Sea Devil

Chapter Ten

Dr. John Maguire had just arrived at his office at Dublin’s Shamrock Nuclear Power Station on the banks of the River Liffey when a call arrived for him on his private line. In a very serious, calm tone of voice, a woman explained to him that his wife and two daughters had just been kidnapped.

The physicist’s first reaction was that this was all some sort of sick practical joke, and he was tempted to hang up the receiver and call plant security. It was at that moment that his oldest child’s voice emanated from the telephone. There could be no denying the six year-old’s frightened tone as she begged her father to take this call very seriously or they would hurt her mommy. Sobered by this plea, Maguire listened anxiously as the kidnapper directed him to leave at once for the Central Dublin postal exchange. He was ordered to drive alone, and above all, not to inform the authorities of this call. For if he did, he would never see his family alive again.

Maguire’s brow was soaked in sweat, his hand trembling, as he hung up the telephone and contemplated his next move. His position as director of the Shamrock plant gave him instant access to the Republic’s highest ranking political and military figures. But he was no stranger to the assortment of terrorist groups active in his country. And knowing full well that the lives of his family would mean absolutely nothing to such ruthless individuals, he decided against notifying the police. He tried to appear as composed as possible as he informed his secretary that he would have to cancel his morning appointments and leave the office.

His secretary was caught totally off guard by this revelation, and was unable to get her boss to explain his reasoning behind this abrupt change of plans.

The drive to the postal exchange seemed to take forever.

When he finally arrived, he remained in his car, as instructed. At one point during his wait, a pair of uniformed gardia patrolmen strolled by his automobile, and Maguire fought the temptation to appeal for their assistance. Soon afterward, there was a loud knock on the passenger window, and a woman dressed in a hat and sunglasses beckoned him to allow her entry. He quickly did so and breathlessly listened as she spoke to him with a dreaded familiar voice.

“I want you to head for the N3 by way of Phoenix Park. And for the sake of your adoring family, drive carefully. Doctor.”

It wasn’t until they were well north of the city limits that Maguire found the nerve to voice himself.

“Who are you? Where are we going, and where are you keeping my family?”

“My heavens. Doctor Maguire, aren’t you the curious one. But if you want to see those babies of yours grow up to take husbands, you’ll keep that mouth of yours shut and do like I tell you!”

The physicist forced himself to hold his tongue as they continued traveling north on the two-lane highway.

Outside the town of Navan the clear sky darkened, and soon they were in the midst of a driving rainstorm.

The lush green estates of Meath county was known for could hardly be seen as Maguire struggled to keep his car on the road.

It was as they passed through the village of Virginia that the rains abated. A rainbow formed on the northern horizon, and his escort ordered him to turn off the main highway near the town of Stradone.

“We’ll be taking the back roads from here on, Doctor.

So watch your speed and keep your eyes peeled for oncoming traffic.”

Maguire wisely heeded this warning in time to steer clear of an approaching lorry that had no intention of sharing the narrow road with anyone else. Doing his best to miss the assortment of potholes that abounded here, he noted the parched appearance of the passing countryside. The hilly landscape here was dotted with ramshackle cottages and rock-strewn fields marked by winding stone hedges. A tinker’s caravan passed on their right, and the physicist got a brief view of its gypsies seated on the side of the road playing cards.

Certain that they were in County Caven at this point, he learned this fact for certain when he spotted a tilted road sign that indicated that the village of Cootehill was three kilometers away.

At one point they had considered building a nuclear power plant in this part of the Republic. It was hoped that the jobs and abundant energy the plant would create would help this perpetually backward area develop.

One of the sites they were considering was south of Cootehill, on the banks of the Annalee River. John Maguire was flown out here by helicopter and found the location most promising. Yet it was the Republic that finally decided that the site’s relative proximity to the border with Northern Ireland made such a location undesirable. For the further north they now went, the closer they came to that infamous portion of Ireland known as “bandit country,” the virtually untamed home of the political terrorist.

Was such an organization responsible for his current abduction? The physicist could only guess that this was the case as they drove through the sleepy village of Cootehill and turned off onto a winding country lane.

