Orlov instantly saw the implications and thought of a dozen obscenities he wanted to scream out loud. None of them, however, was profane enough to fit the occasion, so he kept his silence.
Marinesko hesitated then went on uncomfortably. “We took on 48 new crew members while at anchor off Kotelny. We’re looking into all of them, narrowing down the choices. Temp is fairly certain the dead man is—or was—a matros, a sailor.”
Orlov’s mind raced. A saboteur? A spy? Until a few seconds ago he hadn’t imagined how the situation could be any worse. But now…
“Physical characteristics,” he said. “What sort of person are we looking for?”
“I don’t…” Marinesko shifted his weight with a pained expression. “They didn’t say. The body… I assume the decomposition…”
Orlov pounded the table softly with the heel of his fist. “Height, weight… They must be able to at least guess at some of it.”
The captain nodded. “That would narrow the possibilities further. I’ll find out immediately.”
As the captain turned to go Orlov stopped him. “Valentin, we’ll never get this chance again. We cannot afford to fail.”
“I know.”
“I’m aware you don’t have the manpower to conduct this quickly. Narrow it down. Find a way. And watch that new medic—Rostropovich.”
The corner of Marinesko’s mouth turned up briefly. “He’s at the top of my list.”
Chapter 46
July 28
The Chechen strolled into sickbay as if he belonged there. He did, of course, and the medic on duty wouldn’t think twice about his being there. But he stopped dead, heart welling up into his throat in panic at the sight of an empty hallway. The gurney had disappeared. He ducked his head into the radiology room, then two surgery suites, his panic growing. Nothing. He bypassed the ophthalmology suite and quickly stepped into an exam room. Everything in the room belonged, and nothing was out of place. Had an emergency call gone out that he didn’t know about?
Pulse rising and sweat breaking out on his forehead, he hurried to the office to check the log. As he rushed inside, he nearly fell over the errant gurney. Heart nearly bursting from his chest now with fear that he’d been discovered, he crouched and whipped the sheet aside. The duffel was as he’d left it. He frowned and stood, silently padding to the doorway and peering out. His frantic search had raised no alarms, caused no curiosity. Returning to the side of the gurney, he leaned over and hefted the weighty bag out from under the drape. Checking the hallway once more, he strode out of the infirmary carrying the bag as if it held nothing more substantial than a dirty uniform or two.
Outside the mess hall he swiped his arm across his forehead, mopping the sweat with his sleeve. Then he steeled himself with a deep breath and got in line for chow. He set the bag on the deck between his feet, and as the men ahead moved, he picked it up and set it down again so he could slide his tray down the serving line.
A starshina behind him smacked him on the shoulder with a grin. “Laundry, eh? Shorts full of govno? Brown skid marks?”
The sailors around him laughed. The Chechen balled the fingers of one hand, wishing he could smash the man’s smile through the back of his skull. Instead, he smiled weakly at the bad joke and moved down the line. When his plate was full, he took his tray in one hand and the duffel in the other and went to look for a seat. He spotted the perfect place along one of the bulkheads. Excusing himself, he eased behind two sailors to the empty spot, set his tray on the table and placed the duffel on the deck at his feet.
The food tasted like sawdust so he ate quickly, choking it down. His eyes never stopped moving as he looked for any sign of discovery or suspicion. He tried to tune out the general din and focus in on words that floated past, listening for signals that he’d been betrayed. He nodded politely and smiled whenever his tablemates tried to include him in conversation, but their comments and questions barely registered. The radio transmitter in his pocket burned against his leg, and his palms grew so damp the fork kept slipping in his grip.
Mercifully, the tables began to turn over as the first meal shift ended and the second began. He shoved the duffel farther under the table with his foot and gathered his dishes and utensils on his tray. He hesitated a moment, eyes still scanning the mess, taking in expressions, movements. There, near the end of the serving line, he spotted someone he knew, and as the man turned to look for a chair, the Chechen raised his arm and waved, then stood and picked up his tray.
He’d just found the perfect patsy for what he was about to do—if they found enough pieces of the man’s body after the shell exploded, that is.
Chapter 47
July 28
Janet pushed away from her desk with a sigh and stretched. Afternoon sun slanted through slatted blinds painting stripes across her uniform blouse and skirt. Weariness had settled in like a deep ache, and her head throbbed with the pain of an oncoming migraine. She’d been up for nearly thirty-six hours, and other than her brief date which seemed so long ago it was dreamlike she’d spent most of that time at her desk, staring at her computer screen. She rummaged through a drawer for a bottle of ibuprofen. After shaking three tablets into her palm, she tossed the pills on the back of her tongue and swallowed them dry. Her purse yielded a compact, and her face soured at the image reflected back at her. She snapped it shut. Nothing that twelve hours of sleep and a little Botox wouldn’t cure.
She glanced at her computer and sighed again, wishing she could think up an excuse to go home and fall into bed. Finding none, she swiveled her chair to face the keyboard. The information on her monitor blurred. Her brain refused to accept any more input. Exhaustion wasn’t the only reason she needed a break. She’d tried to focus on the various projects she had on her desk as well as juggling a couple that Reyna’s departure had orphaned. But her mind kept straying back to the satellite photos she’d seen earlier. Luckily, she’d come up with a bullshit reason for the satellite intel on her screen quickly enough that her glib answer had convinced Farley it was legit. And he hadn’t gotten a close enough look to doubt her. Now, the images’ siren call was too tempting to ignore.
