Skipper” Layman radioed. Webb keyed his walkie-talkie.

“How about D’Angelo and Gilmore”

“Dead, just like the others. But it looks as if they were dumped into the raft, Captain. Gilmore is lying on top of Tony, as if someone …

tossed him”

“Listen to me, Earl. is there any possibility, any possibility at all, that anyone could still be aboard that cruiser”

“Negative, Skipper. You can’t get within a hundred feet of it. Nothing aboard is alive”

“Do you see anyone else in the water, any other bodies, another rubber raft”

“Negative”

“Get back here on the double” Webb said. Again he keyed his ship comms.

“Plotting, bridge”

“Plotting, aye”

“I want a best possible course and speed to the auxiliary that radar is painting to our south”

“We going to stay on the surface, Skipper”

“Yes” Webb said. “I’ll have it in a second”

“Quartermaster, bridge. “Quartermaster, aye”

“I want four men at the after loading hatch. Our people are on their way back, and they’re going to need some help”

“Aye, Captain. “Conn, bridge. I want Boyle up here on the double. “Aye, aye, Skipper” Webb again raised his binoculars. He could see Layman and the others heading back now, the other raft in tow. He keyed his walkie-talkie. “Earl”

“We’re on our way back, Skipper”

“There’ll be someone at the after hatch to help you. I want Tony and the others brought immediately forward to the dispensary. I’ll meet you there. “Yes, sir” Third Officer Lieutenant j. g. Ernie Boyle came up through the hatch. He was young, barely in his mid-twenties, but he was already as good as any other officer aboard. “You’ve got the bridge, Ernie” Webb told him. “Aye, aye, Skipper”

“Keep an eye peeled. Earl and the others will be loading through the after hatch I’ll be in the dispensary” ‘. Yes, sir” Boyle said, and Webb clambered down into the boat.

Kurshin had angled them away from the cruiser, One hundred fifty yards out from the Indianapolis, he stopped rowing and looked back. The submarine showed no lights MM@=

and was visible only as a vague black shape against the overcast sky.

“Is this far enough” Dr. Velikanov asked. “They might send someone to look for us” He was clearly agitated. “They’re busy gathering their dead, Doctorkurshin said as he unzippered the waterproof equipment bag.

“They’ll be taking them aboard soon, I expect”

“Such a terrible waste. They were just young boys” Kurshin gave him a hard look. “This is war”

“Yes” Velikanov said, nodding. “What we are doing could very well precipitate the nuclear holocaust”

” You received your orders, Doctor. But the choice was yours. And to this point you have carried out your duties very well. Velikanov shook his head. “Too well” he mumbled. Kurshin had pulled the AK74 out of the bag. Quickly he attached the image-intensifying night scope and loaded the heavy assault rifle. He brought it up to his shoulder, keyed the scope, and slowly scanned the submarine from bow to stern, images coming through the eyepiece in shades of bright gray. Two men were on the bridge atop the sail. One of them had a pair of binoculars and was looking out to sea in the opposite direction. The other man was looking down at the aft deck. Near the stern the last of the bodies was lowered through an open hatch. Two of the sailors remained topside to deflate the rubber rafts so that they could be brought back aboard. Even at this distance Kurshin could see by the way they moved that they were very angry. The captain, however, would be containing his own anger. Most of the boat’s 127-man crew would still be unaware that four of their comrades were dead. The submarine would not be at battle stations yet.

The interior spaces would not be sealed. Nor would the ventilation systems be isolated. There was no need for it. Kurshin checked his watch. He had set it in the timer mode.

So far thirty-six minutes had elapsed since Velikanov had begun his work. The timing was critical. “You are certain that you made the insertions in the proper order”

“Yes” the doctor said softly. “Then we don’t have long to wait”

“How long”

“Less than four minutes now” Kurshin said, once again raising his rifle and sighting on the bridge. “Start rowing, Doctor, I would like to be closer”

Webb was in the dispensary with Woodman and Medic Second Class Justin Owens when Layman and Anders carried D’Angelo’s body inside and laid it on the operating table. “Christ” he said, bile rising at the back of his throat. D’Angelo was in rictus, his tongue protruding. His eyes were open and his face held an expression of horror or extreme pain. II Are the others like this, sir” Owens asked, bending over D’Angelo and studying his eyes. The kid was huge, he had played football in high school, but he had a gentle touch. “All of them” Layman replied, looking at Webb. “Where are they, Earl” Webb asked softly. “Officers’ wardroom”

Owens was looking up. “What is it, Justin” Webb asked.

“Skipper, I’ve only read about this. Saw a film. But unless my guess is way off, I’d say it was gas”

“Gas? What kind of gas”

“Nerve gas Labun, or something like that” Owens turned back to D’Angelo’s body. “He’s got the symptoms. No apparent wounds or other trauma” He felt the base of D’Angelo’s skull, his neck, and chest.

“Dispensary, conn, is the skipper back there” the comms speaker squawked. Webb turned and hit the switch. “Webb, here”

“Sir, COMSUBMED is pressing. They want to know our situation. “Tell them to stand by. What’s the status of the auxiliary to our south”

“Looks like she’s dead in the water now, sir”

“Have you got that intercept course plotted”

“Aye, aye, sir”

“Jesus Christ” Owens swore, and Webb turned around. The medic had opened D’Angelo’s shirt. A huge gash had been cut in the quartermaster’s gut and had been roughly sewn up. Webb could hardly believe his eyes.

Layman’s mouth had dropped open, and one of the crewmen who had helped carry the bodies aboard stood in the doorway shaking his head.

“Skipper” the speaker blared. “Stand by” Webb snapped, keying the comm.

“What the hell happened, Justin”

“Christ, I don’t know, sir. Someone cut him open and sewed him back up”

“Is that what killed him” Layman asked. “I don’t think so” Owens said.

“Check the others, Earl” Webb said. Layman brushed past the crewman and hurried the few steps to the wardroom. “Open him up” Webb ordered.

Owens was breathing through his mouth, and his face was red. “Yes, sir”

he said. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and got a scalpel from the autoclave. Carefully he began cutting the running stitches in D’Angelo’s gut, one by one. His hands were shaking. Layman came back slamming the flat of his palm against the bulkhead. “Every one of them, Skipper. They cut them open and stitched them back together, like fucking stuffed turkeys. I I “Someone was aboard that cruiser” Webb said. Layman looked up, sudden understanding dawning in his eyes. “You’re goddamned right they were. When they were done, they dumped Tony and the others overboard, set the cruiser on fire, and got the hell off the ship.

Probably a rubber raft, so we wouldn’t paint them on radar. And they would have kept the cruiser between us and them until they got far enough out so that we couldn’t see them”

“That auxiliary to our south will come back for them” Webb said” But why … ” Layman started to ask, but Owens shouted something as he jumped back away from the operating table and dropped the scalpel to the deck.

Webb spun around. The wound in D’Angelo’s gut was fully open.

Something had been stuffed inside his body. Webb got the impression that it might be a cylinder of some sort. Eight or ten inches long, perhaps a couple of inches in diameter. All of a sudden he knew!

“Gas.” he shouted. The cylinder in D’Angelo’s body made a popping noise and began to hiss furiously.

Kurshin’s wristwatch beeped softly at the forty-minute mark. They had gotten within one hundred yards of the submarine. II Stop rowing” he told the doctor, and he raised the AK74 to his shoulder, scoping the boat from stern to bow The after hatch had been closed, as he expected it would be. There was no sign of any activity on deck, nor was the boat showing any lights. Slowly raising his aim up the broad sail, he could see the officer and lookout as before One had his back toward them, the other was looking this way. The small rubber raft bounced and moved on the small seas, the targets weaving in and out of the scope’s field of Vision. But he had made successful shots in conditions far worse than these. His watch beeped again after twenty seconds at the same moment the lookout’s head was centered in the reticle of the assault rifle’s scope. He squeezed off a shot, the noise shockingly loud on the quiet sea. The seaman’s body was shoved forward against the rail, his head exploding in a mass of blood, bone, and gray matter. Immediately Kurshin shifted his aim slightly left as the officer started to turn and rear back. He squeezed off a second shot, driving the officer forward and out of view beneath the level of the armor steel coaming. If something had gone wrong in the dispensary aboard, the alarm would be sounded now, but as Kurshin kept his aim on the bridge there was no movement aboard the boat, no sounds, no lights, nothing. After a full thirty seconds he lowered the rifle. “The boat is dead” he said softly. Even he was impressed and moved by what they had done and by the ease with which they had accomplished it. “The boat itself is of no real interest to us, Arkasha” Baranov had told him. “Although there are certain technical and design specifications our people would like you to learn for them, we cannot risk starting a war over it”

“These boys you are giving me are going to want to keep him. Will they be able to contain themselves so that they can operate the boat”

“That will be up to you. But believe me, they are capable. “Five men and a drunken doctor.”

“And you, Arkasha. Do not fail me … this time” Kurshin glanced over at Velikanov. The man’s lips were half parted and he seemed to be mumbling something. Aboard the cruiser he had been frightened and then disgusted.

Now he was neither, he was in awe. “It’s time” Kurshin said softly. The doctor blinked and looked at him. “We have no idea what messages they passed to their fleet command headquarters. We must be out of here within the hour” Without being told to do so, Velikanov took up the oars and began rowing them toward the submarine, lying dark and menacing in the water. Already the flames aboard the cruiser had begun to die down.

The ship was listing a few degrees to starboard. Within the next few hours she would probably be at the bottom of the sea, though it didn’t really matter; there was nothing aboard now to connect her with the KGB.

The nerve gas and cylinders were American made. They had been stolen more than a year ago from the Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah. Nor was there anything to connect them in Naples, if the KGB’s Rome rezident had done his job correctly. Kurshin had been aboard Soviet submarines before, but he was still impressed by the sheer size of the American boat floating in the water, her black sail rising up out of the broad, gently sloping hull. The submarine was slightly low at the stern.

Kurshin directed Velikanov to approach the boat well aft of the sail so that they would be able to climb aboard. Forward she was too high out of the water, her hull too sharply sloping for them to get up on the deck.

Minutes later they bumped gently against the Indianapolis’s hull, the waves shoving them half up on the deck. Kurshin scrambled aboard with the raft’s painter and his AK74. Dr. Velikanov passed up the equipment bag, and then clambered on deck himself. For a long beat Kurshin just stood there in the darkness. He cocked an ear to listen, but there were no sounds. Taking out his knife, he pulled the rubber raft up a little higher on deck, and then sliced the fabric with a loud pop. The little boat, almost completely deflated, floated away. They were committed now.

Slinging the rifle over his shoulder and hefting the equipment bag, Kurshin hurried forward, Velikanov right behind him, passing beneath the broad hydroplanes jutting out from the side of the sail.

There was no access into the submarine without help from inside, except from the bridge deck. Kurshin laid down his rifle and pulled a grappling hook and line from his equipment bag. Standing back, he tossed the hook up over the top of the sail, the grapples clanging loudly against the steel plating, scraping against the coaming, and then coming free.

Kurshin gathered up the line for a second try and tossed the hook up again. This time it caught. He tied the tail of the line to the equipment bag. Unzippering his black jumpsuit, he checked to make certain his pistol was ready to fire and free in its holster strapped against his chest. “Can you make it up this line” he asked the doctor.

Velikanov looked up. The sail rose more than twenty feet off the deck.

He nodded. “I think so”

“Give me a couple of minutes to check out the boat, then come up” Again the doctor nodded. “A couple of days and you will be on your way to Moscow. “(X dew.

Kurshin nodded. “Yes” he said, and he started up the rope, hand over hand, his nonskid soles adhering easily to the sail’s plating. Near the top he reached up over the coaming and hauled himself the rest of the way into the narrow two-man forward bridge well. The lookout lay crumpled in a heap, most of the side of his head destroyed. There was blood everywhere, but the officer was gone, the hatch down into the boat closed. Kurshin looked down at Velikanov who was staring up at him, and then scanned the length of the submarine. No one else was there. All the hatches remained closed. He had hit the man. He’d seen that clearly in the scope. The officer had been knocked off his feet. He was certain of it. “There is a body up here, Doctor” he called down. “When you come up, bring it aboard”

“Just one” Velikanov asked. “Yes” Kurshin said, and turning back to the job at hand he spun the hatch wheel, counterclockwise all the way to its stops. The wounded officer had somehow managed to get below and close the bridge hatch. If he had had the presence of mind to dog it there would be no easy way to get inside.

There wouldn’t be time. Soon fleet headquarters in Gaeta would be sending out an aircraft to find out what was happening. Time, it always came down to time. And luck. The hatch came open easily, counterbalanced on a hydraulic cylinder, the odor of machine oil and electronics wafting up to him. The interior of the boat was bathed in red light. There were a thousand places for a man to hide himself below. If he was armed, it could take hours to flush him out. Hours they did not have. But the officer was wounded. Kurshin pulled out a flashlight and switched it on.

Blood was nearly invisible in red light, but under his flashlight beam he could see a trail of it down the ladder, and at the bottom a pool of it where the officer had probably fallen and lain for a moment or two.

Replacing the flashlight in a zippered pocket, Kurshin pulled out his gun and started slowly down the ladder into the boat, taking care to make no noise so that he could hear any movement from below. At the bottom he stepped over the pool of blood, swinging his gun left to right. He was in the attack center just forward of the control room.

Numbers and images continued to flash across equipment panels and computer screens, and somewhere aft some sort of an indicator was beeping softly. Two bodies lay on the deck, and a third was slumped forward over an equipment console. He could see through the open hatch into the control room where at least four other bodies either lay on the deck or were crumpled forward against their electronic panels. Taking his flashlight out again, he switched it on for just a second or two, long enough for him to pick out the trail of blood leading aft through the attack center and the control room. He shut it off and started aft, stepping carefully over the bodies.

Third Officer Lieutenant j. g. Ernie Boyle knew that he was bleeding to death and was desperately in need of medical assistance. He had thought he was dreaming when Finney’s head suddenly exploded, and then something slammed into his back between his shoulder blade and neck, shattering his collarbone. But it was nothing by comparison to what he’d felt when he’d managed to get below. So far as he could tell, everyone aboard was dead. How it could have happened he had no idea. There was no blood, no obvious injuries, but they were all down. He had made his way back through the control room into the comms center, but he had not been able to make his eyes focus or his hands to work well enough to operate the emergency communications equipment. The Indianapolis was under attack.

He knew that much. But by whom, or to what purpose, he couldn’t know.

Help, it was the one thought that kept running through his head He would have to contact COMSUBMED and tell them what was happening. But first he had to stop his bleeding, or he would die. He stood just within the tiny dispensary, his breathing erratic, his back and shoulder on fire, spots dancing in front of his eyes, trying to make some sense out of what he was seeing now. Boyle had been born and raised on a farm in northern Minnesota. Like most young men in the upper Midwest, he’d learned to hunt with his father and uncles. He’d shot his first deer when he was fourteen, and his father had made him gut it out himself, getting well bloodied in the process. But he’d never seen anything like this before.

The captain, exec, and their medic lay crumpled in a heap on the deck.

Tony D’Angelo lay on his back on the operating table, a big gash in his belly. A slim metal cylinder jutted half out of his guts. Boyle forced himself to step over the exec’s body and stumble over to the supplies cabinet where he found a big box of gauze pads. With bloody fingers he managed to yank out a huge wad and press it against the massive wound in his shoulder. The bullet had entered his back, and had exited the front, tearing a three-inch hole in his chest above his lungs. Someone moved in the corridor. Boyle spun around, nearly falling down with dizziness because of the sudden motion. For some reason in his semidelirium he thought it was Second Officer Lieutenant jg. Woodman. They were friends.

“Ken” he mumbled, lurching forward to the door. Tripping, he fell up against the bulkhead, a tremendous pain raging through his body, stunning him awake, and he staggered backward. Everyone aboard was dead.

Ken Woodman would be dead as well. The Indianapolis was definitely under attack. Whoever it was, they were aboard now. The exec had a .45 automatic strapped to his hip. Boyle dragged himself to where Layman lay on his side and fumbled the weapon out of its holster. It seemed to take him forever to get back to his feet, lever a round into the chamber, switch the safety off, and turn around. A large man, dressed all in black, stood in the doorway. He held a big pistol in his right hand, a flashlight in his left. “What happened here” Kurshin demanded, his English perfect. Boyle was confused again. The .45 was pointed directly at the big man’s chest, his finger was on the trigger. But the enemy wasn’t supposed to ask what was happening. Suddenly it came to him.

COMSUBMED knew they were in trouble. They had sent help. “Are you a SEAL” Kurshin smiled gently. “Yes. Is your skipper dead”

“I think so Boyle mumbled and he turned away, to look at Captain Webb, when he realized his terrible mistake.

He started to turn back when a tremendous thunderclap burst in his head, and he was falling, falling, and the darkness came.

Dr. Velikanov stood just within the attack center when Kurshin appeared from aft. His face was pasty in the dim red light, and his hair was plastered back with sweat from the exertion of climbing the sail. He heard a gunshot” he said timorously. “it was the officer from the bridge. I’d only wounded him “Now he is dead”

“Yes, Doctor, now he is dead, as is everyone else aboard except for you and me-” Velikanov was looking at the downed crewmen. He was shaking his head. “And now what, Comrade Colonel” There was blood on his hands.

“Begin clearing the bodies out of this space, the control room, the sonar and radio rooms, the officers’ wardroom, and the galley”

“Where shall I put them”

“In their bunks”

“Where will we sleep”

“We won’t” Kurshin said. He brushed past the doctor and hurriedly climbed back up through the interior of the sail to the bridge deck, where he hauled up his equipment bag. The fire aboard the Zenzero was all but out, and the cruiser’s list was becoming more pronounced. She was also down at the bow. Not long now, Kurshin thought. He pulled out a portable radio from his equipment bag, switched it on, and keyed the transmit switch. “Yes” he said in English. “Here” a voice came back.

“Now” Kurshin radioed, and he switched off the set without waiting for a reply, stuffed it and the grappling hook and line into his bag, and lowered himself through the open hatch, closing it behind him and dogging it shut. Velikanov had already removed two of the bodies from the attack center. Kurshin laid down his bag and dragged the third body back through the control room, passing the doctor as he was coming forward. “Most of them are already in their bunks”

“Just the night watch was on duty” Kurshin said. “At any rate we will have help in a few minutes”

“The others are coming now”

“Yes. I’ll be aft, continue with your work” Kurshin said, and he dragged the seaman’s body past the open door to the comms center just as the printer came to life with five bells, indicating a top priority, most urgent message. He ignored it. The message would be from Sixth Fleet Headquarters at Gaeta. They would be anxious to know what was happening out here.

He dumped the man’s body with the others in the dispensary, then stepped back to the open door of the officers’ wardroom where the other three bodies into which they had implanted the Labun canisters had been left.

One at a time he dragged them across the narrow corridor and into the dispensary. When he was finished he was sweating lightly. He checked his watch. It was coming up on three in the morning. It had been less than ten minutes since he had given Captain Makayev the signal that everything was ready here. The auxiliary was capable of making twenty knots in these light seas, which put them another fifteen or twenty minutes out. Over the past weeks while he had been on the mend in a Rome hotel, he had studied in great detail the information Rand had provided them, information which had also been sent to Moscow for Captain Makayev and the others. Included on the disk was the boat’s complete physical layout, as well as information on her mechanical, electronics, and weapons systems, and her patrol station, called ROUNDHOUSE. In the Soviet Navy no mere lieutenant colonel, no matter his family connections, would have been privy to such devastating information. In that respect, at least, Soviet military operations were much more secure. The annapolis was very large as submarines go, over three hundred fifty feet long and displacing nearly seven thousand tons when she was submerged. Driven by a water-cooled nuclear reactor, she was capable of speeds of around forty knots. In addition to her complement of 533-millimeter SUBROC antisubmarine missiles, antiship missiles, and Mark-48 torpedoes, she carried two varieties of the TLAM Tomahawk cruise missile, one of which was loaded with 200-kiloton nuclear warheads for deployment against landbased targets. She was a powerful, expensive, and important weapons system. One the Americans would certainly fight for. “But we will give her back to them, Arkasha” Baranov had said.

“Because there is simply no way for us to get her out of the Mediterranean without detection. We’re bottled But the Mediterranean was a very big body of water. And deep, where secrets could be hidden for a very long time.

Forward, in the radio room, Kurshin pulled the bodies of the two radio operators out into the corridor, Velikanov was just dragging a body out of the control room. He looked up and their eyes met. He seemed on the verge of collapse” When you’re finished, take these forward” Kurshin said. “I’ve taken care of the officers’ wardroom” Velikanov nodded, disappearing through the attack center hatch toward the crew accommodations forward of the sail. If anyone fell apart, he would be the first to go, Kurshin decided. The man would have to be closely watched. The radio room was a tiny equipment-filled space. A bank of three teleprinters was built into the forward bulkhead. One of them was connected to the satellite transceiver on which the Indianapolis had been communicating with Sixth Fleet Headquarters. Kurshin cranked the message off its roller.

“Fuck your mother” Kurshin swore half under his breath Four-thirty Z-Greenwich mean time-was three-thirty by his watch. They had less than a half hour before the Liberian ship would arrive. Stuffing the message flimsy in his pocket, he stepped out into the corridor. “Speed it up, Doctor, we’ve got company coming” he shouted as he rushed into the attack center and took his portable radio from his equipment bag. The doctor was just coming back from the crew quarters forward. “What? What is it you were shouting”

“There’s a civilian ship on its way to us Should be here in less than a half hour. We’re going to have to be out Of here by then, so hurry up with those bodies”

“I don’t know if — “

“Do it” Kurshin said, the force of his expression taking the doctor back a pace. “Of course”

Kurshin turned and hurried aft through the control room, past the radio and sonar rooms, the dispensary, and finally through the equipment spaces, and missile storage area where he pulled up short for just a moment. The Indianapolis carried eight Tomahawk missiles, four of which were nuclear-armed. Even nestled in their storage racks, their flight fins retracted into the casings, the missiles looked deadly. The raw power here was awesome even to Kurshin. The bodies of three crewmen on the deck heightened the effect. But there was no time. Continuing aft he passed the nuclear reactor itself, only one body crumpled in front of a control panel. Most of the power plant was contained in sealed units or behind hatches labeled with the danger-radiation symbol. He came to the access chamber for the after loading hatch. Two seamen were crunpled on the deck. Ignoring them, Kurshin climbed up to the hatch, undogged it, spun the locking wheel, and popped it open.

Immediately he could smell the sea and the still smoldering Zenzero, and hear the waves washing up against the hull. Pulling himself up on deck, he switched on the portable radio. “Code three” he spoke into the microphone. “Understand” Makayev’s voice came over the speaker. It was their prearranged code that they were on the verge of detection and time was of critical importance. Makayev would be driving the auxiliary as hard as humanly possible through the choppy seas. Kurshin turned and scanned the horizon, almost immediately picking out the white steaming light of the approaching Liberian freighter low on the horizon to the southeast, nearly the same direction Makayev and the others were coming from. He debated warning them, but by now they had almost certainly spotted the lights themselves. Makayev, he’d been assured, was a highly competent submarine driver. He knew what was at stake here. And he knew what it would take to dive the boat and get away. There was nothing left for him to do on deck. Makayev and the others would either arrive in time, or they wouldn’t. At this point the question was academic.

Climbing back down into the boat, Kurshin left the after hatch open and hurried forward, where he began removing bodies from the crucial control and reactor room spaces. Five submariners, a drunken doctor, and an assassin. Even now he didn’t think it was possible.

Captain Kenneth Reid stood just within the doorway to the communications center, sipping a cup of coffee. “Nothing yet” he asked. Chief Petty Officer Sally Powell looked up from her console and shook her head. “But we’ve still got the downlink” She glanced at her board. “Yes, sir. Unless they’ve got a malfunction aboard, they should be receiving us ” Reid was a worrier, had been all of his life. Barely in his forties, his expressive face already showed stress lines, especially around his eyes and mouth. His blood pressure was on the high side of normal for a man his age, and his cholesterol level had gone through the roof with his assignment to Italy. Just now the base doctor was on his ass.

“I’ll be in my office for a minute, buzz me if anything comes in” he said, putting his cup down on top of one of the consoles. “Aye, Sir”

the chief radio operator said. She looked up. “Do you think anything is wrong”

“I don’t know” Reid said, but he was developing a very bad feeling about this one. He walked down the corridor to his office and telephoned the CINCMED, Admiral Ronald Delugio, at his home north of Gaeta.

“Admiral, we still haven’t gotten any reply from the Indianapolis. We’ve got our downlink, but there’s been nothing since their last nearly an hour ago”

“What about that Liberian freighter, Ken? How close is she”

“Should be on the scene within the next few minutes. I’ve held off communicating directly with her”

“No, I don’t want you doing that yet. JD. is a good man, could be he’s just got his hands full. What else have we got in the area” Reid glanced up at his status board. “Not a thing within a few hours. I’ve got an Orion standing by on the apron. Could be out there in under twenty minutes counting roll time”

“All right, listen up, Ken. We’re going to stop screwing around on this one. I’m on my way in. In the meantime, query JD. one more time. Tell him it’s imperative that he report his status. You can put the Orion up, but just for an overflight unless she detects trouble, then she’s authorized to stay on station”

“Will do, Admiral”

“One more thing, Reid” Admiral Delugio said. “Yes, Sir”

“Call our ASR crew in. Have them standing by” The suggestion took Reid momentarily aback, even though he’d had the same thought himself. Just now the ASR 21 Pigeon was in port from her support mission on LOOKUP.

She was designed for submarine rescue. “Will do, Admiral” he said.

“Anything comes up, Ken, anything at all, call me enroute. I should be there within fifteen minutes”

“Yes, sir” Reid said and he hung up. Back in the communications center he scratched out a quick message and handed it to Sally for transmission. He had marked it with the Z designator for a flash message. If nothing else it certainly would get Webb’s attention.

Reid picked up the phone and called Lieutenant Commander Morris Segal, the on-duty Air Operations Officer. “Morris, this is Ken. I want you to send that Orion up now. I I “No word yet”

“Not a peep. Delugio is on his way in. He says to have your people report back, but that they’re to stand by on station only if there is an indication that Webb might be in some sort of trouble”

“You got it”

Segal said. “But it won’t be light for another couple of hours yet, won’t be able to do much until then”

“I know” Reid said. “We’ve got the Pigeon standing by, just in case “

“Jesus” Segal said. “That bad”

“I haven’t a clue, Morris. I just hope to Christ we won’t be needing her”

Kurshin had just dragged the body out of the reactor auxiliary control room when he heard the distinctive metal clang of the after hatch being closed. Pulling out his pistol he stepped through the hatch into the machinery spaces forward of the reactor, and held up in the shadows. After a second or two he could hear them coming forward.

Their voices were hushed, almost subdued, yet he could hear their excitement. An act of this sort would be totally unprecedented, Baranov had warned him.

“There will be no room for err-or, Arkasha. No room”

to Yes, Comrade General” he’d replied. “I have no wish take a one-way ride”

“No” Baranov had smiled. “I have other great things for you. Do not fail me” Captain First Rank Makayev stepped through the hatch. Kurshin moved forward, placing the barrel of his pistol against the man’s temple before he could react. “The code” Kurshin said softly. Makayev shrugged away from the gun and looked into Kurshin’s eyes. “That freighter was right on our ass, Colonel. So unless you want to serve her crew tea and blinis you’d better let us get to work” There weren’t many men whom Kurshin admired, but he was beginning to like Makayev already. He lowered his gun, switched the safety to the on position, and holstered it. “The after hatch is sealed” Makayev grinned. “There are no screen doors on a submarine. How about forward”

“The boat is ours, and ready to go”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here” Makayev said. He turned back to his crew. “Aleksei, get started with your baby. I want her ready to go within the hour, just in case we have to bail out”

“Yes, Comrade Captain” his missile man snapped. He turned to his starpom (executive officer) and sonar man.

“Gennadi, take Aleksandr forward, get him set up on sonar, and then check the board for diving status” They brushed past Kurshin and hurried forward to the control room, leaving only the nuclear engineer, Captain Second Rank Ivan Pavlovich Abalakin. “You’re our most important crewman, Ivan Pavlovich” Makayev said. “Think you can handle this monster”

Abalakin shrugged and smiled, though it was clear he was extremely nervous. “I have studied the systems, Comrade Captain. The Americans have designed most of their controls to work on automatic function. I will manage”

“Good” Makayev said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We shall keep the ship’s comms open at all times. We will talk to each other” Abalakin turned and went into the reactor auxiliary control room, and Makayev and Kurshin started forward. “Have you ever steered a submarine, Comrade Colonel” the captain asked. “No, but I’ve been aboard one of our Alfa-class boats” Kurshin said. “Ah, she is a good boat, but much smaller than this one, and cruder too, I think. But this morning you will be our helmsman. I hope your hand is steady”

Passing the sonar room, Lieutenant Rama had already donned the earphones and was fiddling with the controls on the center console. “Watch that freighter, Aleksandr Ivanovich, and anything else in our vicinity”

Makayev said. The kid looked up and nodded. Makayev’s starpom, Captain Second Rank Gennadi Gavrilovich Fedorenko, was busy at work when they entered the control room. “How does it look, Gennadi”

“The information we were provided was good, Niki. Very good. She’s not so different from our boats. Same board”

“Status”

“All green, we’re ready to dive” Fedorenko said, his eyes shining.

Makayev studied the control room’s layout for just a moment, then motioned Kurshin toward the helm. “Just like driving an airplane, Comrade Colonel. Turn the wheel right and we go right. Push it forward and we go down. Make only small motions”

He hit the ship’s comms. “Prepare to dive the boat. Ivan, how do we look”

“Ready to give you turns for maximum speed, Captain”

“Stand by” Makayev said. “Aleksandr, what’s our friend doing out there”

“I put him at eight thousand meters” the sonarman said. “Nothing else in our vicinity” Makayev turned to his starpom. “Dive the boat, Gennadi.

Take us to one hundred meters, on a course of two-zero-five”

“Aye, Skipper”

“I’m ringing for one-fourth forward” Makayev said. “Colonel, push your wheel forward, to five degrees down planes The indicator is just over your head”

CPO Sally Powell suddenly sat forward and flipped a couple of switches on her console. Reid stood on the balcony just behind her.

“We’ve lost the downlink with Indianapolisshe called out.

Reid stepped forward, gripping the rail so hard his knuckles turned white. “Has she submerged”

“I don’t know” she said, looking up at him.

“We’ve just lost her”

They lay in each other’s arms watching the sun rise outside their hotel window. The last few days had been like a dream, unreal, events moving around them as if they did not exist in the world. McGarvey turned to look at her. She had let her hair down and it spilled across her pillow, framing her delicate face and neck. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, the nipples still hard from their lovemaking.

“It’s almost time to get ready” he said softly. She looked at him, then reached out and touched his lips with her fingertips, a wan smile barely creasing her mouth. “I know”

“They’ve set up a safehouse for you outside of San Francisco. I want you to go there”

“There’s someone I have to see in Washington first”

“The general”

She nodded. “He won’t tell you anything about me”

“I don’t expect he will, but that won’t stop me from asking” Her eyes opened a little wider and she propped herself up on her side. “It’s the Russian. He got away and you’re going after him. That’s it, isn’t it”

“Don’t do this Just tell me that much, Kirk, please. I deserve it”

She laid a hand on his chest. “I promise I won’t make any trouble. I’ll go out to California and wait. For however long it takes” He disengaged himself from her, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and got up.

He padded over to the bureau where he lit a cigarette from his pack, and then went to the window. He could just make out the cathedral and old metropolis. So much old and consistent history here, he thought, whereas his own history was short and anything but coherent. “Is he that important to you, Kirk” she asked from the bed.

She was talking about Kurshin, who was after all nothing more than a handmaiden, nothing more than a tool, while McGarvey was thinking about Bamov. Was the man that important after all-to him or to the geopolitics that Trotter had been spouting? Often he’d asked himself that question, but he’d never come up with a really satisfactory answer, no matter who the target was. If Hitler had been assassinated long before he had come to power, would someone even more monstrous have risen in his stead?

Perhaps a more intelligent man who would have recognized the contribution that German Jews-especially Jewish scientists-could have made to the war effort. Had Einstein been a loyal Third Reich subject (he did love his country) would Germany have developed the atomic bomb first?

We’d made plans to assassinate Fidel Castro using Mafia hit men. That had backfired, and Kennedy had been killed instead. We all but gave our approval when the Shah of Iran was overthrown, but a monster had taken his place. Had Khomeini been killed in Paris, who would have taken over in his stead? McGarvey would forever remember the men he had killed.

Their faces were burned indelibly into his brain. Had their deaths made the slightest difference? He hoped so, but he thought not. “Kirk”

Lorraine said. “Get dressed, I’ll take you out to the airport-“

“Don’t do this”

“I don’t have any choice” he said softly. “None of us do” Someone had said that to him. She was dead now. One of Baranov’s legion of victims.

He wanted to tell Lorraine about her. He had tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. None of them ever did. “Get dressed” he said again. He heard her getting out of bed and coming across the room to him. He waited for her touch, but it never came. She turned and went into the bathroom, leaving him alone again, as he had been for most of his life.

Turning, he stared at the bathroom door as the water began to run in the shower. He didn’t want it to be the same with her. Not this time. Not ever again.

Lloyd Yablonski was a big, red-faced Polack from Philadelphia who had followed John Trotter to the CIA from the Bureau. He met them in the TWA terminal at the East Hellinikon Airport a few minutes after eight. He and Lorraine shook hands when McGarvey introduced them. “So, you’re to be my baby-sitter” she asked. Yablonski grinned broadly. “The pleasure is all mine, Doctor, believe me” Lorraine smiled despite herself, instantly warming to the man. She sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t get into too much trouble because of what she was planning on doing. But nothing was going to stop her. Nothing.

“Any troubles on the way over” McGarvey asked him. “No, sir. You”

“We’re clean. She wants to stop in Washington”

“Yes, sir. She’s to be the director’s guest for a day or two before we head out to Frisco. “Watch yourself” Yablonski nodded. “You too, sir”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be” McGarvey said, turning back to Lorraine.

She could see the tension in his eyes. He was gone already. In the field, she thought the term was. “Don’t do this, Kirk, please”

“Take care of yourself” he said abruptly and he walked off.

Lorraine watched him head toward the exit. It was now or never, but then she’d never had any trouble being decisive.

“Do you have any aspirins” she asked Yablonski. “No, I don’t. What’s the matter, Doctor, do you have a headache”

“Splitting. Would you get me some? I’ll check my bag through and meet you at the ticket counter” Yablonski hesitated. “I would appreciate it.

Really”

“Sure” he said, and he headed toward the shops on the mezzanine.

Lorraine waited until he was lost in the crowd, and then sprinted across the ticket hall in the same direction McGarvey had gone.