The roadway here was all but impassable. Its asphalt was cracked and pitted, and in many places virtually nonexistent. Trying his best to ignore the rough ride and his vainly protesting shock absorbers, Maguire was ordered to turn left at a sign that read Cootehill House. A partially flooded lane took them through a forest of stately pines. A large lake was visible to the left. As the road twisted and they began their way up a rather steep rise, Maguire spotted the rounded arches of an estate house at the summit of this hillside. An ominous, heavy feeling formed in his gut with the realization that this gothic-looking habitation signaled the end of their long trip.

“You’ll park by the barn at the back of the house,” instructed his abduct or

Maguire did as he was ordered, receiving his next instructions as he put the transmission into park and turned off the ignition.

“You may exit now, Doctor. And by the way, let me be the first to welcome you to Cootehill House.”

His escort displayed an unusual degree of civility with this remark, and with the hope that things might not be as bad as they seemed, he opened the door and stepped outside.

The air was cool and crisp, the ground wet, as if it had just rained. Maguire guessed that the estate house that he stood beside had to be at the least fifty years old. Even then, it was in an amazingly good state of repair. The grounds were also well kept. This included the large vegetable garden adjacent to the estate’s southern wall.

“Damn!” cursed his escort as she left the car and took off for this plot.

The physicist was surprised to find his abduct or drawn to a tomato plant that seemed recently to have been trampled on. She had also removed the hat, sunglasses, and raincoat she’d been wearing, revealing herself to be an attractive young girl in her mid-twenties, with straight red hair and a curvaceous figure.

“So this must be the esteemed Dr. John Maguire,” came a deep voice from behind him.

The physicist pivoted and set his eyes on a tall, swarthy-looking character with an eyepatch over his right eye. Only as he approached did Maguire note that he wore his long hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Dressed in ragged blue jeans and a Berkeley sweatshirt, he looked much like a middleaged version of a 1960s hippie. Yet there was something sinister about his appearance, and the scientist’s gut tightened as he again spoke.

“It really is an honor to meet you, Doctor. I heard you speak some time ago, when the Republic was considering whether or not to invest in its first nuclear power plant. Though I myself sided with the ecologists who resisted this plant, I couldn’t help but admire the clarity of your thought as you delivered your very persuasive presentation.”

“And to whom, may I ask, am I speaking?”

“Names are not really important at this stage of the game. Doctor. Just know that I hold convictions equally as strong as your own, though I’m certain you and I could have some very spirited debates on a variety of subjects if the opportunity presented itself.”

Frustrated by the deliberate vagueness of this answer, Maguire emotionally exploded.

“Well, how in the hell am I supposed to know what’s going on here if you won’t even tell me your name? What do you want with me, and what have you done with my family?”

“So the good doctor has a temper after all,” re203 turned his one-eyed host.

“Go ahead and shout all you want. Relieve the tension that’s bottled up inside of you, but be assured that I’m the one who’ll be asking all the questions around here. Otherwise, you’ll never see that family of yours again!”

Certain that he meant this, Maguire softened.

“What you do to me is not important. Just don’t hurt my family. Please, I implore you!”

The co founder of the Irish Republican Brotherhood seemed to deliberate a moment before verbally reacting to this plea.

“That’s the kind of attitude that will show results around here, Doctor. Your family is being held outside of Dublin by a group of my associates. I give you my word of honor that no harm will come to them as long as you cooperate with us.”

“Can I at least speak to them?” asked the physicist.

“I believe that can be arranged,” replied Bernard Loughlin thoughtfully.

“But first I have a little task for you to perform. Do it to my satisfaction, and you’ll earn both your family’s release and your own as well.”

“Anything you say,” implored the scientist.

“Just don’t harm them… that’s all that I ask.”

“Your loyalty is very touching, Doctor. I like that in a man. A person should passionately believe in something, whether it be another person or an ideal. I myself am involved with the latter. But that’s irrelevant.

It’s time to get on with the task that necessitated your presence here. Marie, forget about those damn plants of yours, and get over here where you belong!”

This invective served to redirect the attention of the redhead Maguire had driven up with from Dublin.

“I’m sorry, Bernard. I guess I should have staked those tomatoes before I left.”

