"The reason we can't just do that, Mr. Secretary" – the secretary of defense responded in a slow cadence – "is this. What if the Russians don't buy it? What if they claim that their intelligence is better than ours? Suppose they refuse to board or inspect the freighter? If they take that position, then if and when we sink that freighter, the whole world, including the Russians, will know who did it. And if you want a war, Mr. Secretary" – the secretary of defense turned and looked directly at the secretary of state – "just let it get out that we torpedoed one of their unarmed civilian freighters. Remember the Lusitania?"

The British liner Lusitania was torpedoed by German U-Boats in 1915, helping bring the U.S. into World War I.

"And don't forget this. The skipper of the Alexander Popovich has sold his ship's ser vices to terrorists. It must be sunk, even if it isn't carrying that plutonium."

"But -, " Mauney interjected.

"Let me finish, please." Lopez erected his index finger from a balled fist, as if lecturing a classroom full of high school students. "If we tell the Russians what we are thinking, they will demand to know how we know. And whether we reveal our sources or not, we risk exposing our intelligence sources on the ground. We have undercover operatives whose lives would be at risk in the entire country."

Secretary of Defense Lopez stopped talking. Mack looked over at Secretary of State Mauney, expecting a response. None came. Cynthia Hewitt, her gaze sweeping between the president and the secretaries of state and defense, did not speak either. The three spirited participants in this debate had run out of gas. All eyes turned to Mack.

"All right, " Mack said. "The secretary of state makes valid points." Mauney nodded a small smile of appreciation. "However, in the end, getting that plutonium out of terrorists' hands is the very best thing we can do to avoid a nuclear holocaust. The United States is in the best position to do that." He looked at the secretary of defense and the national security adviser. "Alone. Mixing the Russians into the fray only complicates matters. Given their history of institutional paranoia and bureaucratic incompetence, and the grave uncertainty as to how they would respond if we opened a dialogue with them, I'm concerned that we would lose valuable time. Ladies and gentlemen, we don't have time to lose. What we do have is terrorists with plutonium.

"Having said that, the secretary of state's well-founded concerns are valid." He turned to the secretary of defense. "Secretary Lopez, issue an order that no U.S. ground forces are to be positioned anywhere within one hundred miles of the Georgian border without my approval."

Then turning to the secretary of state, he said, "Secretary Mauney, prepare a communique to the Turkish ambassador reaffirming our support for them and explaining my decision to them."

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Also, prepare formal requests to the British government, and all other NATO governments sending forces that all NATO ground forces observe a one-hundred-mile barrier for the time being."

"Yes, Mr. President." The secretary of defense scribbled notes on a legal pad. "What about overflights, sir?"

"The United States Air Force shall patrol the skies of Georgia as requested by the Georgian president, but shall not approach closer than twenty-five miles of the Chechen border."

This brought a wince to the secretary of state's face.

"Rules of engagement, Mr. President?" This was the secretary of defense.

"Use of force is unauthorized by United States aircraft except in self-defense. That means no firing by our planes unless we are fired upon first or otherwise threatened. At that point, U.S. pilots have weapons-free authority to the extent necessary to defend themselves. Anything else?"

No one spoke.

"That is all. For now."

CHAPTER 10

The USS Honolulu

The Aegean Sea

Conn. Sonar. We have contact! Three thousand yards dead ahead! Contact appears to be a ship of the class of Russian freighter Volga River. Bearing zero-two-zero degrees."

"Mr. Smith, " Pete was speaking with Chief Warrant Officer William Smith, who was standing in the control room at the sub's fire control console. "What's your screen showing?"

"Sir, my screen verifies one contact, sir. Mark as Sierra twelve."

"Very well, " Pete said. "Dead slow ahead."

"Dead slow, aye, Captain."

"Coordinates?"

"Twenty-five degrees east, forty degrees north."

"Right on the money, " Pete mused, checking his watch. "Chief ofthe Boat, make periscope depth."

"Making periscope depth, aye, Captain."

"What do you think, Skipper?" Frank Pippen asked.

"I think we've found our ride, Frank."

"I have periscope depth, Captain, " the chief of the boat said.

"Up scope, " Pete ordered.

The stainless-steel vertical cylinder in the middle of the control room hummed and clicked. Pete stepped behind the periscope, grabbed the training handles, and brought his eyes up to the viewfinder. Bright daylight shone above the dark green ripple of breaking waves. In the center of the screen, a long, low-lying ship sat on the water, a dark silhouette against the bright blue behind it.

"She's a freighter, all right, " Pete mused. "Open a hailing channel, Frank."

"Aye, sir, " the XO said. "Conn. Radio. Open a frequency. Channel fourteen."

"Radio. Conn. Hailing frequency open."

"Very well." Pete kept eyeing the ship through the periscope. "Mr. Pippen, please broadcast the code and let's see what we've got."

"Aye, Captain." The XO accepted the microphone from the chief of the boat. "Would you like to do the honors, Captain?"

"Why not?" Pete stepped away from the periscope and took the microphone from Frank.

"Hailing frequency is open, sir."

Pete held the microphone to his mouth, then pressed the switch opening the broadcast band. To ensure the mission's secrecy, both the submarine and the freighter were under orders from Washington to communicate only with a series of predetermined cryptic radio exchanges that would make no sense to anyone listening.

He spoke slowly. "Polar bear. Polar bear. Zero-Six-Zero-Six."

Nothing.

Men on the bridge looked around nervously.

Pete repeated the code. "Polar bear. Polar bear. Zero-Six-Zero-Six."

Thirty seconds passed. Crackling erupted over the PA system. "Piggyback. Piggyback. Zero-Six-Zero-Three."

Cheering erupted in the control room.

"Initiate docking sequence, Captain?" the XO asked.

"Very well, " Pete said. "Initiate docking sequence. Take the mike, XO." Pete handed the microphone back to Frank. "Broadcast next sequence."

"Aye, sir." Frank took the mike and pressed the broadcast switch. "Yankee-one. Yankee-one."

A short silence. Static over the speakers, then, "Red Sox-two. Red Sox-two."

"Same choir. Same songbook, " Pete said. He looked back through the periscope, switching to high-powered magnification. Men in dark wetsuits were scrambling over the gunwales, down netted ladders, and into the water.

"We've got SEALs in the water. They're waiting for us, gentlemen. All ahead one-third."

"Ahead one-third."

"Let's take this slow and easy. Last thing we need is a collision that sends us to the bottom before we get to fire a torpedo."

The Alexander Popovich The Black Sea

The captain had not yet returned to his stateroom. He was still on the bridge. Masha knew this because his voice was still mixed with the squeaks and chatter blaring over the loudspeaker.

How could this be happening? Forty-eight hours ago, Masha and her children were filled with excitement at the thought of taking a cruise on a ship across the Black Sea.