Outside, she was just in time to see him pulling away in a taxi, and she shoved her way past a couple starting to get into the next cab, and scrambled into the backseat, slamming the door. “I want you to follow that taxi, II she told the driver. “The one that just pulled out”

“What, madatne” the driver sputtmd. “That is impossible.”

Lorraine had pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of her purse.

“Twice this if you don’t lose him. This is not illegal, I promise you, but it is very important to me” The driver hesitated only a moment longer, then snatched the bill from her hand and pulled ow into traffic.

Trotter’s safehouse was a whitewashed three-story building with a roof garden just off Askilipiou Street northwest of the city center and not far from the thickly wooded Lykabettoshe entrance was at the head of the stairs off a small, pleasantly sunny courtyard. “Did she get off all right, Kirk” Trotter asked, letting him in. Trotter still walked with a cane. “She wasn’t happy, but Yablonski seemed competent”

“He is”

“I’m counting on you, John. No screwups with her safety this time” They had moved into the living room at the rear of the house. Trotter’s attache case lay open on a large coffee table. He’d brought a pistol; it lay as a paperweight on a sheaf of file folders. A street map of East Berlin and its environs was spread out over half the table. “Have you had your breakfast yet, Kirk? Do you want some coffee”

“When do I go over, John” Trotter looked at him for a long moment. It had always been like this between them at the beginning of an assignment. In the old days McGarvey had thought his friend was afraid of him. He had come to learn, however, that Trotter was afraid for him.

“Tonight. “That’s a long time for me to hang out over there. The conference doesn’t start until Friday”

“Baranov flies in from Moscow on Thursday night. Eight o’clock. There’s to be a reception for him and the police chiefs at the Horst Wessel Barracks. Should break up sometime after midnight when Baranov will be taken by chauffeurdriven limousine to his own little retreat outside of Fried richshagen on the Grosser Miiggelsee. We just found out about that spot. Himmler used it during the war”

“It will be guarded, I assume”

“Heavilytrotter agreed. “But the place is very isolated. It’s possible for you to come up from the lake. A small boat will be provided on the south shore, along with the equipment you’ll be needing”

“The shoreline will be watched”

“Oxygen rebreathing gear”

“What about the weapon”

“Two actually” Trotter said, and he hesitated again. “An AK74 assault rifle with an image-intensifying scope, and a suppressed Graz Buyra”

“The boat is Russian made” McGarvey asked. Trotter nodded. “And the underwater gear” Again Trotter nodded. “Russian weapons”

McGarvey shook his head. “What about my papers” Trotter took a thick manila envelope out of his attache case, opened it, and withdrew a well-used passport. Even before he handed it over, McGarvey could see that it was a Soviet diplomatic passport. He opened it. His photograph stared up at him. His hair was cropped short, and was slightly graying, and his eyes were a deep green. His appearance had been altered only slightly, but the effect was as startling as the name. Arkady Aleksandrovich Kurshin… McGarvey looked up. Trotter handed him some letters, a few old photographs, an envelope with a few hundred rubles, a Russian-made comb, a handkerchief, and Kurshin’s redcovered KGB identification booklet. “You are putting me out on a limb”

“It’s the only way, Kirk” Trotter said. “Or at least it’s a way. No questions will be asked”

“What if I’m picked up”

“Your passport is diplomatic”

“But they will believe I am a Russian “Naturally. It would be too risky for you otherwise. Kirk, I want you to know that the need-to-know list on this operation is very small. Only half a dozen people” McGarvey laid the documents on the coffee table and went to the sideboard, on which he had spotted a bottle of cognac along with the coffee service.

He poured himself a stiff measure of the liquor, drank it down, and poured himself another. “But you ‘want me in place forty-eight hours before the hit, John” he said. “We have an apartment and even a car for you”

“Why such a long time? A lot can go wrong “We’re going to disavow you should anything go wrong. That comes from the top “

“We’ve already gone through that. Kurshin’s identification will prove to them, if I’m caught, that I was working alone. He’s beat me twice, this is a vendetta. But why do you want me in place so early”

“We don’t have approval for the operation yet, Kirk. It’s as simple and as complicated as that” McGarvey turned around. “Murphy hasn’t gone to the president yet? Or are we going to isolate the White House”

“He’s gone to the president, but he hasn’t given us the green light”

“Then we wait until then “You’re to be in place … fully in place first. He wants your situation to be completely stabilized before he gives his go-ahead”

“I don’t know”

“Yes you do. John, talk to me” Trotter shook his head. “I can think of only one reason for doing it this way. You suspect a traitor in the CIA.

Christ, it can’t be happening again. Not after all that we’ve gone through”

“He may have been there all along. We don’t know”

“At this point only the president, Murphy, and you know why I’m going in so early. But everyone else knows that I’m going in”

“You don’t have to do this … “No safety valves for getting me back across if everything blows up. I understand this. But what about afterward”

“If you get out clean, you’ll be taken care of. It’s all I can promise you”

“How will the green light be transmitted to me”

“Radio Berlin The special request show. We’ve prepared a key phrase”

“Baranov will be expecting me”

“Probably. But he won’t know where or when the attack will come”

McGarvey thought about it for a moment, weighing the pros and cons, the risks versus the benefits. He nodded. “When do I leave”

“You have a noon flight to West Berlin. You’ll take a cab across.

Makayev was driving the Indianapolis hard to the southwest toward the Strait of Sicily and the Malta Channel which would put them in the eastern Mediterranean at speeds near forty knots the submarine was noisy. But as Makayev explained, their first obligation was to get as far away from the hijack site as possible in the shortest time. Sixth Fleet Headquarters obviously knows something is wrong.

We’ve seen that from the messages they sent. They will already have instituted the first elements of their search “But they will not find anything” Kurshin replied. “On the contrary, Comrade Colonel, they will of course find the Zenzero and the auxiliary boat that we used”

“That ship is probably at the bottom of the sea by now “No matter, they will find it. But all of that will take time They cannot believe that their submarine and crew of more than a hundred twenty men has been hijacked” Dr. Velikanov had been pressed into service as cook. He had brewed some tea and made sandwiches, and was bringing them forward. He stopped short and nearly dropped the tray he was carrying at the mention of the crew. His reaction was not lost on any of them in the control room. “There was no other way, Doctor” Makayev said gently from where he stood with Fedorenko at the chart table. “They were kids, most of them”

“I know, but that is past”

“When you live close to the grave, you can’t weep for everyone”

Velikanov said, quoting an old peasant proverb. “Is that what you are saying to me, Nikolai Gerasimovich”

“Where are they, what have you done with them”

“They are mostly in their bunks” Kurshin said from where he still sat at the helm. Velikanov put the tray down. “We will come very near to Sicily. Let’s surface and take rubber rafts ashore. We can go home, leave this boat for the Americans to find”

“That’s not possible”

“You are the skipper of this vessel, Niki. Please. They were just boys.

This could start the nuclear holocaust.”

“I am not the president to give this order, Doctor”

“No” Velikanov said sharply, his voice rising. “Nor did the president give such an order. It was the KGB. You know this”

“Yes it was” Kurshin said. This was the trouble he had been expecting.

He’d hoped it wouldn’t come so soon. “It’s Baranov. He’s insane. He’ll kill us all”

“Relieve me at this wheel” Kurshin snapped. Makayev hesitated a moment, his gaze switching from Velikanov to Kurshin. “Now” Kurshin insisted.

Makayev nodded for Fedorenko to take over. He took the starboard wheel.

“I have the helm” he said softly. Kurshin got up. “How much longer before we’re in position”

“Twenty-five hours, perhaps a little longer” Makayev replied. Velikanov was shaking with rage and fear. Spittle ran down the side of his chin.

“You will confine yourself to the galley for the duration, Doctor”

Kurshin told him. “When we return home, no mention will be made of your outburst. You have my promise”

“Fuck your mother” Velikanov shrieked, and he leapt forward to the trim tank controls, which would change the submarine’s buoyancy and bring her to the surface. Kurshin pulled out his pistol and fired a single shot, the noise impossibly loud in the confines of the boat, striking Velikanov in the face just below the left eye. His head snapped back, and he was thrown violently to the deck, instantly dead. Makayev had instinctively stepped back, his right hand going to the pistol in his tunic. Kurshin switched his aim to the captain. “We’re going to calm down now” he said in a reasonable voice. Lieutenant Rama, their sonarman, had rushed to the control center hatch, his pistol in hand, a grim look on his face as he surveyed the scene. “Put your gun down, Lieutenant, and get back to your post” Kurshin said. The young man was wracked with indecision. “The doctor was out of control” Kurshin explained. “I don’t want to kill your captain”

“Then you would never get to the surface, Comrade Colonel” Rama replied.

“Better to die here like this, then” Kurshin said softly. “We have our orders, which I intend carrying out so long as I am alive”

Makayev had withdrawn his hand from his tunic. “Put your gun down, Aleksandr Ivanovich. The colonel is correct. The doctor could have killed us all. There was no other way. Rama stepped back a pace and lowered his pistol.

Kurshin lowered his automatic and holstered it. “Have you detected anything on the surface” he asked. “A few ships, mostly small freighters” Rama replied. “Any other submarines”

“No. I I “Good” Kurshin said. He turned to Makayev. “I would like to talk to you and your missile man in the wardroom” Makayev nodded. “Take care of the doctor for me, would you, Aleksandr. “Yes, sir” The captain hit the comms switch. “Aleksei, are you ready up there”

“Just about, Captain” Lieutenant Chobotov said. “I’ve isolated the Tomahawk’s firing circuits. I managed to get one of them on the transfer rack, but I’m going to need help getting her loaded into one of the tubes”

“Good” Makayev said. “Come back to the officers’ wardroom and we will discuss it”

“Aye, Skipper”

The four-engine turboprop-powered ASW (Antisubmarine Warfare) aircraft came in low, at under fifteen hundred feet, over the Indianapolis’s last known position. They had finally been given the go-ahead by Sixth Fleet Headquarters to come off her position-keeping station. Something was definitely wrong, and all the brass were definitely uptight. Lieutenant Lawrence Weaver had throttled well back so they were doing significantly less than two hundred knots, giving the ship’s sophisticated electronic sensing equipment plenty of time to do its job. In addition to the ASQ-1 14 computer which instantly analyzed data from the aircraft’s radar systems, she also carried infrared sensors and magnetic anomaly detectors that were able to detect a mass of ferrous metal well beneath the surface of the sea-providing conditions were right.

Weaver banked slightly to port as they passed over the spot. Below he could see the Liberian-registered freighter standing by what appeared to be the burned out remains of a fairly good-sized cabin cruiser. But there was no other boat visible. No submarine. No debris, so far as Weaver had been able to see. He straightened the aircraft out and banked to starboard making a wide looping turn over the area, the sun well up in the eastern sky. “What are you showing down there, Al” he radioed to his ASW man in the rear. “We’ve got the freighter and another smaller vessel, maybe a pleasure craft. We’re also painting a much smaller boat, perhaps eighteen or twenty feet. Maybe an auxiliary. No machinery noises except from the Lorrel-E”

“How about our Mags”

“Not a thing, Lieutenant. Looks clean below the surface. Weaver glanced at his copilot, Lieutenant Peter Reiland. “All right, we’re coming around for another pass. Look sharp on the Mags now. He’s gotta be down there somewhere”

“Roger” Technical Sergeant Albert Mclaren replied. About a mile and a half out they were lined up again on the Lorrel-E and the Zenzero.

Weaver throttled back a bit more and dropped them another five hundred feet, the big aircraft beginning to mush slightly. But Weaver was a good pilot, he knew what he was doing. He took a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and clamped it between his teeth without lighting it. He had quit two years ago. Submarines simply didn’t disappear off the face of the earth. It was either lying on the bottom, and for one reason or another their equipment wasn’t detecting it, or it had bugged out. Either was unlikely. Why would JD. Webb do such a thing? There was no reason for it, no reason at all. They came over the Lorrel-E and this time he banked hard to the starboard for another run. “Not a thing, Lieutenant”

Mclaren said. “If she’s down there, we’re not painting her”

“That’s a roger. We’re coming around again, are we ready with our Mark 84”

“She’s loaded and ready for the drop on your mark”

“We’re coming around on it. Stand by” The Mark 84 was a Sippican SUS communications buoy. Barely fifteen inches long and only three inches in diameter, it was Programmed with a simple message-in this case, ESTABLISH COMMUNICATIONS-and was tossed into the water from a ship or aircraft. As soon as it hit water it would begin transmitting the same message over and over again on pulsed 2.95 khz and 3.5 khz tones that a submarine was capable of detecting beneath the surface if she wasn’t too far distant. They came up on the Lorrel-E again. “Stand by” Weaver radioed, steadying out the P-3C. “On my mark … mark”

“She’s off” Mclaren said. Weaver increased the throttles and the aircraft began to climb as he swung wide to port again. “Stan, contact Gaeta, tell them we’ve had negative contact on our sensors and have sent down the buoy”

“Aye, aye, Lieutenant” Staff Sergeant Stan Raymond, their radio operator, said. “And listen up, you guys, she still may be down there”

Captain Stefano Parus smiled as he Put down the radiotelephone, his brief conversation with the owners in Athens finished. “She is ours”

he told his first officer, Rupert Brecht. “I think there is someone else very much interested in that little toy” Brecht said.

Parus had heard the Orion passing overhead, of course. “Who are they”

“US. Navy”

“Well, it’s too fucking bad. We were here first, and we’re claiming our salvage rights. “It’s not much.”

“Enough” Parus said, rubbing his hands together. “She’s a floating whorehouse. Who knows what we’ll find aboard. Diamonds don’t melt, and who cares if gold does. We’ll scrape it off the deck”

” Shit. “Take her under tow, Mr. Brecht” Parus ordered. “If she’s still too hot, put some water over her, we’ll cool her down. “We may need to put some pumps aboard”

“Then do it, and look sharp about it. If those bastards are interested enough to send out a search plane, they’ll probably be sending out a surface ship. Won’t be able to do much about it if we’ve got the little bitch in tow COMSUBMED OPERATIONS CINCMED Admiral Ronald Delugio — his uniform blouse off, his shirtsleeves rolled up above his thick forearms, and his tie loose-paced the balcony above and behind the communications consoles. He was turning, and when admirals were mad, especially this one, everyone around was on tenterhooks. The P-3C on station had come up with nothing. So far there had been no reply from the communications buoy, nor had they detected any large mass of metal beneath the surface.

The Lorrel-E had contacted the Italian coast guard, claiming their right of salvage over the Zenzero, which they were granted, providing there were no survivors aboard. The Lorrel-E claimed there were none. Admiral Delugio stopped and turned back to Captain Reid. “I want you to get a message to the skipper of the Lorrele. Tell him that he is to remain on station with that cruiser until we can get out there to take a look at it. If he refuses, tell him that we will blow his vessel out of the water”

“Aye, aye, Admiral” Reid said. “Sir, what if he does refuse”

“Ken, if that sonofabitch moves so much as ten feet, I want his vessel sunk. And that’s a direct order”

Reid raised his eyes. “There would be hell to pay “

“Don’t I know it.

What’s the ETA for the Pigeon oi station”

“Not for another hour yet, sir” Reid said. “Are you sum about that order, sir”

“Kenny, we’re talking about an attack submarine, nuclear armed, with a crew of one hundred twenty-seven men and officers. You’re damned right I’m sure. JD. surfaced ii response to an SOS from that cruiser, and now he’s disappeared. We’re going to find out what happened. No one o nothing is going to stand in our way. Clear”

“Yes, sir” Reid snapped.

The afternoon was clear and sunny when the Pan Am flight from Athens touched down at Tegel Airport with a sharp bark of its tires and taxied over to the terminal. McGarvey had known someone was following him from the moment he’d left the Lykabettos safehouse, but he had taken no particular precautions. In fact he had become ohvious about his movements, keeping to the open squares on foot, and finally taking a taxi directly out to Hellinikon Airport. He’d expected to see someone on the flight, an out-of-place face, eyes that were quickly averted as he passed. But if they’d been there, they were very good because he’d spotted no one Walking with the rest of the passengers down the jetway, he was passed through customs without event. At this point he was still traveling under his real name. It would have been too risky, they’d decided, for him to use his Kurshin persona anywhere far from the eastern frontier. The secret services in every Western European country had a file on the Russian KGB colonel. It would have unnecessarily complicated things if he had been spotted using the Russian passport.

Berlin was soon enough. Trotter had promised that he would be kept at arm’s length for everyone’s sake. There would be no shadows, nor any contact on either side of the East-West border. The setup team in East Berlin who had arranged for his weapons and equipment, as well as the apartment and automobile, had already been cut out of the operation.

They had no idea what or who was coming. Nor-had they displayed, according to Trotter, any interest in knowing. They were professionals who understood that in this business unnecessary knowledge could often times prove fatal. The fallout was going to be terrific once Baranov went down. Lesser crises had tumbled presidents and entire governments.

So, who knew he was in Athens? Who knew or suspected that he would be traveling east? It was called “covering your own back door.

” Before he went across he wanted to know who was back there.

But no one had been on his flight, which meant that either a message had been sent ahead, or whoever it was who’d been following him would be showing up on the next flight. Walking across the main entry hall, he checked the incoming flight board. The next flight from Athens, via Rome this time, was due to arrive at 2:15, barely a half hour from now. He took the stairs up to the mezzanine where he got a spot at a stand-up table in the bierstube from which he had a clear line of sight to the exit doors from customs. If a message had been sent ahead, they would easily spot him here. If someone was coming on the next flight, he would spot them.

Sipping his beer he watched the comings and goings below in the main arrivals hall. Most of them were ordinary people, nine-to-fivers, some of them here in West Berlin on business, others with their families here on vacation. His life had never been ordinary, certainly not his adult life, and often he found himself pining for something he could never quite reach. For a time when he’d lived in Switzerland, after he had left the Agency, he had tried for such a thing. But the Swiss Federal Police had set their watchdogs on him. Assassins, even retired assassins, were not to be trusted under any circumstances. The Swiss were pragmatic, they’d more or less left him to his own devices, so long as he kept his nose clean. But the moment Trotter had shown up with an assignment for him, his tenure in Switzerland was at an end. Nor could he ever go back, legally. Too, he often thought about Marta Fredricks, the Swiss cop who’d been assigned to live with him so that they could keep closer tabs on his movements. When he finally left Lausanne she’d told him that she had fallen in love with him. They had both known at the time that any life for them together would be impossible.

Nevertheless he had telephoned her last year. They had talked for a few minutes, only that long, but he had been able to hear in her voice that she had gotten over him. She was on a new, exciting assignment. And besides, he told himself, she was Swiss. She would never leave her country. Her family and friends were all there. Her career, her life, was there. And there was absolutely nothing that he could offer her. For instance, he thought, at this moment there would have been nothing for her to do except worry about him. It was a callous attitude, he knew, but he simply did not need that sort of excess baggage.

The Athens-Rome flight was on time, and fifteen minutes later the first of the passengers began streaming out of customs. McGarvey watched them closely, most of them nine-to-fivers, more ordinary people. He had no real idea exactly what or who he was looking for, he just knew that when he spotted the face he would recognize it for what it was; either one of Trotter’s people along to make sure that McGarvey did as he was told, or one of the opposition here with orders to kill the American assassin.

When Lorraine Abbott emerged from customs, he was totally unprepared for her, and he nearly dropped his beer stein. “Oh, Christ” he said to himself. He slammed his stein on the table, grabbed his single overnight bag, and hurried down the stairs, his movements studied and very careful. What he did not need now was to attract unnecessary attention to himself. Lorraine had walked directly across the arrivals hall, her stride purposeful, so that McGarvey didn’t catch up to her until she had reached the taxi ranks outside. He came up behind her, took her arm without a word, and propelled her to the next taxi in line, where he unceremoniously shoved her in the backseat, climbing in after her. “The Hotel Berlin” he told the driver. It was one of the better hotels in the city, on the Ku’damm. It was expensive but he figured she could afford it, and security there was reasonably good. Berlin was still a difficult city during the night.

Her eyes were wide, her nostrils flared with fright, and a little indignation. She started to say something, but he held her off with a fierce warning stare, and she sat back, her mouth set, her shoulders stiff. They rode into town in silence. The afternoon was warm and lovely. Children were playing in the Tiergarien, and she smiled when she saw them.

A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the big, modern hotel.

McGarvey paid the cabbie and inside directed Lorraine to the registration desk.

“Get a room in your own name, I’ll be up in a couple of minutes”

“I’ve come this far, I’m not going to let you slip away Lorraine started to say.

McGarvey still held her arm, and squeezed it hard, a sharp expression of pain crossing her features. “Get yourself a room, you goddamned fool.

I’ll come up in a couple of minutes. Do it now” He let her go, then turned on his heel and walked directly across the lobby without bothering to look back. At the bell captain’s desk, he handed over his bag for temporary storage, got his chit, and went into the bar of Berlin’s famous Grill Restaurant, where he ordered a cognac and lit a cigarette. So much for Yablonski’s expertise, he thought angrily. But then the man had been sent out to protect her from harm. He wasn’t in fact her baby-sitter in the sense that he was to watch for her to slip out the back door. By now Trotter would be beside himself. The entire mission could be jeopardized by her presence here. But, he decided, it would be even worse if a fuss were to be made. She was here in Berlin, and this is where she would remain, out of harm’s way (no one would expect her to be here) until he was finished. He waited a full five minutes before he paid his tab, and in the lobby used a house phone to call her. She answered on the first ring. “Yes”

“Are you all right”

“Yes” McGarvey hung up, crossed the lobby, and took the stairs up to the second floor where the hotel’s ballroom and other meeting rooms were located. He waited for a couple more minutes, to make sure he hadn’t been spotted, with someone else on his tail, then took the elevator up to the seventh floor. She let him in immediately. He locked and chained the door. “You followed me from Lykabettos” he said. She was definitely frightened. “I waited outside until you left, and then followed you out to the airport”

“What in God’s name are you doing here”

“I came to … stop you” she said breathlessly. “What”

“You’re going to cross the border to kill someone. I know it. I’m going to stop you any way I can”

McGarvey looked at her in open amazement. “You’re an antinuclear activist, for Christ’s sake”

“It just happened. But it’s not so strange”

“For a nuclear physicist”

“Less strange than you’d think” she said defiantly. “if need be, I’ll go to the newspapers with this story”

McGarvey was shaking his head.

“The only things that would accomplish would be your arrest and most likely my death”

“If you went across But you’re not going to do it. “Yes I am”

“For what” she cried, her voice rising. “Revenge. You’re going to risk your life to kill a Russian spy who made a fool of you”

“You can’t possibly know how wrong, how dangerously wrong you are”

McGarvey said. “I’m not going after Kurshin”

“Then who”

“You don’t want to know”

“Who” she shrieked. He was across the room to her in three steps. He took her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. She wanted to cry out again, but she couldn’t catch her breath. “Goddamnit, Lorraine, don’t do this to me. MY life is on the line. So are the lives of a lot of other people” She was shaking her head. “I can’t let you do this, Kirk” she sobbed. “Please … oh, God, please”

“I’ll telephone Trotter. He’ll send someone over here to place you under arrest. He can do it, believe me”

“No”

“I’m trying to save your life, Lorraine. “And I’m trying to save yours”

McGarvey let go of her shoulders and turned away from her. He stared at the telephone. Trotter would be in transit back to Washington, unavailable until tonight, or possibly tomorrow morning. There was no one else he could trust. if there was a penetration agent within the CIA, another of Baranov’s men, calling Washington would place Lorraine in an impossibly dangerous position here. But he simply could not wait here with her. He was not going to turn his back on this assignment. Too many good people had died because of Baranov, and there would be others.

This opportunity might never present itself again. He walked across the room to the telephone and picked it up. The hotel operator came on a moment later. “Give me an outside line, please i would like to make a transatlantic call”

“Yes, mein Herr” the operator replied. Lorraine had come across the room. Tears were leaking from her eyes, and she was shaking her head.

“No” she said. McGarvey looked at her. “I promise you, Kirk, I’ll do whatever it is you want me to do. I swear to God-”:operator” McGarvey spoke into the phone.

“Sir”

“I don’t need to make that call after all. Thank you”

Valentin Illen Baranov’s black Zil limousine passed the Ukraine Hotel and headed down Kutuzovsky Prospekt at a high rate of speed. It was a few minutes after six in the evening, and the KGB chairman was on his way home his security people rode in chase cars ahead and behind his limo. The only other person in the Zil with him, besides his driver-bodyguard, was his personal secretary, Petr Nikolaievich Borisov, a young KGB major whose loyalty was beyond question. The limousine’s telephone burred softly. Borisov answered it. “Da” he said, and he listened for a full thirty seconds before hanging up and turning to Baranov. “What crisis now, Petr Nikolaievich” Baranov asked He Was a short, extremely stocky man, with a barrel chest, a thick bulldog neck, and a huge head. But his voice was as soft as a gentle wind through a graveyard, and his eyes always seemed to hold a hint of amusement. “It is White Knight. He has attempted to make contact. Direct contact”

WHITE KNIGHT was the code name of Baranov’s personal source in Washington. They’d worked together for a lot of years. “What was he told”

“To stand by for the usual procedure” Borisov replied. Despite his nearness to Baranov, even he did not know WHITE KNIGHT’s true identity.

Baranov shared that with no one.

“Very good” Baranov said, and he settled back in his seat. It was about McGarvey, he was certain of it. Considering what was happening at this very moment in the Mediterranean-did the CIA already know about the Indianapolis? — this call was extremely important. Baranov’s apartment sprawled over the entire top floor of a twenty-five-story apartment building a few blocks from where Leonid Brezhnev had once lived. His private study was directly in the middle of the apartment, with no windows to the outside. The room, and its telephone equipment, was as secure from eavesdropping, electronic or otherwise, as Soviet technical abilities could make it. When he was alone, he made his call. It was answered on the first ring.

“it is me” Baranov said. “What is the matter”

“It is McGarvey” a man said. There was no mistaking his voice. “He has been sent to East Berlin to kill you. It will happen on Thursday night, after the reception. He will be coming across the lake … actually beneath the lake” Baranov smiled. “I will be most happy to finally come face to face with him. Thank you, my old friend”

“There is more”

“Yes”

“The scientist, Dr. Abbott. She is missing”

“Any idea where she might have gotten herself to” Baranov asked, very interested by this latest development. “No, but it would be my guess that she’s followed McGarvey, or tried to”

“is there a thing, then, between them” Baranov asked. Kurshin had mentioned something about it. “I believe so. I thought you should know”

“Yes, thank you. Now, sit tight, my friend. No matter what happens in the next twenty-four hours or so, sit very tight”

“I know”

“No you don’t” Baranov said softly. “But you will”

No sign had been found of the Indianapolis despite eight hours of continuous searching in ever-expanding circles. The DSRV (Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle) had been on standby mode from the moment they’d arrived on station, but with no target on the sea floor she had not been sent down.

There was debris, of course the Pigeon’s sophisticated sonar systems had picked up the wreckage of what appeared to be an old ship, possibly even Roman, but so far they’d found nothing even approaching the mass of the submarine. The Lorrel-E, still claiming her right of salvage, continued to stand by Her crew had managed to cool the Zenzero down enough so that they were able to get aboard with several pumps to keep her from sinking. An explosion somewhere in the vicinity of the engine room had blown a small hole in her hull, but so far the pumps had been able to keep up with the flow rate. The Zenzero would not sink, unless the pumps failed, but at this point she was unstable and could capsize at any moment, especially if the wind and seas were to pick up, which they were forecast to do sometime during the night. Captain Parus was turning. He had been on the radiotelephone almost continuously with the owners in Athens who in turn were trying to put pressure on the US. Navy through the Italian government. “We’ve got company, Skipper” the radio on the Pigeon’s bridge blared. Lieutenant Commander Charles Wells hit the comms switch. “What have you got, Jim”

“Looks like a Hormone-B, coming in fast from the southsouthwest”

Lieutenant James Powers, their ESM (Electronic Surveillance Measures) officer, replied. Wells picked up his binoculars, stepped out onto the starboard porch, and began scanning the horizon. The Hormoneb was the Soviet Navy’s updated version of the Kamov Ka-25 search helicopter. She was used to provide a real-time data link for over-the-horizon targeting and midcourse guidance for missiles from Soviet guided missile cruisers.

He had been warned that a Slava-class cruiser was in the area. They were probably coming for a quick look-see, which was to be expected. He had it, low on the horizon and incoming very fast. It was definitely a Hormone-B, he could make out the chopper’s unique triple-tail. Back on the bridge, Wells hit the comms switch. “It’s definitely a Hormone-B, Jim, which means the Slava will be somewhere just over the horizon. Are you picking up anything”

“The chopper is scanning us, Skipper. But nothing from her mother ship”

“Right, keep a close watch. I’m sending up our helo to take a quick peek”

“Roger. Wells picked up his red phone, which in this case provide him with a direct encrypted link with Sixth Fleet Headquarters. Kenneth Reid in operations answered. “Ken, Charlie Wells here. You’d better let me speak wit Admiral Delugio”

“How’s it look out there”

“Nothing yet, but we’ve got company”

“Right. I’ll get him” Reid said, and a moment late Delugio was on the line. “Is it the Slava” the admiral asked without preamble. “Yes, sir.

One of her Honnone-Bs is incoming right now”

“We expected that, Charlie. What about the Indianapolis Any trace”

“Not a thing, Admiral. We’ve expanded our grid twent: miles out and ten miles in. Usual seafloor litter, but nothin@ to send the DSRV down for.

The Indianapolis is just not here”

“Damn” Delugio swore softly’what about the Zen zero, Charlie, can You tow her”

“Yes, sir. But Captain Parus is raising a lot of hell”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass, Charlie. Shoot the sonofabitch if he gets in your way. I want that cruiser back here as soon as you can bring her in”

“There’s a danger she’ll capsize under tow. I’d like to put a couple of men aboard to look around first.’, “Do that. All we know so far is that JD. responded to our SOS, and now he’s missing”

“Yes, sir” Wells said glumly. “If you find anything, anything at all, Charlie, let me know immediately. Have you got that”

“Aye, aye, sir”

“All right, good luck”

“Sir, I’m sending a helo Out to take a look at that Slava. “Good idea.

Scan the living shit out of them. Let them know we don’t like them playing around on our turf”

“Yes, sir” Wells said and he hung up the red phone and turned to his executive officer, Lieutenant Tom Lawson, a lanky kid from Texas, who was just turning away from the ship’s comms.

“The chopper is already airborne, Skipper” he said. “Good. I want you to take an auxiliary over to the Zenzero and look around. We’re going to tow her back to Gaeta this afternoon before the wind picks up Lawson’s eyes narrowed. “We’re giving up here” Wells nodded. “Looks like it.

You’d better take Randy along. I I Lieutenant jg. Randy Tanner was the DSRV’s skipper, and an expert on salvage. “What are we looking for”

“First of all I want to know if she’ll survive the tow, but I want you to keep your eyes open for anything … anything at all”

“Sir”

“The Indianapolis responded to an SOS from the Zenzero, and now she’s missing. Just keep your eyes open”

“What about the Lorrel-E”

“They won’t give you any trouble, Tom. I can guarantee it”

“Yes, sir”

Lawson said, and he turned and left the bridge as Wells picked up the radiotelephone. “Get me the skipper of the Lorrel-Ehe told his radioman.

The pleasure cruiser was listing ten degrees to port, the twisted remains of her boarding ladder half submerged in the water. She rolled sluggishly in the three to five-foot swells. All of her windows and ports had been blown out by the heat of the fire, and the paint on her hull was mostly burned off down to the waterline. Still, she was surprisingly intact for all of that. Lawson and Tanner tied their small auxiliary to the boarding ladder and scrambled aboard. The hull and bulkheads were still warm to the touch from the fire, but no longer hot.

The ship stank of burned diesel fuel, wood, fabric, and paint. Water dripped everywhere.

“I don’t know what that Greek skipper wants with this wreck” Tanner said as they made their way aft to the broad opening into the saloon.

“There’s nothing left to salvage. The hull itself is probably warped beyond repair” The afternoon sun slanted into the interior of the ship.

All the wood paneling had been burned off the bulkheads, exposing the bare aluminum. The furniture was mostly ashes, and the deck had buckled upward in some spots at least eight inches.

A half a mile to their south the Hormone-B helicopter was hovering a few hundred feet above the water. Tanner, who was a much smaller man than Lawson (slightly built men were assigned DSRV duty), looked over his shoulder. “I wonder how much those bastards know”

“Probably about as much as we do at this moment” Lawson replied. “Not a whole hell of a lot” They went into the saloon.

“I’ll check the flooding below” Lawson said. They could hear the steady roar Of the gasoline-driven dewatering pumps below and smell the exhaust. “Right” Tanner said, stepping carefully through the debris forward to the galley, radio room, and owner’s stateroom, all of them mostly gutted.

There was nothing here. The crew Of the Lorrel-E had already been aboard and they’d reported finding no bodies. So what the hell had happened to the crew? Tanner asked himself.

Turning, he went back into the saloon and was about to call Lawson when he spotted something half buried in the debris of what had probably been a long couch built over an airconditioning duct.

He shoved aside the burned fabric and wooden frame, and then had to bend back a section of the ductwork to expose a small metal cylinder, perhaps a couple of inches in diameter and no more than eight or ten inches long. Whatever it was, it didn’t belong here. It had apparently survived the intense heat because it had been protected by the bulk of the couch and the ductwork itself. Tanner picked it out of the debris and brushing it off took it outside onto the afterdeck where there was more light.

Some lettering was stamped into the side of the cylinder it took him a minute to clean enough of the dirt away to read what it said, and his blood suddenly ran cold. “Jesus Christ” he swore softly. “Oh, Jesus Tanner spun on his heel. “Lawson” he shouted. “Tom, topside … on the double, man”

Reid handed the encrypted phone to Admiral Delugio.

