'Inside!' Yakelev shouted.
'We came outside for air,' a woman said, speaking in a German accent. 'It is stifling in the cabin.'
'Please, Madame,' the major said in a softer, pleading voice.
'As you wish,' the woman said, after a moment. She was clearly reluctant, but she herded the others back inside. As she turned, Tovrov saw her profile. She had a strong chin, and her nose was slightly curved at the tip.
A guard emerged from the ship and called down. 'I couldn't stop them, Major.'
'Go back inside and shut the door before all the world hears your stupid excuses.'
The guard vanished and slammed the door behind him. As Tovrov stared up at the empty platform, the major's fingers dug into his arm.
Yakelev's voice was harsh and low. 'You saw nothing, Captain.'
'Those people – '
'Nothing! For God's sake, man. I do not want to kill you.'
Tovrov started to reply, but the words never left his mouth. He had felt a change in the ship's movement, and he jerked his arm away from Yakelev's grip. 'I must go to the bridge.'
'What is wrong?'
'There's no one at the wheel. Can't you feel it? My stupid first mate is probably drunk.'
Tovrov left the major behind and climbed to the wheelhouse. In the light from the binnacle, he saw the wheel slowly spinning back and forth as if moved by invisible hands. The captain stepped inside and stumbled over something soft and yielding. He swore, thinking that the mate had passed out. Then he turned on the light and saw how wrong he was.
The mate lay facedown on the metal deck, a puddle of blood around his head. Tovrov's anger turned to alarm. He knelt beside the young officer and turned him over. A wound grinned at him like a second mouth where the poor wretch's throat had been cut.
Eyes wide with horror, the captain stood and edged away from the corpse, only to back into a wall of solid flesh. He whirled and saw Yakelev.
'What has happened?' the major said.
'It's incredible! Someone has killed the first mate.'
Yakelev nudged the bloody corpse with his boot. 'Who could have done this?'
'No one.'
'No one slaughtered your mate like a pig? Come to your senses, Captain.'
Tovrov shook his head, unable to take his eyes off the mate's body. 'I meant that I know all the crew well.' He paused. 'All except the two new men.'
'What new men?' Yakelev's good eye blazed at Tovrov like a spotlight.
'I hired them two days ago as stokers. They were in the bar when I was talking to Federoff, and they came by later looking for berths. They looked like ruffians, but I was short of crew – '
Uttering a curse, Yakelev pulled his pistol from its holster, shoved Tovrov aside and vaulted through the door, shouting commands to his men. Tovrov glanced at the first mate and vowed not to let the same thing happen to him without a fight. He tied the wheel, then he went into his stateroom and with trembling hands turned the combination dial on the ship's safe. Pulling out a 7.63-millimeter Mauser automatic, he unwrapped the soft velvet cloth protecting the gun, which he had acquired years before in a barter in the event of a mutiny, loaded the magazine, stuck the pistol in his belt and peered out the cabin door.
Descending to the lower deck, he peeked through the small circular window in the door that led to the passengers' quarters. The passageway was empty. He went down to the main deck and crept forward. In the glow of the deck lights, he saw the Cossacks crouched near the rail.
Suddenly, a small, dark object looped over the gunwale, bounced once and skittered along the wet deck, leaving a trail of sparks.
'Grenade!' someone yelled. Moving like quicksilver, Yakelev dove for the sputtering grenade, rolled onto his back and snapped the metal pineapple over the side. An explosion sounded, and the screams of pain that followed were drowned out as the Cossacks poured rifle fire into the mist. One guard leaned over with a sharp: knife and slashed the lines tied to several grappling hooks, then a boat engine roared, as if it had been given full throttle. The Cossacks continued to fire until the boat was out of range.
The major turned and his rifle snapped up to firing position. Then a grin crossed his face as he recognized the captain.
'You'd better put that toy away before you shoot yourself, Captain.'
Tovrov tucked the gun into his belt and walked over to Yakelev. 'What happened?'
'You were right about being followed. A fishing boat came alongside and some impolite fellows tried to invite themselves on board. We had to teach them manners. One of your new crewmen was signaling them with a light until we put a knife in his heart.' He indicated a body lying on the deck.
'We gave our visitors a warm welcome,' another Cossack said, and his companions joined in the laughter. The guards picked the body up and threw it over the side. The captain was about to ask where the other stoker was. Too late.
The missing stoker announced his arrival with deadly force. Rifle fire cut short the Cossacks' mirth, and four men were mowed down as if by an invisible scythe. A round caught Yakelev in the chest, and the force slammed him against the bulkhead. He refused to go down and mustered the strength to push the captain out of the line of fire. The remaining Cossack dropped to his belly and crawled along the deck, firing as he went, but he was killed before he gained the protection of an air vent.
While the attacker was diverted, Tovrov and the major made their escape, but after a few steps, the major's knees buckled and his great body dropped to the deck, his tunic soaked in blood. He gestured toward the captain, who brought his ear close to the Cossack's mouth.
'See to the family,' he said in a wet, guttural voice.
'They must live.' His hand groped for Tovrov's jacket. 'Remember. Without a tsar, Russia cannot exist.' He blinked in astonishment that he should be in such a position, and a soggy chuckle escaped his frothy lips. 'Damn this ship. give me a horse any day….' The life went out of his fierce eye, his chin slumped forward and his fingers went limp.
Just then, the ship was rocked by a tremendous blast.
Crouching low, Tovrov ran to the rail and saw the fishing boat a hundred yards away. A bright flash from the muzzle of a deck gun, and a second shell slammed into the freighter.
The ship rocked violently.
A muffled thud came from below, as the fuel tanks caught fire, and burning fuel gushed from the tanks and spread in flaming sheets across the surface of the water. The second stoker decided to abandon ship. He ran across the deck, threw the rifle over the side, then he climbed onto the rail, leaped into a clear section of water and stroked for the fishing boat. He underestimated the speed of the spreading fuel, however. Within seconds, it caught up with him, and his screams were drowned out by the loud crackle of flames.
The cannonade had dislodged the rest of the crew from their hiding places. Men ran in desperation toward the lifeboat on the side away from the fire. Tovrov went to follow them, then he remembered Yakelev's dying words. Gasping as he tried to pull air into his ravaged lungs, Tovrov climbed to the passenger quarters and threw the door open.
A pitiful sight greeted his eyes. Four girls in their teens cowered against the wall, along with the cook. Standing protectively in front of them was a middle-aged woman with sad blue-gray eyes. She had a long thin nose, slightly aquiline, with a firm but delicate chin. Her lips were closely pressed together in determination. They could have been any group of refugees huddling in terror, but Tovrov knew they weren't. He fumbled as he tried to decide on the right form of address.
'Madame,' he said finally. 'You and the children must come to the lifeboat.'
'Who are you?' the woman said, with the same German accent the captain had heard earlier.
'Captain Tovrov. I am master of this vessel.'
'Tell me what has happened. What is all that noise?'
'Your guards are all dead. The ship is under attack. We must abandon it.'
She glanced at the girls and seemed to gain renewed courage. 'Captain Tovrov, if you guide me and my family
