The waterfall flattened as the water level in the compartment reached the sea level, creating a smooth, uninterrupted passageway of water from the ocean into the ship.
Gorsky looked at Dr. Urmanov on the dock, staring at the gaping hole in the hull of The Hana. Gorsky wondered what the man was thinking. Maybe about the two million Swiss francs. Or the Siberian exile. Or the blood running down the wall. If so, these were not unrelated thoughts. In any case, they would soon see if the nuclear device had a problem. Or if Dr. Urmanov had a problem.
Gorsky heard the sound of the approaching boat’s engine, then saw the red bow light of a small craft coming through the fog.
The red light got closer, and the engine stopped as the bow appeared out of the fog and the craft slid silently through the doorway and into the compartment.
Gorsky turned the switch and the shell door began to close. He walked quickly back to the dock and stood beside Urmanov.
The lifeboat from the Russian fishing trawler floated between the two docks, and at the helm was a gray-bearded man who reminded Gorsky of the late Captain Wells, except that this man was wearing a blue quilted jacket and a green knit cap.
In the center of the lifeboat was a black tarp, and beneath the tarp was a rectangular object.
Captain Gleb surveyed his surroundings, then looked at Gorsky and Urmanov and shouted, “Throw me a line!”
Gorsky threw a line to The Hana’s new captain.
Petrov’s voice came over the speaker: “Welcome aboard The Hana, Captain.”
Gleb did not acknowledge the greeting and secured his craft to the dock. He drew a knife from his boot and cut the ties holding the tarp, then flung the tarp into the water.
Sitting on the deck of the small craft was what looked like a large black steamer trunk.
Petrov’s voice boomed over the speaker: “Doctor Urmanov! Behold your creation! Behold your monster, Doctor!” Petrov laughed.
Gorsky smiled, then looked at Urmanov, who seemed in a trance. He knew a problem when he saw one.
Gleb patted the black trunk and said, “Here it is, men. You don’t have to sign for it. It’s all yours.” He laughed.
Gorsky regarded Gleb. The man sounded as rough as he looked.
Gleb stepped onto the gunnel of his craft carrying a large overnight bag, and jumped onto the dock. He stuck out his hand to Gorsky. “Captain Gleb.”
They shook hands and Gorsky said, “I am Viktor.” He indicated Dr. Urmanov. “This is Arkady.”
Gleb smiled. “Let me guess who is the physicist and who is the SVR assassin.”
Gorsky didn’t find that amusing.
Gleb said to Gorsky, “You, sir, have blood on your hand and a bit on your shirt.” He looked at Urmanov. “And you, sir, look like a man who wouldn’t kill a fly. Well, not with a swatter.” He cocked his head toward the nuclear device and laughed again.
Neither Gorsky nor Urmanov responded.
Captain Gleb lit a cigarette and informed his compatriots, “I saw two helicopters out there, flying patterns. And the trawler’s radar saw two high-speed craft, running west.” He exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Where is your boss?”
“On the bridge.”
Gleb drew again on his cigarette, then nodded toward the black trunk. “Leave that alone until I speak to him. I have a message for him.”
“You can give it to me.”
“He can give it to you if he wants to.”
Petrov’s voice came over the speaker: “Captain, I need you on the bridge. Doctor, I will join you shortly. Viktor, stay with Arkady.”
Gleb flipped his cigarette into the water, grabbed his bag, and started toward the door.
Gorsky called to him, “There is one deckhand not accounted for.”
Gleb stopped. “How did that happen?”
“That is no business of yours.”
“It is if I run into him.” He asked, “Is he armed?”
“That is not likely.”
“Well”—Gleb drew a Grach from under his coat—“I am.”
“Do you know how to use that?”
Gleb laughed and said, “SVR men are all assholes.” He turned and walked through the door.
Gorsky watched him moving down the long passageway. Captain Gleb, he understood, was a man who knew that his skills were crucial to the mission, which made him feel free to say what he pleased. Even to an SVR officer.
Well, Gorsky thought, as soon as Captain Gleb was no longer indispensable, then he would become disposable.
Gorsky turned and looked at the black trunk in the lifeboat, then looked at Urmanov. They made eye contact and it seemed to Gorsky that Dr. Urmanov had guessed his fate.
Gorsky smiled at him. “Cheer up, Doctor. You are about to earn your two million Swiss francs.”
Urmanov looked away and stared at the nuclear device.
Gorsky said, as if to himself, “Yes, many fates hang in the balance tonight, and tomorrow morning will see two bright suns. God’s and man’s.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Vasily Petrov stood on the bridge and followed Gleb’s progress on the video monitor. Petrov saw that Gleb had his gun drawn, meaning Gorsky had told him about the missing deckhand, though Petrov noted that Gleb had obviously not been trained to walk tactically with a weapon. Also, it had apparently not occurred to Captain Gleb that his SVR-issued Grach, like Urmanov’s Makarov, did not work. The SVR did not give dangerous weapons to potentially unreliable people.
Petrov switched to the garage camera and saw that Gorsky and Urmanov had boarded Gleb’s craft, though, as per instructions, they had not opened the lid of the trunk.
Petrov heard Gleb on the spiral staircase and turned toward the open door.
Gleb glanced around the vestibule, noticing the blood near the captain’s door, then entered the bridge.
Both men, holding guns in their hands, looked at each other. Finally, Gleb stuck his Grach inside his jacket and put his overnight bag on the bloodstained deck.
Petrov said, “Welcome.”
Gleb nodded and went to the long, wraparound instrument console, moving from left to right as he read the instruments and gauges. He glanced at the radar screen, then went to the security monitor and pressed the labeled buttons, going from camera to camera, looking at the carnage in the crew’s common room, the bar and dining room, the galley, and finally the salon.
He asked, “Where is my friend Captain Wells?”
“In his quarters.”
Gleb nodded, still staring at the image of the dead prostitutes lying in the salon. “Who are they?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“They look like Russian girls.”
Petrov did not reply.
Gleb asked, “And why would I think my fate will be different?”
“Because I need you.”
Gleb looked at Colonel Petrov. “Until what point?”
“Until we anchor in New York Harbor and you sail The Hana’s amphibious craft from this yacht to the pier in Brooklyn.”
“And then?”
“Then we drive to the airport and fly home.”
Gleb stared at Petrov. “There is an American expression—three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.”
Petrov did not respond.
Captain Gleb asked, “What happens to Arkady when you no longer need him?”
“You ask too many questions, Captain.”
“You should ask some of your own.” He pointed out, “After Arkady finishes his business, I am the only man needed to complete this mission.”
“Captain, it would take a better man than you to kill me. Or Viktor.” He advised, “Do not provoke me.”
Gleb lit a cigarette and looked at the blood-covered chair and the blood on the floor. “This is nasty business.”
“Did anyone tell you otherwise?”
“The money is good.” He asked, “And you?”
“The money is not so good.”
Gleb smiled. “I will buy you a new car in Moscow.”