"This is the captain speaking." Pete's words echoed into every section of the submarine. "We've just received another emergency action message from Washington. Due to the Russian military buildup in the Caucasus region, the Turkish and the Georgian governments have requested NATO support.

"Turkey, gentlemen, is a member of NATO. Georgia is a former Soviet republic with strained ties to Russia. Georgia has applied for NATO membership. Our government has endorsed that application, and the Russians don't like it because they want to keep Georgia in their sphere of influence.

"Our commander-in-chief has also endorsed the request for NATO buildup in northwestern Turkey and for military flights over Georgia. The 82nd and 101st Airbornes are on their way to Turkey.

"Gentlemen, United States military forces have been elevated to DEFCON 3."

Pete paused and looked around the control room. The eyes of every man were glued on him.

"The last time U.S. forces were at DEFCON 3 was during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.

"Needless to say, all this complicates our mission. Not only is this dangerous enough, but now we may be sailing into a war zone. There's a powderkeg burning in the region, gentlemen. And they've called on us to go there. One slipup and NATO's in a shooting war with Russia. None of this makes our job any easier. With Turkey on eggshells, you can bet they'll be watching everything moving through the Bosphorus with an eagle eye.

"Be on your toes. The safety of your shipmates and the security of the free world depends on us.

"Be alert. Be professional. You are Americans. That is all."

CHAPTER 9

The Alexander Popovich

The Black Sea

Captain Batsakov stormed up the outside ladder on the portside of his ship and into his bridge. His first officer, Joseph Radin, was standing on the starboard wing side of the bridge with several officers and deckhands. They were taking turns squinting through a telescope and were pointing out to the horizon and chatting excitedly.

"What is it, Joseph?" Batsakov's voice boomed across the tile floor of the bridge, pulling the officers' attention away from whatever they were looking at.

"An Egyptian freighter, Kapitan!" He turned and pointed off to the starboard. "Out there. He seems to have stopped in the water!"

Batsakov rushed across the bridge and squinted into the telescope. The freighter was about five hundred yards off the starboard, and appeared to be dead still in the water. He adjusted the scope to the ship's stern and zeroed in. The sea breeze blowing from the west was stretching the ship's ensign out over the water behind the stern.

The three horizontal stripes of the flag, from bottom to top, were black, white, and red. In the very center of the flag, a small gold war eagle could be seen.

The flag of the Arab Egyptian Republic!

"Right full rudder. Steady course zero-two-zero!" Captain Batsakov ordered.

Masha felt the ship tilting to the right. The aluminum chair that she was sitting in slid across the floor. Her heart pounded as she grabbed the captain's desk to stop the slide. "Lord, protect my children. Do not let any of them fall into the sea!"

Talk poured out of the intercom into Batsakov's cabin.

"Have we achieved radio contact?" Batsakov's voice asked.

"Negative, Captain."

"Open VHF-FM channels 13 and 16, " Batsakov said.

"Opening channels 13 and 16, " a voice said. "You have the microphone, Kapitan."

"This is the captain of the Russian freighter Alexander Popovich. To the captain of the Egyptian freighter. Please identify yourselves."

There was nothing.

"Maybe they are waiting for us to give them the call signal, Kapitan."

"No, they were supposed to send us the call signal, " Batsakov said. "I have Abramakov's letter right here spelling it out."

"Perhaps they have their signals mixed up, " another voice said.

"Perhaps we should go ahead and bring the cargo up to the deck just in case."

"But what about all those runt children playing hide-and-seek down on the deck?" someone said.

"Throw the runts overboard!" another voice suggested.

What? Masha's hands went to her mouth in disbelief.

"Silence!" Batsakov barked. "Joseph, what do you think?"

There was a pause.

"Kapitan, we have an Egyptian freighter out here in the sea lanes near our certain course from Sochi to Odessa. We are not yet at the rendezvous point. That is true. But this is a perfect interception point in the sea. It is as if they have stopped in the water and are waiting for us. My guess is that they are waiting for us to signal first. I think we should. There is too much money on the line to pass this opportunity. If we are wrong, the signal will be unintelligible gibberish. Leave the crates below until later.

"But kill the girl now. We cannot afford to have her as a witness. Kapitan, there is too much money on the line."

Dear Jesus! Masha prayed. What is happening?

"I've decided to kill the girl later. We will need her to contain the little piglets roaming on the deck until just before we turn them over to the president of Ukraine. It doesn't matter what she witnesses. She can't tell anybody right now about it anyway."

"But, Kapitan…"

"The decision is made. I will kill her later. But I agree with you on the rest. I will send the code now and we shall see what happens."

Masha wanted to run.

But where?

Was the outside of Batsakov's stateroom guarded? He had left in a hurry. Maybe he had not posted a guard outside or bothered to give any instructions. Could she hide with her children somewhere in the bowels of the ship and escape when they reached land?

Batsakov's voice over the intercom interrupted her thoughts. "This is the captain of the Alexander Popovich. Now hear this. Peter the Great! Again I say, Peter the Great!"

Office of the president of the Russian Republic Staraya Square, Moscow

Comrade President, the defense minister is here, sir. He says it is urgent that he see you."

President Evtimov leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and exchanged irritated glances with his foreign minister and his chief of staff.

Despite the words of support that each had given him in favor of the defense minister, Evtimov wanted to strangle Giorgy Alexeevich Pop-kov. Popkov's excuse-making was pathetic. The Army lost the nuclear fuel, and Popkov was in charge of the Army. Procedures and safeguards should have been in place to prevent this, especially near Chechnya. The fact that the Americans were also sloppy wasn't good enough.

"Send him in, " Evtimov growled at his secretary.

The defense minister, a short man in his late fifties, in a charcoal-grey suit with silver hair and jet-black eyebrows, stormed into the president's office flailing his hands. "I am afraid I have disturbing news."

"What, Giorgy Alexeevich? The Chechens have already made a bomb with our plutonium?"

"NATO is deploying forces to northeastern Turkey, Comrade President."

"What?" Evtimov felt as if he had been punched in the face. "What's behind all this?"

"The Turkish president has made this request. He apparently believes that our buildup in Chechnya is not defensive in nature, and that we may be planning to cross into Georgia and then Turkey."

"Americans, " Evtimov snorted.

"You think the Americans are behind this request?" the foreign affairs minister asked.

"Of course, " the president retorted. "Who else would engineer such paranoia for the sake of finding an excuse for a military buildup? Just like Vietnam, Korea, Panama, Grenada, and Iraq, and every other country where they've tried to station their military ever since the Great War. Mack Williams is like all American presidents – a power-hungry cowboy."