“It’s Wells. He sounds … shook up” Now that the Soviet guided missile cruiser had shown up, Operations was alive with activity. Wells had sent out a helo, to which the Russians had made absolutely no response, so far. But they were walking a tight wire every time American and Soviet naval forces were this close together. Now, with a missing attack submarine on their hands, the Pentagon was nervous. “What’s the problem, Charlie” Delugio asked. “Is it the Russians”

“No, Admiral, they’re behaving themselves” Wells said. Delugio could hear that the man was definitely shaken. “Take it easy. Now, what’s going on out there”

“I think we’ve got very big trouble, sir”

“I’m listening” Delugio said, his jaw tightening. “I sent my exec and my DSRV driver over to the Zenzero. They just got back. Randy …

Lieutenant Tanner … found something aboard. In the main saloon. “Go ahead”

“It’s a cylinder small, thick-walled. There are markings. Christ, Admiral, the cylinder came from the Army’s proving grounds in Dugway”

Something clutched at Delugio’s gut. “Any idea what it contained”

“Yes, sir. Labun. It’s a nerve gas. The cylinder is empty “

Delugio closed his eyes. “Run it out for me, Charlie. All the way”

“Terrorists, Admiral. I think the Indianapolis has been hijacked by terrorists”

More than any other city in the world, the capital study in of the failing German Democratic Republic was a stark contrasts. In many respects it was very much like the Berlin before the war, yet there was an Eastern Bloc drabness to the streets and squat buildings. The three-hundred-foot-wide boulevard, Unter den Linden, had been completely rebuilt from the rubble and was the showcase of Eastern Europe It was colossal by any standard; along it a monstrous television tower with restaurant and observation deck rose high above the citykarl Marx Allee, Marx Engels Square, and Leninplatz (all roads led to Leninplatz) were shining and brand-new, filled with activity. Trolley cars ran on polished tracks. Bratwursts were wrapped in paper, not plastic. And there was absolutely no litter anywhere.

But East Berlin was a city of relative darkness. From almost anywhere in or around the city, you could see the night glow of West Berlin.

A couple of blocks off any modern street or square (and there weren’t many of them) you were plunged backward forty-five years, to buildings that still carried the scars of the war. Windows bricked or boarded up.

Narrow cobblestone streets. Machine gun holes in stone walls…

McGarvey, using his Kurshin identification, crossed into the eastern sector of Berlin on the Friedrichstrasse a few minutes after 6:00 in the evening.

On the American side the officials were distantly polite, but on the DDR side, the soldiers were almost obsequious. His bag was not searched. The cabbie dropped him off at the Palast Hotel, then turned and headed immediately back to the western sector. Inside, McGarvey had a drink at the bar, then headed on foot around the huge Alexanderplatz, where behind the Sparkasse-the savings bank-he found the little two-door Fiat Trotter had promised would be waiting for him, the keys in the tailpipe.

He had driven directly over to the working-class district of Prenzlauder Berg, parking the car on the street in front of a very shabby apartment block.

The flat that had been set up for him was on the third floor and looked down on the narrow street. It was well stocked with food, drink, and Russian-made clothing that was his size. A very old black-and-white television set squatted heavily on a small table next to the window, the antenna cable snaking through the window frame up to an aerial on the roof.

Changing clothes and grabbing a quick bite to eat, McGarvey left the apartment a little after 10:00, taking the Leninallee directly out of the city, a few miles to the east, before turning south toward the Grosser Miiggelsee. As he drove, traffic light and in some areas nonexistent at this hour, he lit a Russian cigarette from a pack he’d found in the apartment.

It was half cardboard filter and tasted terrible, but it was Kurshin’s brand It would be a full forty-eight hours before he came this way again. They had figured it would be too dangerous for him to bring his own weapon across the border, and there was no gun in the apartment. Two days and nights, however, was too long to wait, unarmed. Too many things could go wrong. He came down through Tierpark and Lichtenberg, past the huge Pioneer Palace that the Russians had built not so long ago, crossing the Spree River once into Treptow and again toward K6penick along the southern shore of the big lake. This far from the city, the night was very dark, although still to the northwest he could make out the glow on the horizon that was West Berlin, and almost directly west he watched as a jetliner came in for a landing at East Berlin’s Schenefeld Airport. He was alone now. This time absolutely alone. There would be no help for him from any of the East German networks that the Agency maintained, nor would he be able to run for the American Embassy on the Neustadtische Kirschstrasse. He would be denied. At this point he was no longer an American citizen. He was a Russian. The Americans and West Germans would shoot him if he tried to force his way back, and the Russians and East Germans would certainly arrest him if they discovered he was an impostor. But the prize was definitely worth the risk. Baranov was coming. And for that man McGarvey’s hate burned like a supernova in his gut. It was a constant that he had lived with for nearly two years.

The K6penick highway branched off, the larger road heading into the town, the much smaller road running north a few miles to the lake. The forest was thick here, the pine trees crowding in on the narrow highway.

McGarvey slowed down. Somewhere in the woods to the east he thought he could see lights, but then he lost them. He figured it was probably a house along the lakeshore. Baranov’s retreat was directly across the lake, perhaps a mile and a half or two, yet already McGarvey was getting the old feeling of the man’s presence. Baranov was a force, there was no denying that.

Near the water’s edge the paved road ended in a gravel lane that ran completely around the lake. McGarvey stopped his car, switched off the headlights, and got out. There was absolutely no sound here, except for the Fiat’s idling engine, and his own footfalls on the gravel. He walked a few yards away from the car to a spot where he could see the lake through a break in the woods.

Across the water he could see the lights of a few houses on the north shore, but nothing moved on the lake. Thursday night he would take the boat halfway across, don the oxygen rebreathing equipment that was waiting for him, and swim the rest of the way underwater to the shore below Baranov’s house.

He turned after a minute or two and looked back the way he had come. He was not being followed. Lorraine was safely back in West Berlin … or she was as safe as she could be anywhere. She would not have come across. She had not followed him this time. She had given him her word.

He believed her … or he hoped he did.

Back in his car he drove without lights another half mile, finding the driveway back down to the small cabin and boathouse on the lake that Trotter had described for him. He turned the car around in the narrow driveway, so that it was pointed back up toward the lake road, then got out and hurried down to the boathouse, where he held up in the darkness for a moment.

There was no one here. The night was still. Not even a wind rustled in the trees or rippled the surface of the lake. Using the key Trotter had supplied him, he unlocked the boathouse and slipped inside. Immediately he could smell gasoline, rotting wood, and something else. Something old and musty.

He switched on his penlight. A small motorboat floated in its slip, tied to the narrow walkway. A wooden garage door covered the opening to the lake. There was virtually no possibility that his light would be seen by anyone on the north shore; nevertheless he moved quickly. Stepping down into the boat he found the two weapons wrapped in plastic and stuffed in the bilge, along with another package that contained the Russian-made rebreathing equipment. Plulling out the Graz Buyra, he loaded it, screwed the Kevlar silencer tube on the end of the stubby barrel, and cycled a round into the firing chamber. No matter what happened now, he told himself as he relocked the boathouse and hurried back up to his car, he would not be caught here in the eastern zone with his back against the wall.

Lorraine Abbott had gone to the telephone three times with the intention of calling Roland Murphy in Washington and demanding that McGarvey be pulled off this ridiculous assignment. Each time, however, something stayed her hand. it was late. Well after midnight. She sat smoking a cigarette by the window, looking down at the traffic on the Ku’damm. Berlin, like any large city, never slept. The Ku’damm was the busiest of all streets in the western zone. Here were the cabarets and nightclubs, the shops and boutiques, and the sex stores and theaters.

Absolutely anything could be had on the Ku’damm. Except, she thought bitterly, salvation. But the fact of the matter was she had somehow fallen in love with a murderer. All of her rationalizations that he was no different from a soldier killing on orders in time of war had completely broken down for her. She was left, then, with the crazy idea that somehow she could change him. If she could stop him this time, there might not be another. His past, she figured, she could live with.

it was his future … their future that she could not imagine.

She had been a pragmatist all of her life. Except for her science, most of her creativity seemed to have been stifled, especially in her relationships with people … with men. She had always been the odd lot out in school. She was goodlooking, she understood this with no vanity, and yet she’d been told on more than one occasion that she was unapproachable. “You’re an intellectual snob” Lawrence Givens, her former fiance, had said to her a year ago. “Does it bother you’” she’d shot back. “Not particularly. Because you and I are cut out of the same cloth. You’re a good physicist and you know it. Just as I know that I’m a damned good surgeon”

“But” Weren’t there almost always buts?

“But I’m also a man. You might try being a woman. At least once in a while”

“Go to hell” she’d replied good-naturedly, but the comment had stung, all the more so for its truth. Larry was a snob, and she didn’t like that aspect of his personality. For an instant she had looked into a mirror and had seen that she was a snob as well. With McGarvey she felt like a woman all of a sudden. The story she had told him about the palm reader when she was a little girl was mostly a lie, but it had seemed right at the moment she’d told him. In a way it was a justification to herself for being with him. Now she was frightened. Not only for him, but of him, and most of all she was frightened for herself, because she had no idea where she was going. He was a murderer. But if she forced her way into helping him she could very well be the cause of his death.

She was a scientist, trained in analytical thinking. But this time she had no way out, so in the end she had been incapable of doing anything.

Someone knocked at her door, and she looked up, her cigarette hand stopped in midair. “Who is it” she called out, getting up and stubbing out the cigarette.

“We’re from the consulate, Doctor Abbott” a man said. “There is a message for you from Mr. McGarvey. It’s most urgent. “Oh, God” she cried, and she rushed to the door where she hurriedly undid the security chain and twisted the deadbolt. The door was suddenly pushed open, shoving her backward nearly off her feet. She got the impression of two very large men barging into the room, their guns drawn, and then something was pressed against her face, the smell cloying in its sweetness, and she was drifting.

Director of Central Intelligence Roland Murphy was on his way home when the telephone in his limousine burred softly. He reached forward tiredly and picked it up. “Yes”

“Eagle one calls. Authentication is alpha-alpha-seven-zero-niner.

Murphy’s gut tightened. Eagle one was the president. The use of an authentication code meant a situation of extreme importance was in progress. “Hold” Murphy said, fumbling with the leather bound code book.

He found the proper date and cycle. The code matched”

Zebra-two-seven, he gave the counter code, and the connection was broken.

He powered down the Lexan dividing window. His bodyguard, Preston Luney, riding shotgun, turned around. “Sir”

“Get me over to the White House, Preston. On the double. West gate”

They were just crossing the river on the Key Bridge. His driver jammed his foot to the floor and the big Cadillac shot forward past the slower moving traffic, squealing tires as he turned sharply onto the Whitehurst Freeway. The president had so far withheld his authorization for McGarvey to hit Baranov. By now everything would be in place in East Berlin. Had something gone wrong? It was possible that McGarvey had been discovered in the eastern zone. The Russians, of course, would make a big stink of it. Big enough, he wondered, for the president to go to such extraordinary measures of using a coding system that had been designed to alert key people in time of war? He didn’t think so. Not that. Not yet. But what then? He had a bad feeling that the coming hours were going to be anything but pleasant. They were admitted without delay through the west gate a few minutes later. It was just 8,00 Pm.

Murphy’s bodyguard went with him up the stairs and into the West Hall where they were met by one of the president’s Secret Service people who took them without a word to the elevator just off Center Hall, and punched the down button. “Is he in the situation room” Murphy asked.

“Yes, sir” the Secret Service agent said, his jaw set. In the sub-basement they were met by two more Secret Service people, who escorted Murphy across to the bombproof door, which opened immediately for him, and he stepped inside, the door closing with a heavy thump of finality. Luney waited in the anteroom. The president was seated at the end of the long conference table, in shirtsleeves, his tie loose. To his left were Secretary of State James Baldwin, his dapper vest and suitcoat properly buttoned; and Director of the National Security Agency Sterling Miller, his leonine head bent over a thick report he was studying intently. Across from the president were Joint Chief Admiral Stewart O’Malley, in uniform, and his JC. Vice Admiral, Taylor Barnes. At the far end of the room two Air Force officers manned the communications and display consoles.

Murphy got the definite impression that they were in crisis here. It only bothered him that he’d heard nothing all day. We’ve got ourselves a hell of a problem this time, Roand” the president said, looking up.

Murphy slipped into his seat across the table. “What has happened”

“Apparently someone has snatched one of our nuclear submarines”

The DCI was stunned into silence. His first thought was Baranov and Kurshin. But God in heaven, how was such a thing possible?

“My reaction exactly” the president said heavily. He glanced at Admiral O’Malley. “Give him the short version, Stewart”

“At 0300 Zulu yesterday morning, our attack submarine Indianapolis detected what she took to be a weak SOS signal from an Italian-registered pleasure vessel about one hundred miles off Sixth Fleet Headquarters at Gaeta. That was the last word we got from her. She simply disappeared without a trace … until thirty minutes ago”

“Where is she now”

“Submerged and running at a high rate of speed” Admiral O’Malley said.

“East” the president interjected. “Our SOSUS (Sound Surveillance System) network picked up her footprint as she was coming out of the Malta Channel into the eastern Med. But then we lost her again. We’ve got half a dozen Orions up now searching the immediate area”

“Any possibility this is a mistake” Murphy asked, somehow knowing that it wasn’t.

“No” the admiral said. “I know the skipper JD. Webb personally. He’s a good man. But there is more”

“Yes” Murphy said, holding himself in check. “We have the pleasure vessel that sent the SOS”

“What does her crew say”

“No crew. The boat was sabotaged, burned, and very nearly sunk. We found the remains of an automatic Morse code transmitter, and a canister which we believe contained Labun-a nerve gas. It was stolen nearly a year ago from Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah”

“A canister” Murphy mumbled. “That we’ve found. Seven were stolen”

“Terrorists”

“Russians” the president said.

Secretary of State Baldwin sat forward quickly. “We don’t know that for a fact, Mr. President”

“Terrorists do not have the expertise to hijack a nuclear submarine, Jim” the president shot back. “What about the sub’s crew” Murphy asked.

“We think there is a very good chance they’re all dead” O’Malley said.

It was obvious he was having a difficult time holding his temper in check. A slight tic played at the corner of his right eye, and his knuckles were white as he clasped his hands tightly in front of him on the conference table. “From what we have been able to piece together so far, we think that whoever was manning the Zenzero lured the Indianapolis to the surface with the fake SOS. JD. would have sent someone over to check it out. They were most likely overpowered, and somehow the … hijackers managed to send the other canisters of Labun across to the sub”

“Would that have killed the entire crew” The admiral nodded. “Unless Webb went to battle stations-which there was no need for him to do-the gas would have circulated throughout the boat’s common ventilation system within seconds”

“Wouldn’t it have also killed the hijackers” Murphy asked. “it would have dissipated in under a minute” The information was staggering.

Murphy was having a hard time digesting it. “Have there been any indications that the Russians were up to something like this, Roland”

the president asked. Murphy could see in his eyes that he already knew the answer. “Baranov and Kurshin” the DCI said. “They managed With the Pershing out of Ramstein” He turned back to Admiral O’Malley. “Would Colonel Rand have had access to information about the Indianapolis”

“The sonofabitch knew it all” O’Malley blurted. “Her technical data as well as her pat@ol station schedule! And he sold us down the fucking river”

“Nothing from our intercepts has given any indication that such a thing was in the works” NSA Director Miller said. “They wouldn’t” Murphy replied thoughtfully. “If Kurshin has the boat, he’s obviously got a crew with him. They would have been brought out at least twenty-four hours before the actual hijacking. It’s possible they left a track.

Where did the Zenzero come from”

“Naples” O’Malley said. “Then they would have holed up either there or in Rome. Who’s in charge in Gaeta”

“Ron Delugio. His intelligence staff is running it down in Naples right now”

“In the meantime the Indianapolis, with nuclear weapons aboard, is heading east” the president said grimly. “She can be bottled up”

“The Bosporus” O’Malley said. “Goddamnit, Mr. President, if you go ahead with any sort of a blockade a shooting war could start” Secretary of State Baldwin said. “It may already have started, Jim” the president said. “The Indianapolis is certainly capable of it. She will not, under any circumstances, be allowed into the Black Sea. Once she gets that far, we’ve lost her”

“We cannot sit still and do nothing” Admiral O’Malley said through clenched teeth. “You’ve said yourself, Stewart, that the Soviet Navy is operating a portion of its Black Sea fleet in the eastern Med”

“The Nimitz and her support group will remain in the area” O’Malley shot back. “The Baton Rouge and Phoenix will be standing by off the Dardanelles” They werr both Los Angeles-class attack submarines, the same as the Indianapolis. “With what orders, Admiral” the secretary of state demanded. “We’ll attempt to communicate with Indianapolis”

“If there is no response”

“We’ll kill her” Secretary of State Baldwin turned back to the president. “You can’t authorize this, Mr. President. In the name of God The president’s expression tightened. “As I’ve already said, Jim, I will not allow the Indianapolis to reach the Black Sea. It’s as simple as that”

“Then a shooting war will begin”

“That depends upon how badly they want her”

“How badly do we want her back” Baldwin asked. “That much” the president replied, turning again to Murphy. “Get your Rome station on it immediately. So far we’ve only got speculation; we need proof linking the Zenzero to the Russians”

“Yes, Mr. President” Murphy said. “And, Roland”

“Sir”

“I don’t care how you get it. Do you understand me” Yes, Mr. President.

But if it is Kurshin, working under Bar’anov’s orders, then there is only one man for the job” The president nodded. “Where is he now”

“East Berlin”

“Can we get him out”

“Yes. “Do it. We’ll reconsider that other matter as soon as this situation is resolved”

“What are we talking about now” Secretary of State Baldwin asked, alarmed. The president ignored him. “But at this point, I’m inclined to give my go-ahead. Wholeheartedly CIA HEADQUARTERS On Murphy’s orders, Trotter had remained at the embassy in Athens to run interference for McGarvey should it become absolutely necessary. It was a long way from Berlin, but much closer than Washington was. “Pull him out” Murphy said when he had Trotter on the secure phone. “What’s going on, General”

Trotter’s voice came over the encrypted line with only the slightest of interference. “I was just about to call you”

“It’s Kurshinhe’s off and running again There’s no time to explain now, John. Just get McGarvey down to Naples. I’ll have the package sent over to you, and you can handcarry it down there to him. He’ll be working with Admiral Ron Delugio, who is CINCMED out of Gaeta”

“We’re going to blow a lot of resources in East Berlin pulling him out”

Trotter said. “And there’s another problem”

“Go ahead” Murphy said, girding himself. “It’s Lorraine Abbott. She slipped away from Yablonski at the Athens airport”

“Why wasn’t I told”

“We weren’t sure what was going on here, General. But we managed to trace her to West Berlin where she registered at a hotel”

“Did she follow McGarvey”

“Evidently”

“Well, get her the hell out of there”

“She’s gone”

“What do you mean, gone”

Murphy shouted. “Her suitcase and things are still in her room. She’s simply disappeared, I think it’s a real possibility that Baranov’s people snatched her. And you know what that means” Murphy did. It meant simply that Baranov had somehow been tipped off that McGarvey would be coming across to assassinate him. It meant their worst fear-that there was a leak at high levels within the Agency-was true. Mentally he ran down the list of those who knew about the operation. It was depressingly small, and dangerous. “Pull him out of there, John” Murphy said, making his decision. “But don’t tell him about Lorraine Abbott”

“Christ” Trotter swore. “You can say that again” Murphy replied.

Something woke McGarvey from a deep, dreamless sleep.

He-looked at his watch. It was a few minutes before five in the morning.

From where he lay on the couch beneath the partially open window he could hear absolutely no sounds from outside, nor were there any sounds from within the apartment building. He’d returned from the Grosser Miiggelsee around midnight, and had listened as the building gradually quieted down for the evening. Background noise. He’d finally fallen asleep around two. Sitting up, he looked out the window down at the street. A few automobiles and a small truck were parked along the curb as before. Nothing new. No one had come, and yet he felt a presence that was out of place.

Something. Then he heard it again. A noise out in the corridor, as if someone had shifted his weight, the floorboards creaking slightly.

Snatching his gun, he slipped the safety to the off position and padded across the tiny living room to the door. Someone was out there. He was certain of it. For a single crazy moment he had a vision of Lorraine Abbott coming across the border, sorliehow finding this place and coming up here. But that was impossible. Very carefully he switched the gun to his left hand and with his right eased the door lock open. He stepped aside, out of the line of fire in case whoever was out there shot through the door. “Wer ist” he asked softly. At first there was nothing, but then something thumped softly against the door frame. He stood flat-footed, listening, straining to make some sense of what was going on out in the corridor. He thought he might be hearing someone breathing heavily, but again he could not be certain. Switching his gun back to his right hand, he twisted the doorknob and all of a sudden yanked the door open. A very large, barrelchested man dressed in workmen’s clothes reared back from the wall against which he had been leaning. McGarvey got the instant impression that the man was in pain, and that he was terrified, and then he saw the coat, and the small hole blood staining the side of the man’s coat fabric “McGarvey he breathed hoarsely. No one else was in the corridor, and he didn’t think they had made enough noise to rouse the building. Whoever this one was, he certainly wasn’t the opposition. But he was definitely in trouble.

McGarvey stepped out into the corridor and, stuffing the big gun in his belt, helped the wounded man inside, easing him down on the couch. He closed and relocked the door, and then closed the window, drawing the curtains tight before turning on the small table lamp. The man’s complexion was deathly pale. It was obvious he had lost a lot of blood.

His left arm hung useless at his side, and his eyes seemed to focus and unfocus. He was struggling not to lay his head back, but he would not remain conscious for very long.

“Hold on” McGarvey whispered urgently. He hurried into the small bathroom where he grabbed several bath towels, bringing them back and stuffing them inside the man’s coat against the gunshot wound in his side, just below his left armpit. “McGarvey the man whispered hoarsely.

“You must get out of East Berlin. Tonight, before it is too late”

“Who are you”

“Reinhardt Geiger” the big man stammered. “Lighthouse I’m from the network … I was sent He was wracked with a spasm of pain that cut his words off. LIGHTHOUSE was the Agency’s most important network in East Berlin. It had been going on for a lot of years. McGarvey seemed to remember that the KGB’s operation at the Horst Wessel Barracks and in the embassy itself had been infiltrated. The network was mostly workmen, building-maintenance people, along with a few pool typists and secretaries. Their product had never been spectacular, but it had always been steady. “Who sent you” McGarvey asked. “My control officer … one name … he gave me one name. John Trotter” McGarvey sat forward, his gut clenching. “What about Trotter? Is my operation to be called off “

“You must get out of East Berlin immediately. They are waiting for you on the other side. Important … Trotter … very important”

“Who shot you”

“They’re waiting for you … on the other side. They are expecting you … Wedding … the Wedding Crossing”

“Was it KGB” McGarvey asked urgently. Geiger suddenly reared up and grabbed McGarvey’s arm. “They know about me. They know I received a message. They will come here …

McGarvey, you must leave immediately “You’re coming with me McGarvey started to say when the breath went out of Geiger in a big blubbering spray of blood, and he slumped forward into McGarvey’s arms. He was dead. For a moment McGarvey just sat there, his thoughts racing in a dozen different directions, all of them down long, dark alleys. Trotter would have known how risky it was to use someone from LIGHTHOUSE to make contact. The network was important. it meant that whatever reason they wanted him out of East Berlin had to be of overriding importance.

Kurshin. The single name crystallized in his brain. He had gotten the data from Rand in Washington, and he had escaped. He was on the move again, his target still En Gedi. He eased Geiger’s body back on the couch and checked out the window again. Still nothing moved below. He had parked his car on another side street a block away. If he could reach it before the KGB showed up he figured he just might have a chance of getting free. But a bitter feeling rose up inside of him that once again he was going to have to back away from Baranov. Once again the man was safe. It was galling.

The streets of East Berlin were coming alive in the predawn darkness as delivery trucks began making their rounds, and early shift workmen headed to their offices and factories. McGarvey sat in his Fiat on Wisbyer Strasse a block from the bright lights of the Wedding Crossing.

In the five minutes he had been there he’d watched two cars and one panel truck crossing into the west. Nothing had come the other way. He had taken the time to clean out the apartment, wiping it down for his fingerprints, though he could not be one hundred percent sure he’d gotten them all. He had also made certain that Geiger had carried nothing incriminating with him. Whatever happened now, he supposed that LIGHTHOUSE would have to be closed down, its people pulled out. Again he was struck with the desperation that Trotter must have felt in order to take such extraordinary measures. No one else had shown up at the apartment by the time he had left, nor had he run into any trouble on the short drive up here. But if there was to be trouble, it was going to happen at the crossing. The big pistol was stuffed in his belt at the small of his back. It was uncomfortable driving with it like that, but if he needed the gun, he wanted instant access to it. Putting the Fiat in gear, he eased out behind a truck that turned left on Schonhauser Strasse just before the crossing. He went straight ahead, slowing and stopping under the bright lights, as two soldiers came out of their shelter. He passed out his Kurshin identification. Geiger had said nothing about it. But McGarvey understood that it was possible his cover had been blown. “The purpose of your visit to West Berlin this morning, sir” one guard asked. The other was looking at him, his eyes narrowed.

“That is none of your business, Sergeant” McGarvey snapped in German.

The guard stiffened. McGarvey took out his KGB identification booklet and flipped it open. The guard recognized it immediately for what it was, and his attitude changed. So did the other guard’s. “I’m sorry, Comrade Colonel” the young man said, handing McGarvey’s passport back.

“You may pass”

“Of course I may” McGarvey barked sharply. “Now, be quick about it”

The soldiers stepped away, and without a backward glance, McGarvey eased the Fiat across to the West. The street opened up, and forty yards across the no-man’s-land, he pulled up at the western barriers This was the French sector of the city. Two French soldiers came out.

“Kirk McGarvey. You were expecting me” One of the guards glanced over his shoulder back at the guardhouse. In the semidarkness McGarvey could just make out the form of a man standing there. He nodded. The soldier turned back. “Yes, sir. You are to drive immediately down to Tempelhof Airport. Someone will meet you at Operations Building B”

“Who”

“I don’t know, sir. But welcome back. “Yeah” McGarvey said. “Thanks”

Operations Building B was on the military side of the big airport in the American sector of the city McGarvey was met in front by an Air Force captain who was not wearing a name tag. He had been expected; the call had come from the Wedding Checkpoint. “What’s this all about” McGarvey asked” I couldn’t say, sirthe captain said.

“If you’ll just come with me, we have a Learjet waiting on the apron “Where are we going”

“Naples, sir. And they want you down there on the double” The captain seemed almost afraid to look too closely at McGarvey “Do you have to take a pee or something first, sir”

“It’ll wait.

The morning sun sparkled brightly on the Bay of Naples as the L4ealjet came in over the water for her final approach, the Air Force captain handling the little plane as if it were a toy. As soon as they had touched down and had completed their landing roll, they turned onto a taxiway and headed toward a hangar on the private aviation side of the airport, bypassing customs and immigration. John Trotter and another, much younger, heavier man, also dressed in civilian clothes, were waiting for him inside. By the time McGarvey had walked through the door, the Learjet was already heading over to the fuel pumps. The captain would be taking her immediately back to West Berlin. Trotter was strung out, the other one was clearly impatient. “Did you have any trouble, Kirk” Trotter asked. McGarvey looked pointedly at the other one. “It’s all right” Trotter said. “This is Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Ainslie. Naval Intelligence. He’s in on the entire thing”

“Is it Kurshin again” Trotter nodded. “I think so” He looked toward the stairs at the back of the hangar. “We’ve got a place to talk upstairs.

You’ve got a lot of catching up to do”

“Why here”

“We figured we’d attract less attention out here than in town” Ainslie said. His accent was East Coast, almost British. He seemed competent, but McGarvey could see in his eyes that he was as shook up as Trotter, and very angry. “Geiger is dead”

“Christ” Trotter swore. “Were you blown”

“I don’t think so. But it was KGB. He said they knew he had taken a message” Trotter thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “It doesn’t change anything. We need you here, Kirk” There were a couple of mechanics working on an old Beechcraft, but no one paid them any attention as they went to the upstairs office, where another Naval Intelligence officer was waiting for them. McGarvey was introduced to Lieutenant Frank Newman, who would conduct the briefing. He had been hastily sent out from the Pentagon and had himself arrived only a couple of hours earlier. The same anger McGarvey had seen in Ainslie burned in Newman’s eyes.

“Before we get started” McGarvey said. “Lorraine Abbott is in West Berlin”

“I know” Trotter said. “The Hotel Berlin. Yablonski wasn’t expecting it”

“Our people in Berlin are taking care of it”

Trotter nodded. “They’re watching the hotel” There was something not quite right in Trotter’s answer, but McGarvey did not pursue it. He turned to the other two men. “What’s Kurshin done this time”

“He’s apparently stolen one of our nuclear attack submarines and possibly killed her crew” Newman said. He was a short, very dark man with deep-set eyes and thick eyebrows. He had a six o’clock shadow.

McGarvey whistled, long and low. Whatever Kurshin was or wasn’t, he definitely had balls. “And now the sub is missing”

“Not quite” Ainslie said. “She passed our SOSUS line last night out of the Malta Channel, but then we lost her again. But we do know that she’s now in the eastern Mediterranean “

“Submerged” Ainslie nodded. Newman picked it up from there, leading them from the moment the Indianapolis had surfaced in response to the apparent SOS from the Zenzero, until the Italian pleasure cruiser had been brought back to Gaeta, where Naval Intelligence had taken her apart, coming up with a second, badly damaged Labun canister and the remains of the automatic Morse code transmitter. “The Zenzero was a decoy” McGarvey said. “They would have gotten the Indianapolis’s patrol station schedule from the disk Rand handed over to Kurshin”

“Somehow the bastards got the rest of the canisters aboard, and.”

Newman let it trail off. “Assuming everyone aboard was killed, how many men would it take to operate the submarine” Newman and Ainslie looked at each other. “Many of her systems are automatic, Newman said. “Ten good men could do it, if they didn’t find themselves in a battle situation.

Maybe less”

“Have we picked up any indications that that many Russians had come over in the past few days” McGarvey asked Trotter.

“We’re looking to Rome right now, Kirk. You’ll be flying up there this morning, because we’ve run into a brick wall”

“The Russians have the Indianapolisainslie said angrily. “There’s no longer any doubt about it, nor is there any doubt what they’ve got planned”

“How do we know the Russians have it” McGarvey asked. “John? Was Kurshin spotted”

“No” Trotter said heavily. “Ainslie’s people traced the Zenzero back to a yacht-leasing service here in Naples. The leasing agent was a man named Arturo Ziadora”

“We have him in custody now” Ainslie said. “He finally broke this morning”

“Kirk, we had the Soviet Embassy files sent down here from Rome. Ziadora didn’t know names, only photos, but he positively identified the man who had leased the yacht as Yuri Semenovich Nikandrov”

“Pick him up”

McGarvey said. Trotter shook his head. “The Navy has been told hands off this time. Nikandrov is too important. He’s the number-two rezident out of their embassy, and a special assistant to the Soviet ambassador”

“You want me to talk to him” Trotter nodded. “You have the president’s word on this one. No restraints, Kirk. Do you understand? We must know what they are planning on doing with the Indianapolis.

It’s an act of piracy that could very well start a shooting war. I I “I know what they’re going to do with her” McGarvey said.

“So do we” Ainslie barked. “They’ll try to take her through the Bosporus into the Black Sea. But we’ve got a nasty surprise waiting for them”

“No, McGarvey said. “Not the Black Sea. Farther east.

He looked at Newman. “How much of a crew would they need to set up one of her nuclear missiles and fire it at a landbased target”

“While avoiding detection” Newman asked rhetorically. More than ten men.

Maybe fifteen, or twenty. Navigators, attack center crew, boat drivers, engineers for the reactor, and of course the missile crew” III don’t think Kurshin would have brought that many men with him. But if he did, the answers will be in Rome with Nikandrov”

“They’re going to try for the Black Sea” Ainslie said. “Israel” McGarvey said, stepping over to the desk on which a map of the Mediterranean had been spread out. The Indianapolis’s patrol station off the Italian coast was marked. “What speed is she capable of, submerged”

“The book says thirty knots”

Trotter answered. “More like forty knots” Newman corrected him. “If the Indianapolis broke out from the Malta Channel sometime last night we’re not going to have much time” McGarvey said. He stabbed a finger at the island of Crete. “Can we set up a monitoring post here” Ainslie and Newman had stepped up beside him. “We have a SOSUS station nearby”

Newman said. “It can be done. I I “We’ll know within a few hours then”

McGarvey said. “If she turns north, she’s headed for the Bosporus. If she continues east, her target will be En Gedi. But that’ll depend on the number of crew she’s carrying” He looked up. “Has the president spoken with Gorbachev”

“Not yet” Trotter said. “He wants the proof first. But there’s another problem we’re facing here. The Soviet Navy’s Black Sea fleet is running maneuvers south of Crete”

“The Nimitz and her task group are in the region as well” Newman said.

“Then we’d better hurry McGarvey said. “Or a shooting war just might begin”

“I’m coming up to Rome with you” Trotter said.

FINE “Has Lev Potok been notified” Trotter shook his head. “Do it, John.

Now Because I’d be willing to bet anything that this is a continuation of Baranov’s plan to hit the Israelis. This time we might not be able to stop them”

It was just noon local time when the seven-thousand ton submarine settled gently to the silty bottom of the Bay Of Messini on the south coast of the Greek Peloponnisos. She listed a few degrees to port because of the sloping bottom here. I “We have seventy meters over our keel Fedorenko called softly from his position beside Kurshin at the wheel.

“Nicely done” Captain Makayev said. “Secure the boat from all but essential systems” He hit the comms switch. “sonar, what does it look like on the surface”

“I’m tracking numerous small boats, probably pleasure craft, Captain.

They’re all over the place up there. It’s like a circus. “Good” Makayev said softly.

Kurshin turned and looked at Makayev and Fedorenko. They were both good men, he thought. In the past day and a half, he had developed a respect and trust for their expertise. It was too bad, he thought, that in the end the reward they were expecting in Moscow would be nothing more than nine ounces. But then, as Baranov had unnecessarily explained, they could not afford to have so many witnesses. Like Dr. Velikanov, one of them sooner or later would say the wrong thing at the wrong time. It could not be allowed. “We are deep enough here” he asked Makayev. “No one will see us from the surface, even from an airplane, even if they were searching here, which I do not expect F-Y are. II “Are you sure”

Makayev, like all of them, was tired. They’d been operating without sleep for nearly forty-eight hours since Rome. He was becoming irritable, but his control was marvelous. He shrugged. “In this business, Comrade Colonel, one can never be sure. But even their ASW aircraft would not be able to detect our presence with their magnetic anomaly equipment, there is too much small-boat traffic on the surface for them to succeed. This is summer, the tourists will be at it all day”

Fedorenko had been doing something at one of the overhead control panels. He turned around. “They will be concentrating their search in the Aegean by now. Kurshin looked at him sharply. “Gennadi is correct, Comrade Colonel” Makayev said. “Their SOSUS equipment certainly detected our passage through the Malta Channel. We have already discussed this”

“They cannot know for certain that their boat has been hijacked. Again Makayev shrugged. “it is elementary, I think. They will have found that little Italian cruiser by now … above or below the surface. They will know that something is amiss. They also know that our fleet is up there.

If I were them, I would be thinking very strongly about the Bosporus”

It was practically the same thing Baranov had told him.