“You and your damn tomatoes!” shouted the one eyed terrorist.

“Forget about your damn veggies for a moment and concentrate on more important things,

like finding the good doctor so that we can get on with this thing.”

“Where is he?” questioned the redhead defiantly.

“How the hell should I know?” screamed Bernard.

“Try his study. If I know the old man he’ll be in there, sipping poteen and engrossed in his father’s diary.”

While she hurried into the manor house to carry out his directive, Bernard Loughlin escorted his guest to the locked doors of the barn.

“Damn women!” muttered the terrorist angrily.

“No matter how tough they say they might be, they’re all satin and bows on the inside.”

Not knowing how to respond to this, John Maguire nodded timidly, and discreetly turned his head to examine the grounds more closely. Beyond the green meadow that surrounded the house was a thick pine forest. Such tracts were planted with governmental assistance several decades ago to counter the severe deforestation that had plagued Ireland through the centuries. A partially worked peat bog could be seen at the edge of these woods. In place of wood and coal, such a substance was the native fuel of poor regions such as this one.

The nuclear physicist had hoped his reactors would make such a time-consuming practice obsolete. Only then would new industry be attracted to areas such as County Caven. And as its population began to be trained to work in these new jobs, its rural populace would be given an abrupt introduction to the modern wonders of the high-tech era that they lived in.

Such was John Maguire’s vision of what he had hoped his homeland would be someday. Yet as he was all too soon to learn, the Irish people just weren’t ready to make such a drastic jump forward. His carefully laid plans had met with nothing but distrust and skepticism. Endless bureaucratic red tape made the obtaining of a simple construction permit an ordeal, and it was only after a superhuman effort on his part that he was able to convince his countrymen finally to go ahead and build Dublin’s Shamrock reactor. Soon to go on line, the plant would be a clean, cheap source of electricity, and one hoped it would calm the suspicions of the doubters who had constantly opposed him every long step of the way.

His ponderings on Ireland’s future were all too soon diverted by concerns of a much more immediate nature when two figures emerged from the manor house. One of them was the redhead named Marie. The other was an older gentleman with silver hair, a stooped posture, and a kindly, almost grandfatherly demeanor.

“So this is our respected guest from Dublin,” greeted the elder.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, sir. Too bad we couldn’t have met under different circumstances, but such is life. Shall we get on with it, then? I’m certain you’re eager to return home and be reunited with your family.”

Instantly liking this fellow, John Maguire felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him, and his face broke into a relieved smile.

“You don’t know how true that is, my friend. Now, how can I be of service to you?”

Dr. Tyronne Blackwater answered while pulling a key from his coat pocket and inserting it into the barn door’s recessed lock.

“You might say that we have a little technical problem with a piece of equipment inside and we’d like you to take a look at it.”

The lock triggered with a loud click as the puzzled physicist replied.

“If it’s within my know-how, I’d be glad to assist you.”

Bernard Loughlin had to stifle a chuckle as he pulled back the rusty doors of the barn and switched on its interior lights.

“Our little gadget’s over here,” said the elder.

“If you’ll just follow me, we’ll see what you can make of it.”

Maguire entered the barn and first spotted a stack of dried peat squares. Behind this mound were dozens of wooden crates with official RUC seals stenciled on them. On the floor immediately beside the largest of these crates was a large pallet. Displayed here was a curiously shaped steel cylinder that looked disturbingly familiar to the nuclear physicist. It was only as he bent over to take a closer look at the object’s rounded nose that he gasped in horror.

“My God! Where did you get this?”

Bernard smirked.

“Let’s just say it was a little gift to us from the sea. Now, how do we go about detonating it?”

Hardly believing what he was hearing, John Maguire countered, “You can’t be serious! Do you have any idea the amount of death and destruction this device is capable of producing?”

“Look, we didn’t drag you all the way up from Dublin to hear you mouth off,” retorted Bernard.

“Show us how to explode this damn thing, or that family of yours dies!”

Quick to intercede at this point was the calm voice of the silver-haired elder.

“Can you at the very least have a look at it, Dr. Maguire? You’d sure save a lot of hurt and sorrow by doing so.”

The physicist looked up to the old man and stuttered.

