America

For the first time he looked at the compass. Yes, he realized with a flash of panic, he had not even checked the submarine's base course or whether the minisub's compass jibed with that number. He had no choice; he had to assume all was working properly. If it wasn't, he would soon be on the surface, he hoped, swimming to stay alive.

He bit the bullet, picked up the underwater telephone, and keyed the mike. 'What is the course I should follow?'

The answer, when it came back, was ethereal. 'Try steering one two zero, which will be a ten-degree crab for the current. Three miles.'

Gingerly he turned the sub to that course and concentrated on holding a steady heading and even depth.

Gradually the fear left him. He could do this! He had used underwater sleds before — this was just a larger version, he told himself. Yet he wished he had paid more attention when Rothberg had explained the controls.

With the current running, the minisub took a half hour to make the three-mile passage. It was with great relief that Heydrich saw the hull of Global Pioneer materialize in the murky water ahead.

He was getting the hang of operating the minisub now, so he steered under the ship, adding ballast judiciously, until he saw the dark black hole in her keel. That was the hole through which underwater fiber-optic cable was laid. Fortunately there was no cable dangling there just now, so Heydrich inched the sub forward using the maneuvering jets, taking his time. When he got under the hole, he tilted the forward camera up, so he could see into it. And he saw lights.

Reassured, at what he judged was the proper moment he blasted the ballast tanks with compressed air to lift the minisub quickly. She caromed once off the side of the hole, then rose into it.

When he opened the top hatch, a voice spoke to him. 'We thought you'd never get here.'

Heydrich made two trips between Global Pioneer and America, ferrying divers and their gear. He also brought two cases of beer and a stack of newspapers that detailed the physical damage the E-warheads had caused in Washington and New York, and the psychological, political, and financial damage, which was, by any measure, stupendous. The administration was in deep and serious trouble, according to the pundits. Congress was in a mercurial mood, demanding the heads of everyone responsible.

Which includes us, Kolnikov thought as he read the stories while sipping beer in the wardroom. At the next table the divers laughed and scratched with several members of the crew, who were delightedly telling them about the battle in the depths.

When the cook brought in food, Heydrich came in and sat down beside Kolnikov. 'So how did it go?' Kolnikov asked.

'I made many mistakes,' Heydrich admitted. 'I have learned much.'

'I have heard it said that experience is a mistake you lived through.'

'Then I have gained experience.'

They discussed the minisub, how it operated, each man learning from the other.

'What are our chances of finding the satellite on the seamount?' Heydrich asked.

'Such a long distance, such a small target. If the missile missed by more than four miles, it will be too deep for us to recover with the gear we have. You will have to return later with one of your salvage ships. If the Americans haven't found it first. Believe me, they haven't given up.'

'I understand.'

'The water over the seamount is shallow and very dangerous for a submarine. If a submarine comes prowling while you are out, or a patrol plane, my first responsibility will be to save the boat. I will return for you when and if I can.'

'I understand.'

'These others,' Kolnikov indicated the laughing men at the next table, 'do they understand the risks?'

'Diving is a dangerous life. They know that. The money for this job is very, very good. No one lives forever.'

'So they say,' Kolnikov replied.

That afternoon one of the televisions at Hudson Security Services was tuned to a local cable news station in Alexandria, Virginia. By midafternoon the station had the story on the shootings at Crystal City and the subsequent death of the assassin in a traffic accident. Zelda Hudson glanced up when she heard it, watched the footage, most of which was of the mangled remains of the stolen Ford, and said nothing. She was writing a proposal for a company in California and continued working on it, huddling with three or four of her staff, negotiating with a travel agent over train schedules to get two people to the West Coast.

When the staff left for the day, Zipper Vance stayed behind, as he usually did. 'I'm worried,' he said, 'about Willi Schlegel. He sent you that E-mail after Washington. After New York, nothing. Total silence. That's not like him.'

'He wants the satellite,' she said dismissively. 'He'll get it too. He doesn't give a damn about New York.'

'That assassination attempt in Washington,' Zip continued, 'killed a Frenchman. Would you know anything about that?'

'Never heard the name before.'

'I have,' Zipper said brightly. 'Works with Jake Grafton in the SuperAegis liaison office. As I listened to the story, I wondered.'

Her face revealed nothing. 'Wondered what?'

'Wondered if you hired someone to kill Jake Grafton.'

'He's no threat.'

Vance snorted. 'Hell, he's the only threat. He's got this caper figured out. Doesn't have any proof yet, but he'll get some. Carmellini is working with him now — oh, yes! I browsed through the classified, encrypted E-mails those people are firing around. Why in the world you did that little charade with Tommy Carmellini is beyond me.'

'Who else was going to do it? You? Carmellini wouldn't have been interested in your manly charms.'

'Did or did you not try to have Jake Grafton murdered?'

'For Christ's sake, Zipper, don't get squeamish on me now.' She picked up a newspaper off a nearby pile, one with a front-page, above-the-fold photo of a column of smoke arising in Brooklyn from the crash of an air force fighter, and held it where he could see it. Then she tossed it back on the pile.

'We didn't kill anyone, Zel. Until now.'

'Don't give me that shit!' she roared. 'I won't listen! You and I worked very hard to get this snowball rolling. Now it's an avalanche, and I don't want to hear you holier-than-thou telling me you have clean hands.'

'We'll go to our graves with those people's deaths on our conscience,' Vance whispered, refusing to meet her eyes. 'But we never pointed at one person and said, 'You! I sentence you to die.' '

'Oh, there's an important distinction,' Zelda said acidly. 'I am really not in the mood for this shit. How about taking it down the street.'

Standing at the elevator door, waiting while the cage rose, Vance said, 'Guess I'd better start watching my back, huh? Like Jake Grafton. One of these days it will occur to old Zelda that Zipper Vance is the only eyewitness who could testify against her. Too bad for the Zipper, but he'll never see it coming. Won't feel a thing! And we all gotta go sometime.'

He got into the cage and pushed the button to take it down.

She waited until she saw him walking away from the building on the outside security camera, then went over to raise the elevator and turn it off.

Who did he think she was, anyway, some bleeding-heart flower-power hippie like her mother used to be?

Zip Vance needs to open his eyes. This is the twenty-first century, the age of capitalism. Hudson Security Services exists because the world is full of companies that want to protect their secrets. And they want to buy other people's secrets. She made a fine living selling both stolen secrets and security systems to the same people! Everyone wants to buy! Ethics? Don't make me laugh!

Today it's Europe, Incorporated, versus America, Incorporated. Forget the flag-waving bullshit. Those are the