A stocky, muscular officer entered the control room. Lieutenant John L. Smith wore a rubber wetsuit and diving shoes.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

"Lieutenant Smith. Good work by you and your men in getting those kids onboard."

"Our pleasure, sir, " the sub's SEAL team leader said.

"What's your C-4 supply like?"

"We've got plenty of it, Skipper. A SEAL team without plastic explosives is like an airplane without wings."

"Good, " Pete said, then turned to his OOD. "Mr. McCaffity, what's our distance to Sevastopol?"

"Just a little over one hundred miles, sir."

Pete did the math in his head. Assuming, for the sake of argument, that his sub were on the surface, being towed by a cruiser or oceangoing barge, and assuming further that the towing vessel was making ten knots, and assuming that that process began two hours from now… he checked his watch.

"Lieutenant Smith. Listen to me very carefully. I want you and your men to rig explosives to every sensitive area of this ship. I want C-4 rigged in the internal compartments of fire control, launch computers, navigational computers, all ship's data entries, everything in the control room. If there's a computer in a system anywhere, rig explosives to blow it."

"Sir?" Smith said, as every eye in the control room locked onto Pete. Another distant explosion shook the ship.

"Just listen. I want you to send a couple of divers outside and I want C-4 rigged under the hull of the sub. I realize this will be a dangerous operation because of these depth charges they're dropping. But it's necessary."

"Aye, sir."

"I want you to rig all explosives to detonate simultaneously in five hours." Another explosion. "How fast can you have this done?"

The SEAL commander looked at his waterproof watch. "My men are fast. Give us thirty minutes and we're there, sir."

Pete was not sure that they had thirty minutes. But he had no choice. "Get to it. Now."

"Aye, sir." The SEAL commander left the control room.

"XO. On the 1MC."

"Aye, Captain." Frank Pippen handed the microphone to Pete.

"This is the captain speaking." He took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, you can all hear the depth charges exploding in the water around us. We all knew going into this mission the price that we may have to pay. We have several options at this point.

"We can make a run south, try to find the Volga River, and hook up with her. This submarine, gentlemen, is superior to anything the Russians have. You are the finest submarine crew ever assembled anywhere in the world."

He hesitated as another distant depth charge vibrated the ship.

"But this is not a matter of quality. It is a matter of quantity. It's a matter of overwhelming numbers against this ship. Right now, the Russians are dropping everything they have in the water above us and in a line south of us all the way across the northwest sector of the Black Sea.

"We could make it, but in my judgment the odds are heavily against our survival.

"If it were just us, we would plow into the Russian's defensive line, do our best to break through, and die if we did not make it.

"But, gentlemen, this is not just us. We now have twelve orphans and a woman on board.

"In some cultures, and in some nations, that fact would not matter.

Islamic terrorists have for years murdered and hidden behind children, using them as shields against bombs and killing them at random.

"But, gentlemen, this submarine, at this moment, is the sovereign territory of the United States of America.

"In America we do not kill women and children. We protect them. I cannot and will not take action that would cause these little ones to die.

"So here's what we're going to do. After our SEAL team completes a little assignment I have for them, we are going to initiate an emergency blow and we are going to surface the submarine."

That brought raised eyebrows in the control room.

"When we surface the boat, we are going to broadcast a surrender signal." The very sound of his words brought cramps to his stomach.

"My guess is that we will be captured by the Russians. As your captain, I will step forward and accept sole responsibility for whatever we face, and I will request that you all be released. I cannot guarantee, however, that my request will be granted.

"If you are interrogated, and especially if you are interrogated about the plutonium, remember that you are to answer only in accordance with the Geneva Convention parameters. Name. Rank. Military identification number. I will handle the issue of the plutonium personally."

Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

"As for the Russians, they will think they have captured a Los Angeles – class nuclear submarine." Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

"They are in for a surprise."

Defense Ministry of the Russian Republic Moscow, Russia

Olga Kominicha picked up the telephone on her desk and punched the button which would alert the man just inside the large oak officebehind her desk that a very important member of the Russian military or the Russian government wished to speak with him.

In this case, Giorgy Alexeevich Popkov was being telephoned by Admiral Petrov Voynavich, commander of the Black Sea fleet. "Hurry, " the admiral barked. "I have an urgent update for the defense minister from the Black Sea."

"Yes, Admiral. I buzzed him, but he did not answer." The defense minister was probably napping again from too large a spot of afternoon vodka. Or perhaps he was in his personal toilet accessible from inside the office. More likely sleeping off another vodka-induced buzz. "I will get him for you."

"Comrade Secretary." Still no answer on the intercom. The admiral's voice resonated with urgency. Olga had heard that the Navy was hunting an American submarine in the Black Sea. She was not supposed to know this, but rumors were impossible to contain sometimes within the Defense Ministry. Perhaps the call was related to this.

She stepped to the outside of her boss's closed door and knocked.

Nothing.

She opened the door.

Giorgy Alexeevich was sprawled out, lying back in the chair behind his desk. His eyes and mouth were frozen wide and open. Blood gushed from his mouth and the gash in his neck.

Olga screamed at the top of her lungs, then felt the room begin to spin. She hit the floor with a thud. And then, darkness.

The USS Honolulu Black Sea depths

The depth charges shook like a jackhammer. Pings rang thorough the submarine every thirty seconds or so.

The Russian Navy was playing a giant game of Russian roulette. Pulling the trigger.

Firing blanks.

Thank God no live round had struck them. Yet. And despite all the pinging, there was no evidence yet that any of the sonobuoys had transmitted a contact to any of the Bear bombers overhead. At least no more torpedoes had been dropped into the water, nor had that Kilo-class sub come back around.

All that would change, Pete knew, if he tried running past the naval blockade that the Russians were stringing just south of him across the Black Sea.

All they could do at this point was sit in the water, and wait and pray.

Pete checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes had passed since he sent the SEALs into the water for the dangerous mission of attaching plastic explosives on the submarine's hull. Time was of the essence. There was little room for error. Any second, a depth charge could strike too close or a wave of torpedoes could close in on his isolated submarine.

Lieutenant Phil Jamison stepped into the control room.

"How are they, Phil?"

"Trembling and crying every time they hear a ping or the slightest shake from a depth charge."

"What did you tell 'em?"

"I told them not to worry, that we'd be safe soon. Didn't seem to do much good, sir."

"What about the woman?"