“But… this is a hydrogen bomb! Do you realize how many locks and fail-safe measures are incorporated into this device to keep it from going off?

I couldn’t bypass them even if I wanted to without the authorized code of the day, which only the President of the United States knows. He keeps it constantly at his side in a briefcase called the football.”

“I told you it would be impossible,” said the redhead.

“It looks like we’re going to have to use it for blackmail purposes after all.”

“Like hell we are!” shouted Bernard, who looked at the physicist with a wrath-filled glance.

“I know that you worked for the company that designed this bomb while you lived in the United States, so quit playing games with me, Doctor. Open it up, and do whatever it takes to get it operational, or you can kiss that family of yours goodbye.”

“But I can’t!” implored Maguire, whose frustration nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Without paying this passionate outburst the least bit of attention, the one-eyed terrorist coolly addressed Marie Barrett.

“Comrade, call the lads and have them kill the youngest child. Make sure her sister and mother are there to watch as her brains are blown from her skull.”

The redhead nodded and turned for the doorway.

“You wouldn’t dare!” yelled the sobbing physicist.”

“I’m afraid he would, lad,” observed the elder calmly. He turned and watched as Marie was about to leave the barn.

Just as the redhead was about to pass through the doors, John Maguire cried out: “Hold on! Oh God, forgive me for this! I’ll need some tools.”

Bernard grinned triumphantly.

“You’ve got them, Doctor.”

He then snapped his fingers and beckoned the redhead to fetch the tool kit. She obediently proceeded into an adjoining room and came out with a good sized galvanized steel container, which she then set on the floor beside the bomb. It was Bernard who opened it, revealing a wide assortment of tools.

“I believe this should suit your needs. Doctor,” observed the one-eyed terrorist.

John Maguire looked down at the kit’s contents and picked up a screwdriver. His hands were trembling as he inserted the head of this tool into one of the four screws that anchored the bomb’s trigger plate. Sweat flowed off his soaked forehead and splattered onto the metallic skin of the device as he removed the final bolt and pulled the plate off. Displayed inside was a complex grid of circuit boards and wiring. His practiced eye went to the arming switch that would have to be manually triggered by the B-52’s flight crew to open the firing circuit. He did a double take upon finding the switch unlocked, which meant that somehow the fail-safe mechanism had already been bypassed.

“Sweet Mother Mary, it’s already been cocked!” he exclaimed in wonder.

“What the hell does that mean?” returned Bernard.

The physicist’s expression was clouded with puzzlement as he explained.

“Somehow, whether intentionally or by mechanical error, the arming circuit of this bomb has been unlocked. This process was apparently done without the use of an authorized PAL code, which leads me to believe that the flight crew responsible for this weapon had been working on it when it was lost.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, Doctor. But how do we explode the damn thing?” asked a very impatient Bernard.

John Maguire answered him directly.

“All you have to do is hook up an electrode to the copper clip on this final circuit board. To initiate the arming sequence, you merely have to zap it with a 12volt charge. You’ll then have about two minutes before the final detonation takes place.”

“That’s it?” Bernard asked, incredulous.

“I’m afraid so,” returned the physicist.

“Because the way it looks to me, someone’s been in here already, doing all the work for you.”

Bernard fought to hold back his excitement as he looked up to address his two associates.

“Did you hear that, comrades? All it takes is a simple automotive battery charger for us to hit our enemy with the most painful blow of all time. We’ve done it, comrades!

And soon the Brotherhood will reign victorious!”

With his glance locked on the silver-haired elder, John Maguire dared to express himself once again.

“Are you still serious about using this device? We’re not talking about any ordinary bomb blast here. This weapon is seventy-five times as powerful as the bomb dropped on Hiroshima, and it is capable of killing millions.”

“Get him out of here!” cried Bernard in disgust.

“Would you like me to drive him back to Dublin?”

asked Tyronne Blackwater.

Bernard thought about this for a moment and answered, “I’ll be taking care of the good doctor, comrade.

Why don’t you go back to the house and find out the exact whereabouts of our tug. It should be docking in Dundalk shortly, and I want to know the second it arrives there.”