But the beauty of the operabon was they could not be sure. Nor did Gorbachev or the Politburo know anything. If and when the president used the hodirie to call Moscow, he would learn nothing. An investigation would be immediately launched, of course. But by that time the operation would have been completed. Israel would have been ruined as a military power in the region, and Gorbachev himself would fall. Kurshin got up from his seat at the helm. “We’ll load and drop the missile now”

Makayev glanced up at the chronometer on the bulkhead. “It is twelve hours before our rendezvous. Time now to rest”

“No” Kurshin barked. “We’ll drop the missile first” He so@ened his tone.

“In case something happens, Captain. In case the Americans get lucky”

Both Makayev and Fedorenko looked at him, their stares harsh.

Finally Makayev unbent a little. “As you wish” he said. He turned and hit the comms switch”

Aleksei, are you ready for us”

“Yes, Captain. I will need at least two men”

“We’re on our way” Makayev turned again to his starpom. “The colonel and I will attend to our little chore. Make certain that Aleksandr keeps a close watch on his sonar equipment, we do not want any surprises”

Fedorenko nodded. “When we are finished we will have something to eat, and then get some rest. We have another long night ahead of us” Kurshin followed Makayev into the attack center forward, and then through the hatch and down the ladder into the weapons control center. Aleksei Chobotov stood just aft of the starboard torpedo tubes. Behind him was the weapons storage and transfer compartment. He had managed to pull one of the Tomahawk missiles out of its storage rack and position it over one of the tube slides. It was large, much bigger than Kurshin had envisioned. At a length of twenty-one feet, in the nuclear warhead version, the missile weighed more than four thousand pounds.

“You have finished reprogramming the TERCOM (Ten-ah Contour Matching) system” Kurshin asked. Chobotov’s eyes were shining. “if the disk you provide(me was accurate, Comrade Colonel, the missile is ready to fire”

“What is the target” Makayev asked. Kurshin ignored the question. “All the seals are back ii place”

“Yes, sir. As long as she doesn’t stay in the water to(long, it should be all right. Of course there is no way to be certain, but fuck your mother, the Americans build fine equipment”

“What about the rocket motor”

“It is actually a turbofan jet, Comrade Colonel, with solid fuel booster. They will survive. “And the nuclear warhead”

Chobotov involuntarily glanced over at the sleek missile He shivered.

“it is armed”

“No danger of a radiation leak”

“None. I I Makayev had stepped past Kurshin. He reached up an(tentatively touched the missile’s casing. A look of mild surprise crossed his features. “It’s warm”

“I noticed that too, Captain” Chobotov replied. “Bu there is no reason for it, except that our hands are perhaps cold”

Makayev turned back and nodded. “With good reason” he murmured. He looked at Kurshin, something in his eyes and then nodded again. “Then let’s get the bastard over, board”

Despite the fact they were working with unfamiliar equipment, Chobotov knew his stuff. He and Kurshin hand-guided the missile down onto its loading rack while Makayev operated the hoist controls. It was automatically slid to a loading gate on the starboar(side, where Chobotov switched the loading grapples to the uppermost of the three torpedo tubes, the inner door of which was already open.

The missile slowly slid into place, coming to rest with a soft click, and a whir of machinery as the rack was withdrawn. Chobotov closed and sealed the door and, back at the auxiliary control board, pressurized the tube. The comms speaker squawked. “Captain, I have an orange light on Starboard A tube”

“We’re getting set to launch” Makayev radioed back. “Stand by”

” Roger. I I Chobotov’s right hand hovered over the button for the outer door. “No chance that the missile’s engine will fire” Kurshin asked.

“No, sir. I switched that circuitry into the passive-locked mode. There is no chance.”

Kurshin stood just behind the missile officer. He reached up and shoved the younger man’s hand against the button. There was a sudden whoosh of air, and the submarine shuddered very slightly. Chobotov looked over his shoulder at him. “There” Kurshin said. “She is on the bottom just like US”

McGarvey was a nonperson as far as the CIA’s Rome station was concerned. It was a matter of insulation, Trotter had explained on the drive up from Naples. “You were never there, Kirk, so no matter what happens there will be no retaliations against our people” Trotter had dropped him off at a small hotel in the Aventine District and had gone ahead to the embassy where he made a few phone calls, gathered up the files he needed, and returned in the early afternoon. McGarvey was tired. He had managed to get a couple hours of rest, but he kept hearing Lorraine Abbott’s pleas that he not go ahead with his assignment. She was an idealist, and worse, she did not have all the facts. Nor would she ever. “It’s a big nasty world out there” someone had told him once.

“The fact of the matter is, no one really cares whether you live or die.

It’s up to you to make a difference” But he cared, and he expected Lorraine did too. He didn’t know, however, if they made a difference or not. Just now he felt as if he were squandering what little time was left to them. If Kurshin had the submarine he would act quickly. By bottling up the Bosporus, the Navy had told the Russians they were suspected. The situation would not last much longer. They were all sitting on a powder keg, and the fuse was short.

From his third-floor window, McGarvey watched Trotter come down the street. He stopped to admire something in a shop window, turned as if he was about to change his mind, then turned again and came directly across the street and entered the hotel.

McGarvey didn’t move for a long minute. Traffic was normal below; the pedestrians passing did not seem out of the ordinary. By the time Trotter was at the door, he figured his old friend had come away clean, and he went to let him in.

“The Indianapolis has disappeared again” Trotter said, coming into the small room. He laid his briefcase on the narrow bed as McGarvey closed and locked the door. ““They should have been within range of the Crete SOSUS by now”

“I know. I just got off the phone with Admiral Delugio. He flew out from Gaeta to set up a field command post. He wants some answers and damned fast”

“Can’t say as I blame him” McGarvey said. “)“at about Nikandrov? What did you bring for me”

“Good news and bad news,’, Trotter said. “It took some doing to come up with what we needed without tipping my hand. Jesse Lipton-chief of the CIA’s Rome station’knows that something big is in the wind, so I had to sidestep him. The skipper of the Lorrel-E went public with his salvage claim. The press somehow found out that the Navy had sent out one of its submarine rescue ships and they’ve put two and two together. Lipton asked me point-blank if I was involved in the mess.

I had to lie to him”

“It’s better that he doesn’t know” McGarvey said. “What’s the good news”

“That’s not all the bad, yet, Kirk. You’re going to have to sit tight here until after dark. Perhaps as late as midnight, maybe even longer”

“We might not have the time”

“Nothing we can do about it. The Navy is watching the region. The Indianapolis has to be sitting on the bottom somewhere between the Malta Channel and Crete”

“That’s a lot of water, John. And if I remember my geography the Mediterranean drops to fourteen thousand feet in some spots. The Indianapolis can’t go that deep, can she”

“The Los Angeles-class submarines, from what I’m told, have a service depth of around fifteen hundred feet. Beyond two thousand or twenty-five hundred feet her hull would implode from the pressure”

“So if she’s on the bottom somewhere, it’s near land”

“There’s a lot of coastline between Malta and Crete. But the Navy is looking”

“In the meantime what about Nikandrov”

“That’s the rest of the bad news” Trotter said. “He’s holed up at the Soviet Embassy. His normal routine keeps him there usually until around six in the evening when he takes a car to his home in Magliana-a suburb about five miles south of the city”

“He can’t be lured out into the open sooner” McGarvey asked. “Not without alerting Lipton that we’re up to something. And if Nikandrov is indeed involved in this mess, he’ll be keeping a close watch over his shoulder. The good news is that he’s sent his wife and two children away for a holiday to Switzerland. And once he gets to his house he usually stays there”

“Alone”

“He has a bodyguard” Trotter said. He opened his brief case and took out a file that contained Maps of the suburb a well as a dozen or more photographs showing a house that appeared to be located in the middle of a big park, as wel as shots of Nikandtov himself, and another much larger man with thick eyebrows and dark penetrating eyes. “Andre Nikovich Zalenin. He’s Special Service 11 muscle” McGarvey stared at Zalenin’s photograph. He looked like(a tough sonofabitch. He would be highly trained and highly motivated, not only to protect the physical safety of Nikan. drov, but to make sure his charge did not himself go astray, If need be, his orders would include killing Nikandrov rather than allowing him to fall into enemy hands. “The Nikandrovs apparently settle down very early fol Russians. Normally around ten or eleven in the evening. He’,@ up around five in the morning, and back at the embassy no later than six-thirty”

“A hard worker”

“Yes” Trotter said. “I figure the best time for you to gel in there would be around midnight, or even a little later. My car is parked two blocks from here. there are some things in the trunk for you.

I’ll take a cab back to the embassy”

“What about afterward” McGarvey asked. “Depending on what you find, or what the Navy might turn up in the meantime, we’ll see”

“How about Baranov” Trotter gave him a hard stare. “it looks as if the president will give the green light. Murphy seems to think he’s on the verge because of this Indianapolis thing. But we blew some very good resources getting you out of East Berlin. There’s a better than even chance that they’ll be expecting you. if you go back across, you could be walking into a trap”

“If I have the green light, John, I’m going ahead with it.

In the meantime I want You to pull Lorraine out of West Berlin”

Trotter shook his head. “I can’t, Kirk”

“Why” McGarvey shot back. “I’ve been told hands off”

Again there was something wrong with Trotter’s answer, something McGarvey couldn’t put his finger on-or didn’t want to. “Have we got people watching the hotel”

“Around the clock” Trotter said. “What about Lev Potok, and the Israelis” A fleeting look of relief crossed Troner’s features. “That’s up to Murphy. He’s taken it to the president. They’re going to have to decide what they’re going to tell the Mossad”

“If it’s Kurshin aboard that sub, and we both know it is, he won’t be making for the Black Sea. His target has always been En Gedi. The Israelis have to be warned”

“It’s out of my hands, Kirk. Murphy knows the situation and so does the president. It’s up to them, not us”

“What about you in the meantime” McGarvey asked. “You’re going to have to get out of Italy, immediately. I’ll be working out something”

“Where do we meet when it’s over”

“Here. If the light is on in the window, it’s safe. Otherwise we’ll meet in the Piazza San Pietro”

“In front of the Vatican”

“Right” Trotter said. “Watch yourself”

The odor that had begun to permeate the Indianapolis had gotten to all of them. No one had eaten very much, nor had they slept. Makayev had Ordered the boat’s heating systerm turned low, but it hadn’t helped. At sunset their sonarman, Lieutenant Rama, reported that activity on the surface had dropped off sharply An hour later nothing moved above. Everyone else had gravitated forward to the control center.

The orders Kurshin had given them had only taken them this far. They all wanted off the submarine now. Kurshin hit the comms button. “Lieutenant Rama”

“Sonar, aye”

“Still quiet above”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel”

Kurshin checked his watch. It was coming up on 11:00 Pm. local. “Keep your ears open. A twin screw vessel will be approaching our position within the next few minutes”

“From what direction”

“Landward”

“What is her size”

“Two hundred eighty feet” Kurshin said. The others were looking at him.

“Our rescue ship” Makayev asked. Kurshin nodded. “The Stephos out of Athens”

“Her crew”

“Our people” Kurshin said. “They’ll send divers over to put a collar around the missile and bring her aboard. Once that’s done we’ll go topside”

“That’s a lot of water” Makayev said. “Yes it is” The captain looked around the control room. “What about this boat? Do you mean to leave her here? Sooner or later she will be discovered” Kurshin stepped across the control room to the navigator’s table. The others crowded around him. He stabbed a blunt finger at a spot about thirty miles to their south. “The bottom drops rapidly here” he said. “More than three thousand meters.

Well below what this boat’s pressure hull can stand.

Before we get off, you will set the boat to head to sea at a slow speed, diving at a shallow angle. This can be done” Makayev nodded. “Within a couple of hours there will be very little left of her”

“They will find her hull, nevertheless” Makayev said “They have the equipment and the technology. And now they certainly have the will”

“That will take time” Kurshin said. “By then we will be long gone”

“What about us” the captain asked. “I don’t think we’re returning to Moscow just yet”

“No” Kurshin said. “Not just yet”

the conns speaker squawked. “Captain, I’m picking up that twin screw vessel.

McGarvey was dressed in black. Outside of the city, he had pulled off the secondary highway where he had blackened his face and pulled on a black watchcap. The clothing and equipment Trotter had supplied were first-class. Strapped to his left forearm beneath his shirtsleeve was a nine-inch, razorsharp stiletto, and strapped to his chest was a suppressed .22 Magnum automatic-the same weapon the Army’s Delta Force used It was a very good weapon for head shots, reliable and almost completely noiseless. The gun could be fired inside a house, and people in the next room would not hear it. He had spent the afternoon memorizing the maps, layouts, and photographs Trotter had supplied him with, and in the early evening he had managed to get a couple more hours rest. He circled the town to the south, the Tiber River on his left, keeping off the main highways. It was nearly midnight and there was no other traffic. There was no moon, and a light cloud cover made the night very dark. Nikandrov’s place was situated at the edge of a good-sized public park just outside the city limits. McGarvey drove Slowly past the gated driveway, catching a brief glimpse of the house through the trees.

A few lights illuminated the front of the two-story building, but no lights had shone from the windows. The KGB Officer and his bodyguard had apparently settled down for the night. Or had they? McGarvey wondered, turning back toward the park. If Nikandrov had had a hand in Baranov’s plan to take the Indianapolis he would have to be getting very nervous about now. He had sent his wife and children away. Was that merely coincidence? Or had it been the move of a man who expected trouble would be coming his way? McGarvey thought the latter was likely.

He left the car a half block from the park entrance and hurried back on foot, plunging into the dark woods that were crisscrossed with footpaths. During the day this would be a pleasant place to spend an afternoon. Peaceful, so different from the bustle of Rome just a few miles to the north. It was probably why the Nikandrovs had picked the place. An ancient stuccoed stone wall, at least eight feet tall, topped with broken glass, separated the Russian’s property from the park. where the hedges had grown close to the wall, their branches had been trimmed back. Foreign agents, esespecially men as important as Nikandrov, always tried to maintain a low-key lifestyle. They wanted no attention brought to themselves, they were always torn between security niea sures that would be obvious, and openness that could be dangerous. Nikandrov had his bodyguard, but was the perimeter of his property adequate? McGarvey decided he would have to find out before going Over-Keeping well within the relative darkness of the woods, McGarvey followed the wall for nearly a hundred yards before it turned west. From his vantage point he had been unable to detect any wires, or any sign that the wall was being monitored by closed-circuit television cameras-Just here it was very dark. The glow of the lights at the front of the house was only faintly visible This was the back of the property. The most vulnerable. He followed the wall for another twenty yards, finally finding what he had been looking for: a second gate. A narrow dirt road ran through the woods up to the gate. It was mostly overgrown with weeds and looked as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. Keeping low, he emerged from the woods and studied the hinges and locking mechanism On the old iron gate for a couple of minutes. Again he found no evidence that any alarm system had been installed. Nikandrov was relying on the wall, and on his bodyguard, Andrei Zalenin. Pulling on a pair of leather gloves, McGarvey quickly climbed up the gate, and at the top angled over to the wall, stepping carefully across the jagged broken glass and jumping lightly into the deep grass on the inside, rolling once and then quickly scrambling into the bushes. He waited a full five minutes for any sign that his entry had been detected. Somewhere in the distance to the south he thought he heard the whistle of a riverboat, but it wasn’t repeated, and except for the insect noises the night was quiet. The rear of the property had been badly neglected and was heavily overgrown with weeds and brush. McGarvey reached the house in under two minutes, stopping at the edge of the driveway where Nikandrov’s big Mercedes sedan was parked. Taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket, he studied the back of the house. No lights shone in any of the windows. It was believed that Nikandrov’s bedroom was on the second floor. His bodyguard would most likely be very near. Perhaps in an adjoining room.

Emerging from the brush he raced across the driveway, held up for a couple of seconds, and then went silently up on the low veranda, flattening himself against the wall beside the back door. Still there were no signs that his presence was known. There were two locks on the door. Using a slender casehardened steel pick, he had the first open in ten seconds. The second lock took a little longer, but at length he felt the bolt slip free. Pulling the gun from its holster, he cycled a round into the firing chamber, switched the safety to the off position, and tried the door. It opened inward, silently on well-oiled hinges. The darkened house smelled of cigarette smoke. McGarvey remained outside for several long beats. Someone had been just inside smoking a cigarette.

Within the last minute or so. Had they seen him coming up from the back?

Had they heard him picking the lock? Suddenly everything seemed wrong.

His internal warning system was in high gear. A trap? He had started to turn away from the door when a large caliber silenced shot was fired from behind him, the bullet just missing his head, knocking a big chunk off the masonry. Instantly he swiveled back on his left foot, diving inside the house just as a second shot was fired, this one ricocheting off the door frame an inch behind him. They had obviously seen him coming.

Zalenin must have circled around from the front of the house once he realized that McGarvey would be coming through the back door, hoping to catch him from the rear, as he had very nearly done. By now they would have called for help. Time was running out. But they had to have been expecting him. How? Zalenin’s bulky form appeared for an instant in the doorway, and disappeared. McGarvey, standing in the shadows across the room, held his fire. The Russian was a professional. He had provided a brief target, and when there had been no shot he would have to believe that McGarvey was either down, or was elsewhere in the house. It was a mistake. Zalenin appeared again at the doorway, hesitated for just a moment, then came in McGarvey fired two shots, the first catching the Russian in the face just below his left eye, the second hitting him in the throat, destroying his windpipe. Still, the Russian managed to get off a shot as he fell backward, but it went wide, and he crashed back against the open door with a tremendous racket. Any reason for stealth now gone, McGarvey turned and raced up the dark corridor to the foot of the stairs Something crashed above as he took the stairs two at a time.

At the top he paused for just a second. Nikandrov would probably be armed. He would know by now that something had gone wrong and would be Panicking. There were four doors at the far end of the corridor. One of them was open. From an adjacent door McGarvey could hear the soft but urgent tones of someone talking. Nikandrov was on the telephone calling for help. His eyes would be on the corridor door. Turning, McGarvey stepped silently through the open door way into what he suspected was Zalenin’s room. The door into Nikandrov’s suite was ajar. In the very dim light filtering in from outside, McGarvey could see Nikandrov’s bulky form, his back hunched, the telephone in his left hand, a big pistol in his right trained on the corridor door. Moving silently on the balls of his feet, McGarvey made it across the room in three steps, pressing the barrel of his weapon against the base of Nikandrov’s skull.

The Russian’s words stopped, and he stiffened. “Put the telephone down” McGarvey said softly. Someone shouted something in the phone, but Nikandrov carefully replaced the handset on its cradle. McGarvey reached around and took the Russian’s gun, and tossed it onto the bed. “Zalenin is dead, and we do not have much time, Comrade Nikandrov”

“The police are on their way” Nikandrov said, his voice steady. “So you will give me the answers I need very quickly or I will kill you”

“You are here to kill me anyway”

“That’s possible” McGarvey said. “You rented the cruiser Zenzero from a leasing firm in Naples. Who was the boat for, besides Arkady Kurshin” Nikandrov said nothing. McGarvey jammed the gun hard against the man’s neck. “Valentin Baranov will not mourn at your funeral”

“Nor yours”

“Yours will come first, I can guarantee it. We have the boat, and we have two of the nerve gas canisters. We know that one of our nuclear submarines is missing. I’m telling you this because I want you to know how important this business is to us”

“I don’t know anything”

“How many men besides Kurshin” McGarvey said.

“Five seconds. Four … three … two He began to squeeze the trigger.

“Six” Nikandrov suddenly blurted. “Who were they”

“I don’t know their names. They came into Rome on Monday night. I put them up at a small hotel

“Navy”

“Yes. But one of them was a doctor, I think. An alcoholic. “Where are they headed”

“I don’t know. In this you must believe me. There is nothing else. I was told nothing else”

“But you knew about the nerve gas and about the submarine”

“The gas, yes. One of our people brought it over nearly a year ago. But I swear to you I know nothing about any submarines”

“What else was put aboard the Zenzero, besides the gas and the Morse code transmitter”

“Food” Nikandrov said. “Weapons”

“Nautical charts”

“Yes, for the coast off Naples. No others” In the distance they could hear sirens. It was time to get out. McGarvey stepped back away from the Russian. “When you talk to Baranov tonight, give him greetings from McGarvey. He’ll know who I am”

“Fuck you” Nikandrov swore. McGarvey stepped back into Zalenin’s room, then turned and rushed out into the corridor and down the stairs. He should have killed Nikandrov. But the man had cooperated, and he wanted the message to get back to Baranov. The KGB chairman would understand exactly what he meant. Besides, he had never killed a man in cold blood.

Nor would he ever do so … except for Baranov. With that one, there were no rules. None whatsoever.

The Indianapolis hovered twenty meters above the bottom, her helm and diving planes locked on a course nearly due south with a down angle of a few degrees. The bottom sloped at a slightly sharper angle here to well over three thousand meters so that there was no chance the boat would ground herself before her hull imploded from the water pressure. It had taken the KGB crew of the MV Stephos nearly two hours to find the two-ton missile and send divers down to it. They had lifted it carefully up to the surface where under the cover of darkness they had loaded it aboard the ship. It was well after two in the morning. The others had already locked out and had swum to the surface using the British designed emersion suits which were good to around six hundred feet. Only Kurshin and Captain Makayev were left aboard. They faced each other across the control room. “All the internal compartments are open” Kurshin asked. Makayev nodded. “Except for the reactor spaces.

I don’t want to risk a leak from the core, no matter what the prize we’re seeking, Comrade Colonel” II It would have made it impossible for their rescue vehicles to approach the hull for a lot of years to come”

“Insanity” Makayev said sharply. “This is war.” the’yes, this is war.

But not against the sea, Comrade Colo’even a man such as yourself must understand common decency” The captain looked away through the open hatches down the length of the boat, gloomy in the red light, the odor of death much stronger now that all the hatches were open. “Every man who wears a uniform understands contingencies such as these. And so do the families of these boys” He turned back and looked Kurshin in the eye. “We will sink this boat to hide the evidence of what we have done, Comrade Colonel. But I will not contaminate the sea with radiation poisoning, nor will I make it impossible for the Americans to discover the final resting place of this crew” Makayev was weak like the others.

Kurshin wanted to kill him, but at this moment it simply wasn’t practical. He needed the captain to set the boat on its final dive, and he needed the cooperation of Makayev’s missile man. “You’re correct, of course” Kurshin said with an apologetic smile. He shook his head. “It’s just that … it’s the enormity of the thing. I wasn’t thinking straight” Makayev seemed relieved that he wasn’t going to have to fight about the issue. “I know, it’s gotten to all of us”

“I’m sorry about Dr. Veranov”

“He was affected most of all” Makayev said, softening even more. “But there was nothing else to be done, Arkasha. He could have killed us all”

Kurshin’s jaw tightened. No one on this earth had ever called him Arkasha except for Baranov. No one. It was everything he could do not to kill this bastard here and now. But again he forced a tired smile. “I appreciate Your understanding, Niki. I really do”

“Just so, II makayev said. “The lockout chamber has been recycled and is ready for us”

“Yes”

“Good. Go forward then and fill up your suit. We won’t have much time to get free of the boat before she accelerates to a dangerous speed, She could drag us down with her. II Kurshm hesitated, searching the other man’s eyes for some hidden purpose. But with Makayev, he suspected, what you saw was what you got. It was why he was always in trouble. He did not know how to play the political game so important for survival in the Soviet Union. He did not know how to hide his true feelings, his real intent. “Don’t be long”

“I won’t be, believe me”

The five-man lockout chamber was just forward of the conning tower.

Kurshin had donned his hooded emersion suit and had filled it with compressed air which would give him enough buoyancy and breathing air to reach the surface. Suddenly the Indianapolis shuddered and began to move at a down angle.

A few seconds later Makayev showed up on the run, and Kurshin helped him with his suit, filling it with air even as the captain was closing the lower hatch, and seawater began to rise above their knees.

The boat was already going very fast by the time the pressure inside the lockout chamber had been equalized and the outer hatch opened. Kurshin was about to suggest they slow the boat down when Makayev bodily shoved him out the hatch. The burbling water slammed his body up against the conning tower, and then he was tumbling end over end with absolutely no idea which way was up. Something grabbed at his left arm, and he looked down as the submarine slid below them, the prop wash again tumbling him end over end.

Makayev was beside and slightly above him, and gradually Kurshin realized that they were rising toward the surface, and he had to remember to force himself to breathe regularly lest he get an embolism m his lungs. He raised his head to look up, but couldn’t see anything at first. The water all around them was pitch-black. Gradually ‘ however, he was able to see a dark bulk off to the left. It would be the hull of the Stephos. And then they were on the surface, only a light chop bobbing them in the waves. Kurshin pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and flashed it twice. Immediately they could hear the sound of a small outboard motor, as a rubber raft headed toward them. He yanked his hood off and breathed deeply of the fresh night air, the smells of the sea and the nearby Greek coast pure and wonderful after the confinement of the submarine. Makayev had pulled off his hood and he swam over to Kurshin. “That was very close” he said. Kurshin looked at him. “I suppose you saved my life” Makayev said nothing. “Thank you, Comrade”

Kurshin said as he thought about when the time would be best to kill the man.

Fifty miles southwest of the island of Crete, the attack submarine Baton Rouge was in her drift mode on a heading of two-six-five, submerged at three hundred feet beneath the surface. Far to the north, in the Aegean, her sister boat the USS Phoenix was keeping close tabs on the approaches to the Dardanelles. They had been taking part in OPERATION LOOKUP with the CVN Nimitz when they had received orders to search for the Indianapolis. At all costs, their orders had specified, the Indianapolis was not to be allowed anywhere near the Dardanelles. “Top priority is communications. If the Indianapolis does not respond, and if she continues to make an attempt to reach the Black Sea, she is to be considered hostile, and is to be killed” commander Richard Keyser had surfaced his boat for clarification, and when it had come his orders had seemed no less incredible than before.

He knew JD. Webb. They were friends. If JD. was attempting to steal his boat, there was a gun pointed at his head. Or he was dead. Keyser would have bet anything on it.

A few minutes earlier their sonar had picked up what very Possibly was a submarine far off to their south. They had run at high speed for five minutes, and then had shut down to drift again.

“Conn, sonar” the comms speaker blared. “Conn, aye” Keyser said. “I have a definite fix on that target. Range eight thousand meters, bearing thin-six-zero. It’s changing left to right. I I The other submarine was directly ahead of them and was moving almost due south. “Is it the Indianapolis, Randy” The comms was silent for a beat. “Yes, Skipper, I’d be willing to bet anything on it, unless there is another Los Angeles-class boat in the area. “NO” Keyser said. “No chance it’s Russian”

“Not a chance, Skipper. She’s definitely an LA. class”

“What’s she doing”

“That’s the part that threw me at first. She’s not making more than ten knots, but she’s diving, on a constant angle. “How deep”

“Sir, a thousand feet … belay that. She’s passing eleven hundred feet now, and the angle of her dive has increased. I I Keyser looked at his exec at the chart table across the control room. “What’s it look like, Dean? Are they heading for the bottom”

“Just about ten thousand feet here, Skipper. But they’ve probably picked us up; they may be trying to duck under a diermocline”

“Then we’re going after her. Give me turns for full speed” Keyser turned back to the comms. “Sonar, keep a sharp watch, I want to know when she levels out”

“She’s still going down, Skipper”

“She’ll level off. She has to” The Baton Rouge accelerated smoothly, the angle on her planes down five degrees as she turned on an intercept course. The Los Angeles-class boats had a service depth of around fifteen hundred feet, though they were considered reasonably safe a few hundred feet deeper than that. It had always been one of their problems whenever they came up against the Russian Alfa-class boats that were constructed of welded titanium. The Alfas were not only faster, they could dive to nearly three thousand feet. Keyser hit the comms switch three minutes later as the Baton Rouge began to level off at one thousand feet. “Sonar, conn. I I “Sonar, aye. “What’s she doing”

“Skipper, she’s passed eighteen hundred feet and her angle hasn’t changed. I’m starting to pick up hull compression noises”

“Christ” Keyser swore. “Go active, ping him once, Randy, let him know we’re, here”

“Aye” Chief Petty Officer Randy Sparkman replied. Monts later they all heard the single pong. MAnything” Keyser radioed. “Negative. I’m getting more hull compression noises. Skipper, she’s just passed two thousand feet. I think … wait Keyser turned on his heel and hurried aft to the sonar control center. Sparkman looked up and shook his head.

“She’s breaking up, Skipper” Keyser donned a set of headphones. It took him a moment or two to sort out just what it was he was hearing. But it was there. The Indianapolis was definitely breaking up. “Give me another range and bearing” Sparkman hit the active sonar, the pong reverberating throughout the boat. “It’s a scattered target, Skipper.

She’@ losing all her air. Same range and bearing, but she’s going down now. Straight down”

“Oh, Christ” Keyser swore again, ripping the headphone! off. He hit the comms switch. “Dean, surface the boat. Emergency practices”

“Aye, Skipper.

A billion points of light sparkled on the deep blue of the Mediterranean as the Motor Vessel Stephos raced east into the rising sun. She was a French-built hydrofoil, and when she rose up out of the water on full plane she was a sight to see. Capable of speeds approaching fifty knots, at this moment she was doing nearly that, leaving behind a creamy but curiously flat wakeshe was beautiful, her lines sleek, her hull and superstructure all white except for the huge red crosses on her port and starboard sides. Her expansive forward deck, however, was cluttered with what appeared to be big crates, all marked LEBANESE RELIEF ORGANIZATION. In actuality, the crates were a sham; they served to hide the Tomahawk missile securely cradled to her hastily assembled launching rack.

“Within ten minutes” Kurshin had been assured by KGB Captain Ivan Akhminovich Grechko, who skippered the Stephos. “We can have the crates stripped away, the missile raised and fired”

“You have done a fine job” Kurshin said. Kurshin, Grechko, and Makayev had gone below to the captain’s cabin where they sat around a low coffee table on which was spread a chart depicting the entire eastern Mediterranean from Greece to Israel. Grechko stabbed a blunt finger on the chart at a point fifty miles north of Crete. They were just passing the eastern end of the island.

“We’ll make the Carpathos Strait just south of Rhodes within the next ninety minutes. Puts us out in the open Med for the run to the north side of Cyprus” Kurshin had been intently studying the chart. He looked up. Grechko and Makayev were watching him. “What time”

“We should be around the island Cape Andreas late this afternoon, and in position off the Syrian coast before nightfall”

Kurshin thought about it a moment. “We’ll reduce speed later today, perhaps around noon” he said. “But I’ll leave that up to you. The point is I don’t want to close with the coast before nightfall”

“That makes sense” Grechko nodded his agreement. “And then what, Comrade Colonel” Makayev asked. “We launch the missile, scuttle this boat, and take the auxiliary to the coast just north of Jeble where we’ll be picked up and flown immediately to Tbilisi”

“Why Georgia” Grechko asked.

“There isn’t much there except for peasants, factory workers, and old women. “Because we’re going to have to be hidden”

“For how long”

“I don’t know. Perhaps for a long time” “Because of the target” Makayev asked. “Yes, Niki, because of the target”

“Where” Kurshin sat back. He decided that it was going to be a pleasure killing this bastard. “What if I said Tel Aviv” The color drained from Makayev’s face, but Grechko was grinning. “That would teach those Jews a lesson” the KGB captain grunted. He was a roughshod man, with absolutely no class. He was ex-navy, though, and knew what he was doing here. “But you can’t be serious, Comrade Colonel” Kurshin had kept his eyes on Makayev. He shook his head. “We are not going to hit a civilian target”

He sat forward again and drew the chart a little closer.

“Here” he said, pointing. “En Gedi”

“What is there” Makayev asked.

“Israel’s stockpile of nuclear weapons.

Their only nuclear weapons” Makayev licked his lips. “They’d be deep underground. Beyond the damaging power of that missile, I think”

“You’re correct. But the nuclear blast will contaminate the surface for a lot of years to come, rendering their weapons inaccessible. Grechko was grinning again, his face like a death’s head. “Destroyed by an American weapon. That is rich” “But there’s more, isn’t there” Makayev said. “What do you mean” Kurshin asked. “There are some politics involved “

“You are a naval officer, Captain Makayev. Let’s just keep it at that, shall we”

“I don’t like this”

“I don’t care” Kurshin said coldly. “What time do we launch” Grechko asked softly. “Midnight. We’ll set it and the scuttling charges on a timer, giving us enough time to get clear. The missile will launch, and within sixty seconds the charges in the hull will blow and the Stephos will go to the bottom” Along with all but one of her crew, Kurshin thought.

Two miles west of the city of lrdkiion, on Crete’s north coast, the US. Navy’s SOSUS control center was housed in a low cement-block building, adjacent to a small paved airstrip.

Normally only a dozen men were stationed at the tiny station, but that number had more than tripled with the arrival of the CINCMED, Admiral Delugio, and his staff. An hour ago, McGarvey and an intensely worried Trotter had flown down from Rome. They stood now, facing the admiral, his intelligence officer, Malcolm Ainslie, and Frank Newman, the lieutenant the Pentagon had sent out, across the situation table.

“That’s it, thendelugio said heavily. The flash message from the Baton Rouge had just been relayed through Gaeta. He passed it across the table to McGarvey. “God only knows what happened out there, but it looks as if your job is done”

“Are they sure it’s the Indianapolis” McGarvey asked as he quickly scanned the message. But then he had the answer. “Yes” Delugio said.

McGarvey looked up from his reading. “She was headin south? Any possibility the Baton Rouge was wrong”

“No” Delugio said. “But at least you were correct in one thing, McGarvey. The Indianapolis was definitely not heading for the Black Sea” “Nor Israel” Ainslie said. “Admiral, how long before we can have the Pigeon On station” Lieutenant Newman asked.

“Two days before we’ll know anything. But it doesn’t matter now The politics are for the president to sort out. But the crew of the Indianapolis are all dead”

“There were only six of them” McGarvey said. “Plus Kurshin”

“It’s the proof Washington needed. And with that small a crew it’s no wonder they lost control of the boat” Delugio shook his head. “The bastards. At least they lost”

“I wonder ” McGarvey muttered half under his breath as he studied the map board that formed the surface of the situation table. The others were talking, but their words flowed around him.

The Indianapolis had been tracked by the SOSUS network as she emerged from the Malta Channel about forty hours ago, and then she had disappeared. It had given her plenty of time to pass Crete and come very near Israel, though from what he had been told about the ship’s nuclear missiles they could have been fired from nearly anywhere in the Mediterranean. The Tomahawk had a range of more than seventeen hundred nautical miles. From the spot where she had been hijacked off the coast of Italy to En Gedi was barely twelve hundred miles. Kurshin would have had plans for his escape once the missile was fired. It had taken them this time to get ready But the Indianapolis had been heading south, not east, and she had been diving. A mistake on the Russian crew’s part? Or, as the admiral suggested, had the boat simply gotten away from them?

it’s not like driving a car. Running a boat of that size takes a well-trained, experienced crew” Lieutenant Newman had said.

