As we got closer, I could see the glass doors at the far side of the swimming platform, which I assumed were locked. Every police vehicle carries a Halligan tool—a multi-purpose crowbar to pry open doors and smash glass—and I called into the cabin, “You got a Halligan?”
“Right here!” said Andersson, and she passed me the tool through the open windshield.
She also grabbed a bulletproof vest and an MP5 submachine gun with an extra magazine and passed them to me. I flung the vest to Tess and aimed the MP5 at The Hana. I fully expected hostile fire from the yacht, but I couldn’t see anyone on the darkened ship. I wanted to think that Petrov and his pals didn’t know they were about to be boarded, but whoever was captaining this ship must be watching us on their rear video camera.
The bow of the SAFE boat was a few feet from the swimming platform, and as I waited for the bow to drop, I called to Tess, “Cover me!”
“No, you cover me.” She stood, flung the Kevlar vest onto the swimming platform, then jumped.
I called into the cabin, “When I jump, get out of here!”
Conte called back, “Good luck!”
I slung the MP5 over my shoulder, and as the bow dropped again I saw Tess kneeling on the platform, gun drawn, facing the doors. My turn. I might get shot, but I wouldn’t drown. I jumped and hit the wooden platform and shoulder-rolled toward the glass doors, then sprang to my feet and swung the Halligan tool at the door, but the security glass didn’t shatter. I thrust the tapered end of the Halligan between the double doors, rotated the tool inward, and the door popped open. I drew my Glock and dropped to one knee, then glanced over my shoulder and saw the SAFE boat heading south, out of the harbor. We were on our own.
Tess came up beside me carrying the bulletproof vest and I said, “Put it on.”
“Swap you the vest for the MP5.”
“Put it on!”
She slipped off her float coat and put on the vest, and we scanned the interior of the ship.
This was the float-in tender garage and I saw that it was indeed flooded, and it took me a second to realize that the source of the illumination was underwater lights. To the left and right were staircases that rose to the main deck, and also to the left was a catwalk running along the hull connecting the two docks. At the closest dock I could see the amphibious craft that I last saw heading out to sea with Petrov and his friends. Well, we were on the right boat.
We moved in a crouch farther into the ship. Across the flooded garage, near the opposite dock, I noticed something dark under the water, and as my eyes adjusted to the light I recognized it as a submerged boat. I whispered to Tess, “You got that PRD?” She took the radiation detector from her pocket and I could hear a faint beep, followed by another, and I saw the red light flash intermittently, indicating a weak reading, which I’d expect if the nuke was submerged and had a lead shield. So there was little doubt in my mind that we were in the presence of a radiant angel.
Tess said, “That’s got to be it. But how do we—?”
“Get down!”
We dropped into a prone position and I pointed my Glock at where I’d seen movement on the opposite dock.
A man was sitting on the dock with his legs dangling over the side, and even in the dim light I recognized him as Arkady Urmanov.
Tess and I exchanged glances, but before we could decide on our next move, Urmanov called out, “Help me!”
That wasn’t what I expected to hear, but I replied, “Okay. Where—?”
“I am tied. You must free me.”
So if I could figure this out, Urmanov had done his job of arming the device and he was now one witness too many, and for some sick reason Petrov decided that Urmanov should die by his own creation. Petrov was a tough boss.
“You must pump out the water! To your left. On the walkway. The switches for the pump.”
I looked at the catwalk and I could see control panels on the hull.
“Untie me!”
One thing at a time, pal. I said to Tess, “Stay here and cover.”
She got into a kneeling position, and I rose to one knee and was about to make a dash for the catwalk, but another movement caught my eye. The door on the far side of the tender garage had swung open, and I saw a figure crouched in front of the door. But before I could swing my Glock toward the figure, I saw muzzle flashes, but heard no sound. Well, I know a silenced weapon when I don’t hear one, and I hit the deck and shouted to Tess, “Down!”
Arkady Urmanov let out a loud cry, followed by a moan.
I aimed my Glock at the place where I’d seen the flash of the automatic weapon and popped off five rounds, which echoed in the huge space.
Tess did the same, and we rolled away from our firing positions and popped off the rest of our magazines, then rolled again as we reloaded.
There was no flash of return fire, so whoever was shooting was not giving away his position. Or maybe we hit him. I glanced at Urmanov across the flooded garage, and I could see that he was slumped forward. I was pretty sure he was dead, and so were my chances of Urmanov disarming the bomb.
Tess was about twenty feet away, flat against the deck, pointing her Glock downrange, but maintaining fire discipline until a target presented itself, as was the guy who shot at us. Petrov? Gorsky? In either case, they were both trained killers, and killers know when to play dead. Meanwhile, the nuke was sitting about thirty feet away in a sunken boat that I could see but couldn’t get to. And I was sure the timer was no longer set for 8:46 A.M.
I looked up at the catwalk where Urmanov said the pump switch was located, and I would have made a dash for it, but standing there was Viktor Gorsky, who shut off the underwater lights, throwing the garage into total darkness.
I knew he was already gone but I fired anyway to draw his fire, and a second later Gorsky returned the fire and I could hear the rounds smacking into the wooden deck around us as Tess and I shot at the muzzle flashes.
Gorsky’s firing stopped and I lay motionless, listening for Tess, hoping she was alive and Gorsky was dead. I called out softly, “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She suggested, “Use the MP5.”
They tell you never to reveal the automatic weapon until you see the target, then you surprise the guy. Gorsky was using his, but it was silenced and he probably had lots of ammo, and I did not.
While I was weighing the pros and cons of bringing out the big gun, another burst of rounds cut through the darkness and I could hear them buzzing over my head. A round smashed into the glass door behind us, confirming that even pros tend to fire high in the dark.
Okay, so Gorsky was obviously alive and not leaving. But if he intended to escape the explosion, he had to leave at some point. But if he was on a suicide mission, then we’d all share the one-time experience of nuclear oblivion. But I didn’t come this far and get this close to the nuke to have it blow up in my face. All I had to do was get to it. Which meant getting to the catwalk and pumping the water out of the garage. Which meant getting rid of Gorsky and his automatic weapon.
And then what? Well, I took a Bomb Squad class on how to disarm a conventional bomb. There are three components you look for when faced with an unknown explosive device: the power source; the explosive charge; and the detonator.
How much different could a nuclear bomb be?
Most sophisticated explosive devices have a collapsible circuit. If you cut one wire leading to the charge, it collapses the other circuit, setting off the charge. But if you can remove any one of the three components…
Right. Easier said than done. Gorsky had this entire open area covered by a silenced automatic weapon, and the nuke itself was covered with water. We had come to a standoff, and in this case with the timer ticking, a standoff was as good as a win for Gorsky and Petrov.