They walked past the foreigners waiting in the customs line, and then stepped into the corridor of the airport. Two armed Russian soldiers joined them, trailing them all the way to the passenger pickup section at the front of the airport.
"Get into this car, please, " the woman said. One of the Russian soldiers opened the back door of the black Mercedes. "U.S. embassy personnel are in the car."
Zack stepped into the car, sitting alone in the backseat. The car sped forward, sandwiched between two Russian military jeeps.
An officer turned to greet him from the front passenger seat. "Welcome to Russia, Commander."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"I'm Captain Ann Glover, the U.S. Naval Attache to Russia."
"A pleasure, ma'am."
Zack looked out the window as the armed motorcade sped out past the blue and yellow buildings into the thick fog.
"You have to assume everything is bugged here, Zack. Even this car."
Zack thought about that. How would he communicate with his client if everything was bugged?
"You may wonder how you will represent your client under these circumstances."
"You're a mind reader, ma'am."
"I understand you've been briefed on the intelligence situation surrounding the capture of the crew?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You'll have to prepare your defense primarily based on that."
Talk about being handcuffed.
"You have a problem with that, Zack?"
"If those are my orders, those are my orders."
They sped down a freeway, leaving the airport behind in the distance.
"So what do you know about St. Petersburg, Zack?"
"Let's see. The city was known as Leningrad during the Communist reign. When the USSR fell, they changed it back to St. Petersburg. Homeplace of Catherine the Great and President Evtimov. Supposedly Russia's most beautiful city."
"You know more than most Americans, " Captain Glover said. "The city is on the eastern end of the Gulf of Finland. It is known as the Venice of the North because it literally sits on forty-four islands in the Delta of the Neva River."
The fog thickened, but the driver raced through it like he was Dale Earnhardt Jr. or something. This made Zack nervous. He did not want to be driving in such thick fog, let alone speeding through it at a hundred miles per hour.
"Why'd they change the trial from Moscow to St. Petersburg?" Zack tried distracting his mind from the specter of the Mercedes slamming into a concrete overpass.
"Symbolism, I think." Captain Gover shrugged her shoulders. "St. Petersburg is a Navy town. We've heard they want to move the trial to St. Nicholas Naval Cathedral. Maybe they got good vibes from the 2006 G-8 Summit."
Zack did not respond. He prayed silently for the task ahead and that the driver would slow down.
FSB federal detention facility St. Petersburg, Russia
Two hours later
At least in Moscow, the cot was not so lumpy, nor was the cell so dark. Pete lay on his back, alone in the cell, wondering where they had taken him.
He had heard the phrase "Saint Peeterborguyah" bantered about, and assumed that they had transported him out of Moscow for whatever reason, perhaps to St. Petersburg.
But why?
To separate him from his crew?
For all Pete knew, the crew could be anywhere.
Perhaps the Russians moved him to foil a rescue attempt.
No.
That couldn't be it.
It would be one thing for Navy SEALs to rescue someone from a terrorist camp in the Gobi. But in the heart of Moscow? Or any industrialized city in Russia? That would be a tall order even for the renowned Navy SEALs.
Maybe they weren't interested in a rescue.
Maybe the FSB agent was right.
Perhaps America had turned against him. After all, he had surrendered his submarine. Wouldn't it make sense that he would have to be an international scapegoat if that was necessary to avert nuclear war?
What if the FSB agent was right? Were his own children disowning him? He'd not seen them in a year.
It was probably true. The agent had too much information to have made it all up.
What would he do now? How would he defend himself?
He would say nothing, let them torture him, and if necessary, let them kill him. After all, Jesus had not responded to the false charges against him. Why should he? All he could offer was silence.
Pete Miranda, the Chilean-American whiz kid of the U.S. naval submarine community, lay flat on his back, looking up at the dark ceiling. Tears ran down the corners of his eyes onto his cheeks.
The Al Alamein
The English Channel
From the bridge of his freighter, Captain Hosni Sadir looked out across the water at the magnificent White Cliffs of Dover rising high above the sea.
Why had Allah placed such magnificent natural displays in nations full of infidels?
The firing mechanism had now been armed. Perhaps he would teach Britain a lesson for its unholy alliance with the Americans against Muslim brothers in places like Afghanistan and Iraq.
He looked over at the switch, which Salman had labeled Detonator, and smiled.
What a waste to vaporize such beautiful cliffs that Allah had created for his glory.
Besides, London was not that far away. Just a hundred fifty miles or so.
Sadir could not suppress the grin crawling across his face.
CHAPTER 28
The White House
All right, what's the situation with this freighter?" President Williams demanded.
"She's entered the English Channel, sir, " Admiral Ayers said. "Our concern is a threat to London."
"Let's see what you've got, " the president said.
"Yes, sir." Ayers had an aide unravel a map showing the freighter's current position.
"We've got a problem if she turns left once she clears Dover. She's about seventy-five miles from the mouth of the Thames River, and from there, less than forty miles to London. If there's been a plutonium transfer to this freighter… well, that could wipe out London, sir."
"Where's our submarine?"
"USS Charlotte is still on her tail, right in her wake. As far as we can tell, no one knows that we're there."
"All right, this freighter cannot threaten London. Notify the British of our concerns. Suggest that they have patrol boats prepared to intercept."
"Aye, Mr. President. But there may not be enough time for that."
"Notify them anyway. Have Charlotte ready to sink her if she turns back to the west once she clears Dover."
Admiral Ayers hesitated.
"Something wrong, Admiral?"
"I would remind you, Mr. President, that if we sink this freighter, and if it does contain that stolen plutonium, we lose the evidence we need to prove to the Russians that the Honolulu did not just sink an unarmed civilian freighter. We've already got Bear bombers buzzing our west coast. If word gets out that we've sunk another civilian freighter, we'll look like the Nazis did when their U-boats terrorized civilian shipping at the outbreak of World War II. Not to mention how we'd look in the Middle East by sinking an Egyptian ship. We can't afford to sink it, sir. We need that evidence to avert World War III."
Mack Williams thought about that. He was risking so much on the uncorroborated testimony of a Ukrainian woman who was almost killed by a U.S. sub. Lord, stop me if I'm wrong.
"And if they've got a bomb on that ship, " Mack said, "and if that bomb incinerates London, we've got Armageddon anyway." Mack's eyes locked with the admiral's. "You've got your orders, Admiral. If that freighter turns slightly to the left, and if the British aren't there to stop her, then take her out."