Red Heat Page 25

  “He had no reason to kill me!” Julie persisted. “He helped you get rid of the 093. Why would he have done that?”

  “To throw us off? Look, this changes everything. We must call the authorities. Have him arrested.”

  “No,” she said. “Not until we know for sure it’s really him. You need to question him first.”

  He’d give a lot to get the man alone in a room and extract some answers, he grudgingly admitted. But—

  “What if he runs? Bribes one of the transport boats to take him off Attu and he disappears?”

  “Then we’ll know. And we’ll be rid of him for now. I can tell my boss to sic the FBI on him. But in the meantime, you should proceed today as though it wasn’t him. Just in case he’s innocent. We need to find the real guilty party. Please. No law enforcement. Not yet.”

  Nikolai, being in command, could easily overrule her. But she was right. Even if they had Walker on board and in custody—which they didn’t—the fallout would be a nightmare: A Russian submarine—however outdated—delivered straight into the hands of the American authorities. The brass all over him for letting it happen. And for knowing about a saboteur on board but not finding and dealing with him quietly and immediately, using any means necessary. The press crucifying him for getting an important international scientific expedition shut down on his watch.

  And once again Nikolai would no doubt not be allowed to say a word in his own defense to any of them. Let alone if Julie was right and it turned out not to be Walker after all. Then he’d truly be screwed. For the second time in as many years, he’d be the Russian Naval Command’s whipping boy and sacrificial lamb, and this time his career most certainly would be over before the sun set on the accusations. He’d be out of the submarine service, out of the entire military, out on his ass. Definitively and permanently. No more uniform. No more command. No more life he loved.

  And after all the negative publicity, another job would be tough, if not impossible, for him to find. He’d probably end up forced to submit to Cherenkov’s pressuring and work for the FSB.

  Чёрт возьми. And that was the very last thing he wanted to do.

  Nikolai was just anxious enough to hang on to the last thread of his quickly eclipsing career to accede to Julie’s wishes. Though he had the distinct and bitter feeling he would live to regret that decision.

  “Okay, no law enforcement. Yet,” he conceded. “We’ll wait until we can question Walker.” And Nikolai would involve the boat’s security officer, whether Julie liked it or not.

  Ostrov was too small to have a sick bay, and since Professor Sundesvall possessed a medical degree, a navy doctor had not been assigned to this patrol. “But you are seeing the crew medic, and don’t even think about fighting me on that.”

  She didn’t.

  So Nikolai summoned the medic from his watch post and looked on anxiously while he examined Julie.

  She perched calmly on a table in the mess hall as the man ran his fingers over her skull, shone a flashlight in her eyes, and haltingly asked her a series of questions in broken English. Finally he pronounced her fit, but gave her the usual warnings and instructions for those with head injuries.

  “She should go to the hospital,” the medic told Nikolai afterward in Russian. “And be seen by a real physician.”

  “You tell her that,” Nikolai grumbled. “I tried. She won’t listen.”

  “Of course, the closest medical facility is on Atka Island. Over eight hundred kilometers away,” the medic said. “She’d need to be airlifted.”

  Nikolai squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She has refused to leave the boat. Will she be all right?” he asked, drilling the man with his most commanding gaze. “Tell me the truth.”

  The medic gathered up his instruments. “Probably, but it’s impossible to say for sure yet. Watch her closely. Wake her every few hours when she sleeps. Let me know immediately if any unusual symptoms occur.”

  Nikolai nodded. “You can be sure I will.”

  The other man turned to Julie and switched back to English. “Go ahead to wash hair. Wound is not deep for stitchings, but here is butterfly bandage. To keep together to stop bleeding. Get plenty rest. No exertions for twenty-four hours.”

  “Thanks, doc,” she said, and the medic smiled and left them there. They were finally alone.

  She slid off the table to her feet, and he caught her when she wobbled. “Good thing the party was last night,” she said ruefully.

