She reached for his hand, then stepped her foot over the side of the sinking ship.
"Now put your foot on the rope."
The rope was wobbly. Shaking, she stepped down one step. Then another. Then another. Finally her foot reached for the side of the life boat. It bobbed in the water. She felt for it, and then dropped into the bottom of the lifeboat.
She looked up. The kids were climbing down the ladder. The first one to reach the bottom was Katya. After Katya came Anatoly. Marina and Ekaterina climbed down. And then, Masha looked up. Sasha was hanging onto the rope ladder about halfway down the side of the ship.
"I am afraid. I no want to go, " he was saying.
"Sasha, come down, we must hurry!"
"Go, Sasha, " Aleksey yelled from above.
"I am afraid." His little legs were trembing. "I want to go back up."
"No, Sasha!" Masha yelled.
"Sasha, go down!" Aleksey yelled even louder.
The boy took his foot, stepped out of the rung, and then reached for the next rung. The rope ladder began wobbling. A look of stricken panic crossed his face. The ladder swayed from the left to the right.
The world shifted to slow motion.
The boy lost control of his grip. He fell through the air.
"Sasha!"
He splashed into the water about twenty feet from the boat.
He did not come up.
The USS Honolulu The Black Sea
Conn. Radio." "Go ahead, Radio."
"Captain we're receiving a VLF radio transmission in Russian. Most likely a distress signal from Alexander Popovich. "
Pete looked at Lieutenant Jamison. "Ready to go to work, Mr. Jamison?"
"Aye, Captain."
"Radio. Conn. Patch that message over the loudspeaker."
"Yes, sir, Captain."
A few seconds later, the sound of someone speaking Russian was broadcast into the sub's control room. Lieutenant Jamison made notes on a legal pad. A curious look crossed his face. The message ended.
"Well, Lieutenant."
Jamison looked at his captain. "Sir, it was a mayday. They say they were hit by a torpedo, they are sinking, and that they have children on board."
"Talk about lowlife Russian propaganda, " the chief of the boat said. "I've heard that the Russians are the world's worst for this sort of thing."
"Lying slimeballs, " came another voice.
A cramping beset Pete's stomach. "Mr. Jamison, read the message verbatim."
"Aye, sir." Jamison held up the legal pad.
"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is the Russian freighter Alexander Popovich. We have been struck by torpedo! Location: Black Sea. Ninety miles west of Sevastopol. We have children on board. We are sinking! Mayday! Mayday! This is the Alexander Popovich. We have children on board. We are sinking!"
"That's odd, " Frank Pippen said. "Why would they include a reference to children?"
"To try to get rescuers out here faster, that's why, " the OOD said.
"Or maybe they really did have children on board, " Pete mumbled.
"Sir?" This was the chief of the boat.
"When I viewed the wreckage on the attack scope, I saw people running around on the deck. At first I thought I saw a bunch of kids. I looked again and they were gone. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me."
Dead silence pervaded the control room. Pete felt tormented. To have a chance to survive, which was a slim chance, he needed to get the Honolulu out of the area as fast as possible. Besides, even if children were on board, what could he do?
Should he further jeopardize the lives of his brave men for a hap-penchance rescue of some children who might already be dead?
But these were children.
Deep in his gut, he now knew it was true. Somehow, some way, children wound up on that freighter. What a colossal intelligence failure. But that wasn't the point.
He thought of Hannah and Coley. Suppose his own children had been on board that ship. Who would reach out a hand to save them? But even if he disobeyed orders and surfaced, the chances of a rescue at this point had to be slim-to-none.
He wiped cold sweat from his forehead. Never had the weight of command felt so burdensome. He had not been paralyzed by the decision to volunteer for this mission. He had never had qualms about sacrificing his own life.
He prayed silently. God give me wisdom. Give it to me fast. He remembered a verse from the Bible. Jesus said, "Bring all the little ones to me." Then another verse flashed into his mind. "And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me. But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea."
"Make course three-four-zero degrees. Alert SEAL team. Be on standby for rescue effort. Prepare to surface."
CHAPTER 20
Bilbek International Airport
The Crimean Peninsula, Ukraine
Captain Pavel Zalevskiy sat at the end of the runway with his hand on the throttle. The stewardess had just handed his co-captain the passenger manifest. Zalevskiy studied the manifest.
Another light flight. Only eighteen passengers were on board for the short hop over the northwestern quadrant of Black Sea to Con-stanta, Romania, a flight that would take them on a course of almost due west.
Probably the typical midweek mix of businessmen and a handful of tourists, he surmised. Fortunately, the State was heavily subsidizing the airlines. Eighteen passengers would not pay for the fuel one way. Hopefully, the plane would be at least halfway full on the return trip.
He handed the manisfest back to the stewardess. "Strap in, Natasha."
"Yes, Kapitan, " the blonde said.
"Crimean Flight Eighteen, Bilbek Tower. You are clear for takeoff."
"Bilbek, Crimean Eighteen. Roger that. Proceeding now."
Zalevskiy pushed on the throttle, and the Russian-built Tu-134 aircraft began rolling, then picking up speed as it raced down the runway. A moment later, the jet had lifted off the Crimean Peninsula. A moment after that, the jet was over the waters of the Black Sea.
Other than strands of wispy cirrus clouds miles above, the skies were a clear, pristine blue. The first ten minutes of the flight were refreshingly clear of turbulence. Pavel settled into the cockpit for what looked like a routine, velvety-smooth flight over to Romania. And then, the peaceful hum in the cockpit was suddenly punctuated by distressed calls of "Mayday!"
Pavel sat up, listening intently to the words crackling over the speakers. As soon as he understood the situation, he contacted the control tower. "Sevastopol Control, Crimean 18."
"Go ahead, Crimean 18."
"Sevastopol, I've got a mayday on VLF from the freighter Alexander Popovich. The mayday claims the ship is sinking. Repeat, the mayday claims the ship is sinking. Request permission to go to one thousand for a visual."
"Crimean 18, Sevastopol. Permission granted. Go to one thousand. Monitor for as long as fuel permits. Advise."
"Sevastopol. Crimean. Descending to one thousand now."
The Al Alamein
Mediterranean Sea
Course and position?" Captain Hosni Sadir was asking.
"Twenty miles north of Crete, sir, " the Egyptian helmsman replied. "We must make a course correction soon, or we will run into the island."
"Very well." Captain Sadir sipped a cup of hot tea and glanced at the navigational charts spread out on the table. "Upon my mark, make your course ninety degrees. Chart new course for Gibraltar."
"Yes, Kapitan."
Sadir checked his watch. Salman Dudayev stepped onto the bridge. "Ah, Salman, " Sadir said. "How is the world's most brilliant physicist?"
A sly grin came from the Chechen. "Thank you for the compliment, Kapitan. If our plan works, perhaps I will allow you to call me that on the other side of paradise."
"Care for tea?"
"No, thank you. There is still much work to do."
Another sip of tea. "And how is your work coming?"
"The plutonium was stored in two large, radioactive-proof barrels, " Salman said. "It took a while to open it, but now my assistants are molding it into special metal bowls that we have on board. After that, we will start on the explosives and detonators."