“As you wish, Bernard,” replied the current owner of Cootehill House, who briefly met the scientist’s concerned gaze before leaving the barn altogether.

“Why don’t you go and have a seat over by the peat stack, Dr. Maguire,” instructed Bernard.

“I’ll be taking care of you shortly.”

“But you said I could speak to my family once I finished helping you,” reminded the physicist.

“I said go over there and sit, Doctor!” directed the terrorist angrily.

Daring not to incur Bernard’s full wrath, John Maguire did as instructed. This left Bernard and Marie alone beside the pallet.

“Well, Bernard, should I return him to the city?”

whispered the redhead.

“Are you kidding?” returned Bernard.

“The good doctor knows too much already. I think it’s best for all concerned if I take him for a little walk in the bog.”

Knowing full well what he meant by this, Marie again queried.

“And his family?”

“Tell the lads to eliminate the pigs!” spat the terrorist icily.

Without batting an eye, the redhead turned to convey this directive. As she passed the seated scientist, she flashed him the briefest of pitiful stares before ducking out into the sunlight beyond.

Captain Mikhail Borisov had only one day to himself before his unexpected duty was to call him back to his command. With no family or friends to speak of, the blond-haired Spetsnaz officer was free to spend this brief leave as he liked. The island of Kronstadt was not the most scenic place, and since he had no time to travel into nearby Leningrad, Mikhail decided to spend his time holed up in the best hotel in town. To keep him company, the muscular commando invited Tanya Brusovo to join him.

He had met Tanya at a party at the officers’ club three months ago and was immediately attracted to her dark eyes, long black hair, huge breasts, and shapely legs. As he found out over drinks, she was a delightful conversationalist whose stories about growing up on the shores of Lake Baikal were genuinely interesting.

And as he was soon to learn that very evening, she was also a wild woman in bed.

Only recently divorced from a submariner, Tanya worked in Admiral Starobin’s office as a secretary.

Mikhail didn’t feel the least bit uneasy as he intervened on her behalf and asked the admiral if she could miss a day of work to spend time with him. With a grin and a wink, the senior officer approved this request and even provided three bottles of Ukrainian champagne in the event that either of them got thirsty.

A fierce storm was in the process of blowing in from the Baltic as the taxi carrying Mikhail and Tanya arrived at the canopied entrance to the Hotel Piskar.

The Spetsnaz commando shoved some rubles into the driver’s hand and roughly pulled his date from backseat of the Lada.

“It looks like we’re going to be in for quite a storm,” observed Tanya, who tried vainly to keep her new hairdo from being blown apart by the gale-force winds.

“As long as the roof stays on, let it blow!” returned Mikhail as he led the way inside.

The desk clerk was an elderly babushka whose eyes lit up upon spotting Mikhail’s uniform.

“Ah, I see I have the honor of serving one of our naval heroes this morning. My late husband was in the Red Banner fleet for twenty of our forty years together. Those were wonderful days, though now that he’s gone, I do wish we’d been able to spend more time together. My dearest Pasha loved the sea and was presented an Order of Lenin second class for seeing action against the Nazis while headed for Murmansk. Why do you know that once he even had the honor of seeing Stalin himself?

His ship was docked here in Kronstadt when our beloved leader emerged on the deck of the cruiser beside him. Pasha’s eyes never failed to light up whenever he described that special day.”

“He sounds like quite a man,” offered Mikhail quickly as the babushka halted to catch her breath.

“I’d love to hear more of his wartime experiences, but my leave is short and we haven’t seen each other in over a month.”

There was a sparkle in the old lady’s gray eyes as she turned toward Tanya and smiled.

“There’s no need to explain, comrade. Just sign the register here, and I’ll give you the best room in the house for the standard tourist rate. You’ll even have your own bathroom and a lovely view of the harbor… though I doubt there’s much to see on a stormy day like this.”

Mikhail signed the ledger and took the key.

“Can I get you anything before you go up?” offered the clerk.

“I could make up some breakfast, if you’d like. Or how about a nice piping hot pot of tea?”

“You’re most gracious, comrade, but we’ll be just fine with the room,” returned Mikhail, who took Tanya’s warm hand in his and led her up the staircase.

