Pete wanted to sling his lukewarm coffee across the room. "Sir, that's ridiculous. I'd remind the admiral of the premise of the exercise, of which the carrier and their escort vessels were aware. We were simulating conditions under which I, or any other Navy commander in the area for that matter, would decide how to implement General Order 009-001.

"Vinson was playing the role of an enemy carrier with its stated objective under the rules to get within range and launch a hypothetical nuclear strike against San Diego using below-the-horizon, smart-guided missiles launched from low-flying planes.

"Under that scenario, sir, I did in fact take a risky maneuver. But before I did, I considered and calculated the danger to my sub and my crew. I also considered the incalculable devastation that would be rained on America if I did not act. If this had been a live-fire exercise against a real enemy, Admiral, I would've done the same thing."

Admiral Getman laid the stogie in an ashtray. "I believe you, Pete. My problem now is that AIRPAC demands I formally reprimand you for violating the rules of engagement."

"Reprimand me? Sir, that would end my career as a naval officer."

"Don't worry, Pete. As much as it might actually help your reputation in the sub community if I reprimanded you for chapping a carrier's backside in a war game, I'd only do so if PACCOM or somebody higher up the chain tells me to. I don't think that'll happen." Getman was now chomping on the cigar, which had gone out. "I am, however, going to ask that you consider voluntarily stepping down as commanding officer of the Chicago."

Pete's stomach sank. "Relinquish my command? Sir, I'd rather you reprimand me."

"Pete, I'm not telling you to step down from command of Chicago. But we've got something else in mind. It's a mission calling for volunteers. It's highly dangerous, and you're the only sub driver in the Navy that could pull this off. If you say no, that's fine. You can finish your tour as skipper of Chicago and your career will not be affected.

"The objective for this mission has been signed off on by the president, but even he doesn't know how we're planning to try and carry out his order. Not yet anyway. If you say no, no one will ever know about this mission, and especially not any future promotion boards when you're up for captain."

Pete sat for a moment. "Sir, I'll do anything my country needs me to do, and anything for the Navy. Whatever it is, I'm in."

Getman smiled. Finally. "Pete, you've got two kids back in Virginia. Why don't you let us brief you on this mission first?" He nodded to Captain Gaylord. "Rockie?"

"Yes, sir, Admiral." Captain Gaylord stood and unrolled a poster-sized color photograph of an ocean-going freighter. Pete noticed that the freighter in the picture was flying a Russian flag off its stern."This, Commander, " Gaylord began, "is the Russian freighter Alexander Pop-ovich. I'm showing you this photo because this freighter, and a number of others like it, is becoming an increasing threat to Western security."

"Maritime terrorism threat?" Pete asked.

"Not only a threat, but this particular freighter now has a track record of selling out to terrorists."

"How's that, sir?"

"U.S. intelligence has shown that the skipper of this vessel, a Russian national, has taken a ton of money from the Islamic terrorist organization, the Council of Ishmael, to use his ship for the furtherance of terrorist activities.

"The Russian captain has Caribbean bank accounts where he's parked this money. Most recently, this ship was used to transport a kidnapped hostage through the high seas, where she was eventually transported to a terrorist camp in the Gobi Desert in Mongolia. Remember the name Jeanette L'Enfant?"

Pete raised his eyebrow. The name sounded familiar. "Wasn't she the one who was held hostage with Lieutenant Commander Colcernian?"

"Bingo. One and the same. And we've just tracked another sizable deposit from the Council of Ishmael to this skipper's Caribbean account. Our intelligence believes this is another down payment for a job they're asking him to do. We don't know what, where, or why. But there's no telling what else this skipper might try unless he's stopped."

Pete mulled that for a second. "What can I do to help?"

"The president wants to sink that freighter. He wants him put out of the game permanently."

"That shouldn't be a problem, " Pete said. "It's just a freighter. An unarmed freighter against a sub – no contest. Nazi U-boats proved that with their attacks on allied commercial shipping in World War II."

"True, but not so fast, " Gaylord said. "It's not a problem sinking her. The problem is getting to her. This freighter operates primarily in the Black Sea. Sure, she comes out once in a while. She was operating in the Med when she worked with terrorists to transport L'Enfant, who had just been kidnapped on the French coast. But she's much harder to find and track once she gets on the high seas."

"That's true, " Pete said. "It's almost impossible to find any given ship in the Pacific that doesn't want to be found. That was, as I recall, one of the premises of the war games off San Diego for which AIRPAC now wants my head." Pete raised his eyebrow at the admiral, who shook his head and chuckled.

"Sure I can't interest you in a stogie, Pete?"

"On second thought, I could probably use it, sir."

Admiral Getman slipped an already-cut Montecristo across his desk, along with a silver Zippo. Pete lit the stogie, took a draw, and turned back to Captain Gaylord. "But you can't get a sub into the Black Sea, sir. Not submerged anyway. You'd have to get through the Bosphorus, which is too shallow, too narrow, too treacherous, and which has way too many ships passing through it to risk a submerged passage. And if you went through on the surface, the Turks would know all about it." A draw from the stogie followed. "And so would everyone else."

Gaylord gave a knowing smile. "You've identified the problem, Commander. But we've developed a plan to make it happen. It's a dangerous plan. Once you get in, if you are in fact able to get in without being detected, you may not be able to get out.

"Bear in mind this would be an attack on what is in theory a civilian ship flying under a Russian flag. In reality, it's a terrorist ship whose captain is taking money from Islamic terrorists on the side to give them a presence on the high seas, but the Russians, whose intelligence capabilities are not as astute as ours, may not see it that way, and we can't tell them about it lest we expose sensitive information about our intelligence sources. Some enemies of the United States would spin this as an attack on an innocent civilian freighter, which is an act of war. We don't want nuclear war with Russia over this.

"The president wants to sink ships involved with maritime terrorism, but he doesn't want a direct link to the Navy. In this case, secrecy is as important to the success of your mission as actually sinking that ship. If you can't get out, you may have to sink this freighter and scrap the sub. That, of course, could cost you your life, and the life of your crew."

Pete mulled that over. "Where would I get my crew?"

"Just like we're asking you to volunteer, Pete, we're seeking an all-voluntary crew. We recognize that the chances of survival, especially if we have to scrap the sub, will be fifty-fifty at best. So we're being upfront about this, and asking only for volunteers. At the same time, we need the Navy's very best to pull this off."

Pete looked at the admiral, who was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

"I still don't see how we're going to get through the Bosphorus and into the Black Sea."

"Once you accept this assignment, and there's no pressure for you to do so, you'll be flown to your new duty station, where you'll be briefed on the plan. Until then, I'm under orders to reveal nothing else about it. The plan, of course, is top-secret."