No response.

They were now in the mechanical section. The engine noise and diesel stench were overpowering.

"Here I am, Kirov. Your chance at last. Come and get me."

He heard Koppel whimper behind him. Stupid coward.

"Pavski," Koppel muttered.

Pavski gave him an impatient glance, then stiffened as he saw the terrified expression on Koppel's face. He slowly turned his head, and his gaze followed Koppel's to the fuel tanks.

Pack after pack of plastic explosives, mounted on either side of the fuel tanks.

The triggering mechanism flashed red and emitted a highpitched whine.

Hannah tilted her head back and clawed for the surface, writhing and spinning in the water like a towel in a washing machine. But which way was up? The direction seemed to change every second.

She'd never felt anything like this before; it was like…

Like being shot out of a freaking torpedo tube.

She finally broke the surface. She fumbled for the latches, lifted off her helmet, and tossed it into the water. Air!

There was a deep, metallic rumbling behind her. She turned to look at the sub.

The charges erupted deep within the Silent Thunder, their intensity magnified and spread by the massive fuel reserves. The back third of the submarine buckled, heaved, and tore open from the sheer explosive force.

Kirov!

More explosions, throwing spires of flame high into the sky. Silent Thunder listed hard to starboard as oil in the water caught fire around its superstructure.

She couldn't take her eyes off it.

In the next few minutes, the ruptured hull took on water, pulling the sub down by its stern. Pockets of air exploded to the surface. The burning, twisting metal groaned like a wounded whale. The anguished sounds continued as the Silent Thunder plunged beneath the waves, leaving a massive field of debris and burning oil in its wake.

Hannah trod water, stunned.

Kirov and the Silent Thunder. Gone.

"Goddamn you," she whispered, tears running down her face. "Goddamned men and the sea. There's no sense to you."

A white craft in the distance headed straight for her. Probably a Coast Guard cutter. Hard to steal a 560-foot Russian submarine without somebody taking notice, she thought.

She turned back to the debris field. Kirov had probably thought it was fitting for him to die with the sub he loved so much. And maybe it was.

To hell with that.

It was just one more tragic loss. She'd had enough tragedy. She didn't want Kirov to-

Something was moving, bobbing slightly out of sync with the rest of the floating debris. It almost looked like…

She swam past the pools of burning oil, a task made difficult by the sheer bulk of her suit. As she drew closer, she momentarily lost sight of the object.

Had she just imagined it?

No. There it was, less than ten feet in front of her.

The helmet of an MK10 suit.

"Kirov!"

No response.

She pushed herself forward, grabbed the suit's padding, and spun it around.

It was Kirov.

Unconscious? Dead?

She unlatched his helmet, yanked it off, and splashed water in his face. "Wake up. You come back to me, Kirov. Do you hear me?"

He couldn't die. Not now.

"Kirov!" She slapped his face as hard as she could.

He opened his eyes. "That hurt."

Relief surged through her. "Can you move? Wiggle your toes."

He nodded. "I'm fine. You?"

"Yes."

"Any sign of Pavski?"

"No. He's gone."

He glanced at the debris and burning oil. "And so is the Silent Thunder."

"Yes. I was afraid you were-"

"The thought occurred to me. After all, there is a certain tradition and obligation."

"Bullshit."

He smiled. "That's what I thought. Silent Thunder would want me to survive. She's saved me too many times for me not to realize that."

"You cut it close."

"I had to make sure Pavski was inside the sub. The charge went off just as I ejected."

"Then you're lucky to be alive."

"Lucky." He thought about it. "Do you know, I'm feeling very lucky at this moment. Would you like me to tell you why?"

She felt a warm surge of feeling as she looked at him.

"No." She tore her eyes away from him and glanced at the Coast Guard cutter, which was almost upon them. "Save it. That officer on the bridge looks pretty grim. We may need all the luck we can get in the next few hours."

U.S. NAVAL DESTROYER BAINBRIDGE

THE BLACK SEA

32.4° E LONGITUDE 44.1° N LATITUDE

"There it is," Hannah murmured as she stood on the top deck watching the eight-foot oval black capsule being lifted by a crane from the sea. "Right where Heiser said it would be."

"Good thing for you." Bradworth gave her a sour glance. "If you'd been wrong, you'd have been in pretty hot water with my superiors. The only reason they let you off the hook for blowing that sub is the deal you and Kirov made to give them the location."

"But we weren't wrong," Kirov said. "And you'll be able to make some pretty fancy deals yourself when you contact the Czechs and Russians. They'll be falling over each other to do you favors."

Bradworth shrugged. "The company thought Pavski would have been a much more valuable prize."

"What did you think?" Hannah asked.

Bradworth was silent as they watched the crane swing the capsule toward the deck near them. "I think Pavski is exactly where he deserved to be. That's strictly off the record, of course."

"Of course."

It was grudging approval, but in the three weeks since the destruction of the Silent Thunder, Bradworth had been surly but marginally supportive. That was all they could hope for from him considering how much flack he was taking. There had been grueling sessions of debriefing and interrogations, and the only weapon they'd had to survive was the cradle that was being carefully set on the deck.

And when weighed against the gratitude she felt for what he'd done to save Cathy's children, she had no problem with that surliness.

Bradworth glanced back at Hannah. "I understand that the maritime museum is already in negotiations to purchase another decommissioned Russian sub."

Hannah shrugged. "I talked to some friends. The Logan Foundation is giving them a very generous grant. I told them I'd donate my services if they-It's down! Come on, Kirov." She hurried over to the spot where the capsule had come to rest, steered gently into place by eight waiting sailors.

Several large bulletin boards were set up nearby, covered with photos to serve as a visual reference for the items that might make up the treasure. Two officers and three historians with bulky notebooks were standing ready to document the find.

"Easy." Kirov's gaze was on her face. "Anticipation sometimes leads to disappointment."

"Don't give me that morose Slavic bullshit. I have a right to be excited, and I'm going to run with it."

Kirov smiled. "By all means. And I'll enjoy every minute of watching you."

A young sailor with a tool kit began work on the corroded iron latches, chipping away at them with a small hammer and chisel. He worked through the latches in just a few minutes, and when he was finished, two other sailors helped pry open the capsule.

They separated the two halves to reveal thick pads of black felt padding. They lifted out the largest of the pads and carefully unwrapped it.

It was like a nesting box, Hannah thought, with each layer giving away to another, smaller package. Finally, under the eighth layer, she saw a glint of gold.

She stepped closer.

"Kolybel," Kirov said quietly.