That object was a large black ship, a freighter, to be precise. She understood their exhilaration. She too became excited when they told her that the group that she had been chaperoning here in Sochi would sail home to Ukraine on board a ship!

She had never even seen a ship. Neither had the children. And now they were here, exhilarated, and she had to get them under control.

"Children! Quiet!"

Nothing.

"Children. No quiet, no ship ride!" Their volume decreased. "No quiet, no ship ride!"

This tactic worked. She could hear herself think. Twenty-four sparkling eyes latched upon her.

"Stay here with the driver and remain quiet. I am going to meet the people from the ship, and then we will go on board!"

Cheering followed that announcement. Masha shook her head. "Don't let anyone out, " she ordered the driver, who nodded his head asshe stepped out of the bus.

Captain Batsakov's skull was about to explode.

He would get his ship off the pier, if he had to go horsewhip the little devils up onto the deck. And if the FSB tried to board, he would take them out to sea, shoot them in the back of the head, throw them to the sharks, and tell the authorities that they fell overboard when they had overdone it on vodka.

He checked his watch, snorted, and stormed across the deck to the gangway. From there, he looked down and saw the white bus that Radimov was talking about. In fact, he saw Radimov milling about down in front of the bus. Why wasn't he herding the blasted urchins out?

Batsakov bounded down the gangway. He reached the concrete pier, accepted and returned a sloppy salute from the half-drunk sailor at the bottom, and met eyes with Radimov, who still stood in front of the parked bus.

"Radimov! Get these… these…" He held his hands in the air, searching for something more diplomatic to call them than devils. "These young individuals off the bus!"

A young woman stepped around the front of the bus. Her black curly hair bounced on her shoulders. Her slim waistline complemented casual jeans and an unkempt green shirt. She smiled.

"These young individuals, as you call them, are mine." Her blue eyes blinked at him. "And who, may I ask, are you?"

He was about to announce "I am the captain of this ship" when a sporty-looking black Volga 3111 automobile pulled toward them. Bat-sakov winced at the faces of the two FSB agents who had invited themselves on board his ship less than forty-eight hours ago and announced that he would be forced to host a floating kindergarten.

The two FSB agents, in black suits and black sunglasses, stepped out.

"Ah, Kapitan, " said the first one, whose name Batsakov remembered as Federov. "I see you and Miss Katovich are becoming acquainted." The agents walked toward the captain and the woman.

"We were getting off to a good start." The young woman locked her eyes on Batsakov again. "I'm Masha Katovich. I work for the relief organization that sponsors summer trips for these orphans." She extended her hand, as if expecting him to kiss it.

He obliged. "You aren't FSB like your friends here?" That brought laughter from her, but no reaction from the stone-faced agents.

She flicked her head toward them. "I envy their salaries and their car. I am but a mere social worker, Kapitan."

"I wouldn't describe you as a mere anything, my dear." She had mollified his anger about the late sailing, he realized. "I shall gladly transport your orphans to wherever you wish to sail."

"Kapitan, " spoke the second one, whose name he had forgotten in the immediate glow of Masha Katovich. "Unfortunately, my colleague and I cannot sail with you. Developments in Chechnya have us occupied. You will be met by other FSB agents at the pier in Odessa. They will come onboard and bring the children off. There will be no need for you to disembark. If you choose to disembark, wait until after the ceremonies at the dockside. Meantime, Miss Katovich will assist you during the course of your journey."

"Miss Katovich is coming with us?"

"If that is okay with you, Kapitan." She smiled at him.

"But of course. My ship is your ship."

"Then with your permission, I will round up my young individuals and get them on board. I am sure you are anxious to set sail, and apologize if we have held your ship up in any way."

"Please, bring your children aboard. And no apologies are necessary, Miss Katovich. Radimov here will assist you in finding your berthing spaces."

She smiled, nodded, stepped into the bus, then barked a command. A minute later, they emerged, like baby geese following their mother goose. One by one, in single file, holding a single linen bag with whatever possessions they owned, they marched up the gangplank and onto the deck.

Batsakov followed them up to the deck and ordered the gangplank removed.

It was time to sail.

The USS Honolulu The Straits of Sicily

10:40 a.m. local time

Pete and Frank had just finished their inspection of Torpedo One when the 1MC began blaring. "Alert one! Alert one! Incoming emergency action message! Alert one! Alert one! Incoming EAM!"

"Weps, report to your duty station!" Pete ordered the weapons officer. "XO? Come with me!"

"Aye, Captain."

They rushed back through the narrow passageways. Sailors wearing dark blue ball caps stepped back and shouted, "Make way! Make way for the captain!"

Pete stepped into the radio room. "Attention on deck!" the radio officer called.

"At ease, " Pete barked. "Where is it?"

"Here, sir."

Pete ripped the message from the radio officer's hands and spread it out on the table. Frank looked over Pete's shoulder.

EMERGENCY ACTION MESSAGE

FROM: NATIONAL MILITARY COMMAND CENTER – WASHINGTON, D.C.

TO: THE USS HONOLULU, THE USS CHARLOTTE

SUBJECT: ACTION MESSAGE REMARKS:

Russian weapons-grade nuclear fuel confirmed missing.

Russian freighter Alexander Popovich reportedly underway from Sochi 0700 hours Zulu time this day.

Russian high command apparently unaware of presence of fuel on board Alexander Popovich.

Russian forces amassing on Chechen border.

The USS Honolulu rendezvous with Russian freighter Volga River for execution of Operation Undercover.

Proceed through Bosphorus, then seek out and destroy Alexander Popovich in Black Sea.

The USS Charlotte establish patrol area Sea of Marmara. Stand by for updated coordinates and orders.

Set DEFCON 4 by order of National Command Authority.

Pete looked at Frank. "XO, All department heads report to the galley in thirty minutes for an officers meeting at" – he glanced at his watch – "ten hundred hours Zulu time."

"Aye, Captain." Frank picked up the microphone, switching to the 1MC. "Now hear this. This is the XO." Frank's voice echoed throughout the passageways of the submarine. "All officers report to the galley at ten hundred hours Zulu time. This is the XO."

"Give me that." Pete reached for the microphone. He flipped a switch opening a direct line to the control room. "Radio. Conn. This is the captain. Notify engineering. I need full power. Now! That is all." Pete slammed the microphone back in its holster. "May God protect our souls."