“What a delightful old lady,” reflected Tanya as they reached the second floor landing and searched for their room.

Mikhail spotted it at the very end of the corridor and anxiously led them toward it.

“She sounds a bit lonely,” he added.

“Why don’t I go back downstairs and invite her up for a drink? Why I bet she’d love a glass of champagne. And then she could tell us the story of her life.”

A disappointed look crossed Tanya’s face, though Mikhail was quick to change her mood when he grabbed her by the buttocks and pulled her close. It was after giving her a deep, wet kiss on the lips that he seductively whispered, “Don’t worry, my little sex kitten. I’m yours alone for this entire glorious day.”

With his free hand he managed to open the door to their room and then kick it shut with his foot. They went straight to the king-sized bed without even bothering to open the champagne. Mikhail couldn’t wait to get at Tanya’s luscious breasts and nearly ripped off her blouse as he reached in to fondle them. By the time he got her bra off, her massive nipples were red and hard, and Mikhail bent over to suckle them. As his tongue went to work on her erect nipples, Tanya began breathlessly panting. Inflamed by his touch, she reached down to fondle Mikhail’s swollen crotch. She seemed to like what she found down there as she unzipped his pants and tenderly stroked his throbbing, thick erection.

“I’ve got to have you inside of me,” cooed Tanya passionately.

Quick to satisfy this request, Mikhail pulled off the rest of his clothes, and did the same to Tanya’s. He laid her out on the rumpled white sheets and took a second to lustfully examine her shapely body before climbing on top of her.

Their lips met hungrily, and while their probing tongues intertwined, Mikhail guided the head of his rock-hard phallus up against the moist lips of his lover’s vagina. Well aware of the abnormally large size of his manhood, he carefully pushed his hips downward.

Tanya’s kisses became more frantic as he continued pushing himself forward, until after what seemed like a blissful eternity, his all was given.

All so slowly now, he reversed the direction of his thrust until his phallus was just about to be pulled free. Yet before it did so, he slid it downwards once again, this time plunging it into the hot, sticky depths with a smooth, quick stroke. Tanya ahhed in delight, her pleasure further heightened as he began thrusting into her with a spirited rhythm. In order to take his all, she kicked up her legs overhead and attempted to merge her trembling body into that of her lover.

Oblivious to the crackle of lightning, the booming thunder, and the howling wind outside that constantly rattled the only window, they made love in this position for a good quarter of an hour before the grinding motion of Tanya’s hips began to further intensify.

Mikhail noted this change, accompanied by the deep probings of her tongue. Instinctively quickening the pace of his thrusts, he felt his own climax began to rise.

Suddenly Tanya’s body began quivering, and her soft, white skin filled with goose bumps. Grunting in ecstasy, she shoved her hips upward as her womb erupted in sheer bliss. Mikhail felt a surge of molten hot fluid fill her depths, and let loose with his own eruption. Seed that had been stored inside of him for weeks on end rose upward in a spine-tingling orgasm, and not until Tanya had milked him dry did their hips stop grinding.

For the rest of the day, they continued their lovemaking, with only the champagne and their passion to nourish them. The sun had long since set, the storm no longer audible outside, when Mikhail reluctantly informed his lover that it was time for him to return to duty. After a long hot shower, he crawled back onto the bed where Tanya awaited him. They kissed, and Tanya pulled her head back and softly whispered, “You are truly the lion of the Spetsnaz, Mikhail dearest. Go in peace, and may it not be long until the sea sends you back to my lips.”

Mikhail left the hotel alone. Tanya’s scent was still with him as he crisply walked down a deserted side street whose narrow length was partially flooded by the day’s storm. He had to display his identification card to be allowed entry through the barbed-wire topped gates that surrounded the pier. Here a tough-looking Uzbekian sentry approached him with a German shepard on a short steel leash. The dog proceeded to sniff Mikhail’s clothing, and after determining that he wasn’t carrying any illicit drugs onto the base, meekly backed away.

