And now this.

Was she living a nightmare?

She had replayed it in her mind a hundred times in the last five minutes.

Kill the girl now. We cannot afford to have her as a witness.

I've decided to kill the girl later.

At least she knew their motives. They wanted her dead. And it had something to do with the cargo and the money they were making for transporting it to an Egyptian freighter. What could this cargo be?

Probably drugs. Perhaps heroin. What else could command so much money? This would explain why they wanted her gone.

She had to get out of the stateroom and find her children.

Perhaps she should make a run for it. But what if a guard was posted outside the stateroom? She wandered from the outer office into the captain's living area. A small galley area was located just past the head of the single bed.

A sink. Some drawers. Maybe… She opened one of the drawers. Several stainless steel steak knives glistened under the fluorescent light.

She picked one and held it up against the light. This one would do. Long enough to plunge into a man's heart.

At least the captain did not want her killed immediately. But what if he discovered that she had overheard everything that was said on the bridge? Would he kill her now instead of later?

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

She had to do something. A small volume control knob was attached to the loudspeaker. She reached for it, turning it counterclockwise. The chatting and static diminished. Voices on the bridge were gone.

Good.

Perhaps he wouldn't know that she had heard everything. But what if he discovered that she'd tampered with the volume control? No time to worry about that now. For now, she had to get out of the captain's stateroom and find her children.

She slipped the knife in her sweater, then prayed quickly.

Lord, protect my children and protect me. Somehow, keep us from harm. I pray that I will not be forced to use this weapon in my pocket. But if I have to use this knife, then give me strength and the courage to use it quickly and effectively. Make my hand swift and deadly in the defense of your children.

She opened the door.

A man stood in the passageway. Their eyes locked.

Masha shuddered, thinking of the knife hidden under her sweater. Should she use it now?

This was not the sailor who had brought her to the cabin. This sailor's boyish face and soft, innocent eyes paralyzed her.

"Hello, miss, " he greeted her politely.

"Hello to you, " she said. "I am Masha. I am in charge of the orphans running around the ship."

"Yes, I know who you are." His voice was as soft as his eyes, and his smile was even softer. "You are also the kapitan's guest."

"I'm sorry, but what is your name?" She knew this look. The look of a shy boy around a pretty girl for the first time.

He gazed at his weather-worn boots. "I am Aleksey Anatolyvich. I am a deckhand and the kapitan's assistant."

She flashed him a soft smile. "The kapitan has a handsome personal assistant, I should say."

His face flushed crimson. He looked back up. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Well, Aleksey Anatolyvich, I am a guest of the kapitan, as you can see, but he has been detained with important business." She touched his arm, ensuring that the blood did not leave his face. "Perhaps you could accompany me to my cabin."

"But the kapitan…"

"Aleksey." Her hand caressed his arm up to his shoulder. "The kapitan is detained. He told you to keep an eye on me. Dah?"

"Dah. "

"Come keep an eye on me." She studied his face. "I must gather my children from the deck before dinner with the kapitan tonight. Besides, I need you nearby so I do not fall overboard. Dah?"

"Dah."

He nodded. She took him by the arm and led him down the passageway.

The Al Alamein Sea of Marmara

Thank you for having me on the bridge at this moment, Kapitan, " Sal-man said. "It is a beautiful sight, is it not?"

Captain Sadir smiled at the view outside the bridge of his ship. Before him lay the glorious sight of the twenty-mile, narrow strait of water that split the great city of Istanbul in half and connected the Marmara and Black Seas. Sailing through the Bosphorus was like floating through an Islamic paradise. Colorful mosques and minarets sparkled in the Turkish sun on both sides, lining Istanbul's busy shores like precious jewels in a necklace.

Ever since they left Port Said, the young scientist who would lead them to glorious martyrdom had captured the attention of Captain Sadir.

"Yes, it is beautiful indeed, " Sadir replied. "I fear that you might be too occupied on our return voyage to come topside and enjoy the sights."

"Thank you, Kapitan, " Salman said. "If we are able to rendezvous with the Russian freighter and obtain the fuel, then most of my time left on this earth shall indeed be in the bowels of this ship."

A moment of silence followed between the two men. "All ahead five knots, " the captain ordered.

"Ahead five knots, " the helmsman repeated.

Sadir turned to the young man. "Yes, Salman, you will build a floating hydrogen bomb within the bowels of my ship. But remember this. The place we are headed will be far more beautiful even than this great city of mosques rising above the waters."

"I will do my job, Kapitan, if given the opportunity."

Sadir brought a cigarette to his lips as two other ships – a freighter flying the horizontally striped azure and gold ensign of the Ukraine, and a cargo ship flying the French flag – moved in front of Al Alamein. Both ships sputtered black smoke into a bright blue Turkish sky.

The Ukrainian ship was just now inching its way into the Bosphorus.

Another moment passed. A string of three channel tugs were chugging in a line out of the mouth of the Bosphorus. Off to the side was a Turkish Navy patrol boat headed in the direction of the Al Alamein.

"Kapitan." The radio operator was over on the right side of the bridge, with a telephone cradled under his neck. He was waving his hand in the air, making agitated gestures.

"What is it?" Sadir asked.

"It is the Turks." He was out of breath. "They are boarding ships entering the Bosphorus. They wish to board the Al Alamein."

CHAPTER 11

The Alexander Popovich

The Black Sea

Bring her alongside, " Captain Batsakov ordered from the bridge. "Steady as she goes."

Alexander Popovich inched up behind the stern of the Egyptian freighter. The inscription identifying the ship was painted across the black stern in white Arabic lettering. But the flag, now in full view as it furled and unfurled in the Black Sea breeze, was clearly Egyptian.

The seas were calm. Good. The last thing Batsakov needed was for rolling swells to pitch his five-million-dollar prize overboard during the transfer to the Egyptian.

"Steer five degrees port."

"Five degrees port, aye, Captain."

The helmsman turned the ship's massive wooden wheel an eighth of a rotation to the left. Alexander Popovich angled slightly to the left, giving the slow-moving Russian freighter plenty of time and maneuvering room to avoid ramming the Egyptian freighter from the rear.

"Perhaps their radio isn't working, " Joseph Radin, the Popovich's first officer, said.

Dark-skinned sailors could now be seen milling about on the deck of the Egyptian freighter. Some waved at the Russian freighter.

"Call them again, " Batsakov said.

"Peter the Great! Peter the Great!" Joseph Radin barked into the radio.

Still nothing.

Then static.

Then a burst into the Popovich's radio from the Egyptian. "Engines down!"

Batsakov slung a full glass of vodka across the bridge. Shattering glass was followed by a string of profanity. "We should've known better. We aren't even close to the coordinates Abramakov gave us. We have wasted valuable time!"