Silent Thunder

32.4° E Longitude 44.1° N Latitude.

Hannah, you're a goddamn miracle.

'We've got it!' he said into the microphone. 'It looks like it's in the Black Sea. I'll write it down.'

'Hurry. It may disappear once we drift off the coordinates.'

He scribbled the figures on one of Hannah's discarded chewing gum wrappers. 'Got it. Meet me in the forward torpedo room, Hannah.'

'Why?'

'Change of plans. And if you get there before I do, get yourself into an MK10.'

She was silent, but he could sense the shock that went through her.

'Do it, Hannah. No arguments. You're support, not command right now.'

'MK10. Are you sure about this?'

'It's the only way. I'll see you down there.'

Kirov turned back to the computer and kicked it repeatedly, smashing the console with his left heel. Sparks flew, and the monitor went dark.

MK10.

Dear God in heaven.

Hannah ran into the forward torpedo room, where the earsplitting alarm was even louder than it had been at the compass module. She opened a supply locker, where eight MK10 submarine escape-and-immersion suits hung. They probably hadn't been touched since a drill years before.

She knew that the British-made MK10s were standard-issue equipment in almost every submarine fleet in the world, but she hadn't been aware the Russians used them until her first visit aboard Silent Thunder. They had never been extensively used in crisis situations. The bulky, padded outfits were created for one purpose: for emergency deep sea escapes, commonly through a hatch. In extreme situations the wearer could climb into a firing tube and be shot out like a torpedo. It had always seemed to be an absurd notion to Hannah, since extreme depths would kill its wearer anyway, and in shallower waters there were far safer alternatives to evacuating a submarine.

Except maybe this time, this place.

She slid into the salt-encrusted suit and fastened the buckles at her waist, wrist, and ankles. If only Conner could see her now. He'd love this.

Kirov jumped through the hatch. 'Hurry, Hannah. Put on the helmet and climb into the tube headfirst.'

'What about Pavski?'

'Pavski will be taken care of.'

She looked down to see that Kirov was holding his canvas bag, the one in which he'd carried Niler's explosives.

It was now empty.

She stared at Kirov as realization dawned. 'You booby-trapped the sub.'

'Yes.'

'Where?'

'Where it will do the most damage.'

'The aft fuel tanks?'

He nodded. 'Being a museum piece wouldn't suit Silent Thunder. She'll like going down in a blaze of glory.'

'How soon?'

'She only has a few more minutes to live.'

'Like anyone who's still in here when those charges detonate.'

Kirov motioned toward the open torpedo chamber. 'Quickly. Pavski may already be inside the sub.'

'We haven't tested the torpedo tubes. They may not even fire anymore. They might just fill with water and drown us.'

'That's why you have to go first.'

'Are you joking?'

'If there's a malfunction, I need to be here to pull you out.' He took the helmet and opened the latches. 'It looks like I'm only your support team once again.'

'It's too risky. These things were finicky even in the best of circumstances.'

'You'll be fine.' He smiled. 'Remember what I told you about the Silent Thunder having a soul?'

'You mean that bit about her coming through whenever you needed her most,' she said unevenly.

'Yes. She's not about to let us down now.'

'You'll be right behind me?'

'There's a trigger switch inside the tube. Once you're away, I'll go myself.'

She stiffened as a sudden memory of the nightmares he had told her about came back to her. 'You're lying.'

'Hurry, Hannah.'

'No.' She stepped back. 'You're planning to go down with your ship, you crazy Russian.'

'There isn't time for this.'

'This is insane. However you feel about the Silent Thunder's socalled soul…'

'I didn't say I was-'

'You've served her well, Kirov,' she said desperately. 'Now let her go.'

'We're out of time.'

Kirov slammed her against the bulkhead and dropped the helmet over her head. As she struggled to break free, he fastened the latches.

'Thank you, Hannah.' He leaned so close that his breath fogged her faceplate as he spoke. 'Thank you for everything.' He smiled gently. 'Pomni, ya vsegda ryadom.'

He picked her up and pushed her into the open hatch of torpedo tube four.

'Kirov, come with me,' she called frantically. 'The same tube at the same time. Don't do this!'

The hatch slammed shut behind her.

Darkness.

Silence, except for the faint knocking of engines.

Damn him.

She heard, then felt, a trickle of cool salt water pouring into the chamber. Could the old pumps even pull this off?

The trickle became a stream, and the stream became a torrent. Water leaked through the suit's tattered seams. She became buoyant, floating in the center of the chamber.

The water climbed higher. She held her breath, trying to preserve the precious little oxygen her suit still held. The water ran cold against her cheek.

The moment of truth. She crossed her ankles, lowered her head, and folded her arms across her chest. She wished she'd inspected the tube. A piece of twisted metal or a bent plate in her path would tear her to shreds.

The Silent Thunder is always at her best when you need her most.

Hannah suddenly relaxed. Nestled in the Silent Thunder's watery embrace, she somehow felt… protected. Cared for. Treasured.

Was the lack of oxygen making her loopy?

Probably.

Or maybe she was just an atheist in a foxhole.

A roar filled her ears, and thousands of pounds of pressure slammed her from behind.

Pavski, Koppel, Lepin, and Norzalk stood on the bridge, staring at the smoldering remains of the navigational computer.

'Blin!' Pavski swung the butt of his gun toward the console.

'Wait,' Koppel said. 'This means Kirov and Bryson must have the coordinates. All we have to do is find them,