The Spetsnaz commando knew that for the most part, these dogs were merely for show. The drug problem that infected the Red Banner fleet was a very serious one. Hashish and opium smuggled up from the south were the most abused substances. Utilized to fill those long, lonely hours that a sailor was faced with while at sea, the drugs slowed reaction time and dulled mental alertness. Such conditions could mean disaster in times of crisis, and the fleet was attempting to deal with the crisis by stricter security measures and a variety of drug education programs.

Ever thankful for his limited vices, Mikhail approached the pier where his current command was hidden away in the moon pool of the Ugra-class support ship. Immediately beside the gantry way of this vessel, a shiny black Chaika limousine was parked. Mikhail briefly stopped to admire this automobile that flew the crimson red pennants of the Admiral of the Fleet from its chrome grill.

“Captain Borisov!” shouted a voice from the gangplank.

Looking up to see who was calling him, Mikhail was soon facing the same eager aide who had initially invited him to join Admiral Starobin for dinner at the officers’ club a mere twenty-four hours ago.

“I’m glad you got here, sir,” added the breathless junior officer.

“Admiral of the Fleet Markov and Admiral Starobin have been waiting for you for a good ten minutes now. They instructed me to escort you to the Ugra’s wardroom as soon as you arrived.”

“Well then, lead on,” said Mikhail.

As he climbed onto the support ship and began his way through a maze of twisting corridors, Mikhail couldn’t help but be impressed by the identities of the two officers currently waiting for his presence. It was awkward enough to keep an important figure such as Igor Starobin waiting. Yet if he had known that the Admiral of the Fleet himself would be down here like this, Mikhail would have curtailed his delightful lovemaking session and left for the pier a bit earlier.

Konstantin Markov was a naval legend. Mikhail had only met him face to face once before, when he received his advanced commission after graduating from Leningrad’s prestigious A. A. Grechko Naval Academy.

Responsible for the current state of the motherland’s fleet, Admiral Markov was a man of vision who rose to power in those dark, confusing days that followed the conclusion of the Great War. As an advocate of a strong submarine force, he fought off those in the Defense Ministry who desired to channel the Rodina’s limited funds into the surface fleet. He eventually succeeded in this endeavor, and today the Soviet Union had the most powerful armada of submersibles the world had ever known. Proud that his Sea Devil was part of this program, Mikhail crossed through officer’s country and gratefully ducked into the wardroom.

He found the two admirals seated at the circular table drinking tea, along with the Ugra’s captain and its Zampolit.

“Well there you are, Captain Borisov,” greeted Igor Starobin.

“Look who’s come down here to wish you a fond farewell.”

Taking this as their cue to leave, the Ugra’s senior officers excused themselves, along with the aide who had acted as Mikhail’s escort.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again. Admiral Markov,” offered the Spetsnaz commando smartly.

The Admiral of the Fleet stood and embraced Mikhail.

“The pleasure’s all mine, comrade. Though it’s been over a decade since we last talked face to face, don’t think that you’ve been out of my thoughts.

I’ve followed your illustrious career with great interest, and it’s with pride and admiration that I stand before you.”

“I hope your leave went well,” Igor said with a wink.

“I had a delightful time. Sir. In fact, I’m afraid I got a bit carried away. Please excuse my tardiness.”

“Nonsense,” retorted the Admiral of the Fleet.

“It’s we who are early this evening. And besides, we passed the time talking with Captain Yuriatan and his political officer. They seem to run an efficient operation here, one that should have no trouble getting your Sea Devil out into the North Sea.”

“I thought that we were going to be traveling by submarine,” observed Mikhail.

“When we first spoke, that had been the intention,” explained Admiral Starobin.

“But because of our severe time constraints, it was decided to have the Ugra offer you transit on the first leg of your mission. They’ll be carrying your Sea Devil as far as the Orkney Islands.

Here you’ll rendezvous with the India-class submarine Lagoda. This vessel will then convey you all the way to the entrance to the Firth of Clyde. The Lagoda will also remain on picket duty while you proceed with your mission, and will provide your transport back to Murmansk once the mission is completed.”

“And what a glorious mission it will be!” exclaimed the wide-eyed Admiral of the Fleet.

“When I first heard Admiral Starobin present it, I remember thinking that it hadn’t been since the Great War that such an ingenious plan had been attempted. To tell you the truth, I was as surprised as the Admiral here when the Premier gave us the go-ahead. And all along we thought that our leaders in the Kremlin were spineless!”

