"Do you think Anatoly called the Boyevoy?"
That Irene voiced the suspicion only reinforced Kismet's distrust. If she was no longer confident of her old friend's fidelity, how could he believe that the fisherman was not a spy? "Let's go ask him."
He half expected to catch Anatoly in the act of transmitting a signal to the destroyer, but the Russian had his hands full trying to wrestle control of the rudder from the storm.
"Do you have a pair of binoculars?" Kismet asked. "There's another boat following us."
Anatoly looked genuinely surprised. He reached into a cabinet and withdrew a pair of binoculars. Kismet thanked him and went back out into the tempest.
The lenses became smeared with rain as soon as he attempted to peer through them. He wiped it away, but was unable to keep them clear for more than a few seconds. Nevertheless, through the distorting rivulets of water, he could make out the silhouette of the other vessel as it crested a swell.
"Is it Severin?" Irene shouted.
"No. It's too small. But it's military all right. Probably a patrol boat." He motioned for her to join him below decks.
"Then maybe they aren't after us," she suggested, once they were out of the storm. She futilely tried to squeeze the water from her hair then gave up in disgust.
"No. They know we're here. But maybe they haven't been in contact with Severin. We might be able to bluff our way past them."
"And if not?"
Kismet contemplated returning to the wheelhouse, where he had left the captured AK-47 with a half-full magazine of ammunition. "The odds will be a lot better than if we were taking on the Boyevoy."
Irene swallowed, but said nothing more. A moment later, Anatoly stepped onto the deck and moved close enough to speak without shouting. "I've tied the wheel down. It's useless to try to navigate in this storm anyway. Well, is there another ship out there?"
"Yes. It's looks like a patrol boat though, not Severin's destroyer."
Shock registered on the Russian's face. "Not possible," he whispered in Russian, then abruptly turned and hastily fled the cabin.
"What the hell do you suppose that was about?"
Irene shrugged. "He must know something we don't. Should we clue him in on your plan?"
"As soon as I figure out what it is, I'll tell you, then him. Any ideas?"
"We could tell them we were taking a cruise in our Greek galley when the storm came up. And that Anatoly found us, and was trying to tow us back to port."
Though she spoke half in jest, Kismet suddenly brightened at the idea. "It might work." He raced once more out into the storm and stared across the water at the valiant golden ship.
"Mind sharing that with me?" Irene yelled, her dark hair once more plastered to her head by the driving rain.
"Okay, try this!" The wind seemed to steal the enthusiasm from his voice, and his words came out in terse blocks of speech. "World renowned adventurer Nick Kismet and his lovely assistant attempt to recreate the historic voyage of Jason and the Argonauts by building a replica of the Argo and sailing it across the Black Sea. My dad used to do things like that all the time."
"That's crazy." She drew closer so that her argument would not be lost in the tempest. "They'll never buy it."
"It suits the situation. A gunboat isn't going to be crewed by suspicious officers like Severin. We'll probably end up talking to some poor lieutenant who'd give his left testicle to be back on dry land. We can pull this off. We just have to speak with authority."
Irene gazed through the sheeting rain at the approaching patrol vessel. It was no longer a flashing light in the distance. The patrol boat's more powerful engine was stabbing through the tumultuous seas, gaining on them with every passing second. "Speak with authority? That doesn't seem like your style."
"That will be the easy part. Remember, I'm a lawyer. Besides, these guys probably won't understand English. You can translate for me."
"Wonderful." She made no attempt to hide her sarcasm. "Shall we at least let Anatoly in on this little scheme?"
When they entered the wheelhouse, the big Russian was hunched over the radio, listening intently. Somehow, Kismet wasn't surprised. "Who are you calling?"
"Silence!" His outburst caused him to lose his concentration and he pounded the counter in frustration. Composing himself, he fired off a message that Kismet found impossible to decipher. They watched in mute confusion as he continued this way for several minutes. He then tore the headset off, and started out of the wheelhouse.
"Anatoly!" Irene shouted. "We've got a plan!"
The Russian either did not hear or chose to ignore her. Kismet chased after him. "Just a damn minute—"
Anatoly stood at the stern, staring intently at the approaching gunboat. It was now close enough that they could easily discern the radio mast, as well as the forward mounted machine gun emplacement. Just above that, a light was flickering on and off.
"Listen Anatoly," Kismet began, trying to calm the fisherman. "We've got a plan that just might work."
"Are you still ignorant?" ranted the Russian. "Or just a fool? Look!"
He was pointing to the flashing light, and Kismet realized that it was a signal being sent in Morse code. He had learned the antiquated method of communication as a Boy Scout, and despite a few mental cobwebs, began to piece together the sequence of long and short flashes into a comprehensible message. Though he had missed the first half, he got the gist of it just from the last few letters.
"What are they saying?" demanded the Russian.
"'Heave to and prepare to be boarded.' Or they'll open fire. I thought all mariners knew Morse code." Even as he said it, he knew the answer. "They're sending in English."
"Those are not Russians!" Anatoly spun on his heel and vanished below decks.
Kismet's mind raced for another explanation. If the Russian sailors knew he was aboard, it would make sense that they would communicate in English. But whom had Anatoly been talking to, and why was he so upset? Frustrated, he made his way back to the wheelhouse where Irene was waiting.
"What was that about?"
"I'm not sure." Kismet checked the engine speed indicator, and then shifted the throttle to idle position. "But I don't think we can count on Anatoly for help."
"So what do we do?"
"Stick to Plan A for now. Let's go out on deck and prepare to be boarded."
"Is that like waiting for the axe to fall?" she asked, dismally.
"Let's hope not." He took her hand and guided her outside. With the screws no longer turning in the water, the trawler was completely at the mercy of the storm. The golden ship appeared to be moving closer, but it was the approaching gunboat that held Kismet's attention. It had closed to within hailing distance and another minute would bring it alongside the trawler. Despite what Anatoly had implied, the Russian tri-color flag and the Navy jack snapped in the wind on the bow line. Kismet threw an insincere wave to the crewmen on its deck, but received only steely stares by way of reply; the sailors had no intention of moving their hands away from the triggers of their guns to be polite.
Two of the sailors on the opposing craft lofted grapples across the distance. Kismet took no action as the hooks bit into the gunwale and the trawler was pulled in like a prize catch. Though the gunboat rode higher in the water, the crew of the naval vessel had no difficulty jumping down onto the smaller boat. Kismet raised his hands to indicate that he was not armed.
"Is that how you project authority, counselor?" Irene observed, imitating his posture.
Before he could answer her sarcastic quip, another group of men appeared on the deck of the patrol boat and one by one lowered themselves onto the trawler. Kismet groaned aloud as he recognized two of them, Halverson Grimes and Sir Andrew Harcourt. "So much for Plan A."