"I am suspicious of Popkov's accounting."
"Why do you say this?"
"First, it is unlikely that the Americans would fire into our airspace. Possible? Yes. Likely? No. It is also unlikely that our pilot would float by the wind from Russian territory to Georgian territory. Both these events are possible, of course. But with two unlikely events in the same story, combined with the fact that Giorgy Alexeevich feels that you are blaming him for the loss of plutonium…"
"Do you feel he should remain as defense minister?"
"That is your call alone, Comrade President."
"You did not answer my question, Sergey Semyonovich. Do you feel he should remain as defense minister?"
The chief of staff looked down at the floor, then looked back up at the president. "I believe that Giorgy Alexeevich has become unstable. That makes him dangerous, especially since he is in command of the most powerful army in the world."
"No, I am in command of the most powerful army in the world."
"Of course you are, Comrade President. But should Giorgy Alex-eevich become more deranged, how can we be assured that he will remember who is in charge? Unless they know that he is contradicting your orders, our generals will obey him." A pause. "What if he ordered execution of General Order 46?"
Sergey Semyonovich's point was well-taken. "Are you willing to help me take care of the problem?"
The chief of staff shot the president a suspicious look. "Take care of the problem, sir?"
"Again I ask you, Sergey Semyonovich, are you willing to help me take care of the problem?"
Their eyes locked. "Yes, my president, I will take care of the problem."
The Alexander Popovich The Black Sea
The next day
Masha stood in the passageway leading out to the main deck of the ship. She looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was in sight. She had decided to move the knife from her thigh to her back, thinking that repositioning it would give her quicker access when she needed it. But the sharp knife had slipped down a bit down her back, and she needed to position it higher under her bra strap.
She would need to use the knife soon, she had resolved. She did not know when, or how.
But soon.
Donning her sunglasses, she stepped out into the bright afternoon sun on the main deck of Alexander Popovich.
She glanced toward the center of the deck, where the Captain Bat-sakov's loyal sidekick, Aleksey Anatolyvich, had erected a net across the deck. The orphans were patting a ball back and forth across the net with their hands. They laughed and cackled as they played.
Aleksey seemed good with children. She prayed that she would not have to hurt him, and that somehow, he would become her ally.
"Dima, come over here!"
The skinny little boy with the bug-eyed glasses bounded across the deck with a wide grin on his face. The brisk sea breeze blew through his blonde hair, disheveling it as he wrapped his arms around her. She held onto him for a bit longer than usual.
"Are you having fun, Dima?"
"Dah! Aleksey teach us how to play volleyball on ship!"
"Yes, I see that!"
She glanced at the children again. Aleksey's eyes caught hers, and he threw her a big wave. She waved back. He turned back to the other eleven. Good.
"I have heard of this game, volleyball. They play it in America."
"You play volleyball, Masha?"
"No, I have never played."
"You want to learn?"
"No, not right now."
"Why not, Masha?" Those long-lashed, pleading eyes melted her. These eyes would melt an iceberg in the Arctic Sea. What was she to tell the boy? That she could not play because if she walked out into the middle of the deck she might become a target for someone with a sniper rifle?
"I cannot play because right now we need to put more lotion on your back so you do not burn, that is why."
"Aw, Masha. Again?"
"Yes, Dima. Again. Turn around."
The boy complied.
She squirted the white sunblock into her hands, then rubbed his rough, leathery shoulders. The boy recoiled from the coolness of the lotion. Her hands moved from his shoulders down to the awful skin grafting that covered his entire back.
The skin, or what was left of it, was twisted and contorted and scarred hideously from the scalding water that was poured on him. To her fingers, his skin in the center of his back felt like a miniature mountain range.
She thanked God that he felt no pain from it anymore. She also thanked God that Dima was oblivious to it all, even though strangers who saw his back for the first time often grimaced.
"Okay, Dima, that's good. Go back out and play now."
"You come too, Masha?" He tugged at her hand and flashed those puppy dog eyes again.
"Maybe next time, Dima." She shooed him back out to the center of the deck and prayed that there would be a next time. Masha considered her predicament. There was no real possibility for escape. She couldn't swim to safety. They were planning to kill her, and if they did, what would become of the children? The question now was whether she should kill first or wait to be killed.
God, give me wisdom.
She remembered the words of the Allisons, that God would help her in all things. God, please get me and my children off this ship alive. Amen.
CHAPTER 18
The USS Honolulu
The Black Sea
Commander Pete Miranda stepped back into the control room of the USS Honolulu.
"I have the conn, " Pete said.
"The captain has the conn." Lieutenant McCaffity stepped aside for his commanding officer.
Pete took his position in the center of the room. His XO, Lieutenant Commander Frank Pippen, who had followed him back into the control room, stood at his side.
"Mr. COB, any sign of Lieutenant Jamison?"
"Not yet, Captain. I'm sure Mr. Jamison will be right here, " the chief of the boat said.
Pete checked his watch. At that moment, Lieutenant Phil Jamison, the ship's intelligence officer, walked into the control room.
"You called, Captain?"
"Ah, Mr. Jamison. How nice of you to join us."
"My apologies, Captain. I was in the head, sir."
"Ah, " Pete said. "The proverbial call of nature."
"Yes, sir. No excuses, sir."
Snickering arose around the control room.
"No time for that, " Pete said. "As you know, Lieutenant, satellites have spotted our target in the area."
"I heard the broadcast on the 1MC."
"That ship could pop up any minute on our sonar."
"Yes, sir."
"If and when it shows, we are going to sink it. And at that point, we will float our antenna to the surface, and will be monitoring local radio traffic, probably from Russian ships. We won't have time for EAMS. I will need you here, immediately translating any Russian radio traffic that we might intercept."
"I can do that, sir."
"Until further notice, your duty station is here in the control room, with me and the XO."
"Aye, Captain. With pleasure."
The Alexander Popovich The Black Sea
Captain Batsakov thought about assigning the task to Joseph Radin. After all, the first officer was the leading proponent of killing her. Perhaps Joseph could find some satisfaction in it all.
If not Joseph, the other option was Aleksey Anatolyvich.
Aleksey could lead her to an isolated spot on the ship, shoot her in the head, and then toss her to the sharks after sundown. Nobody would notice. Aleksey would do whatever he was told. But then again, perhaps Aleksey did not have the stomach for the job.
Regardless of who did the job, Masha Katovich's death would be on the head of the bloodthirsty Russian government for forcing this idotic babysitting mission upon the Alexander Popovich.
The telephone rang in the captain's stateroom.
Batsakov picked up the receiver. "Dah."
"Kapitan, this is the first officer on the bridge."
"What is it, Joseph?"
"Sir, we have been trying to raise you on the ship's intercom system. Did you not hear us?"