  Nikolai broke down and put his arms around her. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, holding her tight. “I swear if anything happens to you . . .”

  After a microsecond of hesitation, she hugged him back. “Don’t worry. I’m tougher than I look.”

  He let out a long sigh. “I’m beginning to see that.”

  “Liesha—,” he said at the exact moment she said, “Nikolai—”

  He slid his hand up to the back of her neck, caressed her soft skin. “You first.”

  She gazed at him for a long moment, then gingerly shook her head and said, “Nothing. Just wondering what happened to my laptop.” She pulled away. “Did anyone find it in the storage area?”

  Okay, so she didn’t want to delve into their personal issues now. He stifled the urge to pull her back to him. To explain his actions last night. To tell her how much he was hurting.

  Devil take it.

  Probably not the best time for that anyway.

  He shook his head. “No, sorry. I didn’t even think to have someone look. I was too upset over you.”

  She nodded, looking disappointed but resigned. “Yeah. Okay. I think I’ll take that shower now.”

  They started walking. “Your attacker could have taken it. Would that be a problem?” he asked.

  “There’s nothing on it that matters.” She didn’t sound too worried.

  “That’s good.”

  “Will you be in the central post?” she asked when they reached the stateroom door.

  “Remember what I said about not leaving my sight?” he reminded her.

  She glanced down the passageway to where the officers’ shower was located, then back at him, and her lips parted. He could tell exactly what she was thinking.

  A fierce stab of longing hit him deep in his belly. He wanted nothing more than to join her in the shower. To touch her and renew their relationship under the soothing hot spray and warm suds. To lovingly wash the memory of the attack from her hair and her body.

  But he forced himself to say instead, “I’ll wait right outside the door.”

  She regarded him for a few endless seconds, said, “Okay. I’ll get my towel,” then turned and disappeared into his stateroom, snicking the door shut behind her.

  He was doing the right thing, he told himself. Then he closed his eyes and softly cursed.

  And never felt more alone in his life.

  Half an hour later Nikolai was back at the central command post. Brooking no arguments with Julie regarding his watch over her, he’d tucked her off to one side in one of the console chairs that went unused because of the abbreviated crew. Misha had found her a clean coverall somewhere—and knew his captain well enough to choose one with no crew member’s name sewn onto it—and she sat there wrapped in a blanket Nikolai himself had fetched for her, quietly observing the bustle of activity as they once again prepared to dive the boat.

  He’d also asked the chop to bring her a glass of hot, fragrant tea with lots of sugar to help stave off shock, even though she kept saying said she was fine.

  She was putting on a brave front, but one look at her ashen face and shadowed eyes, and he knew better. She was not fine.

  Who could blame her for being afraid? Walker, or whoever the saboteur was, had upped the ante, using deadly force to try and ensure she would not find the hidden SD card. After taking such a huge risk, the would-be killer would not stop until the card was in his possession. Which meant Julie would be in constant danger until they figured out for sure who it was and dealt
with him.

  The crew was also agitated, rumors flying wildly about Walker, and why the man would possibly attack Julie—why anyone would do such an awful thing to the captain’s lady.

  Nikolai was growing just uncertain enough of Walker’s guilt that he gave in and launched a full-out investigation of everyone on board. Upon returning to the central post, Nikolai took his senior officers aside and ordered Starpom Varnas, Praporshchik Zubkin, and Kvartirmyeister Kresney to carry out the questioning of the crew, under the leadership of the security officer.

  “But what about the depth drill?” Zubkin protested. “We should be at our posts for that.”

  “This investigation takes precedence,” Nikolai told him forcefully. “I want to know who is guilty of this atrocity!”

  “How would you like us to proceed?” asked the security officer, ignoring the praporshchik’s scowl.

  “Interrogate every man on board as to their movements before, during, and after the departure of the scientists,” Nikolai ordered, pacing back and forth. He whirled back to them. “And then you’re to corroborate all the statements with at least two witnesses.”