Baranov was a man who left nothing to chance. And Kurshin was good. The very best. They were not stealing the boat, trying to get it into the Black Sea. They only wanted one of the missiles. The target was En Gedi.

He ran his finger north along the chart from the position where the Indianapolis went down, and suddenly it came to him.

Trotter had been watching him. “What is it, Kirk” McGarvey looked up” Kurshin is not on that submarine” he said. Delugio and the others were looking at him. “They killed the crew and took the boat here, to the Gulf of Lakonia or the Bay of Messini where they hid on the bottom for twelve hours or so”

“Why? What are you saying” Trotter asked. “Kurshin wanted one of the Tomahawk missiles. It’s my guess they shoved it out a torpedo hatch, set the submarine on a southerly course, with a down angle on her planes, and got out through an escape hatch, Is that possible” Admiral Delugio was nodding. “But why”

“Could a Tomahawk be launched from the deck of a surface ship”

“Yes ” Delugio started to say, but then he had it too. “Christ. They had a mother ship waiting for them. They’ll launch the missile and then get the hell out of there”

“Not off the Greek coast” Megarvey said. “They’re heading east”

“Where” Trotter asked. “Someplace where they have friends. They’re not out to commit suicide. They want to launch that missile … on En Gedi … and then have the chance to get away” McGarvey was studying the chart.

“Syria or Lebanon would be my guess” They can’t have

“That’s a long ways across open water. mad, et it yet” Ainslie said, his eyes bright.

Onight” McGarvey replied. “They’ll launch sometime after dark”

“Then we’ve got them” Ainslie blurted. “It’s not so easy to hide a missile that size. And they’ll need launching equipment. A ramp”

“It’ll be hidden. Have we any satellites watching this end of the Mediterranean”

“I don’t know” Delugio barked. “But we’ll damned well find out”

“We’re looking for any boat big enough to handle the missile, heading east” McGarvey said. “There’s a lot of traffic out there” the admiral said, “some of it Russian Navy”

“The missile won’t be aboard a Soviet ship. The Russian Navy has nothing to do with this. It’ll be a civilian ship. Something that moves fast, something that would not be challenged … something completely unrely”

“We don’t have the ships to check every vessel. Too much water out there, McGarvey” the admiral said. “Bring me the pictures. I’ll know it when I see it”

“I’ll talk to Murphy” Trotter said. “The Israelis will have to be notified”

“Yes” McGarvey said, again looking down at the chart. “The problem is going to be approaching that boat. If we get too close, he just may say the hell with it and launch the missile anyway”

“What the hell sort of a bastard is he” Delugio snarled. “I don’t know yet” McGarvey said. “But I’m learning. He looked up. “Get those pictures”

They had reached the western coast of Cyprus by early afternoon, and Captain Grechko had slowed the boat down, bringing her off her hydrofoils so that she operated as a conventional craft. In this mode she was capable of speeds around twenty knots, but they would still reach their launch position off the Syrian coast sometime around eleven, giving them plenty of time to set up for the shoot and get free. The motion aboard was not so comfortable now as it had been before. The Stephos tended to wallow at times in the heavy swells coming from the southwest across the entire fetch of the Mediterranean, but no one was complaining; in less than twelve hours they would be on their way home.

Kurshin had taken over the captain’s cabin and after their Ai meeting this morning he had managed to get several hours of deep dreamless sleep so that when he rose a few minutes after three he was fully rested. He stood in the middle of the room, his head cocked, listening to the sounds of the ship. Grechko had brought four KGB crewmen with him: an engineer, a loadmaster, and the two divers who had located the missile and had placed the collar around it. With Captain Makayev and his four-man crew, it made ten men aboard besides Kurshin. Except for Grechko and his engineer, the others were resting. It had been a long two days and nights. Kurshin picked up the phone and called the bridge.

Grechko answered. “How does it look, Ivan Akhminovich”

“We’ve got Cape Kormakiti off our starboard now, about fifteen kilometers”

“We’re on schedule”

“Of course” Grechko said. “We’ll round Cape Andreas after dark.

Everything is going as you wished, Comrade Colonel” Kurshin heard a hesitancy in the man’s voice. “Yes, what is it”

“It’s your submarine drivers. Makayev and the others have been huddled together since before noon. I don’t like the smell of it”

“I’ll take care of it” Kurshin said. He had been expecting trouble from Makayev.

“I’m coming down, we’ll talk about it Grechko started to say, but Kurshin cut him off. “No. I’ll be topside in a minute. I want to check the missile. When I’m finished we’ll have our little chat”

“As you wish”

“Yes” Kurshin replied, and he hung up. He stood beside the desk for a moment or two deciding on his options, and on the timing of his moves.

Grechko was an ambitious man; he would go along with whatever happened.

Makayev, however, was the weak link. Without his cooperation his missile man, Lieutenant Chobotov, would refuse to do what was necessary to ready the missile for launch.

Now was the time to resolve that issue and get ready for his ultimate solution. He strapped on his shoulder holster and checked to make certain that his Graz Buyra was ready to fire, then went across the cabin to where he had stuffed his emersion suit in a locker. Pulling it out, he unzippered one of the leg pockets and withdrew the slender cylinder of Labun nerve gas, with its timing device attached to the release valve. Two had been used aboard the Zenzero, and four aboard the Indianapolis. Neither Russian crew had bothered to count. It was their mistake. Handling the deadly cylinder with extreme care, Kurshin removed the safety seal from the valve, checked his watch again and set the timer for eight hours. Pulling the four life jackets from a locker over the door, he gingerly put the cylinder inside and replaced the life jackets. Before he left the cabin he looked around. At a few minutes after eleven this evening, this place would become a killing chamber. He nodded in silent satisfaction, and a smile crossed his features as he stepped out into the corridor and went topside. On the foredeck, Kurshin ducked beneath the false crates into the space where the Tomahawk lay cradled in its launch ramp. Electric motors tied now to the ship’s power system would raise the ramp to an elevation of twenty degrees, plenty to assure a good launch. Everything was in readiness except for the setting of the timing and firing circuitry, which only Lieutenant Chobotov was capable of doing. Back out on deck, he looked toward the south where the mountains of the big island of Cyprus rose up in the hazefilled distance. So close now, he thought. And when it was finished he would not only have Baranov’s gratitude, he would have the man’s patronage …

with that, anything was possible. Absolutely anything. Grechko was alone on the bridge when Kurshin went up. The ship was being steered by an autohelm unit, her course and position determined by satellite navigation equipment. “Are they still below” Kurshin asked, closing the door.

Grechko nodded. “Rimyans is watching them” Rimyans was one of the divers. “Are your people armed” Again Grechko nodded. “Are you expecting trouble over this thing”

“Very probably”

“I thought so. What do we do”

“Get your people up on deck. As soon as they’re in place I’m going to call Makayev and his crew up to get the missile ready for firing”

“Do you think they’ll cooperate” Kurshin gave him a hard stare.

“They’re navy, we’re KGB. They’ll cooperate” Grechko’s eyes narrowed.

“But I think we’ll need that lieutenant to launch the missile”

“Only to set up the firing circuitry” Kurshin replied. “Afterward he will be expendable. They all will be. Do I make myself clear, Ivan Akhminovich”

“Perfectly” Grechko said softly, and he picked up the phone to call his crew. Kurshin stepped to the forward windows and looked down at the crates strapped to the foredeck. The Stephos was an innocent ship on a mission of mercy. No one could tell otherwise without coming aboard. He raised his eyes to the sky. In the distance to the east he could see the contrail of a jet aircraft flying very high. Possibly an airliner, he thought. Possibly the Israeli Air Force. Possibly almost any kind of a jet. But not a spy plane. Those you never saw. He had given a lot of thought to McGarvey over the past days. But now, for some reason, he was getting an uncomfortable feeling that somehow the man was watching him.

Impossible, and yet the notion was there, at the back of his head. It was because of Ramstein, he supposed, that he was becoming jumpy. But McGarvey had managed the impossible then. How about now? He was a devil.

“Give them two minutes” Grechko said. Kurshin turned back to him. “Do they understand what is required of them”

“yes, Comrade Colonel. As a matter of fact I had already discussed this very possibility with them. They know what to do”

“Good.

Grechko crossed the room, opened the door, and stepped out onto the bridge deck. A minute later he waved. “They are in place now”

Kurshin picked up the telephone and hit the button for Makayev’s cabin.

It was answered on the first ring by the captain.

“Yes”

“Send Lieutenant Chobotov topside. I want him to ready the missile”

“So soon”

“Yes, now. The line was silent for a moment, but then Makayev was back.

“Yes, Comrade Colonel, we’ll be right up” Kurshin hung up the phone.

There was no mistaking Makayev’s tone, nor his use of the word-we’ll. It was to be a showdown, and now. Again Kurshin grinned in anticipation.

“They’re on the way up” he said out on the bridge deck. “All of them”

Grechko asked. “It would appear so. You cover us from here. But no matter what happens, Lieutenant Chobotov isn’t to be harmed”

“I understand” Kurshin reached the main deck just as Makayev and his crew showed up from below. They all carried sidearms. Grechko’s men had hidden themselves, which was just as well because Makayev’s people drew their weapons and spread out. “We’re taking over this ship” Makayev said. “And then what, Niki” Kurshin asked calmly. “We’re going to dump the missile, and then sail into Limassol on the south side of Cyprus where we’ll turn ourselves over to the authorities. “Why”

“What we have done is an act of war, Colonel. We have decided that we will not compound this insanity by firing a nuclear weapon on any target … military or civilian”

“Have you lost your nerve then” Kurshin asked, still grinning. Makayev ignored the question. He looked up at Grechko standing on the bridge deck. “Where is your crew” Grechko smiled. “Shall I call them”

“Yes. I I “Very well” Grechko said, and at that moment the other four KGB officers, all of them armed with AK74 assault rifles, appeared on deck Makayev’s men stepped back in surprise and shock. “Put your weapons down now” Kurshin ordered. Makayev was shaken, but he was a good man and he held his ground, his weapon pointed at Kurshin’s chest.

“I will kill you”

“And then you will die” Kurshin said. “And I think, Niki, that perhaps you love your life more than I do mine”

Still Makayev hesitated. “If you cooperate now, you have my word that nothing will be said about this incident. Everything will be as before”

After several long seconds, Makayev finally uncocked the hammer of his automatic and stuffed the weapon in his holster. “Do as he says” he told his crew. One by one they holstered their weapons. “A wise decision, Niki” Kurshin said. Makayev looked at the KGB crew who still held their weapons at the ready. “Tell them to put down their guns”

“First I would like Lieutenant Chobotov to ready the missile. I need your fullest cooperation”

” All right” Makayev said heavily. “Do it, Aleksei Sergeevich”

Chobotov hesitated for a beat, but then broke away from the others and went with Kurshin around to the foredeck where they ducked beneath the false crates.

“I want it armed and set to fire at midnight exactly” Kurshin told him.

“What if something goes wrong, Comrade Colonel? I mean what if we are delayed for some reason in raising the launching ramp”

“Nothing will go wrong; trust me, Lieutenant”

“Well, if these crates are not removed and the ramp isn’t raised I wouldn’t want to be within fifty kilometers of this ship” Chobotov said.

He took a small flashlight from his jumpsuit Pocket and handed it to Kurshin. “You will have to hold the light for me, sir”

“With pleasure” Kurshin said. “And believe me, you and your captain will get exactly what you deserve for this” And very soon, Kurshin thought.

Very soon.

It took the young lieutenant less than ten minutes to arm the Tomahawk’s firing circuitry and install the timer Onto the proper circuit board.

When he was finished, he replaced the access panel with its ten fasteners. “There” he said, turning around. Kurshin had taken out his gun and had screwed the silencer tube on the end of the barrel.

Chobotov opened his mouth to cry out when he realized what was about to happen, but Kurshin fired a single shot point-blank into his left eye, slamming him backward, his head bouncing off the deck. Reholstering his gun, Kurshin turned and calmly ducked back out from beneath the false crates and made his way back to the afterdeck where Makayev and the others still stood at gunpoint.

Makayev looked beyond Kurshin. “Where is Aleksei”

“Dead” Kurshin said. “Kill them” Makayev reached for his gun, but Grechko’s men opened fire, and Kurshin began to laugh.

Time was running out for all of them. It was nearly six in the evening and still they had come up with nothing concrete. As someone around the situation table had growled, the stretch of the Mediterranean they were searching-from the eastern end of Crete to the coasts of Israel, Lebanon, and Syria — encompassed more than two hundred thousand square miles of water. Heavily trafficked water. A special circuit had been set up linking the SOSUS center with the National Security Agency’s Ft. Meade satellite reconnaissance service, over which KHII photographs came in a steady stream. An SR-71 spy plane had been dispatched from its base at Prestwick, Scotland, downloading its first batch of photographs through a special satellite link. The second batch, taken two hours later, would show them relative movements when compared to the first, and were due to be transmitted at any minute.

Naval Intelligence units along with local CIA stations throughout Europe had enlisted the cooperation of Interpol in an effort to track down the leasing of any ships within the past few days to a week. Their reports were continuously added to the growing pile of data. But this was summer. The Mediterranean was a playground for boaters from nearly every country in the world. The CVN Nimitz and its task force continued to shadow the Russian fleet, of course, and the Phoenix and Baton Rouge continued to watch the approaches to the Black Sea on the off chance that they had been fooled into believing that the Indianapolis had actually gone down. It would be another full twenty-four hours before the ASR Pigeon was on station and they could send the submersible down for a firsthand look. But by then, it would be too late. Trotter had been on the encrypted telephone with General Murphy all through the late morning and afternoon. The Israelis had been fully assessed of the situation, and they had sent up the U-2 spy plane they had purchased from the US. Air Force some years back, and which had proved very effective for them. They had no capability of downlinking such photographs; instead, the U-2 had to be returned to its base, the film canisters unloaded, and the film processed and printed. The results of that first overflight were expected soon.

It had become a gigantic job of collation. Each possible target vessel had to be studied carefully to make certain it was of the proper size.

But although the Tomahawk missile was heavy, it was only twenty-one feet long; it wouldn’t take a very large boat to handle it. Assuming the missile was going to be fired sometime tonight, and from a spot somewhere within the vicinity of the Syrian or Lebanese coasts, there was another limiting factor. If the missile had been transferred from the Indianapolis in the early morning hours (and there was still no proof of that), then it would take time to cross the nearly eight hundred miles of sea. With each target, once its speed was determined, they extrapolated backward, to see if the vessel could have been off the coast of Greece at the proper moment. “That is, if they’re going to fire the missile from that close” Ainslie said. McGarvey looked up from the situation table and rubbed his eyes. None of them had gotten any rest, and all of them were becoming edgy. Ainslie had been talking to Admiral Delugio, who looked and acted like a wounded bear on the verge of going on a rampage. ‘-What are you saying to me, Mal” the admiral growled.

“Just this, Admiral. We’ve got no guarantee that McGarvey is right. If I were this Kurshin, I would be getting rid of the missile at the first possible opportunity. They’ve been within firing range the whole time”

“They might have doubled back, is that it”

“Yes, sir. By now they could be anywhere. Anywhere at all. And once it gets dark we’re not going to have a chance in hell of finding them”

“What are you suggesting”

“Convince the president to go public” Ainslie said after a brief hesitation. “Gorbachev wouldn’t dare go ahead with it”

“it wouldn’t work” McGarvey said. They looked over at him. “Why not”

Delugio demanded. “Because Gorbachev and the Politburo know nothing about it, that’s why. This is a Baranov plot. It doesn’t go beyond him.

And you can bet he’s got his alibis. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen, his hands are going to be clean”

“Bullshit” Ainslie swore. “You’ve got this Baranov sonofabitch on the brain. The man is the head of the KGB, and a Politburo member.

Responsible men do not do these kinds of things” McGarvey laughed tiredly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about”

“It’s a goddamned vendetta. I’ve seen the report, McGarvey. You fucked up two years ago, and although you managed to stop the missile launch in Germany, you fucked up again by not stopping this Kurshin you’re so hot to go after. And less than two months ago you fucked up again, nearly getting yourself killed in the process”

“Besides, his target is Israel, not the States, is that it” McGarvey said tightly. He was beginning to lose his temper. “Get out of here, McGarvey. We don’t need your kind. You’re nothing but a hired gun, and from where I’m standing it doesn’t look like you’re even worth a damn at that”

Trotter, who had been talking on the phone across the room, put it down.

“Kirk” he called in warning. “Admiral, call Admiral O’Malley” Ainslie said. “He can take this to the president. Before it’s too late. And order this maniac out of here. This is a Navy matter. The CIA will just fuck it up”

McGarvey was around the big table in three steps. He grabbed a handful of Ainslie’s uniform blouse with his left hand, the big Graz Buyra he had taken from the Grosser Miiggelsee boathouse in his right, the barrel pressed into the soft flesh beneath the man’s chin. “Stand down, mister”

Delugio roared. “I’ve come up against this sonofabitch before, Ainslie, and you’re right, I did fuck up McGarvey said through clenched teeth.

“He wants to unseat Gorbachev and become party secretary himself. If Kurshin pulls this off for him, Baranov just may succeed, and then you and the Navy will definitely have a problem”

“Mister, that’s a direct order” Delugio was shouting, but McGarvey ignored him. “But he’s counting on assholes like you to help him do his work. Going public with this now will only delay our search, giving him plenty of time to do what he’s set out to do. Admiral Delugio had snatched a .45 automatic from one of the Marine guards and he jammed the barrel into the back of McGarvey’s head. “Lower your weapon now” he said.

McGarvey cocked the Graz Buyra’s hammer. “Let me get on with my job, Admiral”

“We’ll talk about it. First put down your weapon”

“He very nearly succeeded in Ramstein, and this time he managed to steal one of your submarines and kill her crew. He won’t stop”

“Kirk” Trotter shouted again from across the room McGarvey did not divert his stare from Ainslie’s bulgin eyes. “We’re not giving this up, John”

“Killing him won’t do any good” a familiar voice said. McGarvey glanced toward the door. Lev Potok and his number two, Abraham Liebowitz, both of them dressed in battle fatigues, stood there. “Who in hell let them in here”

Delugio bellowed. “I did” Trotter said. ““They’re Mossad”

“Kirk, I know where your missile is” Potok said. “Or at least I think I do. We’ve got a chance now to stop him”

“The U-2 flight”

“Yes. I’ve brought the photographs with me. But we need your information to make sure. And it will be dark very soon. We don’t have much time”

McGarvey slowly lowered his weapon, uncocked the hammer, and holstered it. “Stay the hell out of my way, Ainslie” he said. “And put that goddamned gun down, Admiral” Delugio lowered the .45 after a beat.

Ainslie had staggered backward, rubbing at his throat. “Arrest this man!

Now”

“Shut the fuck up” Admiral Delugio snapped. He turned to Potok and Liebowitz. “As you say, gentlemen, we don’t have much time. Let’s see what you’ve got” A space was cleared on the situation table. Potok unsnapped his briefcase and quickly laid out a batch of photographs that the U-2 had taken on her overflight of the coastlines of Syria and Lebanon. McGarvey picked up a magnifying glass and studied the images of a large boat with a white hull. A red cross had been painted on each side of her sleek hull. The foredeck Was littered with crates. In one photograph he could mak out the lettering. Lieutenant Newman had picked up another magnifyin glass and he too studied the photographs. When he looked up he shook his head. “Won’t wash” he said. “Why” Potok asked.

“This is the Motor Vessel Stephos, right” Potok nodded.

“That’s the Red Cross ship out of Athens that your people checked out, wasn’t it” Newman asked Ainslie. At first the man said nothing, but a look from Delugii got him started. “Yes. It’s a legitimate Red Cross vessel”

“Did you have a chance to find out where she was sailing to” Potok asked. o, Ainslie admitted. “She was a legitimate ship, an(there just wasn’t enough time to mess with it” “Besides” McGarvey said, “we discounted her because of the timing. At twenty knots or so she wouldn’t have been able to make it from the Greek coast, where we think the missile was transferred, this far east”

“At twenty knots” Potok said. He turned again to Ainslie “Did your people tell you what kind of a ship this was” Ainslie was confused. “No … just “

“It’s a hydrofoil, Kirk” Potok said. “She is capable of doing fifty knots over reasonably calm seas, which is exactly what we have now”

“We didn’t show that kind of speed”

“No, she probably got the hell out of there in a big hurry to put as many miles between her and the pickup point as possible, and when she was well clear she slowed down to normal speed”

“Christ” McGarvey swore softly. “What we need to know is your best guess for the time of transfer. When was the missile taken off your submarine”

“Sometime between midnight and two in the morning, a,@ best we can figure from the track of the Indianapolis before she was spotted” Delugio said.

Newman snatched up a pair of dividers, and quickly walked them across the chart, starting from a spot between the Greek bays of Messini and Lakonia, where they figured the missile had been offloaded, to the Syrian coast where the Stephos was now heading. He looked up. “Bingo” he said. Again McGarvey studied the photographs. “Still doesn’t nail it down solid”

“Your missile is twenty-one feet long, is that right” Potok asked.

Delugio nodded. “The pile of boxes on the Stephos’s foredeck would just hold it”

“Marked Lebanese Relief organization. Still could be legitimate — “

McGarvey started to Say

“We’ve checked on it, Kirk. ‘[know nothing about it” Potok said.

McGarvey thought about it for a moment. it was just the kind of ploy Kurshin would be using. The man had been called the chameleon. He was always out in the open in plain sight, only you were never quite certain what you were seeing. “How sure are you of this, Lev” McGarvey asked now, just about one hundred percent. The Air Force is standing by. We can make a surgical strike — “

“No” Delugio cut him off. “In the first place, if you hit the missile’s fuel tanks and they blow, you’d be spreading radioactive material into the sea”

“And in the second place” McGarvey picked it up. “Kurshin will be waiting for something like that to happen. He might just decide to blow the missile the moment your jets came over the horizon”

“Killing himself” Potok said. “I don’t think he cares” Potok started to say something, but then he nodded. “We’ve both seen him in action.

You’re right”

“We can have a unit of SEALS there within ninety minutes” the admiral said. McGarvey and Potok were looking into each other’s eyes.

“My people will do it” the Israeli said. “We’ve got the bigger stake “

“Yes” Trotter broke in. “The target is their nuclear research facility at En Gedi. A lot of civilians could be killed” No one else in the room except for Trotter and McGarvey knew the real nature of En Gedi, and Potok glanced at him gratefully.

” Have your SEALS standing by just over the horizon, Admiral” McGarvey said. “This fight belongs to me and Potok”

“No” Delugio said. Potok looked at him. “Either I have your word, Admiral, or my Air Force will make a first strike before you could move.

We can be on top of that ship within eight minutes” Delugio was shaking his head. “This KGB officer of yours is not alone. He’s at least got his crew from the submarine, and most likely a small crew that brought the Stephos out for the pickup”

“Probably not” McGarvey said. “What are you talking about” Delugio demanded. “It’s Kurshin. He has the habit of killing his own people once they have served their purpose”

“Jesus”

“How long will it take you to get us out there, Admiral McGarvey asked.

“I’ll get us there” Potok said. “We have three missile boats shadowing the Stephos. They’re just over the horizon. We’ll fly to Limassol, and from there by chopper out to our boats”

“It’s our missile, god damnit delugio argued. “Neither of you knows anything about it. If it’s armed, will you be able to disarm it”

“He’s right” McGarvey said after a beat. “Me” Lieutenant Newman said.

“That’s why they sent me”

“All right” McGarvey agreed. “And me” Ainslie said, stepping forward.

McGarvey’s eyes narrowed.

I — M@m “My job is naval intelligence, and I did get us this far. Let me do my job “

“What’s the real reason” Ainslie’s lip curled. “I’m an ambitious officer, McGarvey. I want to be there when you find out that you’re wrong. “Can you shoot”

“I’m an expert” McGarvey glanced at Potok, who shrugged. “You’re on” he said. “Just don’t get in my way”

“I’m calling in the SEALS” Delugio said. “They’ll be on standby status”

“But well off, Admiral” McGarvey cautioned. “If that missile explodes, it’s not going to be very healthy around there. What about one of our submarines”

“Twelve hours at least” Delugio said. “Then you’d better wish us luck”

“Are you just about finished” Kurshin asked the two KGB officers in the dimly lit forward machinery space. Rimyans, one of the divers, looked up, his dark eyes piglike in his broad face. “We have the engine room to go. It’ll be another half hour, perhaps longer” The other officer, Viktor Georgevich Budanov, reached up out of the bilge hatch for a screwdriver. He looked at Kurshin. “What’s the matter, Comrade Colonel, are you getting nervous. 9:1 No” Kurshin replied, controlling his temper. It was just 00 PM. Only a couple of more hours and these bastards would be dead.

Well, fuck your mother, but I’m nervous. We’ve got en’o’ugh plastique here to sink an aircraft carrier, and some times I get a little twitchy, if you know what I mean” Budanov laughed. The Stephos’s engines suddenly changed pitch, and the boat shuddered as she slowed down.

Kurshin glanced over his shoulder toward the ladder up. They were probably just about on station. Soon now, he told himself. “Get on with it then” he said, turning back to the other two. “We’re abandoning this ship around eleven o’clock. I want everyone in my cabin a few minutes ahead of time”

“Why” Rimyans barked. Again he controlled his temper. They had followed their orders and had killed Captain Makayev and his crew, but ever since that incident their attitudes toward him had changed dramatically. Only Grechko had remained civil. They no longer trusted him. And with good reason. “Moscow is not so far from here, Comrade Lieutenant. I would suggest you keep that in mind”

Rimyans flinched, but he didn’t back down much. “You have our fullest cooperation, Comrade Colonel”

“I want nothing more from you” Kurshin snapped, and he turned on his heel and left. The ship was starting to roll slightly as she slowed to a complete stop. On deck he took the ladder up to the bridge. One of the other divers, Nikolai Pavlovich Sokolov, was the only one there. He was a thick bear of a man, with shoulders that bulged out of his jumpsuit.

“Why have we stopped” Kurshin asked. “We’re just about on station”

Sokolov said languidly. He wore a Makarov automatic pistol at his hip, and his AK74 was propped up against the helmsman’s seat. “There is a countercurrent here that will drift us into position within the next hour or so”

“Who told you to do this”

“Captain Grechko, naturally” Kurshin stared coldly at him for several long seconds.

“Where is he” Sokolov shrugged. “Below somewhere with Anatoli. Having something to eat, I think”

Kurshin glanced out the forward windows. In the distance to the east he thought he might be seeing the dim glow of the city of Jeble. But unlike European cities, most Arab communities were relatively dark. “Stay here”

he told the KGB officer. “When we’re on station let me know”

“Those are my orders” Sokolov said. “Yes” Kurshin said, forcing a smile to his lips. “See to it that you keep a sharp watch” He left the bridge and, below, went back to the galley. No one was there, nor was the main saloon occupied.

Something was going on. He could suddenly feel it thick in the air.

Pulling his Graz Buyra from its holster, he screwed the silencer tube onto the end of the barrel again and switched the safety off as he moved silently forward on the balls of his feet to his cabin door.

A light shone from beneath the door, and he thought he could hear someone murmuring Something inside. The voices were too low and indistinct, however, for him to make any sense of what was being said.

But the fact that they were in his cabin was indictment enough. Holding his gun out of sight behind him, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Grechko and Akensov were intently studying the chart on the low coffee table. They both looked up guiltily, Grechko’s eyes flicking for just an instant to the life jacket locker above the door. So they had discovered the Labun canister, and they knew what he was planning, Kurshin thought.

It was just as well. “We were just going over the chart” Grechko said.

“It’s not far now” Kurshin said, smiling. He closed the door.

“How are Leonid and Viktor doing with the explosive charges”

“They’ll be another half-hour”

“Good. I’ll be glad to get off this toy boat Grechko stopped in midsentence; something he’d seen in Kurshin’s eyes reflected in his own. “You know, don’t you” Kurshin said. “It’s too bad”

Grechko suddenly reached for his pistol, but he was too slow. Kurshin brought his big weapon around and fired one shot, catching Grechko in the face, driving him backward against the couch. Akensov started to roll left, but Kurshin calmly switched aim and fired a second shot, this one catching the KGB officer in the side of his head just below his left ear, shattering his jaw and exploding inside his brain. He was dead before he hit the floor. Neither of them had cried out, nor would the sounds of his two shots have carried very far outside the cabin. He didn’t think there was much danger that the others knew what had happened here. Not yet. For several long seconds he stood stock still as he weighed his new options. Again he was getting a bad feeling that somehow McGarvey was watching him; somehow, as impossible as it seemed, McGarvey was somewhere very near. The man was coming. He looked at his watch. Barely five minutes had passed since Rimyans had told him they would be another half-hour getting the explosive charges in place. They would be occupied for at least twenty-five minutes. No reason for them to come topside. He went out of his cabin and hurried back up on deck.

The ship was dark. They had been running without lights for the past two hours. Holding the big gun in his right hand, he climbed awkwardly up the outside ladder to the bridge deck. Sokolov was studying the readouts on the satellite navigation unit above the helm. He turned around when Kurshin came in. The instant he saw the gun he realized what was about to happen and he dove for the Kalashnikov rifle. Like the others, he was too late. Kurshin fired one shot, this one catching the KGB officer in the forehead just above the bridge of his nose. The back of his head exploded in a mass of blood and bone, and he was flung against the bulkhead. Now there were only two of them left. For the moment they were useful. But only for the moment. Holstering his gun, he went into the radio room where it took him a full minute rummaging around in the drawers and cabinet to come up with a flashlight and a small screwdriver. Outside, he hurried down to the main deck, listened for a second to make certain that Rimyans and Budanov were not coming up, and then went around the port side to the foredeck, where he ducked beneath the false crates. He had to hold the flashlight in the crook of his neck while he removed the screws from the missile’s forward access panel.

When he had it off, he reached inside and very carefully eased the timer away from its circuit board and shined the light on it. The liquid crystal display showed 168 minutes, 8 seconds before firing-just midnight. Using the screwdriver to turn the reset button, he cycled the mechanism to 48 minutes exactly. The missile was now set to fire at ten o’clock. Replacing the timer with its circuit board, he quickly slid the access panel back in place and tightened the screws. When he was finished, he tossed the screwdriver aside, switched off the flashlight, and ducked back out onto the foredeck. Still nothing moved. The ship, for all intents and purposes, was dead in the water. Working carefully and methodically, acutely conscious now of the ticking clock, he began removing the straps that held the false crates in place. As each of the lightweight wooden boxes came free — exposing a section of the missile and its launching ramp-he tossed it overboard. The work was not difficult, though the crates were bulky and the ship was rolling a little more than before. Even so, by the time he was finished he was sweating heavily. Again he stopped to check his watch. It was coming up on 9:30. Rimyans and Budanov would be just about finished by now.

He yanked his pistol out of its holster, checked the safety, entered the midship’s hatch, crossed the main saloon, and at the ladder into the hold and engine spaces, paused for just a moment. He thought he could hear them talking below. Careful to make absolutely no sound, he went down the ladder, and at the bottom, crept aft to the engine room door, which was open.

A-AM Rimyans, his back to the door, was saying something to Budanov, who was just crawling out from behind one of the big turbocharged diesel engines. “Yes, Comrade Colonel, we are finally done” Budanov said, spotting him. “Thank you” Kurshin said with a polite smile, and he shot Rimyans in the back of the head, driving him up against the desalinator panel. Budanov cried out as he desperately tried to reach his own pistol, but Kurshin fired a second shot, this one taking the man’s jaw off, and he crumpled in a heap and lay still in a pool of his own blood and shattered teeth. Now he was finally alone. Exactly the way he had wanted it. Back up on the foredeck, he hurriedly removed the three straps holding the missile onto the launch ramp, and then the waterproof plugs covering the turbojet’s air intake and exhaust. Standing back, he flipped the switch on the portable electrical panel that Grechko’s people had set up, and the Tomahawk’s launch ramp began to rise up from the deck.

They made good time through the light chop, the heavily silenced one-hundred-horsepower Johnson outboard pushing the big rubber raft at thirty knots. It seemed to McGarvey that it had taken them days to get to this point, yet it had been only hours. They had been flown aboard an Israeli Air Force C-130 to the British base outside Limassol on the south-central coast of Cyprus, where they had transferred to a Sikorsky SH-3D Sea King helicopter for the 150-mile run up the coast and then across the open water toward the Syrian coast.

They had been transferred by sling down to the deck of one of the Israeli gunboats standing by; the transfer had taken nearly a half-hour.

Potok and McGarvey had gone first. By the time Ainslie and Newman were down, the gunboat skipper had finished his hasty briefing. The Stephos was about twenty miles out, and drifting slowly east on the current. She was showing no electronic emissions, and the latest U-2 overflight had detected no lights. In fact, the U-2 would have missed her completely except for the infrared radiation coming from her diesel exhausts.

The Israelis supplied them with suppressed ninemillimeter automatics, stun grenades, night vision goggles and helmets, as well as tactical communications radios. In addition, they carried a single fifty-millimeter sniper rifle with night-spotting scope and one hundred rounds of ammunition. “There could be twenty men aboard” the gunboat commander had told them. “And you can damn well bet they’re highly trained and motivated. They’d have to be to come this far. “I don’t want your people making a move until we say so, or until you’ve lost all communications with us; is that understood” McGarvey had said. The skipper had glanced at Potok, who nodded. “You’ve got it”

In the rubber raft, their radios clicked once. “Copy”

“Affirmative” Potok spoke softly into his radio. They were speaking in English because of McGarvey and the others.

“You should be about a mile out. She’s lying five degrees off your starboard bow”

“I’ve got it” McGarvey said, suddenly picking out the silhouette of the Stephos. Something seemed odd … out of place.

“We have it” Potok radioed softly. Then McGarvey understood what he was seeing. “My God” he said. He looked at Potok. “The missile is up in the firing position”

“You’re right Newman started to say, when they all heard the unmistakable sound of automatic-weapons-fire from the ship. “That’s a Kalashnikov” Potok shouted, and he opened the Johnson’s throttle to the stops, the rubber raft surging ahead on a burst of speed.

Kurshin could hardly believe his senses. The shots had come from somewhere aft, and had raked the hull of the twenty-foot auxiliary launch that he had been about to lower into the water.

From where he crouched behind the now useless boat, oil and gasoline leaking from its pierced tanks, he peered into the darkness, looking for a movement, anything. Who was it? Had Grechko hidden an extra crew member for just such a contingency?

He didn’t think so, but then the KGB captain had been no fool … only slow. He glanced quickly at his watch. The missile was due to launch in less than twenty minutes. Was this then to be his fate? Was he meant to die here like this? He could not accept such a thing. There were so many projects Baranov had promised him. “Together we will do great things, Arkasha” the KGB director had said. Kurshin could hear his words clearly. “We will have a great future, you and I” There were rubber rafts aboard. He had seen the canisters up on the bridge deck. It would be a long haul to the Syrian coast, but he had been made to do even more difficult things in his life. It was possible. Anything was possible.

