"There are that many?"

She nodded. "It's expensive to scrap a submarine, especially if there are nuclear materials involved. Anyway, Bradworth says they've been very cooperative since the Finns discovered it."

"Bradworth?"

"Dan Bradworth, he's the State Department liaison who negotiated with the Russians for the purchase of the sub for the Maritime Museum. Though not that much negotiation was necessary. Russia is so strapped for cash, they gave the museum a bargain. But the museum didn't want to take any chances on surprises when they brought it here to set up the exhibit. That's why Bradworth tapped us for the job."

"Tapped you," he corrected. "You're the expert. You know it was the Ariel that got you the job."

She shrugged. "Maybe." Four years before, she'd designed a new Orca-class U.S. Navy submarine called Ariel, and it had marked a bold departure from what had come before. Nuclear-powered submarines had changed little in their first half century of use, and her innovative concepts brought her much attention among naval buffs and marine architects. Although the Orca program was ultimately shelved due to budget cuts, the classified plans found their way into naval magazines and Web sites, where The Submarine That Never Was and its young creator had taken on a peculiar mystique. Whenever Hannah met someone in her profession, the Ariel was one of the first topics of conversation.

"No maybe. You're the real star here, and you know it," Conner said. "I just go along for the ride."

"That's not true." She frowned. "You're very good at your job. I wouldn't know what to do without you."

"Hey, I didn't mean to make you feel guilty. I like being your gofer. Where else would I get paid for traveling all over the world and accepting your abuse?" His smile faded when she still looked troubled. "Stop it, Hannah. Do you think I would have worked with you all these years if I hadn't wanted to do it? I love you, but I'm not that self-sacrificing. I've always known you were the smart one in the family. Not only are you a mathematical and mechanical whiz, but you have that quirky memory. I knew from the minute you took one glance and quoted my Boy Scout manual from cover to cover that I was going to be trailing behind you."

"I didn't mean to make you feel-I was just a kid trying to be a smart aleck. You were always making fun of me. It's what brothers do. I guess I wanted you to think I was special."

"And you were special," he said gently. "And I could see it wasn't easy for you. I saw how the other kids teased you. That's why I stopped doing it myself. Being different is always hard. A lot of jealousy. A lot of misunderstanding. I never wanted that burden. I'm no Einstein, but that's okay. I like what I do, and I like who I am." He grinned. "And thank God Cathy likes who I am, too."

She cleared her throat, and said gruffly, "She'd better. You're kind of special."

"Not 'kind of.' Absolutely."

"And you are smart."

He chuckled. "I have horse sense, but there's no brilliance lurking in my noggin. I wouldn't want it. It would be too uncomfortable." He gave her a sly glance. "And it might prevent me from enjoying the finer things in life. Look at you. You can't even enjoy the beauty of this submarine. It's a true work of art."

"It was built to kill, Conner. At the time it was in action it was a state-of-the-art nuclear submarine."

"Or to keep killing from happening. It's all how you look at it. Silent Thunder was built during the Cold War. The Russians were just as afraid of our doing a first strike as we were of them."

"Now you're waxing philosophic about the Cold War?"

"Sure, why not?" His smile faded as his gaze returned to the submarine. "She's beautiful, but it's going to be strange working on her."

"Why?"

"She's an Oscar II. Ever since I watched the TV coverage of the deaths of those Russian sailors on the Kursk, I can't think of Oscar II without remembering them. It's like they're all… ghost ships. It makes me sad."

"Not me. It makes me angry." Her lips tightened. "I offered my services to the Russian government to find a way to get those sailors out of that sub, and they were too proud to let me do it."

"I remember. At the time you were so mad you were ready to start World War III."

"They let them die. They didn't do enough. God, I hate politicians. How do you think those sailors felt, trapped and knowing they were going to die?"

"Easy," Conner said. "It's over, Hannah. You did all you could. It wasn't your failure."

"Yes, it was. It was everyone's failure. We should have ignored all that international diplomacy bullshit and gone in and saved them. I wouldn't make that mistake again. They'd have to shoot me out of the water to keep me from trying a rescue."

He gave a low whistle. "All that passion. I seem to have stirred you up a bit. Or maybe you're feeling a little of the same creepiness I am about this submarine."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What do we know about the crew?"

"Not much yet. Bradworth obtained a complete dossier on them for the museum from the Russians, but I haven't seen it. He's also supposed to give me the complete documentation of the sub from the time it was discovered in Finland until it was sailed into this harbor."

"Then how do you know I'm being ridiculous?"

"Ghost ships?" She stared at him incredulously. "You've got to be kidding. It's just an old sub."

"But maybe it's sending out vibes." He lowered his voice melodramatically. "Concentrate. Do you feel them, Hannah?"

A sudden chill went through her. What the hell? It had to be suggestion, and she'd be damned if she'd let Conner know he'd gotten to her. "I'm too busy concentrating on keeping myself from calling out the booby hatch brigade for you."

He threw back his head and laughed. "I almost had you. I could see it."

"You did not. I'm not that gullible."

"But you seem to be in an uncommonly sensitive mood. It doesn't happen that often, and I thought I'd get you while the getting was good."

"Uncommonly sensitive? I am sensitive, you bastard."

"And so delicate in expressing it. Forgive me for doubting you, but you-Ouch."

"Dammit, I'll show you delicate." She punched him again in the arm. "First, you make me feel guilty, and then you tell me I'm a callous bitch."

"I didn't actually say it." He laughed as he backed away from her. "And you shouldn't object if I did. You have to admit that it's not your gentler side that fills you with pride. You're definitely a nononsense woman, Hannah. I'm surprised you took offense."

She was a little surprised too. From the time she was ten years old she had known what she wanted of her life. Machines had always fascinated her, and the sea had called her with a power that couldn't be denied. Every college break she had spent on a ship, working and perfecting her knowledge and skills. Even after she had graduated with honors, it still hadn't been an easy road. She had fought her way up the ladder in a man's world by her independence and tough-mindedness. It was odd that little remark by Conner had triggered a sudden rush of guilt. Or maybe not so odd. It could be that she had been worrying about Conner on a subconscious level for a long time. "You know, if you ever want to leave me and get a job in Boston closer to Cathy and the kids, it will be okay with me." She was lying. It wouldn't be okay. They'd been together too long. As children they'd had the usual sibling rivalries, but that had passed, and they'd grown closer and closer over the years. From the time she had brought him on board on her first independent job, he had been her anchor and her friend as well as her brother. She'd be miserably lonely without him.

He grinned mischievously. "I'd consider it, but I'd hate to wreck your career. We both know I'm the only one who'd put up with you. One of my biggest career assets is my ability to smooth down all the assholes you refuse to tolerate. What I lack in brains I make up for in social skills. That's why we're such a good team."