  “But sir—”

  “No exceptions!” he snapped. “I want a list of anyone who can’t verify their whereabouts with absolute certainty. And I want to know where Walker was for every damn minute until he left the boat!”

  “What about the other scientists?” Varnas interjected.

  Nikolai scowled. “By the time we return to Attu and pick them up tonight, we should know if the guilty party is one of the crew. If not, I will interrogate Walker and the scientists personally.” The others nodded. “Now get going. I want this bastard found. Today.”

  “Da, Kapitan,” they all responded, coming to attention.

  While the three officers turned over their watches, Nikolai stepped into the radio room and gave Lyeĭtenant Petrov a message to encrypt and send to Naval Command informing them of the latest developments and requesting they do an investigation of Walker plus a careful background on everyone on the crew, and be ready to relay the results as soon as Ostrov surfaced again. He figured if the saboteur wasn’t Walker but someone officially working for his own side, that request should flush out the truth.

  He also sent a short message to Comrade Cherenkov, giving the FSB word of the attack on Julie, as well as a one-sentence statement of her mission as he’d learned it.

  He tried not to feel like he was betraying her, informing on her like that. But it was best this way. If anything else happened and he wasn’t around to defend her, at least the FSB would know she hadn’t been spying on Russia and she wouldn’t end up in a Moscow prison.

  Or worse.

  When he emerged from the radio room along with Danya Petrov, his three senior officers headed off to formulate a plan and start questioning the crew.

  Nothing else for it. Time to get back to the business of the day.

  Nikolai glanced around at the new faces manning the watch posts, including the two planesmen who hadn’t been needed while transiting on the surface. They all followed his movements expectantly. Everyone seemed tense and on edge. His own nerves were strung tight as an anchor chain.

  Just then, Gavrikov called over the circuit from the sonar shack, “Conn, sonar. Kapitan, I have a contact.”

  “Sonar, conn. What kind of vessel?” His stomach tightened even more. Like he needed to ask.

  “It’s the Chinese 093, sir,” Gavrikov replied.

  Nikolai’s day was complete.

  Although . . .

  Hell, they could all use a good, solid distraction. Nothing like a real-time game of cat and mouse to get the men’s attention back where it should be. Not to mention his own.

  “Bearing?” he asked.

  He narrowed his eyes as Gavrikov rattled off the bearing, checking the repeater on the control console monitor as he listened.

  “Very well, Starshina,” he said. The blip was barely visible in the waterfall; the enemy sub was keeping to the outer fringes of their sonar range. Every man in the central post knew what the bearing meant. The Shang class was taunting Ostrov. Daring Nikolai to pull another stunt like yesterday’s.

  The tension in the space was suddenly electric. The men all swung around to look at him questioningly.

  Nikolai smiled with satisfaction.

  “They want to play?” he said, then turned to the OOD. “Very well. Mr. Borovsky, submerge the boat and take us to oh-four-zero meters. Steady on course zero-two-five.”

  Borovsky snapped to. “Submerge the boat to oh-four-zero meters, steady on course zero-two-five, aye, sir!”

  As the OOD passed his orders on to the diving officer, Nikolai glanced over to make sure Julie was still okay and upright in her seat.

  Overhead, the klaxon sounded and 1MC blared out its warning, “Dive! Dive!”

  Their eyes met. Hers were wide and anxious. He smiled reassuringly, trying to let her know she’d be okay. He’d keep her safe, come what may.

  He just hoped to hell he could make it true.

  25

  “Dive! Dive!”

  Julie’s heart stalled when she heard the loud squawk from the overhead speaker. The words were in Russian, but she didn’t need a translator to know what the urgent syllables meant.

  This was when she was supposed to have died. All alone in the dark as the icy waters swept through the storage room in the sail, dragging her down into the depths of the fathomless ocean with no way of saving herself.

  God.

