'We will leave it on autopilot.'
Turchak's eyes widened. With no one to monitor the performance of the computers that formed the autopilot, there was no safety margin whatsoever. 'Oh, man. Why don't we just shoot ourselves now and get it over with? This really is Russian roulette.'
'We must get the guns.'
'We may have to kill Heydrich.'
Kolnikov grunted.
'You and I could run the boat,' Turchak admitted. 'The automation is quite extraordinary. We could not respond quickly to anything, and there would be no safety margin — none — which makes my flesh crawl. The first casualty, the first equipment failure, and we will be dead men. With people on watch in the reactor and engine room, we have a little breathing room. Someone on the sonar will help enormously. We will need all the people we have if we need to reload a torpedo tube. Still, we know so little. A tiny fire, an electrical problem. . we'll be dead.'
'That is the risk we agreed to take,' Kolnikov insisted.
'Talking about risks on dry land is not the same as living them.'
They stood looking at the displays. Finally Kolnikov shook his head. 'There is no way to undo what we have done. We must go forward.'
'I know. I know! All of this frightens me — that is the honest truth. I wish—'
Turchak left the thought hanging. After a bit he asked, 'What are we going to do with the guns?'
'Jettisoning them through an empty torpedo tube would be best. I don't want them aboard.'
Kolnikov checked the navigation display. The boat was five hundred feet deep, running southeast at four knots. Except for the grunting of some distant whales, the sea was silent, empty in all directions, surface and subsurface. A few minutes ago there had been the telltale signature of noise from an airplane passing overhead, a jet running high. It was gone now.
Kolnikov pulled the pistol from his belt, checked that the safety was on, and went forward.
Pistols and rifles were strewn carelessly near the sleeping men. The two Russian officers picked up every firearm they saw. One man was sleeping with his pistol belt and holster still wrapped around his waist, so Kolnikov put his pistol against the man's forehead and waited for him to awaken. In seconds his eyes came open. Kolnikov undid the buckle and pulled the belt from under the man.
They had an armful of guns by the time they reached the torpedo room. All four of the tubes were empty. They put the guns in number one, then proceeded to the engine room in the aft end of the boat. Three men were awake there, checking lubrication levels and monitoring the turbines. Kolnikov held a pistol on them while Turchak took their weapons and carried them forward. Kolnikov followed.
When they had the tube closed for the second time, Turchak asked, 'Where's Heydrich?'
'I don't know. He must have been in one of the heads when we went by.' Or in the aux machinery room, cold storage…
'And Steinhoff?'
'I don't know.'
'Someone may have told them we are confiscating the weapons.'
Kolnikov and Turchak gripped their pistols tightly as they approached the door of the control room.
The two Germans were there, examining the control panels.
Steinhoff turned, saw that the Russians had pistols out, and immediately decided to jerk his automatic from its holster.
Kolnikov shot him once. Steinhoff sagged to the deck and lay there moaning.
Heydrich stood frozen with his back to Kolnikov, his hands half raised.
'May I turn around?'
'Not yet.'
Turchak inched forward, pulled the pistol from Heydrich's holster, and patted him down for more weapons. He also had a pistol in his pocket, which Turchak transferred to his own pocket.
Turchak put the guns in the torpedo tube while Kolnikov sat in the control room with his pistol pointed at Heydrich and Steinhoff moaned softly and writhed on the deck. Heydrich made no move to examine the man, see how badly he was hurt.
When the guns had been flushed from the tube into the sea, Kolnikov remarked, 'Take your friend to berthing and put a bandage on him.' He pocketed the pistol.
Heydrich jerked Steinhoff off the deck and slung him over his shoulder, oblivious of his wound.
'The game isn't over, Kolnikov.'
'Get your head out of your ass,' the Russian shot back. 'This is no game. You can't run this boat without me, but I can certainly run it without you. As far as I'm concerned, you're expendable ballast. At the first sign of disobedience I'll shoot you as quick as I shot Steinhoff.'
'You know, I believe you would.'
When they were alone, Turchak said, 'You should have killed him, gotten it over with.'
Vladimir Kolnikov rubbed his face. 'We must take split watches, you and I. One man will run the boat while the other sleeps.'
When Jake Grafton descended the stairs in the beach house Sunday morning, Toad Tarkington and Janos Ilin were drinking coffee at the window nook while Callie cooked eggs. She had the television in the corner tuned to CNN. Jake kissed her, dropped into a chair at the table.
'You two look chipper this morning,' Jake remarked to the men, both,of whom looked slightly rumpled. 'Sun and sand seem to agree with you.'
Toad eyed the admiral suspiciously as he sipped his coffee.
'We spent yesterday in front of the television,' Janos Ilin said, 'until we couldn't stand it anymore.' He felt his pockets, probably feeling for his cigarettes. He had picked up the fact that Americans didn't smoke indoors.
The Sunday paper lay on the table. The headline screamed, 'Sub Stolen.' Under it was a photo of the hijackers entering the submarine taken from the television video. To the right was a smaller shot of Kolnikov shooting at the helicopter.
The admiral helped himself to the coffee and cream. He was sipping it when the telephone rang. He picked it up.
'I'm a reporter with—' the voice began. Jake put the telephone back on the cradle.
'So who did it?' Toad demanded.
'Some Russian and German ex-submariners.' Jake didn't mention the CIA.
'Wow!'
'Quite amazing,' Ilin said. 'How in the world could they have learned enough about the submarine—
'Like a space shuttle.'
'Surprising,' Ilin said and helped himself to more coffee.
Callie served him an omelet as the group discussed what the thieves might do with a stolen sub. The telephone rang two more times. Each time Callie answered it, said a few words, and hung up. 'Reporters,' she said.
'I have been asked to assist in the investigation of this matter,' Jake said, addressing Ilin. 'Since several of the men involved were Russian nationals, I was wondering if you would assist me? On an informal basis, of course.'
'Do you know their names?'
'Not yet.'
'I assume,' Ilin said slowly as he buttered a piece of toast, 'that you have discussed this matter with General Blevins?'
'Yes.'
'And other people?'
'Of course.'
'May I ask who they are?'
'I think I'll reserve that.'
