'On paper, anyhow,' the admiral said. 'You know, everyone is worried about our nuclear bombs getting in some madman's hands. But while there's been all that talk, we've sold half our conventional weaponry, which can be as deadly under the proper circumstances. Nobody says anything about that.'
'I'm saying something. Where did the India-class subs go?'
'One was scrapped. The other was sold to a private buyer.'
'Do you know his name?'
'Of course, but what difference does it make? He represented a group that was obviously a straw for someone else. There could be many layers in between the buyer and the person who forked over the money.'
'But you have a suspicion about who bought it?'
'I'm pretty sure it stayed within the country. The buyer was an outfit called Volga Industries. They had an office in Moscow, but who knows where their parent companies were? Nobody really cared. They paid in cash.'
Petrov shook his head. 'How could someone so easily remove a war machine three hundred and fifty feet long?'
'It's done all the time. All you need is some hard-up officers in the military who haven't been paid in a year. We've got lots of them living on promises. Then you have the collusion of government maggots and it's done. The worst are the former communists.'
'Like us?'
'Tripe! We waved the red flag, but we were never ideological. I know you didn't believe that bull. We did it because it was exciting and somebody else was paying the bill.'
'I'll need some names.'
'How could I forget? The scum who were making millions selling all this war material asked if I wanted a piece. I said no, that it wasn't right to sell the people's property for personal gain. Next thing I know, I was out of the navy on my ass. Nobody would hire me. So here I am.'
The admiral was wandering into a bitter swamp. 'The names, please, Admiral.'
'Sorry,' he said, composing himself. 'The years haven't been easy. There were five principals in the deal.' He rattled off the names.
'I know all of them,' Petrov said. 'They were petty functionaries in the party who have flourished by picking the bones of the Soviet Union.'
'What can I say, my friend? Well, is that enough? It's all I've got. The people who come here don't talk about military secrets. Anyway, it was good to see you. My employers expect me to make the rounds of the tables every few minutes. So excuse me, I must get back to work.'
'Maybe not,' Petrov said. He reached into his suit pocket and extracted a brown envelope. 'If you could make a wish, what would it be?'
'Aside from making my wife alive again and persuading my children that it is worth their time to talk to me?' He thought about it for a moment. 'I would like to move to the United States. To Florida. I would sit in the sun and talk only to those I wanted to talk to.'
'What a coincidence,' Petrov said. 'Within this envelope is a one-way plane ticket to Fort Lauderdale, leaving tomorrow, a passport and visa, and the immigration paperwork that will ensure your stay there. There is also some money to live on and the name of a gentleman who is looking for an investor to buy into his fishing company. He especially wants someone who has experience on the sea It would be a much smaller fleet than you have been used to.'
A defeated expression came onto the admiral's face. 'Please don't toy with me. We were once comrades.'
'We still are,' Petrov said, handing over the envelope. 'Consider this a delayed payment from your country for past services.'
The admiral took the envelope and examined the contents. When he looked up, tears brimmed in his eyes.
'How did you know?'
'About Florida? Word gets around. It was not hard to find out.'
'I don't know how I can repay you.'
'You already have. Now I must be on my way, and you have to inform your employers of your wish to end your services here.'
'Inform them? I'll leave as soon as I can change my clothes.'
'That might be a good idea, considering the amount of cash you're carrying. Oh, I forgot. One thing.'
The admiral froze, wondering if strings were attached after all. 'What's that?'
'Don't forget to use sunscreen when you're out on the water,' Petrov said.
The admiral threw his arms around Petrov and embraced him in a bone-cracking bear hug. Then he tossed his cap across the room. His jacket, with medals clattering, followed.
Petrov slipped away. He allowed himself a rare smile as he stepped through the outside door. He shook hands with the doorman, passing along another hundred-dollar bill. He was feeling generous tonight. The doorman shoved his way through the crowd to make a path for Petrov, who quickly limped through the alley and disappeared into the night.
24
THE BLACK SEA
THE CALL FROM Captain Atwood came in as the NUMA helicopter sped across the Black Sea toward the Turkish mainland. Austin had been jotting down his thoughts in a notebook when he heard the familiar voice crackle in his earphones.
'Kurt, are you there? Come in, please,' Captain Atwood urged.
'Miss me already, Captain?' Austin said. 'I'm truly touched.'
'I'll admit things are a lot quieter here since you left, but that's not why I'm calling. I've tried to get in touch with the Sea Hunter and still can't raise her.'
'When was the last time you talked to her?'
'I called last night to say you'd be on your way in the morning. Everything was okay. Then I tried again after you took off, to let them know you were in the air. No answer. We've been calling at regular intervals. I called again a few minutes ago. Still no reply.'
“That's odd,' Austin said, glancing down at the water-tight bucket sitting on the floor at his feet. Inside the bucket, soaking in seawater, was the silver jewelry box plucked from the Odessa Star. At Gamay's suggestion, the Argo had called the Sea Hunter and asked if a conservator could take a look at the box and its contents. The Sea Hunter's captain said the ship had finished its project in the Black Sea and was on its way to Istanbul, where he would be happy to hook up with Austin.
'It's more than odd; it's crazy. What the hell do you make of it?'
Austin went down a mental checklist of possible reasons for the ship's silence, but none of them held water. All NUMA vessels carried the latest in communications, and their systems were redundant several times over. They kept inconstant contact with other ships.
He felt as if someone were walking on his grave. 'I don't know, Captain. Have you called NUMA headquarters to see if anyone there has heard from the ship?'
'Yes. They said the Sea Hunter called in yesterday, saying they had found some significant Bronze Age relics and were heading into port.'
'Hold on, Captain,' Austin said. He hailed the pilot over the intercom. 'How far can we fly on our current fuel supply?'
'We're corning up on the Turkish mainland now. We're carrying a light load, so we can go another forty-five minutes or so before we drop out of the sky. Planning a side trip?'
'Maybe.' Austin looked over at Rudi Gunn, who had been listening to the exchange with Captain Atwood. Gunn nodded slightly, like someone bidding at an auction. Do what has to be done. Austin got back to Captain Atwood and said they would try to find the Sea Hunter. Then he relayed the ship's last known position to the pilot. The