  Had it really been Clint who did this to her? She didn’t believe it. If for no other reason than that he’d had ample opportunity last night, as she’d made her phone call, to push her off the edge of the deck. He’d clipped her safety harness to the toe-rail; he could have left it unfastened and merely tipped her off. In the confusion of the celebration no one would even have noticed. No. It wasn’t him. Which meant whoever it was, was still out there. And still able to get to her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and took several deep breaths to calm her racing heartbeat.

  No. It was okay. She was okay. No one was going to get to her. She wouldn’t drown.

  She hadn’t drowned. Nikolai had saved her in time.

  And she wasn’t going to drown now, either. Ostrov was not going to implode, or sink, or whatever submarines did when they sprang a leak. Nikolai would never take the crew on this exercise if he had a single doubt that they’d be able to come up again from the frigid black abyss below.

  The steaming liquid in her tea glass tilted off kilter and she felt the subtle shift of the deck under her as the vessel slipped below the ocean surface. She grabbed the edge of the console, but no one else in the busy command center even seemed to notice the slight change in the angle of their upright stances.

  The blare from the overhead speakers cut off and, as if a switch had been flipped, the compartment went eerily silent. After days of running full tilt under the power of the smelly, noisy diesel engines, the intense quiet of the submarine using its electric motors was almost unnerving. It was like going from the cacophonous streets of summer Manhattan to the winter silence of a snowy Vermont wood.

  She popped her ears at the increasing heaviness of the atmospheric pressure—or maybe she was just feeling the marked jump in tension in the cramped space. Was it her imagination, or was it getting darker, too?

  Even the voices of the men were abnormally hushed as they concentrated with almost palpable intensity on their instrument panels and monitors. She’d never seen them so focused on task. Or were they all just avoiding her gaze? Did they think she was bringing the boat bad luck?

  Was it one of them who’d tried to kill her . . . ?

  She forced her thoughts away from the harrowing incident and watched Nikolai as he strode from station to station, checking everything, having short exchanges with his men. His expression seemed to vacillate between forbidding and . . . oddly, almost eager.

  It was as though he and the crew were all waiting for so
mething to happen. Something other than preparing for a routine dive. . . .

  Abruptly Julie sat straight up in her chair, at once suspicious. She shot a glance over at the sonar repeater screen. Her heartbeat slammed.

  There, on one edge of the cascading image, she recognized the snowy blip of a contact.

  A ship? A whale? The Chinese sub returning . . . ?

  She set down her tea, peeled off her blanket, and caught Nikolai’s arm as he strode past on his way to the navigation table. “Nikolai, what’s going on?”

  He stopped, hesitated a beat, then said, “We just passed the twelve-mile limit, leaving American waters. And the 093 is back.”

  She worried her lower lip. Great. So Clint was right. It hadn’t gone away. But . . . “Surely they won’t try anything, will they?”

  “You mean besides harassing us?” Nikolai shook his head. “That would be pretty damn stupid.”

  “Yeah. I guess. . . .” But she still felt doubtful. As did Nikolai, obviously.

  Especially after what had just happened to her. She desperately wished she could talk with James Thurman at Langley. Get his opinion. Get some help.

  “The Chinese are anything but stupid,” she added in a murmur, hoping to convince herself they really weren’t planning anything.

  Thank God the SD card was still in her possession, wrapped in a tissue and transferred safely after her shower to her coverall pocket. If her assailant had searched her for it, he hadn’t checked her jeans coin pocket. Which, to her—though she could be wrong—pointed to a non-American as the culprit, since she’d noticed foreign jeans seldom had that convenient feature. But it would be the first place an American would look.

  Her boss was going to be thrilled at the news she’d succeeded. But even before finding the micro data card, she’d planned to borrow Clint’s phone on Attu and ask Thurman if he’d learned anything about the Chinese sub situation, from one of their assets in China perhaps.

  It was weird, but this whole thing was beginning to feel like a setup to her. An elaborate trap of some kind.

  And yet, that made no sense.