But who had come for him …,? Then he had it. Budanov. He could see the man’s jaw shattering, he could see him pitching onto the engine-room floor in his own blood. It had been a stupid mistake on his part, not making certain the man was dead. It was the only possibility.

“Viktor Georgevich” he called out softly. “Can you hear me” He thought he heard a gurgling sound, as if someone were choking on their own saliva. Tensing his muscles he fired a shot aft, the bullet ricocheting off the metal superstructure, and then he leapt away from the protection of the launch toward a half-open door across the portside passageway.

Budanov’s returning fire slammed into the boat, ricocheted off the deck, and blew the door off its hinges. Kurshin cried out as he dove into the forward staterooms corridor. “My eyes! My eyes” he screamed. He pushed his way farther back into the relative darkness and raised his pistol.

Moments later he heard the sounds of someone coming, and his finger tightened on the trigger. He was hardly prepared for the apparition that suddenly filled the doorway, and he nearly missed his shot. Budanov, his entire lower jaw shot away, blood streaming from his half-destroyed tongue, stood there weaving on his feet, the big AK74 with night-spotting scope clutched tightly. Budanov started to bring the rifle up, but Kurshin finally fired, the shot catching the KGB officer in the right eye, shoving him violently backward against the rail, his knees collapsing beneath him.

Kurshin rushed out on deck, where he stood over Budanov’s body for just a moment. The man’s left leg was twitching in death. Kurshin raised his pistol again and fired a second round into the shattered face. “No mistake this time, Comrade” he said, smiling. Now it was time to leave.

Turning, he raced to the ladder up to the bridge, holstering his pistol.

Topside, he glanced down at the missile in its last few minutes of countdown to launch. Again he smiled. “Succeed in this for me, Arkasha, and the world will be yours” Baranov’s words came clearly to his ears.

“Money, women, status, and prestige” But he had never wanted any of those things. Always there had been only one constant in his life.

Killing. “Then you shall have that” Baranov had said, laughing. “The streets will run red with blood wherever you walk”

Baranov had touched a finger to the Side of his nose. “Believe in me, there is enough killing to be done in this world … even for a man with your appetites” Kurshin found the two life raft canisters attached to the deck wings on either side of the bridge house. He quickly released the retaining straps holding the starboard-side canister down, and was about to toss it overboard when something hot and unbelievably hard slammed into his side, Picking him bodily up off his feet and knocking him backward against the bulkhead. He sat for several long Moments, dazed, scarcely believing he had been shot. He looked down at his side.

There wasn’t much blood, but the bullet had passed beneath a rib and had exited out of the small of his back. He had been lucky. Pulling himself half erect, he cautiously Peered out over the edge of the rail, but he couldn’t see a thing. The sea was pitch-black. He couldn’t even distinguish the horizon. Then he heard the sound Of an outboard motor.

Incoming. Very fast.

McGarvey. The single thought crystallized in his brain. The sonofabitch had come after all, and in a way Kurshin was glad for it. They would finish here, now, the two of them, one way or the other. Keeping below the level of the rail, he scrambled back to the bridge door, opened it, and inside grabbed Sokolov’s AK74 still leaning against the helmsman’s chair. Once again out on the starboard wing deck, he cycled a round into the firing chamber, keyed the night-spotting scope, and rose up. In one smooth motion he brought the scope to his eye, scanned the sea …

finding, then missing, then finding again the rubber raft. He got a brief impression that there might have been four men aboard. The raft was very close, well within twenty-five yards. He fired, keeping his finger on the trigger, playing the rounds back and forth across the rubber raft, which literally exploded under his fusillade. And still he fired, until finally the assault rifle’s firing pin hammered on an empty chamber. Slowly, stiffly, he rose up as he continued to scan the water with the scope. There was a lot of debris in the water, but he could not tell if there were bodies, or if anyone lived. Raising the scope a little higher he scanned the surrounding waters, but he could see no other boats. Against all odds he had finally triumphed. This made up for everything. Baranov would forgive his previous mistakes. “The world is my will and my idea, Arkasha. Never forget this” He laid the gun down and stood there for a long time wavering on his feet, his eyes coming in and out of focus. Give yourself the chance, Arkasha. Minimize your risks wherever possible. Stumbling to the portside wing, he released the other life raft canister and shoved it overboard. The instant it hit the water far below, the canister broke open and the raft began to automatically inflate. He could not survive such a long fall into the water. Not now.

Not wounded. It seemed to take forever for him to climb down to the main deck, and when he reached the bottom of the ladder he fell, pain raging through his body, nearly causing him to black out.

Pulling himself up again, he worked his way past Budanov’s body, where he opened an electrical panel on the bulkhead and hit the switch that lowered the boarding stairs.

Ainslie was gone and Newman had taken at least two rounds in the chest.

He was unconscious but still alive. Potok, wounded himself, had managed to inflate his life jacket, and he held on to the Pentagon man. They had spotted the single figure on the bridge deck, and McGarvey had fired a quick burst from the sniper rifle. The man had gone down, but seconds later all hell had broken loose. Potok looked around. “Kirk” he called out softly. There was no answer.

The Stephos had drifted down on them and now was barely fifteen yards away. Potok could clearly see the Tomahawk missile raised in its launch position.

They had come so close, he thought bitterly. And they had failed.

“McGarvey” he shouted. But still there was no answer.

Kurshin stood at the head of the boarding stairs, his ear cocked. Had he heard a voice? Someone calling out? He held his breath to listen, but the night was silent. There was no one. Even McGarvey could not have survived.

He started down. The fully inflated life raft had drifted with the current back down against the hull of the ship. Somehow he was going to have to paddle it away before the missile fired, and before the explosive charges below took the ship to the bottom.

Kurshin was halfway down the stairs when a dark figure suddenly rose up from the water and scrambled aboard. Blood flowed down the side of his face from a head wound, and as he straightened up to his full height Kurshin could see that he held a stiletto in his right hand. The holster strapped to his chest was empty. His eyes! The knowledge exploded in Kurshin’s head. “You’re the devil” he shouted. “You knew that I was coming for you” McGarvey said, starting up. his senses. Kurshin backed up a step before he came to The man wasn’t the devil … he was nothing more than a man. He grappled his pistol out of its holster and thumbed the safety off. But McGarvey was too quick. They fell back against the stairs, each of them scrambling desperately to bring their weapons into play while holding on to the railing. Kurshin managed to yank his gun hand free, and he raked the barrel against McGarvey’s skull with every ounce of his strength, causing the American to reel away. McGarvey was like an animal driven by wounded rage. He recovered instantly, batting the gun away as Kurshin fired, the shot going wide, and the automatic slipping from his grasp and falling overboard. An incredible pain stitched Kurshin’s side, just below the gunshot wound. He had a split instant to realize that he had been stabbed-McGarvey’s knife hand coming around again-when he kicked out, the heel of his boot catching the American full in the chest. He turned and clambered on all fours back up the stairs to the deck of the ship, mindless of his wounds. At the top, he raced forward to Budanov’s body where he snatched up the man’s Kalashnikov rifle, spun back on his heel and fired off a burst just as McGarvey started to come over the side. The American either ducked or fell back, but Kurshin didn’t wait to see. He turned again and raced forward around the superstructure to the foredeck where he flattened himself against the bulkhead. His breath was coming raggedly, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. He raised his left wrist to his eyes and tried to focus on the watch numerals. It was 9:55. The missile would fire in five minutes.

He looked across at the Tomahawk elevated in its cradle, barely ten feet away. When its engines fired he would die. But he would have succeeded.

He would have won. And that was all that counted now, because in the end McGarvey would be dead too.

McGarvey eased up again over the top of the rail and peered down the length of the portside deck toward the bow of the ship. A man lay crumpled in a heap by an open doorway. But it wasn’t Kurshin.

Time. It always came down to a matter of time, he thought. By now the missile was most likely in its countdown mode. But the Russian would have set it to launch after he was clear of the ship.

Or would he? Or had he been delayed? Or didn’t he care? Kurshin had called him the devil. They were two men cut, in many respects, from the same cloth. Both of them were killers. Only an accident of geography at the moment of their births had determined which side they killed for.

But Kurshin had murdered his own people for expediency’s sake, hadn’t he? Was there any difference between that and what he himself had done?

By his own mistakes he had caused the deaths of a lot of good people.

Their names and faces were always with him.

Who then was the worst: the killer by commission or the killer of innocent people by omission? McGarvey pulled himself the rest of the way over the rail, paused in the darkness for just a second, and then raced forward on the balls of his feet toward the open doorway halfway up the portside passageway. Kurshin reached around the corner and fired a quick burst, raking the deck just as McGarvey ducked inside. Without hesitation, McGarvey raced down the corridor to the starboard side, where he flung open the door with a crash. Then, careful to make no noise, he turned and hurried back the same way he had come.

Kurshin would be watching the starboard-side passageway now. He hoped.

Nothing moved on the port side as McGarvey emerged from the doorway, and stepping over the body of a man whose face had been mostly shot away, he sprinted forward. Sensing something behind him, Kurshin started to turn as McGarvey reached him, shoving him up against the bulkhead, the point of the stiletto beneath his chin. “When is it set to launch” McGarvey shouted. Kurshin tried to struggle, but McGarvey increased the pressure on the stiletto, drawing a little blood. “When” he shouted.

Kurshin smiled. “Why don’t we stay here like this and find out together?

We have a lot to talk over, you and I”

“I’ll kill you now”

“Then we’ll die together” Kurshin whispered. The moment the words escaped his lips he realized he had made a mistake. McGarvey saw it in the Russian’s eyes. The missile was going to launch at any moment.

“Sonofabitch” Kurshin shouted, and he gave a massive heave. McGarvey was off balance and he stumbled backward, the point of the razorsharp blade raking Kurshin’s throat, opening up a five-inch-long gash that instantly spurted blood. The Russian was incredibly fast. In four long steps he was across the foredeck and at the rail. “No” McGarvey screamed, the sound nearly animalistic in its intensity. He threw the stiletto with every ounce of his strength at the same moment Kurshin disappeared over the side. A second later there was a big splash and then the night was quiet. McGarvey turned and faced the missile. The countdown was started now. He forced himself to calm down. To think it out. To remember something of what Frank Newman had told them. Stepping forward around the base of the missile launcher, he found the control panel with its single switch. He flipped it, and the launch rack immediately began to descend. But slowly. Too slowly.

The Tomahawk’s guidance system was in its nose cone, Newman had told them. There was a small access panel just a few inches from its tip. But it was too high to reach yet. Ten screws, Newman had said. It would take time to remove them.

He spotted the screwdriver lying on the deck, and he picked it up.

“if they’ve placed a timer circuit in the firing mechanism, we’re going to have to first determine if removing it will cause the rocket to fire anyway” Newman had said. “It’s possible they installed failSafe devices. We’ll just have to see”

The missile’s nose finally came down within reach. McGarvey found the access panel and began taking out the screws one at a time, working as fast as he could. But his fingers were slippery with blood, his own as well as Kurshin’s, and twice he dropped the screwdriver. The last screw jammed. Not bothering with it, he jammed the blade of the screwdriver in the crack between the nearly loose panel and the missile’s casing, and pried it outward. The screwdriver snapped, but the panel had come far enough open so that he could get his fingers beneath it. He gave it one last heave, and it finally pulled away with a loud screech.

Directly inside the access panel he could see the timer mechanism, its counter switching to eight seconds. Reaching in, he pulled it out, extending it delicately on its wires. The counter switched to seven. The interior of the nose cone was filled with circuit boards, components sealed in black boxes, and a rat’s maze of wiring. Six. McGarvey tried to make some sense of it. “At the very least, we might try disconnecting the TERCOM unit, if we have the time” Newman had explained.

Five. But there was no time. And Newman was dead, most likely. He’d taken at least two or three hits to the chest. Four. Of course if the missile launched now, in the down position, it would explode here aboard the ship. Three. Baranov would not have won, this time. But he would try again. Time was on his side. Time, patience, ruthlessness. There would be others to take Kurshin’s place. Two. McGarvey reached inside the missile and grabbed a handful of wires. Still he hesitated. One. He yanked with all of his might, pulling the entire bundle of wires free from their connections to the various circuit BOOKFOUR boards. The counter on the timer switched to zero. A tiny buzz sounded from somewhere within the body of the missile, and then the night fell silent, except for the gentle lap of the wavelets against the hull of the ship.

THE WHITE HOUSE

The President’s national security adviser, General Donald Acheson, put down his telephone with a big grin. For just a moment or two he held himself in check, but then he jumped up, rushed out of his office past his startled secretary, and hurried down the corridor to the president’s study. Knocking once, he let himself in. The president, seated comfortably in his favorite easy chair, was talking with the Senate majority and minority leaders. He barely glanced at Acheson, but he suddenly smiled. “Well, I think that about wraps it up then” he said, getting to his feet. Senators Reid and Hubbard were only momentarily startled. But they too got up, shaking hands with the president.

They gave Acheson a curious look as they left, but they said nothing.

“What have you got” the president asked the moment the door was closed.

“We’ve beat the bastards. O’Malley just called from the Pentagon, he’s on his way over with the full report”

“Thank God” the president said softly. “Was it Arkady Kurshin after all”

“Yes, Mr. President. McGarvey killed him”

“Did we suffer any casualties”

“Two killed, one of them a naval intelligence officer, and the other the staffer O’Malley had sent over”

“Did we take any prisoners”

“Apparently not” The president’s jaw tightened. “Good” he said. “We’ll have to invent a cover story, of course. Our two people were killed in an accident during a routine training mission. It’s tough, especially for their families, but I’m definitely putting a lid on this entire business. And there will not be any leaks. “Yes, sir”

“You say Admiral O’Malley is on his way over”

“Yes, sir. He said he’d be here within twenty minutes”

“Get Murphy over here, and you’d better try to reach Sterling Miller at NSA. I’ll give Jim Baldwin a call”

“Are we going to meet here or in the situation room”

“Here will be fine” the president said. “What about McGarvey? Is he all right”

“From what I understand he came out of it okay, Mr. President. “Good.

That’s very good. We’re going to need him”

The president made it obvious that he was switching off the recording equipment in his desk. No one in the room missed the significance of his action. Admiral O’Malley had come over from the Joint Chiefs with the report on the “Incident” as they were calling it, and everyone had had a chance to read it. “That’s it, then” Secretary of State James Baldwin said, looking up over the tops of his reading glasses. “A first-class job on McGarvey’s part”

“It’s Baranov, of course” the president said.

“We can’t know that for sure” Baldwin replied. He looked to Roland Murphy for support, but the DCI shook his head. “I can’t agree. It’s him all right”

“None of those bodies carried any ID that would link them to the KGB”

“Of course not”

“In fact there was nothing aboard that ship that in any way linked them to the Soviet Union”

“Aside from the fact they used Soviet-made weapons” Admiral O’Malley said. “Readily available on the open market” Baldwin replied sharply.

He looked this time to National Security Agency Director Sterling Miller for support. “Your people came up with no communications intercepts, nothing that would indicate an operation of this magnitude was being directed out of Moscow”

“Nothing” Murphy leaned forward on the couch. “You don’t seem to understand, Jim, that this was a Baranov operation. The normal lines of communication between Moscow and the KGB’s field stations would not have been used”

“Then there’s no proof linking the Soviets to this … Murphy shrugged.

“We may never have positive identification of their bodies, and Kurshin’s wasn’t found But some of them were certainly the submarine drivers. The others brought the Stephos out to the rendezvous. The Tomahawk missile was on board. Its serial number matched the one aboard the Indianapolis. I don’t think you can possibly argue that they didn’t hijack the sub, kill the crew, steal the missile, and scuttle the boat.

You can’t deny that. “I’m not denying anything, General, except for the fact we have no hard facts. Nothing that would stand up in a court of law. Nothing that the president could use to take to Gorbachev. There simply isn’t that kind of hard proof here.

Kurshin was a fanatic, that’s all. He managed to put together a crew who, as incredible as it still seems to me, managed to get away with this. Or very nearly managed to. But there is nothing concrete linking that act of piracy and international terrorism with Moscow”

“He’s right” General Acheson agreed. “But it doesn’t alter the fact that we all know damned well that Baranov, with or without the consent of the Politburo, engineered this thing. “So what do we do about it, Donald” Baldwin asked. “Exactly what is it you are suggesting” Acheson started to reply, but the president held him off. “We’ll get to that in just a minute, Jim. First we have two other aspects of this situation to consider” No one said a thing but they all knew what was coming. “The first, of course, is the Israelis. The cat’s out of the bag, so to speak. The Soviets know that they have battleready nuclear weapons. They won’t let that go. It’s going to put Peres in a very difficult situation”

“All they have to do is hold tight and keep their mouths shut” Baldwin said. “Do you think they’ll do that”

“If they’re smart” Baldwin said softly. “We can bring certain pressures to bear”

“I’m not so sure it would work this time”

“It damned well better, Mr. President, lest another can of worms is opened over there. “For instance”

“The Soviets have a very good case for introducing nuclear weapons to the region, for instance. For another instance, Peres might finally listen to his military advisers and make a preemptive strike somewhere.

Just to show their muscle”

“Do you actually think that’s possible” the president asked. “I do.

They’ll take whatever steps are necessary to protect their current advantage” A small glint of triumph crossed the president’s eyes.

“Which brings us to the second consideration. Valentin Iller Baranov”

“Kurshin was his man, Mr. President” Murphy said. “There’s no doubt about it”

“Nor do I feel that Baranov will give up so easily. He’s a tenacious bastard” “Gorbachev will take care of him” Baldwin said. “I think it’s gone beyond that, Jim” the president replied thoughtfully. “From what I’ve read he’s consolidated his power over the past couple of years, ever since he brought Powers down”

“Something like that could not happen again, Mr. President” Murphy said with a tight jaw. Donald Suthland Powers had been one of the best directors of central intelligence that the Agency had ever known.

Baranov had ruined him, and in the end had been at least the indirect cause of his death. “Don’t be so sure” the president said ominously.

“What are you suggesting, Mr. President” Baldwin said, a dangerous edge in his voice. The president’s eyes never left Murphy. “Is he still in East Berlin”

“Yes, Mr. President, through the weekend. Unless of course he reacts to the news that his latest operation has failed, and he runs back to Moscow. That’s possible”

“Is it possible, General, to reactivate McGarvey”

“I won’t hear of this, Mr. President” Baldwin blurted. “With all respect, sir, we cannot sink to that level” “Is it possible” the president asked. “Yes it is”

“What would his chances be”

“This time, not very good. Baranov will know, or guess, that McGarvey is coming for him”

“Because of Dr. Abbott”

“Yes, and because of the Powers thing. McGarvey, as you know, was involved”

“WHAT about Dr. Abbott” Baldwin asked. “She was kidnapped from her hotel in West Berlin” Murphy explained. “We have good reason to suspect that it was Baranov’s people who took her. “Why? What use can she be to him, especially now”

“Bait” Murphy said. “For whom, for what”

“McGarvey. He and Dr. Abbott … apparently have a thing for each other”

“Good Lord” Baldwin said. He turned again to the president. “Mr. President, if you mean to send McGarvey into East Germany to assassinate Baranov, then you will have my resignation as Secretary of State immediately”

“I won’t accept it, Jim” the president said. “But I am sending McGarvey across. To rescue Dr. Abbott. We cannot simply abandon her”

“He’s an assassin”

“Yes, he is”

“And Baranov, if Roland is correct, is waiting for him. Expecting him to come across”

“That’s true as well” the president said. “Can he pull it off, General”

“I honestly don’t know, Mr. President. But I suspect that if anyone can do it, he can. He’s motivated” Baldwin was shaking his head angrily.

“If it gets back to us, it could topple your administration”

“Well, it’s my administration, Jim. And it’s a risk I’m willing to take, this time”

The 8200-ton Leahy-class guided missile cruiser stood off about twenty miles to the west of the MV Stephos. The sun. was just coming up over the eastern horizon. McGarvey squinted his eyes against the glare as the Sikorsky MH-53E Sea Dragon minesweeper helicopter came in low and slow.

From where he stood on the after bridge deck with Executive Officer Tom Nielson, he could see the Tomahawk missile in its sling fifty feet beneath the belly of the chopper. Nielson, a tall lanky man with bright red hair and freckles, smiled grimly. “That’s that” he said. He glanced over at McGarvey. “Hell of a job you did out there, Sir” McGarvey nodded, but he didn’t take his eyes off the incoming helicopter. “Any word on the Indianapolis and her crew yet”

“No, sir. The Pigeon won’t be sending down the DSRV until later this morning. But it doesn’t look good”

“No” McGarvey mumbled. None of it had looked good from the beginning.

It had been a blood bath from start to finish. The carnage aboard the Stephos was hard to comprehend. Kurshin’s Russian crews had done their jobs, and their reward was a bullet in the brain. There will be no witnesses, Baranov had undoubtedly told Kurshin. And that’s exactly what had happened. Ainslie had been killed outright, most of his skull destroyed, and when they had gotten to Potok, half of his left arm blown away; Newman was dead and they had had to pry his body away from the Israeli’s iron-hard grip. Potok had been brought here to the Worden where the ship’s doctor had stabilized his condition and had patched up his arm as best he could under the circumstances. As soon as the Tomahawk was safely aboard he would be flown up to Tel Aviv. The comms speaker blared. “Mr. Nielson, is Mr. McGarvey with you, sir”

“Aye, aye”

Nielson said, keying the comms. “Admiral Delugio is on the radiotelephone, he would like to speak with Mr. McGarvey. Afterward, the captain would like you both in the wardroom”

“We’re on our way” The Sea Dragon hovered over the landing pad at the stern, and the loading crews were guiding the Tomahawk onto a mobile cradle. There was only a light swell running, and the crews were expert, so the transfer went smoothly. When the missile was finally down, McGarvey went with Nielson into the bridge, where one of the ratings handed him the telephone. “Kirk McGarvey, is that you” Delugio shouted.

“Yes, sir”

“The Navy wants to thank you. Admiral O’Malley sends his personal thanks”

“Too little too late, Admiral” McGarvey said. He didn’t feel much like celebrating. He wanted only to go to bed and sleep for a week, get roaring drunk, and fetch Lorraine Abbott from West Berlin-not necessarily in that order. “But you stopped the bastards, McGarvey”

“Yes, sir” McGarvey replied. “Was there anything else”

Delugio hesitated for a beat. “Not from this end. But I have an urgent message for you from your boss. You’re to meet with Trotter ASAP. “There on Crete”

“Negative. He’s gone to Athens. He said you’d know where.

We’ll get you there this morning via Tel Aviv. The Israelis want to talk to you first.

How’s Major Potok”

“I haven’t talked to him since he came out of the operating room. But I’m told he’ll live”

“Listen up, McGarvey” Delugio said, a note of caution in his voice now.

“As I’ve already said, you did a hell of a fine job for us out there.

But you’re going to have to watch what you say to the Israelis. They’re going to want to know a lot more than you’re authorized to tell them.

That comes from the top, the very top. I hope I’ve made myself clear”

“Don’t worry, Admiral, your secrets are safe with me. Besides, I don’t know anything”

“I’m sorry, Mcgarveydelugio said after another beat. “I take my orders too. II “Yeah” McGarvey said, and he hung up the telephone. He stood there for a long moment, looking through the forward windows toward the long bow of the ship. Time to get out now, he thought. But the job wasn’t finished. Trotter was waiting for him. There was very little mystery about what he would say. “Sir” Nielson said. McGarvey looked up.

“Right” he said. He followed the executive officer below to officers’ territory. There was a lot of activity aboard the ship. The Navy SEAL unit that Admiral Delugio had sent out was back from the Stephos, and Marine guards, sidearms at their hips, seemed to be everywhere.

Nielson knocked once on the wardroom door and then they went in.

Lieutenant Commander Bruce Mcdonald was seated at the highly polished mahogany table with the Worden’s missile officer, Lieutenant Sam Nakajimathey both looked up. “Did you speak with Admiral Delugio)”

Mcdonald asked. He was a sharp, compact man with thinning, ashbrown hair. “just now” McGarvey said, taking a seat across the table from him.

“How is Major Potok doing”

“Just fine. In fact, better than we expected he would. He’s awake now and he’s asking for you. We’ll be flying both of you to Tel Aviv as soon as the Tomahawk is secured belowdecks

“What about the Stephos” they’re taking

“The Israeli Navy has taken her under tow

“Ib her up to their Kishon Naval Base at Haifa” Mcdonald said. “And we owe you another debt of gratitude. The SEALS found and disarmed the Labun gas cylinder, as well as the explosives. it would have made quite a mess had they gone off” He shook his head. “Your Russian was some s(noia bitch”

“Yes, he was” McGarvey said. “This is probably no time to tell you this, Mr. McGarvey” Lieutenant Nakajima said. “But you were damned lucky you pulled out the right wires. The only right wires had you grabbed the bundle a half an inch to the left, the missile would have exploded.

it was the self-destruct circuitry”

“I didn’t have much of a choice”

“Well, sir, you’ve got balls” Nakajima shook his head there was nothing to say’are you hungry? Do you want something to eat before you go”

Mcdonald asked. McGarvey shook his head. “All right, then” the captain said, getting to his feet. He stuck out his hand. McGarvey got up and shook it. i’ll add my personal thanks, McGarvey, you did great”

“That’s what they’re paying me for, Captain. Thanks for your hospitality”

“I’ll take you down to Major Potok in sick bay now, sir” Nielson said.

“We’ll have you out of here within twenty minutes” Mcdonald said. “Good luck” Below and farther aft, McGarvey was shown into Potok’s room. The Israeli’s left arm was in a cast from the shoulder down, and he looked pale and very drawn. But he was dressed and sitting up on the edge of his cot. The Navy doctor with him was checking his eyes with a tiny light. When he was finished he straightened up and turned to McGarvey.

“I’ve given Major Potok a stimulant that should keep him mobile for another few hours. But no longer. When he crashes he damned well better be in a medical facility”

“I’ll see to it. Thanks, Doctor” McGarvey said. The doctor glanced down again at Potok, and then he and Nielsen withdrew from the room. “How do you feel, Lev” McGarvey asked. “Like dreck, but at least I’m feeling”

Potok said. His voice was weak. “They’re moving you by chopper to Tel Aviv in the next few minutes. Apparently I’m to go with you. But you have to know from the start, Lev, that I’m not going to be able to tell your people very much more than they already know. “We don’t want much from you, Kirk. But we have something to say to you. Something … something very important. We owe you”

“But not now” McGarvey asked. “No.

Not here. In Tel Aviv. There is a man who wishes to speak to you”

“Who”

“I can’t give you his name. Not yet. But what he has to say is critical.

Believe me”

“I do” McGarvey said.

The uncertain dawn came cool and gray. Lorraine Abbott stood at the window of her secondfloor room looking down at the driveway. She was in East Germany, near a lake. She knew at least that much, as well as the fact that something had happened overnight.

Something that was causing her Russian captors some consternation. It was Kirk, she thought, and the certainty gave her a small measure of comfort. A black Mercedes sedan had pulled up and two bulky men had gotten out. They were standing below now speaking with the short, heavily built man who had identified himself as Baranov. From what she could gauge of their actions, they seemed to be happy. They had received some good news, and her spirits sank again. She turned away from the window. Her room was large and extremely well furnished, with a spacious, pleasant bathroom. Since her kidnapping and hasty trip across the border in the trunk of a car, she had been forced to remain here.

She had not been mistreated; her meals came regularly and were very good. But she had not been given a radio or television, nor had she been allowed any reading material. Most of the time she had spent with her ear to the wall or door, listening to what was going on in the rest of the house, or watching from the window. Baranov had spoken to her only once, when they had first brought her here. He had merely introduced himself and promised that no harm would come to her. But in that brief exchange she had been struck with the man’s charisma. He exuded a raw, but controlled, power. His eyes, she had decided, had the capability of looking inside of her. The experience had been chilling. In the bathroom she splashed some cold water on her face, and then looked into her own eyes. They were clear, although she was frightened. Eventually they would have to let her go. Eventually they would have to take her back to West Berlin. Her major fear at the moment was that her release wouldn’t come soon enough to stop Kirk from coming here first.

Now that she had met Baranov, and seen something of his tion-she had spotted at least three guards outside organiza — she didn’t think Kirk would have much of a chance against them.

Back at the window, she looked down at the driveway. The Mercedes was still there, but the men were nowhere in sight. She was craning her head to see toward the side of the house when the lock at her door clicked.

She turned as the door opened and Baranov entered the room, a gentle, almost wistful smile on his features, wrinkling the corners of his deep-set eyes. She thought he looked like the typical picture of a Russian peasant. Except for his power, which no peasant had. “Good morning, Dr. Abbott, I’m happy to see that you’re up. It’s us early risers who do best in the world, don’t you agree”

Baranov’s voice was soft and cultured, his English gently British in its intonations. “When are you going to release me” Lorraine demanded.

“Very soon now” Baranov said. “Your breakfast should be up in a minute or so. I thought I’d take this time to have a little chat with you. It seems a friend of ours will be showing up here soon” Lorraine’s blood ran cold. “Who is that” she managed to ask, though her voice sounded shaky in her own ears. “Kirk McGarvey, of course. He and I are very old friends. We go way back together. But of course I’m sure he told you this”

“How do you know he’s coming here”

“Oh, dear lady, I have my sources” Baranov chuckled. “You can’t imagine”

“What do you want” she Suddenly cried. “Why are you doing this now”

Baranov’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean byhis’? “Now’”

“You know damned well what I’m talking about. Whatever little plan your killer, Arkady Kurshin, was supposed to carry out backfired on you. Kirk stopped him. Now there’s nothing left”

Baranov’s jaw was tight. Lorraine thought she could almost hear or feel a thrumming vibration coming from him; as if a low-pitched string had been plucked within his body, or as if he were a high-tension line. For just that moment she felt as if she were very close to death. She backed up against the curtains. “What did he tell you in your little West Berlin love riest, dear lady” Baranov asked, his voice controlled. He advanced a pace. “What little secrets did he whisper into your ear at the moment of consummation”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“I think you do” Baranov said, advancing another pace toward her. “And do you know what? You’re going to talk to me this morning. You’re going to tell me simply everything that you know” He took another pace forward. At that moment Lorraine stepped away from the window, all of her weight on her left foot as she kicked out with every ounce of her strength with her right, the toe of her low-heeled shoe connecting solidly with Baranov’s groin. The man didn’t even flinch. He reached out slowly, took a handful of her hair, and, as if he were gently leading a horse by its mane, led her across the room where, with his free hand, he slapped her face, knocking her nearly unconscious down on the bed.

The morning was very bright, heat shimmering up from the tarmac as McGarvey and Potok hobbled down the Sea Dragon’s aft loading ramp.

They had not said much to each other on the three-hundred mile flight from the Worden. Potok had laid his head back and had closed his eyes.

He was on the verge of collapse. “Just one more thing to do” he’d said.

McGarvey let his thoughts drift back and forth between Lorraine Abbott and John Trotter. It wasn’t finished, of course, and would not be until Baranov was destroyed. He’d known that all along. He’d known it most acutely the moment he had seen the look of triumph in Kurshin’s eyes.

He’d thought he had won. There would be others like him, other handmaidens to Baranov. Sooner or later they would succeed.

He was filled with fear now; Baranov had become his worst nightmare, and Lorraine Abbott his greatest challenge. He had thought of both of them as Kurshin died. But he was an assassin. He would give Baranov death, or die trying. What could he give to Lorraine? He had nothing. Men such as he never did. They had landed on the military side of Lod Airport. A fuel truck lumbered across the taxiway, toward the helicopter, at the same moment an army jeep raced over from the AMAN Headquarters building a half-mile away. Potok’s number two, Abraham Liebowitz, was driving. He pulled up at the base of the ramp, jumped out, and hurried around to them. He said something in Hebrew. “In English” Potok said, straightening up. Liebowitz glanced at McGarvey. “He’s waiting for us.

If you want, I can take care of everything. You should be in the hospital” Potok shook his head. “No” he said. “We owe this man, Abraham.

I’ll see it through” He helped Potok into the front seat, and McGarvey climbed in the back as Liebowitz got behind the wheel. He turned around.

“We have a plane standing by for you, Mr. McGarvey. As soon as we’re finished here you’ll be flown directly to Athens. In the meantime, is there anything I can get for you, or arrange”

” No” McGarvey said. He was very tired, and it was difficult at this moment to keep his thoughts straight. But as they drove back across the field toward the collection of low cement-block buildings, he knew that what he had done hadn’t been for Israel. It had been for himself. In fact, he thought, turning that notion over in his mind, everything he had ever done had been for himself. Some inner need to prove himself, over and over again. To prove his strength, his virility, his loyalty, his honor. And again he was struck with the idea that there wasn’t very much difference between himself and men such as Kurshin, other than their place of birth.

Someone had asked him once if he was proud of what he had done for his country. He had wanted to immediately say Yes, of course I’m proud. But something had stayed him. He hadn’t known the answer to that question then, and he didn’t know it now.

They pulled up at the rear of one of the three-story buildings and inside took the elevator up to the top floor, where Liebowitz ushered them into a small conference room. A very short man, with longish white hair and hunched shoulders, stood looking out the window toward the U.S. Navy helicopter that had brought them in. He wore a shapeless dark suit, the collar of his white shirt on the outside of his jacket. When he turned around McGarvey was struck by the knowledge, understanding, and sympathy in the man’s eyes. If there were an opposite of Baranov, this man was he. “Are you up to this, Lev” he asked. “I want to see it through, sir” Potok said. “Then sit down, please. Everyone” They sat down across the bare table from him. A pair of fighter-interceptors roared across the field, and when the sound faded McGarvey thought he could hear his own heart. “Do you know who I am, Mr. McGarvey”

“Isser Shamir. Director of the Mossad” McGarvey replied. It was highly classified information in Israel. Shamir inclined his head. “Just so. It would seem that the range of your knowledge is quite good. Good enough, I believe, for you to understand that I’m not given to idle boasting, false accusations, or rumors”

“I’ve heard that, sir” McGarvey said. He was beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling that he had not been brought here merely to be thanked. There was something else going on.

