The Al Alamein Gulf of Finland

Kapitan, we are picking up FM radio from Kotlin Island and St. Petersburg!" the radio officer announced.

"Good." Dadir felt himself smile. "We are nearly at point-blank range."

Salman Dudayev burst onto the bridge, out of breath. His face was red and contorted.

"Kapitan, we may have a problem."

"What, Salman? Is something wrong with our bomb?"

"No, Kapitan. I have been monitoring Russian broadcasts on the radio, " Salman said. "The Russians are trying an American submarine captain in St. Petersburg for sinking the freighter Alexander Pop-ovich – the same freighter that we got the plutonium from."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Kapitan. Apparently the Americans sunk her with a submarine in the Black Sea."

Sadir thought for a second. "The Black Sea? That is impossible. There are no American submarines in the Black Sea."

"It is all over Russian radio and also the BBC, Kapitan. Somehow, they did it. Somehow, the Americans must have discovered that the plutonium was once aboard the Russian freighter."

Sadir thought about that. "Even if this is true, the Americans sank the Alexander Popovich in the Black Sea. We are now a long way from the Black Sea. It appears that the Americans have sunk the wrong ship."

A violent shaking rocked the stern of the freighter, as if the ship had been hit by a giant sledgehammer. Men on the bridge staggered from the vibration. That was followed by a second shaking.

"What was that?" Sadir demanded. "A collision with a ship? What is our depth here?"

"Depth one-three-zero fathoms, sir, " the helmsman said. "We must have struck something that we missed on the radar."

"Bridge, engineering, " the voice came over the bridge loudspeaker from the engine room.

"What is it?" Captain Sadir asked.

"Sir, we've lost propulsion."

"I will be right there." Sadir motioned to Dudayev. "Salman, come with me."

Captain Sadir stormed out of the bridge, headed for the engine room.

They moved swiftly through the icy Baltic water. In black wetsuits and black fins, twelve United States Navy SEALs glided under the dark hull of the disabled freighter.

On their backs, they carried oxygen tanks and weapons. Some carried flotation devices to be deployed, while others carried lightweight harpoon guns with rigging line.

Lieutenant Michael W. Reel, United States Navy, was their leader.

Making handsignals illuminated by underwater flashlights, Reel directed his team members into a semicircle just below the aftsection of the stern.

It was time.

Reel pointed to his second in command, Lieutenant JG Leo Maloney, then pointed at his watch.

Reel gave Maloney a full five fingers, signaling to set stopwatches at five minutes. Maloney complied, then clicked the stem of his watch, setting off the five-minute countdown. Maloney mimicked his leader.

Reel followed with a thumbs-up, and the SEAL team parted – five SEALs following Reel to the waters off the starboard side of the ship, the other five following Maloney to the port side.

Captain Sadir rushed into the ship's engine room. The whine of turning gears and spinning shafts made it difficult to hear. Crew members were scurrying about, and the ship's chief engineer was turning a valve with a wrench. "What is the matter?" Sadir demanded.

"Something is wrong." The chief engineer laid down the wrench and raised his voice above the level of the noise.

Sadir nervously struck a cigarette. "Elaborate."

"Our engines are spinning, " the engineer said, "but the screw is not pushing us through the water."

Salman Dudayev spoke up. "Could this all be related to the sinking of the Alexander Popovich? Have the Americans found us?"

"I have considered that, " Sadir said. "But we are not sinking. If the Americans know about us and wanted to torpedo us, we would be at the bottom of the ocean now."

"I do not like the feel of it, " Salman said.

Sadir turned to his engineer. "What are our options?"

The engineer cast a worried glance. "If this were a matter of repairing our engines, our options would be good, Kapitan. But the propeller is in the water. It is hard to access. We would need to send a diving party overboard to assess the problem. And even then, we may have to call for assistance. We are not prepared for major underwater repairs."

Sadir considered that. He could not afford to radio for help. That would attract too much attention. And if he drifted in the sea lanes for too long, he would attract attention like a sitting duck.

"Salman, what would be the effects on St. Petersburg if we blow the ship from here?"

The physicist's eyes lit. "Kapitan, we have constructed a five-megaton nuclear device in the bowels of your ship. When we detonate this device, within ten seconds, the fireball will be over three miles in diameter! Fifty seconds after the explosion, the blast wave will reach the shore of St. Petersburg, just thirty-six miles away.

"When it hits the shores of St. Petersburg, it will destroy or damage even the most heavily fortified concrete buildings and kill most of its inhabitants! And then there is the tremendous radioactive fallout, which will be intensified by the fact that we are blowing the bomb out on the water."

Perhaps Salman was right.

Perhaps they should blow the ship right now.

Sadir looked at his engineer. "Send a diving party overboard to examine the screw. I want your report back within the hour. If this job is irreparable, or if we have to request assistance, we will blow the ship from here."

"Yes, Kapitan."

Lieutenant Mike Reel popped out of the water, just beside the starboard hull. He looked up at the side of the ship as the heads of Petty Officers May, McCants, Williams, Manuel, and Felton popped up out of the water in a semicircle around him.

On the left side of the ship, Reel knew that another circle of Navy SEALs, the squadron headed by Lieutenant JG Leo Maloney, was bobbing in the water, waiting for the time to deliver a coordinated strike against the rogue freighter.

Reel gave a thumbs-up, which was reciprocated by his group. The SEALs were ready.

Reel checked his watch. Ten seconds. Nine seconds. Eight. Seven…

Floating in the water on the left side of the crippled ship, Maloney watched the countdown on his watch.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

"Now."

Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow.

Lightweight harpoon guns shot steel hooks upward, stringing rope from the water up to the gunwales of the ship.

"All secure, " announced Petty Officers Black, Doherty, Perkins, Jordan, and Worthy.

"Let's go, " Maloney ordered.

The SEALs dropped their oxygen tanks in the water, then, like Batman and Robin, began pulling themselves up the rope, rising up the side of the ship.

Maloney was the first to reach the top. Already, Lieutenant Reel had scampered onto the deck, and his men, all in black wetsuits and carrying knives and rifles, were gathering just across the ship.

The SEALs had not been discovered. Not yet anyway.

That would change.

St. Nicholas Naval Cathedral St. Petersburg, Russia

What's going on? Pete wondered, as he sat alone with his Russian-appointed counsel, Lieutenant Peter Vaslov, at the table in the front of the courtroom. Zack Brewer had not returned to counsel table, at least not yet, and Pete wondered if he would ever see Zack again.

Probably not.

Perhaps this was the beginning of the end. He looked out the windows of the great cathedral. The weather was turning uglier. Clouds darkened, threatening rain, or even hail.