America

one.'

Jake continued with the briefing, detailing the salient facts as he had learned them that day. Jadot asked about Americas weapons load out. 'A dozen Tomahawks and six torpedoes.'

'What kind of warheads, please?' asked Mayer.

'All conventional. That is all I can tell you at this time.'

Hyphen knew a thing or two about Tomahawk, which was a mainstay of the Royal Navy. 'Certainly these people can't properly target this weapon, can they? Do the mission profiles and all that?'

'It would be extremely difficult. One suspects that they couldn't do it without help.'

'Do they have help?'

'They might. Several Americans are missing and may be on the boat with these people. One of them is a simulator instructor, a software engineer, highly knowledgeable about the ship's systems. On the other hand, he might not be there. We just don't know yet.'

'This missing engineer — does he know enough to program and fire the weapons?'

'According to the FBI, yes.'

'It gets worser and worser,' was Hyphen's benediction.

They sat silently for several seconds, thinking about that, trying to control their faces. Actually they did a good job of it — they were ready for the poker tables of Vegas, Jake thought ruefully.

Finally one of them, Mayer, asked the obvious question: 'What is the United States doing to find this submarine?'

'Everything we can,' Jake replied. 'A briefing is scheduled for the Joint Chiefs of Staff in the Pentagon war room two hours from now. We are invited. I am sure all of you will be making reports to your governments about this matter, but I ask you to inform them firmly that the United States government does not want the information you learn here disclosed to the press.'

'Speaking for myself, I can give you no guarantees on what my minister will choose to do,' Barrington-Lee said. The others nodded their concurrence.

'I understand the realities of the situation,' Jake replied. 'All I ask is that you inform your governments of our wishes. The U.S. wants to keep a lid on the identities of the hijackers for a few more days.'

On their way to the Pentagon, Toad Tarkington walked alongside the admiral. He spoke softly so that only his boss could hear. 'It's the Frenchies. I got this feeling.'

'Right.'

'Everyone talks about the French, but no one does anything about them. After all, those people eat snails.'

'A black mark against the whole race, I'll admit.'

'Just wait. You'll see I'm right.'

'There's been a change of plans,' Kolnikov told his crew. He spoke loudly, so everyone could hear. With the exception of Heydrich, they were crowded into America's control room and surrounding spaces. Kolnikov didn't want to use the ship's loudspeaker system for fear that the sound would be picked up by the American SOSUS system, a fear ingrained in him from his days at sea in the Soviet, then Russian, Navy.

'We are going to fire three Tomahawks tonight, probably three tomorrow night, then three the following night. After that we are going to lay low for a while, as planned.'

The men were surly. They were submerged in a stolen American submarine, surrounded by technology they didn't understand, with the entire American navy hunting for them. And Kolnikov had shot Steinhoff and locked up Heydrich. Why they didn't know. They were frightened and Kolnikov could see it in their faces.

'Our primary mission has not changed,' Vladimir Kolnikov said now, keeping his voice as matter-of-fact as possible. 'All of you will still be paid the agreed amount. However, since we are launching nine Tomahawks, you will each be paid an additional one hundred thousand dollars American per weapon as compensation for the additional risk.'

'What are the targets?' One of the East Germans asked that question.

'You are from?'

'Berlin.'

'The targets are not in Berlin.'

A chuckle swept the crowded compartment. The promise of more money was working on their misgivings. All of them could multiply by nine.

'What about Heydrich? Why is he locked up?'

'I do not trust him.'

No one said anything to that. They looked at each other, at the overhead, at the large computer displays, the windows on the sea. Finally Boldt asked, 'How long are you going to keep him locked up?'

'Until he learns to behave himself.'

'I think you should tell us more,' Steeckt said flatly. 'You are asking us to risk our lives on faith and a bald, unsupported promise to be paid later. That isn't much.'

'Precisely how much is your life worth, Steeckt? What were you going back to when this little adventure was suggested?'

'You should level with us,' the East German insisted.

'What you do not know you cannot tell later. You will be paid. You have my guarantee. If you get money, do you care where it's been, eh? As long as it spends.'

That remark seemed to break the tension. Some of them chuckled.

'Steinhoff died about an hour ago.' Gordin spoke flatly, without inflection, as if he were reporting a temperature or depth reading.

'He pulled a pistol on me,' Kolnikov explained. 'I had to shoot him. Shipmates must trust each other and defer to their captain, who looks out for all of them. Steinhoff failed to do that. He thought his primary loyalty was to Heydrich, a great mistake, and made it him or me. Perhaps he thought Turchak could sail the sub without me.' And Turchak could, probably. 'Perhaps he realized how easy this submarine is to operate and thought he could handle it himself.' That ridiculous remark drew several smiles. Kolnikov continued: 'Perhaps Steinhoff hadn't thought that far ahead. Whatever. He made a very stupid mistake and paid the price.'

'What shall we do with his corpse, Captain?'

'Wrap it in a sheet and put it in the cold-storage locker. We will dispose of it when the time comes. Not now.'

When they had filed back to their stations, Turchak whispered to Kolnikov, 'They are scared. They don't know what to think.'

'In this day and age, who does?'

'Will they obey, do you think?'

'If the Americans leave us alone, we will be okay.'

Yes, as long as everything went all right, they would be fine.

As he waited at Dulles Airport for his flight to London to board, Tommy Carmellini reread a copy of the letter of resignation from the CIA that he had submitted that afternoon. He went in to see his boss after he drafted his composition.

'I gather that your meeting with Watring went badly.'

'He's a shit. What can I tell you?'

The supervisor frowned. His name was Pulzelli, and he was a bureaucrat to his fingertips. 'I find the use of foul language at the office offensive,' he intoned primly.

'Yes, sir,' said Tommy Carmellini. After all, Pulzelli had rec-

ommended him for a performance bonus. 'It just slipped out. Somehow that word seemed a perfect fit.'

'He didn't think you were entitled to compensation for the invention?'

'He says the patent office screwed up and I'm a crook. Wouldn't approve it.'

Pulzelli had sighed. He knew who and what Watring was and had made the recommendation on Carmellini's behalf anyway, which would no doubt cost him some grief in the near future. Carmellini felt sorry for the man.

'I've decided to resign,' Carmellini said, handing Pulzelli his essay. As Pulzelli read it, Carmellini said, 'I've given the standard two weeks' notice. It's time to get on with my life. I've done my time with the government. I want out.'