“There’s hope for the future of the motherland yet,” added Igor Starobin.

“This will be especially apparent once the Americans are forced out of Holy Loch. And by the way, we’ve determined the identity of the submarine that your charges will be attached to. For security reasons, we picked one of their older Permit-class attack subs. Its precise anchorage and a detailed diagram of its hull are included in your sailing packet.”

“Do you really think that Sea Devil can do it, Captain?”

asked the Admiral of the Fleet.

Without hesitation, Mikhail answered, “Why of course she can, Admiral. Although it’s true that I’m an officer in the Spetsnaz, I love life too much to volunteer for a mission that I thought would be suicidal.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear, comrade,” returned Konstantin Markov with a relieved sigh.

Admiral Starobin looked down at his watch and stood.

“The tide will be changing shortly, and that means that the Ugra will soon be setting sail. Shall we go down into the moon pool to take one last look at Sea Devil before we’re forced to leave, Admiral Markov?”

“By all means,” answered the Admiral of the Fleet.

“I believe I can lead us down there without getting us lost,” offered Mikhail Borisov.

“If you can sneak a tracked mini-sub deep into uncharted enemy waters, surely finding the moon pool should be the least of your worries,” joked Konstantin Markov, who followed the young captain out of the wardroom.

A series of ladders led them down a succession of decks. The constant, muted drone of the Ugra’s steam plant was readily noticeable in this portion of the ship, and the air was heavy and warm.

It was with great relief when Mikhail ducked through a familiar hatchway and halted on a latticed-steel catwalk.

Before him now was the massive rectangular reservoir around which the ship had been designed. At the bottom of this pool, since been drained of water, was Sea Devil. The tracked mini-sub seemed unnatural out of its intended medium. Looking more like a tank than an undersea vessel, it was anchored directly to the steep plates that formed the Ugra’s lower hull.

“So that’s the vessel that’s going to change the world’s balance of power,” reflected the Admiral of the Fleet, who had taken up a position beside Mikhail.

Mikhail nodded.

“I know she doesn’t look like much, but Sea Devil contains everything I need to complete my mission. That is, as long as those specially designed limpet mines were placed inside her, as promised.”

“They’re down there, all right,” revealed Igor Starobin.

“I had my aide deliver them to the ship himself. I believe he transferred them to your warrant officer.”

“That would be Oleg Zagorsk,” explained Mikhail.

“He’s Siberian by birth, and grew up in the taiga.

Though he’s not much of a talker, he knows how to follow an order, and he’s proficient with every single one of the Sea Devil’s operating systems.”

“How’s your female crew member working out?”

asked Igor Starobin.

“Not as bad as I had first feared,” admitted Mikhail.

“Comrade Olovski is a competent electrician who’s willing to learn, and so far she hasn’t let us down.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” replied Admiral Starobin.

Konstantin Markov thoughtfully reflected.

“I would have thought that having a woman on a platform as confining as Sea Devil would be a distraction. Haven’t you experienced any sexual tension among your other crew members, Captain?”

Mikhail grinned.

“Sir, it’s apparent that you’ve never laid your eyes upon Tanya Olovski. Why, I’ve seen more attractive men in my time.”

A shared laugh was cut short by the shrill cry of a steam whistle.

“Sounds like the Ugra is ready to go,” observed the Admiral of the Fleet.

“Unless we’re going to accompany you all the way into the North Sea, we’d better get going. May good fortune be your constant companion, Captain.”

After accepting Markov’s firm handshake, Mikhail turned to face Admiral Starobin.

“I, too, wish you nothing but good fortune, comrade.

Remember that I’d be going along in your place if I could, and that you’ll be responsible for displaying the capabilities of my life’s work for me. May your voyage be a smooth one, and your return a time for joyous celebration. And don’t forget about that three month leave on the shores of the Black Sea that’s awaiting you. If you’d like, I’m even willing to throw in Tanya Brusovo.”

“I’d like that very much,” replied the blond-haired Spetsnaz commando, who returned Igor Starobin’s playful wink with one of his own.