He moved to the side of the bed and bent down to kiss her. His warm lips touched her cold ones briefly, then held them longer a second time while he stroked her cheek. “Ten days,” he repeated as he stood erect. Then he was gone. Anna Danilov’s eyes glistened with tears of love as she heard the door shut behind him. Abe Danilov’s were dry until the door was closed. Then there was one deep, gulping sob of loneliness as he descended the dark stairs.
3
VICTOR ULANOFF’S DEAD eyes seemed fixed on a star light years away, twinkling brightly down on the Pacific coastline of Washington. With the inherent realization that it was too late, which was simultaneous with the knife slashing across his throat, Ulanoff had accepted his fate. He had been staring in wonder through the night binoculars that Abe Danilov had entrusted to him a few short weeks before. Just as the admiral claimed, they were turning night into day.
Until moments before, about the time the sensor under his upper arm had pulsed to tell him that the satellite was recording, Ulanoff had been extremely careful. As a matter of fact, he had survived longer than any of the others who had been sent out to infiltrate the Imperator project. But the emergence of the object in question, Imperator herself, was so exciting that his guard had dropped for just long enough. Watching that immense shape emerging from its pen would hypnotize any man… and it had.
It was not a submarine pen in the sense of the old covered piers built in the past to protect submarines. To anyone — whether they were studying a satellite picture accurate to six inches, or even walking across what appeared to the naked eye to be a part of the land jutting out into a small bay on the Pacific Ocean — this was solid land, scrub brush near the water’s edge, apparently farmed recently inland. Waves broke over the rocks and whispered on the sand just as they had seemingly done for hundreds of thousands of years. It was idyllic, and peaceful.
But nothing can escape the space lenses of the intelligence community for long, and the formation of this peninsula encouraged the attention of a number of Soviet agents, though the disappearances of so many of them failed to create much concern in the Kremlin at first. That is — until it was pointed out that too many of those inserted into the West Coast defense industry were simply dissolving into thin air. The fact that the Americans had penetrated one of their most deeply imbedded spy rings was not nearly as disturbing as the curious reason so many agents were vanishing.
The Americans normally attended to concentrated infiltration by ferreting out the leaders, tracing the source, producing ugly trials, or initiating exchanges for some of their own. But this time it was so different. The agents simply disappeared without a trace. Occasionally, a job could be botched and a Russian agent could turn up very dead with accompanying publicity. Both sides accepted that. But what was occurring now was extermination, a solution not normally directed by the Americans. So there was reason to find out exactly what had altered their reaction. There had to be something big somewhere on their Pacific Coast, and it was just a matter of time until the Russians found out what.
In the meantime, the list of Soviet agents who simply disappeared grew longer, and the Kremlin became more impatient — with the lack of intelligence, not with the number of agents lost in the line of duty.
In the end, Kovschenko’s persistence did pay off. The Imperator Project was discovered, though getting the details took a bit longer, The Kremlin anticipated a submarine well before Kovschenko confirmed its existence by his unfortunate demise.
Now, on his last night on earth, Ulanoff had been literally hypnotized by the sight of Imperator as she slipped from her pen into the dark, cold Pacific. The people who designed the binoculars for Danilov claimed they turned night into day. That wasn’t quite true, especially when the object of curiosity was an immense, black-hulled submarine. The best way to place Imperator in perspective was by watching the sailors at their stations on her hull. What Ulanoff had seen was a vast expanse of low black submarine, slithering like a snake emerging from a log. The sail was well back on the hull — an awesome sight. The submarine was longer than an aircraft carrier, certainly wider at the waterline, and deeper by far between keel and top of deck… and there was so much that he could imagine but couldn’t see.
As the stem of Imperator emerged completely from the pen, Ulanoff had swung his binoculars all the way back up to the bow to record the impressions of this craft permanently in his mind — which was when he felt the cold steel across his throat. There hadn’t been a sound — or if there was, he was too involved in Imperator to hear it — just the hand from behind lifting his chin at the same time the blade slicked through his exposed neck.
In the end, Ulanoff was the only Russian ever to have seen the submarine. But the sight had also been recorded from above by an infrared-equipped satellite, and the signals from that inspection had been transmitted instantly back to Admiral Abe Danilov at the Soviet arctic base of Polyarnyy.
The voice persisted until it became almost part of Danilov’s consciousness. “Admiral… Admiral Danilov…”
The sailor would never think of actually touching the man. That was not only rude and ill-mannered, it would be considered intemperate by his seniors. However, the sailor had been with Danilov long enough to know his habits and he could tell that the man was slowly, very slowly this time, bringing himself back to a conscious state. “Admiral, we have satellite confirmation that she’s underway now.” The eyes flicked open, staring up with an intensity that would have shaken any man who did not know Danilov’s habits.
Abe Danilov’s subconscious fumbled with the distant voice, momentarily rejected it, then reached out instinctively as the sound became more insistent. His sleep had been heavy, with no dreaming. There was hardly a man who could achieve that depth of relaxation, almost trancelike, so quickly. Whenever he recognized approaching exhaustion, Danilov simply lay down on his office sofa fully clothed, arms across his chest, and sank into a deep, satisfying sleep. But coming out of that self-induced hypnosis was more difficult, “How long ago?” There had been no movement; the arms remained folded across his chest, but the eyes burned now with an inner strength.
“No more than ten minutes, Admiral. The duty officer confirmed the infrared readings with one of the technicians first. No doubt about it, Admiral… she’s underway on nuclear power.”
With a sigh, Danilov stretched and eased into a sitting position on the edge of the leather sofa, raising his arms over his head and yawning deeply. “Nuclear power,” he murmured. “I told them it would be… no doubt about it when you’re sure of marine shipments up there. It had to be.” He glanced at his watch. “They got underway in the dark, I see.”
“Yes, sir. It’s sometime after midnight on the American Pacific Coast.”
“And Ulanoff, have we heard anything from him?”
“No contact, Admiral.”
“Thank you. I’m awake now.” He looked up and half smiled. “I won’t fall back asleep. I promise.” He stretched again. “Not now, not when she’s finally underway. Ask the duty officer to try to raise Ulanoff again.” The admiral stood and waved his hand to dismiss the other.
He splashed cold water on his face in the tiny head, and when he looked up to observe still baggy eyes, he did it again. He also accepted the improbability of anyone getting in touch with Ulanoff. Even drawing his last breath, Ulanoff would have attempted contact if there was a chance. As far as Danilov was concerned, it was quite probable that he was dead, just like all the others who had in any way been involved in what he had finally learned was the Imperator Project.