“What’s up?”

“You have a call from the number we gave to L’Enfant, but it isn’t him.”

“Who is it?”

“Pytor Kenin. He asked for you specifically.”

Cabrillo felt a wave of anger sweep through his body that he quickly crushed down. Now wasn’t the time for emotions. He took his customary chair and grabbed the handset jacked into one of the arms. He swung it up to his mouth and gave Hali a curt nod.

“Cabrillo.”

“Not calling yourself Chairman, eh?” Kenin said in Russian. “And I know you can understand me, so do not pretend otherwise.”

“What do you want?” Juan asked in the same language.

“What I want is to know why I cannot reach the K-154.”

“That’s because it sank about ten minutes after trying to kill me.” Cabrillo waited a beat to let that sink in. “They slammed into the seafloor hard enough to open her up like a can of sardines. The U.S. Navy’s already received an anonymous tip about the accident, and I’m sure they’ll have a salvage ship over her within another twenty-four hours.”

“What did you do?” the Russian shouted in rage.

“Kenin, you’re the one who started this and you’re the one who drew first blood, so don’t act all incensed when we stand up to you.”

“You are meddling in affairs that do not concern you.”

“They started to concern me the moment Yuri Borodin died. I don’t know what kind of games you’re playing inside Russia’s military establishment, and, frankly, I don’t care. All I know is that I am going to stop you.”

“Delusions, Mr. Chairman. You yourself admit you don’t know what I am doing, so how are you going to stop me? Surely not the same way you stopped me from silencing Tennyson. You are now and always will be a step behind.”

Kenin obviously didn’t know Tennyson was still alive and safe.

“You think that because you got to L’Enfant that I don’t have other resources?”

“Ah yes, the enigmatic L’Enfant. Seems in the end he cares more about self-preservation than keeping his clients’ secrets.”

“He withheld enough so that your sub commander made a fatal mistake,” Juan countered. “And he’s not the point. You are. Stop whatever it is you have planned and we end it here and now. Deal?”

“I’m afraid not. You see, you are already too late. In fact, your interference pushed up a scheduled test and made me change my target. I want you to take what’s happened very personally. Had you left well enough alone, the Emir would still be alive, and so would the lovely Linda Ross.”

Juan went cold. “What have you done?”

“Convinced my client that the toy I built for them works. Check your e-mail.” The line went dead.

Cabrillo was out of his seat and over Hali’s shoulder a second later. “Well?”

“He routed that call through just about every relay station on earth and most of the communications satellites in orbit, but I pegged him at a military airfield outside of Moscow.”

Juan put out a call over the ship’s net for Mark and Eric to report to the op center while Hali checked the general e-mail account for a message from Kenin. So far, nothing.

What had Kenin done? The question ricocheted around in Cabrillo’s mind as his concern for Linda and the Emir turned his delicious breakfast into a molten ball.

Considering the resources Kenin had put into this operation, this had to be his last big score. He’d had the opportunity to go legit and vie for a cabinet position, or at least a command staff job, or he could continue to lie and cheat his way through the system. It appeared he’d chosen the latter, and now he’d have to disappear because whatever it was he’d stolen from the Russian Navy, they would doubtlessly want it back.

Stone and Murph arrived.

“Kenin just called and said he’d tested whatever it is he’s been working on and has turned it over to his client. That means he’s going to try to vanish. He’s at the Ramenskoye Air Base. That’s his jumping-off point. Hack your way in and find out where he’s going. I’m going to call Langston and see if we can’t track his plane using Uncle Sam’s spy birds.”

“Juan,” Hali interrupted. “It arrived.”

“Same routing?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t know we back-traced him or he wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Good job. That’s our first leg up on Kenin since we hit the prison where they were holding Yuri. Put it up.” Juan nodded to Eric and Mark. “You two stay for a second. I don’t know what we’re about to see.”

The e-mail contained an MPEG, which Hali opened. An image came up on the main view screen of a white ship on a rough sea; in fact, it looked like the vessel was facing the same weather conditions as the Oregon. The camerawork was jumpy, and it was obviously shot at long range from a helicopter. The time and date stamp showed this had been taken only moments earlier. The white ship was a mega-yacht, and it took Juan only a second to recognize it as the Sakir, the Emir’s pride and joy. That ship was currently three hundred miles south of them and headed for Bermuda. By the size of her wake, she looked to be traveling at about fifteen knots.

Then off her port beam a weird blue glow grew out of the ocean like a bubble of gas escaping from the bottom of a swamp. The glow quickly engulfed the Sakir, yet it was still possible to see the three-hundred-foot supership.

With no warning, no dramatic yawl, the yacht simply flipped over as if it were a bath toy under the ministrations of a vengeful child. Water washed over her upside-down bow and raced along her length as her momentum continued to drive her forward while her twin ferro-bronze propellers beat the air.

The glow winked out a moment later. The men watching held their collective breath in anticipation of the huge yacht burying herself in the waves, but somehow she recovered enough for the water to pour off her red-painted bottom, and she settled into an unequal and doubtlessly short-lasting equilibrium. The video clip ended and reset itself to the opening frame.

“Helm!” Cabrillo shouted. “Emergency full. Hali, get Gomez down to the hangar to warm up the chopper. I want to be in the air as soon as possible. Have Linc meet us there. Eric, go down to the sub bay and bring me full scuba gear including a suit. Mark, Engineering. I need cutting equipment, and from stores grab an emergency inflatable boat.”

A ship the size of the Sakir would have a crew of ten and a staff of at least twice that number. A single inflatable could only carry ten, but Juan didn’t want to overload their helo and slow them down. Survivors would just have to take turns in the boat while the rest clung to its sides.

Survivors. Juan didn’t know if there would be any. The weather wasn’t ideal, so he doubted there were many people on deck when she capsized, and those trapped inside would be so disoriented that they might not be able to save themselves. Rescuing even ten was being overly optimistic. And if she sank before they arrived, this could turn out to be a total loss.

In that event, they would need the lifeboat for themselves, because their MD 520N helicopter had the range to make it out to the stricken yacht but not enough to return.

“Go!” Juan ordered, and his people scattered.

Afterward they would parse the video to find out how a ship the size of the Sakir could be capsized like that. This was definitely new technology, something that dovetailed into Tesla’s work, but what exactly it was and how it worked could wait until later.

Juan made a brief stop in his cabin to change into a leg better suited for swimming and grabbed some foul-weather gear. The Oregon’s rear hatch was open, and the gleaming black McDonnell Douglas helicopter sat on the hangar bay elevator like a bird of prey. Overhead, the sky looked pained as a storm continued to brew. Of course the weather wouldn’t cooperate. At times like this, Cabrillo found, Mother Nature had a cruel sense of irony.