“Israel would like to offer you her gratitude. Twice now you have saved my country from something very terrible, each time at the extreme risk of your own life”

“There is no debt of gratitude, Mr. Shamir”

“Oh, but there is, Mr. McGarvey. And Israel pays her debts. Always “

Shamir glanced over at Potok, and then back again … He seemed to be debating with himself, as if he were carrying an impossibly heavy burden that made any kind of a decision nearly out of the question. “My government knows what is stored at En Gedi, Mr. Director. And so do the Russians”

“Yes. it will forever change the politics of this region. The age of our innocence-as bloody as it has been-is gone. That cannot be altered”

“That’s a matter for the politicians, not for me”

“But you are not finished, I believe” Shamir said, watching him carefully. “Am I correct in assuming that you will make an attempt in the very near future on the life of Valentin Baranov” McGarvey held his surprise in check. “I can’t say”

“This operation has the backing of your Agency and, I would suspect, even your president” McGarvey said nothing. “Such an operation would take planning. The need-to-know list will be quite small, nevertheless there are others who know what your orders are. The specifics of your orders. “Even if that were the case, you know that I could not discuss it with you”

“There will have been some agonizing over this decision, I think — “

McGarvey got to his feet. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I would like to leave now”

“As I said, Mr. McGarvey, Israel owes you a debt of gratitude. I would like to repay it now by saving your life “

“Please, Kirk” Potok said. “Sit down and merely listen to what we have to tell you. I promise you will not be asked to reveal anything sensitive to your government.

You have my word “

“And mine” Shamir said.

“What do you want with me” McGarvey asked, his voic(tight in his throat. “What more do you want”

“En Gedi was penetrated, Kirk” Potok said. McGarvey turned to him. “By the Russians, yes we knoa this. They needed the proof and they got it”

“We thought he was one of us. He went by the name oi Benjamin Rothstein.

His real name was Vladimir lvanovict Tsarev. KGB. He worked directly for Baranov. “How did you find this out”

“It’s not important. Listen to me, Kirk. En Gedi was penetrated twice.

Once by a man named Simon Asher. He died in the … vault, trying to sabotage one of the Potok cut it off, and he glanced at Shamir. “Go on”

the old man said softly. “Asher was trying to sabotage one of our nuclear weapons. We think he may have been trying to set it off. We’re not sure about that part”

“He worked for the Russians too” McGarvey asked. It was typical of a Baranov operation. The man covered all of his bases. He never relied on a single line of action. Always there were many paths down which his people were directed. “He had one connection with the Russians. With the same man who was Tsarev’s control officer here in Israel. We didn’t find that out until later. By then we had found out something else … something even more disturbing”

“Go on” McGarvey prompted. “Kirk, we are very sure of our facts. I can’t tell you how we came to know what we do, but it has to do with thousands of telephone intercepts, a records search that has taken Us Six weeks, and a complete search of … your own background. We checked your record, all the way from the day you joined the Agency until you were asked to resign after the incident in Santiago” McGarvey’s chest was suddenly tight. It felt as if all the air were being squeezed out of his lungs, “Is this how you repay your debts” he asked sharply. “By spying on your friends”

Shamir waved it off. “Our existence was and is at stake, Mr. McGarvey.

And so now is yours, if you go up against Baranov without forewarning”

“What are you talking about”

“Simon Asher worked for someone within the Central Intelligence Agency”

Potok said. McGarvey turned on him. “We would not have sent someone here with the intent of destroying your nuclear weapons and killing a lot of people in the process. Whatever we have done, it’s not been that”

“I agree” Shamir said. “This man whom Asher worked for, also works for Baranov. He was another aspect of the plan to neutralize our ability to defend ourselves”

“How do you know”

“I can’t say” Shamir said. “But it is true” He took a folded sheet of paper out of his breast pocket and handed it across the table. McGarvey didn’t immediately reach for it. “Who is it”

“We don’t know for sure” Shamir said. “You just said

“We have it narrowed to five names. Five men who could have caused what has happened over the past ten or more years. There are no other possibilities”

Still McGarvey made no move to take the piece of paper. “You will not be allowed to take this list with you when you leave this room, Mr. McGarvey. And we will deny ever having had this conference with you. You must understand this” Slowly McGarvey reached out and took the paper from Shamir’s outstretched hand. He glanced at Potok, whose eyes were shining, and Liebowitz, who had looked away. He opened the paper. Five names had been typed in the middle of the page. All the air left the room.

McGarvey Lost himself in the crowds of Heli Inikon Airport. He had come in on what was treated as a diplomatic flight, and his passport and single bag had not been checked. Instead of going directly out to the cab ranks, he had doubled back into the main international terminal, where he hung around for nearly a half-hour, watching over his shoulder.

Paranoia comes to every field officer sooner or later. But what happens when there’s a reason for it? Then it’s time, he’d been taught, to trust no one: friends, wives, lovers none of them were free of suspicion. It was a few minutes after three in the afternoon when he finally decided that he had come away clean, and he went down to the Hertz counter to rent a car. He had waited until the flight from London had touched down and its passengers had been released from customs so that the crowds were particularly heavy. His was just another face in the crowd. You shall be known by your tradecraft. That bit of wisdom had been drummed into his head at the CIA’s training facility outside of Williamsburg, called The Farm. When in doubt, change it, do the unexpected. There were a lot of people around the car rental counter, some of them families, others businessmen anxious to get a car and be on their way. McGarvey allowed himself to be jostled in line until he got himself behind a man of the same general build and height, carrying an overnight bag over his shoulder, while shoving two heavy suitcases forward with his foot. The man’s passport jutted out of a side compartment of the overnight bag.

Five minutes later, when they finally got up to one of the busy clerks and the man reached into his overnight bag for his identification, it was gone … “Oh, bloody hell” he swore, his accent British. He unzipped his bag and frantically searched inside. “Sir” the young woman behind the counter asked with concern. “What’s the matter, old man” McGarvey asked. The Brit looked up. “My passport, money, identification … everything. It’s gone”

“Maybe it’s in one of your suitcases”

“No, I just had it coming through customs. I must have dropped the bloody thing” He was extremely agitated. “I thought I saw an information booth upstairs on the main floor” McGarvey said helpfully.

“Maybe someone’s turned it in”

“Right, mate” the Brit said, and he stepped out of line, snatched up his suitcases, and rushed off. “Good luck” McGarvey said to his retreating figure. It would be nothing more than an inconvenience to the Englishman. His embassy would supply him with new papers, and no doubt his home office would arrange for funds.

Turning back to the clerk, he rented a Ford Taurus, and a half an hour later he was making his way through heavy traffic into the city. As he drove he kept looking in his rearview mirror for any sign that he was being followed. But by the time he had reached the city proper he was convinced he was completely clean. It was nearly five by the time he found a place to park the car near the Athens Academy off Venizelou Street. He had kept the ninemillimeter automatic that the Israelis had given him. He took it out of his bag, loaded it, and stuffed it in his belt at the small of his back. Next he opened the passport wallet that he had lifted from the hapless Brit at the airport. The man’s name was Gordon Gutherie, and he was ii-om London. Besides his passport, the wallet contained eight hundred fifty pounds, about half that much in drachmas, a driver’s license, half a dozen major credit cards, and a collection of various business cards, photographs, notes, and one slip of paper on which was written only a telephone number. From what McGarvey could gather, the man had something to do with Ford-Leland, some sort of an engineer or factory rep. Whoever, he was reasonably well heeled. McGarvey took a moment to study the passport and driver’s license photographs. They had been taken at two different times, and really didn’t look like the same man. Nor did Gutherie look much like him. But at a busy border crossing at night it might work. He’d managed to cross other borders on much shakier documents. Stuffing the passport wallet in his coat pocket, he locked up the car and walked, overnight bag in hand, down the block where he found a cab.

“Where in God’s name have you been” Trotter demanded, opening the door of the Askilipiou safehouse where they’d met the last time. “Covering my ass” McGarvey said, coming in and dropping his bag on the couch.

Trotter closed and locked the door behind him, and then went to the window, where he parted the curtain and looked down at the street. “Do you think you were followed”

“If there was anyone waiting at the airport for me, I lost them”

McGarvey said, pouring himself a stiff cognac from the sideboard and drinking it. He poured himself another. “Was it Arkady Kurshin? No doubts in your mind, Kirk”

“No doubts” McGarvey said. “The man is dead”

“Have we got his body”

“Not yet”

“For Christ’s sake, Kirk, what happened out there? I’ve only been getting bits and pieces. And what in heaven’s name did the Israelis want with you”

“There’s no time for that now” McGarvey said, turning away from the sideboard. “Is Baranov still in East Berlin, at the Grosser Mijggelsee house”

“Yes, but he’s scheduled to leave sometime tomorrow morning”

“So far as you know, my equipment is still in place in the boathouse”

“It should be. We’ve kept our distance from the Lighthouse network.

Nothing much else we could do under the circumstances. But of course you wouldn’t be able to use them in any event, nor will you be able to use the Prenzauerberg apartment”

“I’m going after him, John. Tonight. Can you get me to West Berlin”

“We’ve got an Air Force VIP jet standing by for you. It’s a three-hour flight” McGarvey stared at his old friend for a long time. Whom to trust? He’d never really known in this business. But Trotter had always been at the top of his short list. “What” Trotter asked. ‘ How about Murphy? Has he gone to the president with this? Is that why you wanted me back here” Trotter nodded. “You’ve got the green light, Kirk. From the president.

“No mistakes now. I want this perfectly clear between us. My orders are to assassinate Valentin Baranov, the director of the KGB. Is that correct”

“Yes it is. From the president himself”

“Who else knows”

“What do you mean”

“Besides the president, General Murphy, you, and me, who else knows that I’m going across the border tonight to kill him”

“I don’t know. The president’s advisers, possibly the secretary of state”

“How about in the Agency? Is Larry Danielle in on it”

“Yes, I’m sure he “

“Van Cleeve” McGarvey asked. He was deputy director of intelligence.

“Phil Carrara” He was DDO, Trotter’s boss. “Phil, yes. But I don’t know about Howard. What are you getting at” Again McGarvey stared at his friend for a long time. They had been through a lot together; too much?

“Someone is selling us out to the Russians. Selling me. Baranov knows every move I make. They’re the ones who would be in the right position to know”

“And me, Kirk” Trotter said. “Don’t forget about me” His eyes were wide and naked behind his thick glasses. He looked like a scarecrow. His clothes hung loosely on his thin frame. “Do all of them know the details of my crossing, and about the equipment at the boathouse”

“Some of it. But you don’t have to do this. Just say no, Kirk. Everyone will understand. Good Lord, you’ve certainly done your bit. You’ve saved their ass twice now-at Ramstein, and aboard the Stephos. They’ve got no right to ask for more” McGarvey managed a slight smile. “But you and they were right all along, John. This is a vendetta. The man has to be destroyed, or else he will destroy us all”

“There are other ways. There will be another time”

“Have you still got the Kurshin identification? I can still use it.

There’s no way for Baranov to be certain yet that Kurshin is actually dead”

“I’ve got it, Kirk. But not now. Please. Especially not now for you”

The half-smile left McGarvey’s face. “What is it, John? What aren’t you telling me this time” Trotter stepped back almost as if he were suddenly afraid of McGarvey. His face was contorted with dismay. “I’m sorry … I “What is it”

“Murphy told me to keep my mouth shut”

“This is us talking now, John. You and I. Come on”

“It’s Lorraine Abbott” Trotter blurted. McGarvey’s heart skipped a beat.

“She’s at the hotel in West Berlin. Your people are watching her”

“No” Trotter whispered. ““Where is she”

“We don’t know for sure. Not yet”

“John, god damnit, talk to me”

“Kirk, she disappeared from the hotel a few hours after you had gone across. We think that Baranov took her. She’s probably at the Grosser Mijggelsee house with him now. As bait”

A black rage threatened to engulf him, blotting out all reason and sanity. But he held on. “Why wasn’t I told” he asked, his voice low, menacing. “It was thought that stopping Kurshin and recovering the Tomahawk missile were more important

“By whom, John? Who thought that”

“The president. General Murphy” One of the names dropped off the Mossad list of suspected penetration agents. “Were you going to let me go across tonight without telling me, John? Has it gone that far”

“No, I swear it. If I couldn’t talk you out of crossing, I promised myself that I’d tell you”

McGarvey believed him, though he no longer knew if he believed in the man.

“I’m going across. I’ll kill Baranov and I’ll bring Lorraine back with me” McGarvey looked directly into Trotter’s eyes. “If anyone gets in my way, John, anyone, I’ll kill them too” Trotter swallowed hard. He nodded. “When Baranov is dead, I’ll return to Washington and finish the job. And I don’t care who you tell that to”

It was night. Valentin Illen Baranov stood at the water’s edge gazing across the lake toward the mostly dark southern shore. His mouth was foul from too many cigarettes, and most of his outward passion had been spent on his attack against Lorraine Abbott.

There would be no permanent scars, at least not on her delicate body, but the encounter would be something she would never forget for the rest of her life. The fire, however, still burned brightly within his breast.

The great destroyer was finally coming. He had received the telephone call less than an hour ago, confirming the fact that McGarvey had come to Athens and was presently enroute to West Berlin. There was no doubt what his plans were. He would come across the border using falsified documents that would identify him as Arkady Kurshin. He could not know that his cache of equipment in the boathouse had been discovered and had been tampered with. Yenikeev had filed down a crucial part within the rebreather’s regulator valve, making it very likely that it would fail, and McGarvey would drown. If, by some chance, the man survived that, and brought the AK74 ashore with him, he would be in for another surprise.

Yenikeev had removed the assault rifle’s firing pin, rendering it useless. In a very large way, Baranov fervently hoped that McGarvey would make it this far. He wanted to see the man’s face with his own eyes. He wanted to look at the devil at the moment of his death. For thirty years Baranov had made his plans, had bided his time when necessary, and leapt forward when it was possible. From Mexico to Cuba, from Czechoslovakia and Hungary to Laos and Vietnam, from Poland to Afghanistan, his touch had been felt. At home he had patiently consolidated his power, his cause getting an unexpected boost when that moderate fool, Gorbachev, had become party secretary with his prattle about perestroika and glasnost. There were still enough men in positions of power within the Rodina who distrusted that bastard. The shift of power would have happened this year. There would have been a bloodless coup. Would have been … except for one man; Depending upon what was waiting for him back in Moscow, the takeover could be delayed for years.

But McGarvey was coming here. This very night. It was going to give Baranov the greatest of pleasures to spit in his face when he was finally dead. A dark figure appeared out of the woods to his left.

Baranov flinched and started to step’back before he realized that it was Yevgeni Mikhailovich Kedrov, the chief of his six-man bodyguard contingent. “Comrade Chairman, you have a visitor at the house” Kedrov called softly.

“Who is it” Baranov demanded. He’d half expected some of those fools from the Horst Wessel to come out here. The conference had gone as he had expected it would, even though he had been preoccupied with his own thoughts. “A Militia captain” Baranov’s eyes narrowed. “From where”

The Militia were the Soviet Union’s civilian police. “Moscow. He says he’s come here on orders to arrest you, sir. For a moment Baranov could hardly believe his own ears. But then everything fell into place for him. Of course the American president would have called Gorbachev after the debacle in the Med. There had been no proof linking that operation to the KGB … no hard proof, that is. But Gorbachev would have instigated an investigation nonetheless. He glanced again toward the opposite shore. “Keep a sharp watch here, Yevgeni Mikhailovich. He’ll be coming across tonight”

“Yes, Comrade Chairman. But what about that Militia captain”

“Not to worry. I’ll take care of it. Who is up there with him” Sergei.

“Where are the others”

“Dmitri and Leonty are on the road by the gate. Gennadi and Rotislav are here in the woods with me” The house was Perched on the crest of the hill overlooking the lake. on the other side of the hill was a broad swampy area thick with underbrush and brambles. McGarvey was coming, and he was coming from across the lake. There was no doubt of it. “Keep your eyes open” Baranov said again and he started up the path to the house, its lights visible through the woods. On the way up he felt in his jacket pocket for the reassuring bulk of his pistol, and he smiled. The fools had sent a Militia captain out here to arrest him. it was ludicrous. He would return to Moscow, all right, but under his own power and in his own good time. Once there, they would never dare to arrest him. The Lubyanka was a fortress in more than one way, with its many dark secrets. Once home they would not touch him. They could not. A Mercedes 240D was parked on the driveway in front of the house. A man sat behind the wheel. Baranov angled over to the car. As he approached, the car door opened and the man got out. He looked young and very nervous. “You are Captain …” Baranov demanded. “No, Comrade. I am Lieutenant Lubyanov” the young man said. The irony of the man’s last name was rare just at this moment, but Baranov suppressed a smile. “Your captain is in the house”

“Yes, sir”

“What are your orders” The young man was embarrassed. “Ah … we were sent to … I I “Never mind” Baranov said, smiling warmly this time to put the man at ease. “I will speak with your captain. We’ll get this straightened out in no time at all” Baranov turned and walked up to the house. He could feel the young lieutenant’s eyes on his back, and it irked him. But his control was marvelous, as it had always been. He was met in the main stairhall by Sergei Sergeevich Nemchin, one of his bodyguards. “Where is he”

“In your study, Comrade Chairman” Nemchin said. “I didn’t know what to do with the stupid bastard”

“What’s his name”

“Rybalkin. Nikolai Petrovich. He’s a captain with the Moscow District Militia”

“Here to arrest me”

“Yes, sir” Nemchin said with a laugh, but he seemed just a little nervous about it. “Stay here, Sergei Sergeevich, I’ll handle the captain” Nemchin nodded. His jacket was off, and a big sweat stain had darkened his shirt beneath his shoulder holster. “Stay here”

Baranov repeated, and he went back to his study, hesitated for just a moment at the door, and then went in. Militia Captain Rybalkin was a moderately built man with thick black hair, which was combed straight back, and a broad honest face. Baranov thought the name might be familiar; perhaps his father or an uncle worked in Directorate One headquarters out on the circumferential highway. “Good evening, Captain”

Baranov said. Rybalkin had been standing at the window looking outside.

He nodded grimly. “Comrade Valentin Illen Baranov, I have come to place you under arrest and return you immediately to Moscow for prosecution” “I see” Baranov said. “On what charges”

“Treason. I I Baranov’s breath caught in his throat. “I am under orders from Special Moscow District Prosecutor Kuryanov. Sir, I wish no trouble from you or your men”

“Nor shall you have any, Comrade Captain, if indeed you are who you claim to be, and you do have the orders and proper authority” Rybalkin pulled out his Militia identification and held it up for Baranov to see.

Then he handed over a sheaf of papers which was the Bill of Arrest.

Baranov took it to his desk, where he put on his glasses and quickly read through the legal document that named him and Arkady Kurshin as co-conspirators in three indictments: adventurism, engaging in acts contrary to Soviet law, and engaging in activities likely to bring harm to the Soviet Union. It was Gorbachev, of course. But he had had no direct hand in this. He had simply pointed a special prosecutor in the right direction and allowed his much-vaunted “rights of Soviet law” to go into action. Baranov looked up. The Militia captain was watching him closely. “Call Sergei in here, would you please, Captain” Rybalkin’s eyes narrowed and he stiffened, his hand going instinctively to the gun at his side.

“I promised you no trouble, Captain, and I meant it. But if I am to leave with you, I will have to instruct my people what to do here”

“Very well” Rybawin said. “We will also require Comrade Kurshin to accompany us back to Moscow”

“That, I’m afraid, will be impossible. Major Kurshin is dead”

“Who killed him”

“The Americans, I think”

“Where is his body”

“That I couldn’t say, Captain. But it is not here” Again Rybalkin hesitated. It was clear that he understood something was not quite right here, and that he was probably in some sort of danger. But his orders were official. They were his protection. He turned and had started to open the door into the corridor when Baranov withdrew his pistol from his pocket, switched the safety off, cocked the hammer, and fired two shots. The first bullet smashed into Rybalkin’s left lung a couple of inches from his spine, and the second entered his head just below his left ear, slamming him against the door, where his legs collapsed and he fell dead. The door was shoved open seconds later by a white-faced Nemchin, his pistol in hand. “It was a mistake, Sergei Sergeevich” Baranov said. “He hadn’t come here to arrest me at all. I think he was here to assassinate me”

Nemchin’s eyes went from Rybalkin’s body to the gun in Baranov’s hand.

“Yes, Sir” he said. “He probably works for the Americans. His lieutenant is out in the car. Kill him” Nemchin hesitated for only an instant, but then turned on his heel and raced down the corridor.

Baranov could hear his steps in the stairhall and the front door being flung open. He folded the Bill of Arrest and put it in his pocket as he came around the’desk. It would turn out, he supposed, that these two had been gunned down by McGarvey. Unfortunate.

Nemchin was back moments later. Baranov met him out in the corridor.

“The car is gone”

“He must have heard the shots. Call Dmitri at the gate. Have him stop the car” Nemchin grabbed the walkie-talkie from the hall table and keyed it. “Dmitri, are you there”

“Is that you, Sergei”

“Yes. That Mercedes that came up a few minutes ago is on its way back down. Stop it”

“We can’t. We just let him through” Nemchin turned to Baranov who had heard the exchange. “Shall we go after him”

Baranov thought about it for just a moment, then shook his head. “No, we’ll attend to it later”

“But, Comrade “

“Later” Baranov snapped, and Nemchin blanched.

It was a few minutes after 11:00 PM. The weekend was winding down and traffic in West Berlin was almost frantic in its intensity. It seemed as if the city was trying to have fun at a breakneck speed, Perhaps because so many Berliners thought there might not be a tomorrow.

McGarvey sat in the backseat of a cab waiting to cross the frontier.

There were two cars ahead of them. He had picked UP the same Fiat with the East German license tags from the Operations hangar at Templehof. No one had been around this time to greet him, or to ask him any questions, and the airbase gate guard had simply waved him through.

He had driven directly up to the British Sector of the city where he had left the car and his Kurshin identification in a car park on Kant Strasse a couple of blocks west of the main post office and tourist information center. Then he had walked down to the bright lights of the Ku’damm where he had caught a cab. Baranov would know that he was coming tonight. And the man would know that he would be using the Kurshin ID.

It made him sick to think how long this had gone on. All this time Baranov had been at least one step ahead of him because of the penetration agent in Washington. Christ, it was galling. Sitting in the cab, watching the lights of the crossing and the East German border guards doing their jobs, McGarvey tried not to think in any great detail about Lorraine Abbott. Baranov had taken her for bait. As extra insurance to make sure McGarvey would show up. He didn’t think Baranov would have harmed her. Not yet. The man would wait until later. In a way she was going to be the spoils for the victor; if Baranov won, she would be destroyed. McGarvey had to wonder: if he killed Baranov, would Lorraine have any better chance for survival? Border restrictions between the east and west sectors of the city were almost nonexistent, though identification papers were still being demanded and closely scrutinized. When it was finally their turn, McGarvey wound down his window and handed out his Gutherie passport. The border guard looked up sharply from the passport photograph to McGarvey’s face bathed in the harsh violet glow of the big lights. “Do you have another form of identification? Something else with your photograph on it”

“Bloody hell” McGarvey swore, but he dug out the driver’s license and handed it out. The guard studied it for several seconds. One of the other guards walked over and looked at the passport and driver’s license and then studied McGarvey’s face. “Shake a leg, would you be so kind, chaps?

I’m thirsty” McGarvey said. He feigned a little drunkenness.

“Where are you going at this hour” the one guard demanded.

“The Palast Hotel, where the hell else would I be going”

“Let me see your reservations” the guard asked. He looked I on the seat beside McGarvey. “Where is your luggage”

“I’ve got no reservations, you silly bugger. Wn’t you understand? I want a drink. A drink! When I’m done I’ll be returning”

The West Berlin cabbie had turned in his seat. He didn’t look happy.

“Please, sir, I wish no trouble. Perhaps you should go back now”

“Where did you pick him up” the guard asked the cabbie. “The Ku’damm, where else”

The guard nodded, hesitated just a moment longer, then handed the papers back to McGarvey. “See that you stay out of trouble, Hell Gutherie. You wouldn’t find our jails pleasant”

McGarvey slouched down in his seat as they were waved through and the cab headed into the east zone. It was a matter of hard Western currencies, of course. The East Germans were allowing practically anything to attract American dollars, British pounds, or especially West German marks into the country. And who knew, maybe a strong-arm bandit would mug him. At least the money thus gained would find its way into the economy.

This side of the city was much darker than the West, though traffic was about the same. A few minutes later the cabbie dropped him off in front of the modern Swedish-built hotel. McGarvey paid his fare and stumbled into the hotel, crossing the lobby and entering the relatively crowded bar. He ordered a cognac, drank it down, then left the hotel, walking away without looking back.

It was possible that the border guards might have called the hotel, and that the security people there would be watching for him. They had been suspicious of the poor photographs in his passport and driver’s license, and of his attitude. A police car, its blue lights flashing, raced past as McGarvey ducked into the darkness of a doorway. He watched until it turned a corner two blocks away, and then he hurried east, away from the Unter den Linden and the other well-lit main streets. Four blocks away he found what he was looking for in a neighborhood of apartment buildings. The streetlights here were out at both ends of the tree-lined block and very few lights shone from any of the apartment windows. A lot of cars and small trucks were parked on both sides of the street, all of them in the shadows beneath the thick trees. The doors of the fifth car he tried were unlocked. It was a small Renault, fairly new and in reasonable condition. In under sixty seconds he had the ignition lock out of its slot in the steering column, thus releasing the locking pin, and had scraped three wires bare, twisting two of them together. When he touched the third against the pair, the motor came to life. For just a second before he pulled away from the curb and drove off he had the feeling that he had somehow slipped into the edge of a powerful whirlpool, and that he was being inexorably sucked down toward the center in ever-accelerating spirals. But it was too late for second thoughts. It had been too late for a long time now.

The night was pitch-black beneath a deepening overcast. A cool wind had sprung up from the northwest, bringing with it the odors of dampness, decaying wood, rotting vegetation. McGarvey had hidden the car a quarter of a mile away from the boathouse on the lake’s south shore. He stood now in the dark Woods looking down at the driveway and the house, and beyond it the boathouse on the water’s edge. Nothing moved except the tree branches in the wind and the wavelets lapping against the shoreline. Nor were there any sounds, or any hints that someone was here waiting for him.

Yet he sensed danger all around him. On the way out of the city he had intended to write this place off. The penetration agent had told Baranov that he would be coming. He would also have told the man about the equipment that had been left here.

all But of the five men on the Mossad’s list of suspects, did any of them know every operational detail? Did all of them know about this place, and what had been left here for him? He had to find out, and yet he was sick with apprehension about what he would discover here. His pistol in hand, McGarvey moved quietly from tree to tree, working his way through the woods parallel to the driveway until he came to the final clearing up from the lake and the boathouse.

Again he stopped for a few seconds, his every sense straining to detect the presence of someone else. But there was nothing.

Keeping low, he stepped out from behind the hole of a tree and raced across to the boathouse. He hurriedly unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The boat was still there. Outwardly it seemed as if nothing had been disturbed since the last time he had been here. Holstering his gun, he stepped down into the boat and pulled out the packages containing the rebreathing equipment and the assault rifle. Had someone been here? Did Baranov know about this place, these things?

Who to trust? Always in the end it came down to that. Trust no one and your job becomes impossible. Trust the wrong person and you’re dead.

Holding the tiny penlight in his mouth, he unwrapped the AK74 and quickly field-stripped it, finding his answer in less than twenty seconds. “Christ” he swore softly. The firing pin had been removed from the rifle. Maybe it had come like that. Maybe someone in LIGHTHOUSE had been tricked. Maybe someone else had an ax to grind. He shook his head.

He knew who it was, just as he supposed he had known for a long time. It was no easier seeing it confirmed here and now. Laying the gun back in the boat, he climbed up on the dock and let himself out of the boathouse. There were a few lights across the lake. Perhaps the answers, or more accurately the reasons, were there.

Perhaps there would be nothing for him. Perhaps there never had been.

The President sat in his study waiting for Roland Murphy to arrive from CIA headquarters. It was the McGarvey thing, and he was glad that Jim Baldwin wouldn’t be here to listen in. He glanced at the clock on his desk. It was just about 8:00 PM., which meant it was coming up on midnight in Germany. By now, if everything was going right, McGarvey would be across the border. But Murphy had sounded shaky on the telephone. “Time is of the essence, Mr. President. “I’ll have Don Acheson standing by”

“No, Sir. I think this is something you should consider on your own. Or at least hear me out, and then afterward … well, Sir, you’re the president.

“Yes” the president had said. He turned and looked out the bowed windows into the rose garden. During his brief tenure as DCI he had thought that his was the most difficult job in the world. He knew better now. The difference was that anyone except for the president was allowed to make a mistake. Ten hours ago he had called Party Secretary Gorbachev on the hot line. Had that been a mistake? Had he given away an advantage? The Soviet leader had a lot more experience, and he had proven himself to be an adept, capable administrator. But he was one tough sonofabitch across the bargaining table. And he understood the balance of power as well as or better than anyone in government anywhere. “A situation hag developed that you should be aware of, Mr. President. “Yes, Mr. President, what is it we can do for each other”

“A number of Soviet naval and, we presume, intelligence officers have been killed in an incident off the coast of Syria a few hours ago. One of them has been identified as Major Arkady Aleksandrovich Kurshin” “I see” Gorbachev said, a hard edge to his voice. “Major Kurshin and ten other men, whom we are assuming worked with or for him, managed to steal one of our cruise missiles. They were about to launch it when they were stopped. All of them are dead”

“What was the target of this missile”

“I think we can safely assume it was somewhere within Israel”

“And the bodies of these Soviet citizens”

“They have been taken to the morgue at the military hospital in Tel Aviv. Once autopsies have been performed, I believe the intention is to turn them over to your government”

There was a longish pause on the line. When Gorbachev came back his voice sounded very guarded and even tired. “I will admit to you, Mr. President, that I had no knowledge of this. I assume your intelligence is accurate”

“I believe so”

“Then I will find out what has happened. The Soviet government does not engage in acts of terrorism. “Nor does my government”

Again there was a heavy silence on the line for a second or two.

“Elements of your Sixth Fleet appear to be engaged in a search and rescue mission, Mr. President. Is there any connection between that activity and this alleged act of terrorism”

“Your Black Sea Fleet is also in the region, Mr. President. I would sincerely hope that there is no connection. We would take that very gravely, “Yes” Gorbachev said. “Moderation, Mr. President”

“And caution, Mr. President”

The intercom on the president’s desk buzzed. Had it been a mistake calling Gorbachev? If it had been, it was his own, and he would answer for it. He flipped the switch. “Yes”

“General Murphy is here, Mr. President”

“Send him in” Murphy came in a moment later. He looked worn out. it was as if he had aged ten years in the last couple of days. “Good evening, Mr. President” he said, crossing the room.

“General” the president said, motioning him to a chair. “You said time was of the essence”

“Yes, sir. And it may already be too late”

Something clutched at the president’s gut. “What’s the situation”

“I’ve had our people in Moscow keeping their ears open ever since this … situation came up. It was they who learned about Baranov’s movements in and out of Moscow, and it was they who came up with what little information we had on Arkady Kurshin.

“They’ve been discreet? Especially in view of the present circumstances”

“Yes, Mr. President, they have taken extra precautions. I just learned that two Moscow Militia officers were sent to East Berlin with orders to arrest Baranov” The president stiffened. “Are you sure of this, Roland”

“Yes, Sir”

“What are the charges”

“Treason” It was Gorbachev. The man had been as good as his word. But this now changed everything. “McGarvey will have to be recalled”

“I agree, Mr. President. If he happened to run into those two cops, and something should happen “

“Yes. I want him out of there immediately”

“I’ve sent John Trotter to West Berlin to see what can be done”

“What are you saying to me, Roland? What’s to be done is to recall him.

If you have to use another network inside East Germany, then do it. Just get him out of there”

“That’s just it, Mr. President, we’re not sure he’s in East Germany. He was supplied with Russian identification papers to make his crossing easier. He also had an automobile with East German plates. The car has not crossed into East Herlin”

“Nor has anyone using the papers McGarvey was issued”

“No, Sir”

“How do you see this, Roland”

“He’s either decided not to cross for the moment, for whatever reason.

Or he’s already gotten across using another set of identity papers, in which case he has effectively put himself out of reach” The president felt the cold thrill of fear in his chest. “Why would he have decided to change plans like that”

“He has a habit of doing things his own way, Mr. President. But I don’t know his reasons in this instance”

The lights in the house were out. Baranov stood in the mostly dark stairhall, well away from the open front door, listening to the night sounds. McGarvey was out there somewhere, he told himself as he stared down toward the lake. He was coming. The great destroyer was coming. But he was late. Baranov glanced at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Nemchin, standing across the hall at the window, glanced over at him. “Perhaps he will not be coming after all, Comrade Colonel. It was well after midnight. Baranov looked up, a tight little smile on his features. “Oh, he will be here, Sergei Sergeevich.

“How can you be certain” Baranov’s smile deepened. “Because he and I have had this appointment with each other for a number of years now. He won’t fail to keep it”

“Perhaps he’s drowned in the lake, Comrade Colonel We won’t know until morning when we can send a boat out”

Baranov had considered that possibility. But the more he thought about it, and about McGarvey, the more he was certain that the American would not be destroyed so easily. He is like a fox, that one. Sly. More clever than a Russian. There was an old peasant proverb: The Russian is clever, but it comes slowly-all the way from the back of his head. McGarvey wasn’t like that. He was a man of action. A man who well understood and accepted his destiny. In that way he was much like Arkasha. Only better.

He was coming all right. “Keep a sharp watch” Baranov said. “I’ll be down in a minute. Nemchin nodded as Baranov turned and went upstairs to Lorraine Abbott’s bedroom. The upstairs hall was in deeper darkness, but when he opened the bedroom door he could see her pale figure in the dim light filtering in from outside. She was nude, and she lay spread-eagle on the bed, her ankles and wrists tied to the bedposts. He had taped her mouth so that she could not cry out, and he had patiently calmed her down, giving her the instructions, he’d told her, that would save her life. “Move so much as a muscle, Doctor Abbott, and you will die”

Baranov had said. He remained at the doorway, not wishing to approach any closer. It was possible, the thought had crossed his mind, that she might wish to kill herself in an effort to kill him. Working patiently and very carefully, he had strapped ten ounces of plastique explosives to her thighs, the edge of the gray, puttylike material just touching her pubis. The plastique was wired to a small battery through a simple contact switch that he had taped to the small of her long, slender back.

If she moved, the plastique would explode, blowing the entire bottom half of her torso away. If McGarvey got this far, he would want to help her. But the moment he did so the woman would certainly die, and he would at least be severely injured, if not completely incapacitated.

“I trust that you’re comfortable, Doctor” Baranov said softly. She looked at him, her eyes wide, her body held rigidly still. She was a believer. “It shouldn’t be long now. He will be here soon. And I sincerely hope that he will be able to see you like this” Her eyes blinked and Baranov had to laugh. “Be careful, little one, unless you mean to kill yourself this soon” She was a goodlooking woman, he decided., McGarvey had very good taste. She was blinking her eyes rapidly. “Do you want to talk to me, is that it” Baranov asked gently.

She blinked her eyes again. “I think not. The time for talking is past.

Now it’s time for dying.

It had taken McGarvey thirty-five minutes to circle the lake, keeping to the narrow forest-service tracks through the woods. Only when he had to cross the Spree River did he risk driving on the main highway, and he got off it at the first possible chance. He sat now in the Renault, its lights out, its engine ticking over softly. The dirt track ended in a rough-hewn log barrier beyond which was only darkness. Three times he had tried to head back down toward the lake, but each time the road he had used had ended in such a barrier. Baranov was here, though. He could almost feel the man’s presence in the night air.

“I’m coming” he said to himself. “And you damned well know it, you bastard” Farther in the distance he thought he could make out the bulk of a dark hill rising up. Evidently a ridge separated the lakeshore from the approaches to this side. Only the single road which led directly east from the main highway cut down toward the lake, giving access to Baranov’s house. And that road would be guarded. But it didn’t matter.

None of that mattered now. McGarvey’s hate burned brightly within him, like the terrible fire of an open-hearth furnace; unquenchable. From where he sat, the house would be almost straight across the ridge, perhaps half a mile away. The night was pitch-black. He could see no lights anywhere, not even the glow from Berlin or from Sch6nefeld Airport just a few miles to the south. Switching off the car’s engine he got out, careful to make no noise as he closed the door. He stood there sniffing the air and listening for sounds. But the night was still, the air heavy and damp. There was no other way. He would have to make his approach from this side. He took off his jacket and laid it on the hood of the car, then calmly checked his pistol. It was fully loaded, and he had an extra clip of ammunition in his pocket, along with the stiletto strapped to his left forearm. How many people did Baranov have with him?

Four, six, perhaps eight or ten? They would have night-spotting scopes and assault rifles. But they would not be expecting him to come this way. They would be watching the lake. He smiled grimly as he reholstered the automatic at the small of his back and climbed over the log barrier.

He had been waiting for this moment for a long time. And he suspected Baranov had been waiting for it too. The final confrontation. The ground sloped sharply downward for about five feet, and at the bottom McGarvey stumbled into icy water over his knees. At first he thought it was a drainage ditch, but as he slogged through the underbrush he soon began to realize that he was in a swamp. This part of the terrain was probably lower than the level of the surface of the lake, so it could never be properly drained. Sharp brambles tore at his hands and face, and mud sucked at his feet, making it nearly impossible to continue in some spots. Several times he had to backtrack or go left or right around dense thickets or much deeper water. It was possible, he thought at one point, that there would be no way for him to reach the house from here.

It was even possible that he would get himself lost out here and wander around until dawn. Twice he tripped and fell headlong into the water, but gradually the land began to rise up and become less wet so that he was able to make much faster progress, finally pulling himself up out of the swamp, muddy and bleeding, forty-five minutes after leaving the car.

One thing was certain, he told himself as he held up for a few moments to catch his breath, he would not be able to take Lorraine back this way, no matter what condition she was in. He pulled the pistol out of its holster, ejected the clip, and cycled the slide back and forth several times. The gun was wet and muddy, but it would still function.

Replacing the clip, he levered a round into the firing chamber and then started up the steep hill toward the crest about a hundred feet above.

Near the top he dropped down and crawled the rest of the way on all fours.

The house was large, broad balconies wrapped around both sides to the front. It stood on a flat spot against the side of the hill about fifty Yards below where McGarvey lay in the darkness. He could see the driveway leading back toward the highway to the west, and below, the lake and in the distance the opposite shore. No lights shone from the house, nor could he detect any movement, anything that would indicate someone was down there.

But there would be one or two men somewhere on the driveway, and certainly a couple down by the lake waiting for him to come across.

Which left the house. Baranov was there, but how many others were with him? There was no way of knowing. is way down the hill Crawling on his stomach, he worked his way toward the back of the house. Once he thought he heard the squawk from a walkie-talkie, and he held up. But the noise wasn’t repeated, and he continued.

Baranov saw him. He had gone into the breakfast room at the back of the house on some instinct, and he spotted a movement on the hill. Turning, he hurried back to Nemchin in the stairhall and grabbed one of the AK74S. “I think he’s coming from over the hill, Radio Yevgeni and Rotislav, tell them to get up here on the double. But no noise”

“Yes, Comrade” Nemchin started to say, but Baranov had spun on his heel and was racing back to the breakfast room. Keeping well back away from the window, Baranov raised the assault rifle to his shoulder and keyed the image intensifier. At first he could see nothing other than the gray shapes of the trees. But then he had him! It was McGarvey. There was absolutely no doubt of it in his mind. “You sonofabitch” he mumbled half under his breath. “You magnificent sonofabitch”’ What he wouldn’t give to have such a man working for him. Kurshin had been good, but this one was the very best, bar none. “Is it him, Comrade” Nemchin asked softly at his shoulder. “Yes. Did you get Yevgeni and Rotistav”

“They are on their way. Do you have him in the scope” Baranov keyed the image intensifier again. McGarvey had disappeared. For a frantic second or two he scanned the hillside, finally picking the American out again nearly at the bottom of the hill, barely twenty yards from the back of the house. There was no possibility that he could see inside, and yet Baranov instinctively stepped back a pace. “I have him”

I “Then fire, Comrade Chairman. Kill him now. Get it over with”

“Not yet”

“This is a dangerous game we are playing. With all respect, Comrade ” “No” Baranov said, turning around. “He’s here to kill me, but he’s also come for the woman. I mean to give him both”

““Men I can no longer be responsible for your safety. “You never were”

“I don’t understand, Comrade”

“I want to talk to him, Sergei Sergeevich. Before I kill him and his whore. That is all You must understand”

“Do You mean to allow him here, inside the house”

“Of course” Baranov said, brushing past Nemchin and heading for the stairs. “But he will never get out of here alive. I promise you”

Nemchin remained in the breakfast room for just a moment, but then he followed Baranov” Believe in me, that’s all I ask” Baranov’s words floated back to him. “‘That’s all I’ve ever asked” At the base of the stairs he watched as Baranov reached the top and disappeared. He raised the walkie-talkie to his lips. “Yevgeni, you’d better get up here on the double. McGarvey has arrived, and I think Baranov has lost his mind”

“Hold on” his walkie-talkie squawked. “We’ll be there in a minute”

Nemchin suddenly felt’a presence above him, and he turned. Baranov had come back to the head of the stairs. in the very dim light Nemchin thought that the man’s face looked like a death’s head.

“Comrade ” he started to say when Baranov raised his pistol and fired one shot, a sudden starburst exploding inside of his head.

“Believe in me” Baranov whispered, but Nemchin was dead.

McGarvey heard the gunshot and he hugged the ground, thinking for just a moment that he’d been spotted and they were shooting at him.

But when a second shot didn’t come, he rose up and peered into the darkness. At first there was nothing to be seen except the back and east side of the house, the driveway to the highway, and the path down to the lake. Something terrible had happened in the house. All he could think of was that Lorraine was down there with Baranov. He jumped up and raced the last few yards to the back corner of the big house, where he flattened himself against the rough brick wall. He switched his pistol’s safety to the off position, cocked the hammer, dropped down below the level of the stone balcony, and started in a dead run toward the front of the house. Someone was coming up from the lake. He heard them at the same moment he came out around the balcony. There were two of them.

McGarvey raised his pistol and fired three shots in rapid succession, getting the impression he had hit at least one of them. Then he ducked back behind the stonework just as someone opened fire with an AK74 on full automatic, chips of stone and mortar dust flying everywhere. As soon as the firing stopped, McGarvey extended his gun arm around the corner and fired three more shots. A man cried out on the path across the driveway, and then the night fell silent again. leaning against the wall, McGarvey quickly ejected the nearly spent clip of ammunition from his pistol and rammed the new one home. Counting to three, he leapt out away from the balcony, swinging his gun left to right as he dodged and zigzagged his way across the driveway. Both of them were dead. He could see their bodies from where he had reached the protection of the edge of the woods. Both of them were dressed in dark clothing, and both had been armed with assault rifles One of them, his face a mass of blood, lay on his back at the end of the path. The other one had taken at least two hits in his chest, and he too lay on his back, tangled in the low underbrush. There would be others. These two had come up from the lake, where they had been waiting for him to come across. There would be someone coming up from the driveway at any moment. And at least Baranov was in the house. But what was the first shot? He couldn’t understand.

The driveway remained empty. McGarvey crouched in the darkness watching so intently for someone to come up from the highway that he nearly missed the third Russian coming from the lake. He heard a slight noise behind him and to his left, as if someone had stepped on a twig and then stopped in their tracks.

It saved his life. He looked over his shoulder, spotted the dull ruby glint of a night-spotting scope illuminating him, and rolled left, dropping to the ground. The Russian opened fire with his assault rifle, the rounds slamming into the tree just inches behind McGarvey, and kicking up the dirt as he rolled over and over again. He looked up at the last possible second as the Russian raced across the path swinging the rifle up again into firing position, and he snapped off two shots, the first going wide, the second catching the man in the chest just below his sternum, driving him backward, the weapon clattering to the ground. Where were the others? McGarvey remained for just an instant where he lay on the ground, listening for the sound of others coming.

But once again the night had fallen silent. He was in an exposed position here, not only from someone in the house, but from anyone coming up the driveway. He leapt to his feet and raced back across the clearing to the front of the house, where he held up at the foot of the four steps which rose to the front veranda. Why wasn’t someone else coming? Why hadn’t Baranov or his people opened fire from the house?

What was the sonofabitch waiting for? McGarvey scrambled up the steps where he flattened himself against the wall beside the open door.

Inside, the stairhall was in darkness, but he had enough of his night vision to see the figure of a man lying at the foot of the stairs, a walkie-talkie lying beside his body. The man was dead. It was obvious from the angle at which his head was bent, and the way his left leg had folded up beneath him.

He had been killed by the single shot McGarvey had heard. Who the hell was he, and who had shot him? This was making no Sense.

Girding himself, McGarvey rolled through the doorway, feinted left, and then raced directly across the hall to the side of the staircase. Still nothing moved. Still there were no sounds. Still no one opened fire.

Perhaps, he thought, Baranov had already gone. Perhaps these were only the staff.

He looked up the stairs, trying to penetrate the deeper darkness in the corridor above. Baranov was here. McGarvey could feel his presence in the house, like some dark, forbidding, evil spirit. He was here all right, waiting. Moving soundlessly on the balls of his feet, McGarvey started up the stairs, taking them one at a time, testing each step before he put his full weight on it, his every sense searching out ahead of him for the presence of the man. At the top he stopped again. A door was open at the end of the corridor. But except for the rectangle of dim light filtering out he could see nothing. He held his breath to listen.

There was no sound … But then he heard a single pistol shot somewhere outside in the distance. He half turned; a fusillade of gunfire came from a long way off, perhaps down the driveway somewhere. Someone else was coming here. Suddenly there was no time” Baranov” he shouted, rushing down the corridor toward the open door. “You sonofabitch! He pulled up short just at the doorway and laid his head back against the wall. The firing outside had stopped. The silence was ominous.

“Baranov” he shouted again, and he rolled left through the doorway, nearly firing on instinct alone at the man standing across the large room. “Hello, Kirk” Baranov said gently. He was aiming his pistol at Lorraine. McGarvey took it all in within a split second: the gun in Baranov’s meaty paw, the cords binding Lorraine’s wrists and ankles, the C4 taped to her thighs. She was blinking her eyes but she wasn’t moving.

“I wanted the time to talk to you” Baranov said. “But it’s no longer possible” There was something wrong with him, in the way he held himself, in the almost furtive look in his eyes.

“You heard the gunfire. Someone else is coming for you” McGarvey said, finally finding his voice. Just another halfounce of pressure on the trigger of his pistol and the man would be dead, “So it would seem. And now the advantage is once again yours. I’ll trade you Doctor Abbott’s life for mine”

“No” McGarvey said. Now that he had come to this point his rage was gone, leaving in its stead a deep aching weariness. He looked into Lorraine’s eyes. He had tried to warn her. God, why wouldn’t they listen? “You won’t throw her life away merely to kill me. We will meet on another day”

“We’ll just wait here for a little while”

“For those others to come”

Baranov asked, nodding toward the door. “Do you know that they are policemen here to arrest me”

“Good”

“I won’t allow that to happen, McGarvey. Not now. Not yet”

“You don’t have any choice”

“I’ll shoot her”

“And then I’ll shoot you” Baranov shook his head. “The plastique will blow and she’ll die. Is that what you want”

Lorraine had closed her eyes. She was beginning to shiver. McGarvey looked at her again. She was one of the innocents. For some reason they were attracted to him, like moths to an open flame with the same fatal consequences. I’m sorry, he wanted to tell her. But it was too late for that now. “That’s up to you” McGarvey said, turning back to Baranov.

“But you’re not leaving this room”

“Why” Baranov asked. “You’re not so different from Arkasha. I’ve watched you develop. I’ve seen what you are capable of doing. Do you want money?

Position? Power? What? Name it and it’s yours” McGarvey shook his head, but said nothing. In a large way, of course, Baranov was right. But there had to be reasons, there had to be sanity. He had to be able to believe in that much. “Why” Baranov asked again. “Because of Powers?

Because of those officers in Germany, or the crew of the submarine? Is this for revenge” He was agitated.

“Yes” McGarvey said softly, his voice barely a whisper. And for mysey’, he thought. What I’ve become because of men like you. “You’re the loyal soldier, is that it? The dedicated intelligence officer. Fuck your mother, you stupid bastard, all these years you’ve been betrayed. Did you know that”

“We’ll wait “

“His code name is White Knight. He has worked with me for years”

“Which makes him a Russian patriot”

“He’s a traitor “

“And you’re going to hand him over to me. You’re going to kill him.

It’ll be his reward for long years of service”

“He betrayed you” Baranov argued. “If we all die here he will go on.

Someone will take my place. Others will fall … innocent people … he is very good. You can’t believe ” McGarvey raised his pistol so that it was pointing directly at Baranov’s head. “No” the Russian cried.

“Believe in me! I will kill her” Lorraine’s eyes were still closed. She was shivering even more. “There is no time” Baranov screeched.

“McGarvey”

“Then go” McGarvey said, stepping away from the doorway. He did not lower his gun. Hope flickered across Baranov’s eyes. “Put your gun down”

“Go” McGarvey growled. “While you still have the chance”

Baranov’s gaze shifted to Lorraine, whose shivering was steadily increasing. “I want your word, McGarvey. I don’t want to be shot in the back”

“You have it. Now get out of here”

“What about White Knight? He is “

“Go while you can” McGarvey roared. Baranov quickly edged his way across the room while keeping his gun trained on the bed. At the open door he looked into Mcgarvey’s eyes. “You’re not so different” he said. He spun on his heel and disappeared out into the corridor.

Without hesitation, McGarvey stepped out the doorway after him and fired two shots in rapid succession, striking Baranov high in the back and in the base of his skull, driving him forward.

“I lied” McGarvey said softly. Baranov tried to rise up, blood streaming from his wounds. McGarvey took a few steps closer and fired a third time at Point-blank range into the back of the Russian’s head, slamming him back down.

He fired again. And again, the bullets pumping into Baranov’s inert form. And still he pulled the trigger until the ejector slide stopped.

The director of the KGB was dead. Long live the KGB. McGarvey let the empty pistol fall from his hand. Outside, several cars raced up the driveway and screeched to a halt in front of the house.

He turned and went back into the bedroom. Lorraine, her eyes wide, was looking at him.

“It’s finished, my darling” he said, approaching the bed.

She had stopped shivering, but she was blinking her eyes frantically.

“He’s dead” McGarvey said. Someone entered the stairhall and started up the stairs. There were a lot of them. He could hear them shouting back and forth, and could hear the squawk of their walkie-talkies.

“Nothing will happen to you now” McGarvey told her. He reached down for the tape across her mouth. “I promise you. I I Her nostrils were flared, and a low moan formed at the back of her throat. “It’s all right They were in the corridor, and someone came to the open doorway. He shouted something in Russian. “We’re Americans” McGarvey said in English. He had hold of the edge of the tape. Lorraine moaned again, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Put your hands over your head immediately, or I will open fire” the man in the doorway shouted in English. She was trying to tell him something. With her eyes. What?

“Now” the Russian shouted. McGarvey let his eyes go down to the C4 taped obscenely to her thighs. Wires led from the plastique to a small package, which he figured contained the battery and firing mechanism. A second pair of wires ran beneath her left leg and disappeared. “God in heaven” McGarvey breathed, his body going rigid. “Put your hands up.” the Russian ordered. “Listen to me” McGarvey called out, his eyes locked into Lorraine’s. “There are explosives taped to this woman’s body. I think they’re wired to some sort of a pressure switch. The Russian at the doorway said nothing. “Do you understand me” McGarvey called, not daring to raise his voice. “Yes, I do. Now step away from the bed very carefully. McGarvey hesitated. “Do as I say, Mr. McGarvey, I have a demolitions expert with me. Please step away from the bed”

“It’ll be all right” McGarvey whispered to her. “Believe me” Slowly he moved away from the side of the bed and turned to the men crowded in the doorway. “Get out of here, we’ll take care of it” the Russian said.

He looked very young. He held a big automatic in his right hand.

“I’ll stay” McGarvey said. “Did you kill Baranov”

“Get your demolitions man in here, god damnit! Now”

“Did you kill him” the Russian asked implacably. “Yes, you sonofabitch.

Now get your man in here”

“Good” the Russian said. “You can stay” He turned. “Get Valeri up here on the double.

She was all right physically, but Baranov had done something to her.

Something terrible. It was still in her eyes, and he supposed it would always be there. “Perhaps you are right. In any event it is a moot point now” Lieutenant Lukyanov glanced at Lorraine. “She will be okay”

“I don’t know”

“What about you” Lieutenant Lukyanov asked, turning back to McGarvey.

“You are a spy. You do this sort of thing all the time. I sincerely hope that you do not show up on Soviet soil again”

“This is Germany” Lieutenant Lukyanov smiled thinly. “I’m just a simple policeman, not Spycatcher” Spycatcher was a KGB agent in popular Soviet fiction.

McGarvey returned the smile.

Lieutenant Lukyanov reached across him and opened the side door. “Go” he said. “I cannot drive you across, but you and Dr. Abbott will not be hindered. And I believe someone is waiting for you”

“You’re a long way from Moscow”

“And you from Washington, Mr. McGarvey. Go in peace.

“We’re in the wrong business for that” McGarvey said.

“How did you know my name” McGarvey asked the. They shook hands and he stepped down out of the van. Lieutenant Lukyanov helped Lorraine out, and McGarvey had Russian cop. ‘ wasn’t sure, it was you. But we’d been told that you to hold her to keep her from falling. She was shivering again. were on the move, and that you had an old vendetta with The lieutenant slid the door closed, the van backed away from them, turned and drove off, leaving them standing there Chairman Baranov it was just dawn. They sat in the back of a panel van, alone. downtown near the Brandenburg Gate. The sodium vapor With the morning, traffic had begun to build up on both lights were pale against the gray morning sky.

Still holding Lorraine tightly, McGarvey led her down the broad sidewalk past the remains of the East sides of the border.

“He was a very bad man, Mr. McGarvey” Lieutenant Lukyanov continued. “We had come to arrest him. My capgerman sentry complex, none of the soldiers paying them tain thought he would return with us, but I disagreed” the slightest attention, only an occasional face turning their

“Even if he had, he wouldn’t have stood trial” McGarvey way from one of the vehicles waiting to cross. said tiredly. He looked at Lorraine shivering in the corner.

“It’s all right now” he said softly in her ear.

At first she didn’t react. He didn’t know if she had even heard him. But then, as they walked, she slowly turned her head and looked up at him.

“It’s over” he said. “We’re almost there”

“Don’t leave me, Kirk” she whispered. “I won’t”

John Trotter got out of the back of a dark red Mercedes sedan. He looked thinner to McGarvey, his features more gaunt, the planes of his face more sharply defined. “We need to get her to the hospital” McGarvey said. “Has she been injured? Is she hurt” Trotter asked in alarm. He looked and sounded completely strung out. “I don’t know, but I want someone to look at her. We’ll stay for a couple of days, if need be”

Lorraine clutched tightly at his arm as he helped her into the back seat of the car. “I’ll be there” McGarvey told her. “I’m not going anywhere.

I promise” She looked into his eyes for a moment, until hers began to cloud over, and she finally allowed herself to sit back and release his arm. McGarvey got in beside her, and Trotter climbed in the front seat.

Their driver was a young man in a dark blue, windbreaker. “The military hospital at Tempelhof” Trotter said. “And shake a leg”

“Yes, sir” the driver said, and they pulled away from the checkpoint and headed south through the city. Trotter turned in his seat. His eyes seemed very large and damp behind his thick glasses. “I didn’t know what to think when we got the call from the police barracks in the east zone.

“What are you doing here, John” McGarvey asked. “Murphy ordered me up here to see if I could extract you somehow. We got word that a warrant for Baranov’s arrest was about to be served Trotter’s eyes got a little wider. “You ran into them”

McGarvey nodded.

“What in heaven’s name happened over there, Kirk? What about Baranov …

did you.

Lorraine let out a little cry, and she tried to burrow her way into the corner. “Later” McGarvey said. “Kirk”

“Later” If it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it was for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven, McGarvey wondered what it would be like for an assassin. Or a traitor.

Trotter had taken over one of the offices in the hospital while McGarvey had taken care of Lorraine. The doctor had given her a sedative and she was finally resting. “She’ll sleep for twenty-four hours at least”

“What about afterward”

“I don’t know, Mr. McGarvey. It will depend in a great measure on her capacity for shock. It’s different for everyone”

“She’s a strong woman”

“Then I suspect she’ll recover just fine. But it’s going to take time.

Do you know what happened to her”

“Not yet”

“Well, whatever it was, it overloaded her brain. It tore her down to, a point where she was nothing. She may need help to bring her back”

McGarvey had nodded. “She’ll have it” he said, but riding upstairs in the elevator he wondered if he would be capable of helping himself, let alone her. What was his own capacity for shock? He had never known.

Perhaps he would find out at last.

Trotter was just putting down the phone when McGarvey entered the office.

“That was Murphy. He wants us on the first plane back to Washington.

Kirk, I couldn’t tell him what happened over there because I don’t know myself. He’s hopping mad. He wants some answers. “Baranov is dead”

McGarvey said, watching his old friend’s face. They had been through a lot together. All the way back to the early days, even before Santiago, and before the Carter Administration had practically emasculated the Agency. Trotter flinched. He licked his lips. “Did you kill him”

“Yes. “From a distance, Kirk? With the rifle? With your pistol from the beach? How “

“I shot him in the back. After I had given him my word that I wouldn’t do it. He believed me” Trotter’s mouth was open, but no sounds were coming out. “It was a trade, John”

“For what”

“For my life, for Lorraine’s, for a … name. But I cheated him. I lied”

“What name”

“Our penetration agent. White Knight”

“Ah” Trotter said after a beat, but the sound was less of a word than it was merely the release of the deep breath he was holding. He half turned away and looked out the window. “He was willing to throw the man’s life away without compunction. It meant nothing to him” McGarvey said. Again there was a silence between them. “How long had you known” Trotter asked at length.

“Known what, John”

“That it was … me.

McGarvey’s heart sank. “I hadn’t. Not until this moment. Trotter turned back to him, his face suddenly twisted in a grimace. “But you said he named me”

“I lied” McGarvey said softly. “To him, to you”

“Then you have no proof” Trotter cried. He fumbled in his jacket for his gun, his movements frantic and unprofessional.

But then he’d never been an assassin, McGarvey thought, watching his old friend. Trotter had been a good cop and a tough, extremely capable administrator. But he’d not been a killer in the sense of one who pulls a trigger. Trotter pointed the pistol at him with a shaking hand. it was a.32 automatic, deadly enough at this range. “Why, John?

Can you tell me that”

“You wouldn’t understand”

“I’d like to try”

“You don’t know anything. You’re nothing more than a paid killer. An assassin. A tool to be used for those disgusting but sometimes necessary jobs. Like a shovel to pick up dog shit. Nothing more”

“Was it for Power? You’re an ambitious man. was that it” Trotter’s lip had curled into a feral snarl. “You killed the man. You’ve been up against him. You tell me! He could not be resisted. Not that one. When he wanted you, you came When he held a dance, you did the jig”

“He was just a man”

“You had to shoot him in the back. You couldn’t face him”

“What did he promise you? The directorship of the CIA? Did he have that power”

“His power was unlimited. Even when we were young … A revelation slipped into place in McGarvey’s mind. “You knew him from the beginning?

Is that it, John? Maybe in college? Maybe he got to you in the service?

Where, John? When? How”

“In Germany in the fifties. Before the Wall. He was there. We all were there. And he promised me heaven and earth.

He was capable of it, Kirkgod, he was capable of anything”

“But it went bad somehow”

“He wouldn’t keep his word. So I sent you after him. He knew I would. I mean, he knew I’d send someone after him, but he didn’t know how good you were. And all the time we were still communicating with each other.

He was telling me his plans and I was telling him about you. Goading him. Daring him”

“But he nearly had you killed at the safehouse in Falmouth. “But I had you, Kirk. I’ve always had you, while he only had Kurshin. And Kurshin was no match for you, was he” McGarvey lowered his head. “But you were my friend, John” He turned toward the door. “I trusted you. As a matter of fact you were the only one I ever trusted” He didn’t think Trotter would shoot him in the back. “You were a fool” Trotter spat. “Turn around” McGarvey shook his head and swayed forward on the balls of his feet as if he were about to collapse. He had to reach out with his left hand to steady himself against the door frame. The movement masked his right hand going to his left sleeve. “Turn around”

“John” McGarvey cried in real anguish. He spun around and in one swift movement threw the razorsharp stiletto sidehanded with every last bit of his strength, the blade burying itself in Trotter’s chest at the same moment he fired. The shot caught McGarvey high in the chest, slamming him back against the door, and he was falling, it seemed, forever into a deep, bottomless pit.

Someone was coming. McGarvey had been feeling it for several days. He stood on the catwalk of the lighthouse, looking back toward the village, watching the man in khaki trousers and short-sleeved shirt make his way up the path. He had not thought their isolation would last, but he had hoped they would be left alone at least through Christmas. Lorraine was downstairs fixing their lunch. From time to time the sounds of her singing drifted up to him. She was on the mend, but it was too soon, damnit. Far too soon for her. Summer had given way to a lovely fall in the Aegean Sea. Each day was as sparkling and warm as the day before, and time had begun to take on an ethereal quality. Trotter’s bullet had missed McGarvey’s lungs, and within ten days he had been allowed to leave the hospital at Tempelhof. Lorraine had remained at his side for the entire time, his injury seemingly working to bring her out of her deep state of shock, though she would not talk to anyone about what had happened to her at the Grosser Miiggelsee house. Lawrence Danielle, the deputy director of central intelligence, had come to West Berlin on the day before McGarvey was discharged, and they had talked for nearly six hours, the story finally emerging that Valentin Baranov had been killed in an automobile accident, and John Trotter had committed suicide, just as his wife had done nearly six years earlier. “John was a difficult man” Danielle said.

“Everyone knew that. In fact, we all used to think that his ambition would be his downfall one day”

“But there was never any proof” McGarvey said. It still hurt. “No, but then he and Baranov had had years together to perfect their operation.

He was a lot like Kim Philby. There was no real proof that he was a traitor either, not until he disappeared from Beirut and showed up in Moscow”

“It’s easy for men like him, is that what you’re saying”

“Even you can’t imagine how easy it is” Danielle said, getting to his feet. He patted McGarvey on the arm. “What can we do for you, and for Dr. Abbott”

“Just leave us alone, Larry. That’s all” Danielle looked at him oddly.

“I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’ll see what I can do” He turned and walked across the room. At the door he had stopped and looked back.

“By the way, McGarvey, the president sends his thanks” The man on the path was much closer now, and McGarvey finally recognized him. He uncocked the hammer of his Walther PPK, switched the safety to the on position, and went downstairs. Lorraine was just coming from the kitchen to call him down for lunch as he was putting the pistol in the hall cabinet. Her eyes widened and she stopped in her tracks. “What is it” she asked.

“It’s General Murphy. He’s down on the path” Her eyes went questioningly to the cabinet. “I wasn’t sure who it was at first. I didn’t want to take any chances. “Isn’t it over yet, Kirk”

“I’d hoped so”

She glanced toward the veranda overlooking the sea. “I don’t know if I could handle, — anything else”

“You won’t have to. I Promise you”

McGarvey said. “I will … someday” she said, her voice soft, wistful.

“At least I think I will”

She turned back to him. “You gave me my life, darling, don’t let them take it away from me again”

“II won’t. I promise you. Believe me-” He made no move to go toward her.

In the weeks they had been here together they had not touched. He had told himself that wheh she was ready, he would know it. She wasn’t ready now. Perhaps she never would be.

She shivered, as if someone had walked over her grave. “I’ll lay out an extra plateshe said, and she turned and went back to the kitchen.

McGarvey couldn’t imagine why the DCI was coming here, unless it was out of morbid curiosity to see his battle-wounded troops. But he and Lorraine had been friends for several years. McGarvey thought he would know better than to bother her now. Unless there was something else.

Unless there were more complications.

He went out to the stone bridge just as Murphy reached the bottom of the path.

“Where’s your bodyguard” McGarvey called out. He found that he was angry again. “I left him in the village,’-Murphy said without breaking stride.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll shoot you”

“Will you”

“I’m an assassin”

Murphy stopped a few feet away from McGarvey and looked at him critically. “I’m not the enemy, remember”

“I didn’t think John Trotter was either. And he was my friend. Again Murphy seemed to study him. He shook his head. “My opinion of you hasn’t changed, McGarvey. You’re still a dangerous man”

“But a necessary evil” McGarvey said, remembering Trotter’s words. “Yes ” Murphy started to say when his gaze went beyond McGarvey. “Hello, Lorraine” he said. Mcoarvey glanced over his shoulder. Lorraine had come to the door. “What are you doing here, Roland” she asked. “I’ve come to take you home”

“Not yet”

“Mark O’Sheay has been asking about you, and your lab wants to know when you’re coming back”

“I’m not ready for that. I don’t know if I’ll ever return.

Maybe … someday. “Listen to me, Lorraine, you can’t stay here. Not with him”

“He saved my life”

“He nearly got you killed” Murphy said. “Come back with me while you still have a chance. For God’s sake, you’re a scientist. Think, Lorraine” But she was shaking her head. “Not yet, Roland, please”

Murphy started forward, but McGarvey blocked his path. “Go back to Washington, General”

“Not without her” Murphy said. “You don’t understand” McGarvey snapped.

“I think I do. It’s you who doesn’t realize where this is heading. You don’t know, or you don’t want to admit to yourself, what danger she’s in, being this close to you”

“Go” McGarvey shouted, stepping back a pace. His thoughts were getting tangled. “What you did for us was magnificent. No one is denying that.

Your country owes you a debt of gratitude. But for God’s sake, let her go”

“I can’t” McGarvey cried. “You must” the general shouted. “Stop this”

Lorraine screeched. A gull cried overhead, then swooped down the face of the cliff behind them to the sea. “Please” Murphy said softly. Lorraine said nothing. After a beat, Murphy took — a deep breath and let it out slowly, a look of defeat and genuine pain in his eyes. “I’ll wait for you in Athens for twenty-four hours in case you change your mind”

“I won’t” Lorraine said. Murphy’s gaze shifted again to McGarvey.

“If you have any decency in you, let her go. She doesn’t belong here with you. You know that. You must” He hesitated a moment longer, and then turned and headed back up the path. McGarvey stood there for a long time, conscious only of his own beating heart, and of the conflicting emotions of hate, and rage, and impotence filling his mind. What had he become, and when had it happened? He couldn’t say, nor did he think he would ever want to know for certain. The past no longer mattered, only the future.

It was very late, well past midnight. McGarvey lay on his back in the front bedroom, his windows open to the sea. All afternoon he and Lorraine had avoided discussing Murphy’s visit, just as in the past weeks they had stayed away from talking about Baranov and everything that had happened since En Gedi.

As was their routine, they had gone to bed early, each in their own room, each with their own thoughts and hopes for the morning.

He listened to the sounds of the sea below as he struggled to sort out his thoughts. He had given Lorraine her life, but, as Murphy had suggested, was he now keeping her from it? He loved her, that much he knew. But was it killing her?

He closed his eyes, and immediately he began to see faces, one after the other, floating in a dark void. He knew all of them intimately, as only an assassin could. They were his victims. The men he had killed over the past nine years. My name is Legion, for we are nwny. “There is something missing in you” his sister had told him once, a long time ago. “Some deep hole that can never be filled” He heard a rustle of fabric at the doorway and he opened his eyes. Lorraine Stood there in her nightgown, her body outlined in the starlight filtering in from outside. “Baranov is really dead” she asked softly. “Yes” McGarvey replied. She shuddered.

“He made me

“You don’t have to do this, my darling”

“Kirk, he made me believe in him” she said. “He sat with me on the bed and he talked to me, nothing more. He told me things I didn’t know were possible … about himself, about the world, about … me. And in the end I believed everything he said to me, and everything that he could ever say” McGarvey’s heart was aching not only for her, but for himself.

“Even though I knew he was wrong, I couldn’t help myself. He took me away from me, and replaced it with his own soul”

“He’s dead

“Yes” she cut in. She raised a hand to her heart. “But now he’s dead inside here as well” Slowly she slipped the nightgown off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She stepped away from it, her body shimmering. I believe in you, Kirk McGarvey. And now I want you to make love to me” She came to him, and as he took her into his arms, he knew what had been missing all of these years-all of his life. No one had ever believed in him.

The connection was imperfect. Lieutenant Colonel Vasili Semonovich Didenko sat in his nondescript office on the third floor of the Lubyanka, holding the telephone tightly to his ear. Was it possible? he asked himself. Could it be possible? “I want you to come in” he said.

“It will take me a few days to arrange something, and in the meantime I want you to go to ground. Do you understand” Didenko, who was the newly promoted chief of the KGB’s Department 8 of Directorate S (Illegals)-the department that used to be called Viktor, for Mokrie Dela (Wet Affairs)had been a student of Baranov’s. A gifted student. He saw now, for the first time, at least one portion of his future. “Can you hear me” he shouted into the telephone. The connection between Moscow and Damascus was never very good, but this evening it was worse than normal.

“Tell me where you are, I can help you” Didenko listened closely to what the man was saying. He was not only listening to the words for their meaning, but listening for a weakness. But there was none. There never had been. “Whatare you saying to me” Didenko shouted. “Fuck your mother, you cannot be serious. You need me But the connection was broken.

Didenko slowly hung up the telephone. He sat in his dimly lit office for a long time before he got his coat and left the building. On the way across to the parking lot he pondered the other’s last words. “I’ve become a floater. When I want blood I’ll call you.

This time, you bastards, I won’t let you fuck me up”