She craned her neck in all direction to see if anyone was watching, then hitched herself closer to the monitor. Fingers flying over the keyboard, she pulled up the database with the photo archives and zeroed in on the date of the last photo she’d seen. Opening it up, she zoomed out and searched the photo quadrant by quadrant until she spotted the dark, elongated shape of the Russian destroyer against the deep blue of the surrounding water. It had sailed around the north side of Kotelny Island and then turned east. Curious, she pulled up the following day’s file and opened a photo taken at about the same time of day. The ship had moved nearly 600 kilometers in that direction.
The chirrup of her phone made her pause.
She lifted the handset. “Tolliver.”
“Are you ignoring me?”
“What? Oh, Special Agent Parker… Ignoring you? No, why?”
“It’s Tim, remember? I’ve sent you, like, a dozen texts. I thought maybe you fell under a bus, but I checked area hospitals. So, I figured you must be ignoring me.”
“I’m so sorry, Tim. I’ve just been swamped at work. I haven’t been home in two days, and if you saw me you’d do your best to pretend you didn’t know me, if you could ignore the smell.”
“That bad?” He sounded rueful. “Guess it’s not the right time to ask you out again.”
“Give me a day or two,” she pleaded. “Once I’m out from under some of these projects and catch up on some sleep, I’ll be a little better at dinner conversation.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
She laughed. “Good. I promise I’m not trying to brush you off.”
“I’m glad. Call you in a day or two then.”
Gazing absently at the monitor, Janet was struck by a stray thought. “Say, the suspect in that case that got your agent killed wouldn’t happen to have been Russian, would he?�
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The silence on the other end of the phone made her instantly regret the question.
“You know I can’t talk about it,” Parker said quietly.
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I mean, you know I can run an SSBI on the guy and find out.”
“You could, but…”
She bit her lip, hearing the implication and the cool tone in his voice. Without a specific request, conducting an SSBI on a suspect in someone else’s investigation would be unethical.
“Really, forget I asked,” she said, a flush creeping up her neck. “I was just curious.”
“Talk to you later, Janet.”
With growing uneasiness she turned back to the computer. Lack of sleep was affecting her judgment. Worse than her unprofessionalism, she may have jeopardized her chances with the first nice guy she’d met in years.
She opened a new file and pulled up another photo. After a minute of searching she finally spotted the now familiar shape. The ship had turned south and was near the Bering Strait. She frowned, wondering why the Russians would move a destroyer from the Northern Fleet around to one of its Pacific Fleet bases like Vladivostok. Nervously, she glanced around the office, but no one paid her any attention. She pulled up another file and checked on the ship’s progress. Well into the Bering Sea, the ship’s bearing appeared to be southerly, not southwesterly toward Vladivostok.
Janet closed the file, turned on her screensaver and sat back to think. The destroyer had left the base on Kotelny within hours of the Akademik Shirshov’s arrival. As an investigator and data analyst, she didn’t believe in coincidence. The Russian vessel had a destination, a mission, and it wasn’t simply a reassignment to a new base. Hunching over her keyboard again, Tolliver did a personnel search, and when she found what she was looking for, she picked up her phone and dialed.
A pleasant male voice answered on the second ring. “NBVC, Point Mugu. How may I direct your call?”
“NAVSOC watch commander, please,” she said.
“I’ll connect you, ma’am. Have a pleasant day.”
Thoughts tumbled through Janet’s head like balls in a gravity-pick lottery machine. She felt if she could only pick out the right ones in sequence, everything would make sense. What she’d seen was troubling enough that she felt it was worth a call to the Naval Satellite Operations Center—NAVSOC. Point Mugu was the west coast naval base where the US Tenth Fleet Cyber Command operated the navy’s global eyes and ears.
A voice on the phone intruded on her musings. “NAVSOC. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to speak to the watch commander, please.”
“Can I ask what this is in regards to?”
Janet made a split-second decision, and with a silent apology said, “This is Commander Chase, ONI HQ. I need to speak with the watch commander about an urgent classified matter.”
“I’ll put you through to Lieutenant Marshall, ma’am.”
She sat through another minute on hold, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. She was so tired she wanted to scream in frustration.
A voice broke the silence. “Lieutenant Marshall.”
“Lieutenant, I’ve been admiring some of the recent photography taken by your space birds, and I saw something that troubles me.”
“What might that be, Commander? Chase, was it?”
“Are you aware that a Russian destroyer from the Northern Fleet passed through the Bering Strait and is encroaching on US territory?”
“I’m sorry, but what’s your interest, ma’am?”
“I can’t tell you that, Lieutenant. It’s part of a classified project I’m working on.” She’d hoped that taking on Reyna’s higher rank and clearance level would get her easy answers, but she sensed she was losing the watch commander. “Look, if you want me to go through channels and put in a requisition, fine, but I thought a friendly conversation might quickly clear the air here. We’ve got no intel that says the Russians planned to move men and materiel from the Northern Fleet to the Pacific Fleet, and based on what I’m seeing, Lieutenant, that destroyer is not heading to Vladivostok.”
“I take your point, ma’am. We are aware of the vessel and its whereabouts, but no one here has expressed concern or seen any reason to take action.”
“Is that so? Are you guys always that nonchalant about foreign warships heading for American waters?”
“Things may be a little different on the east coast, Commander. Out here, we see Russian ships pass through the Bering Strait all the time. As far as I know, we’re not at war with the Russian Federation, so we don’t consider them combatants. And with RIMPAC exercises well underway, half the Russian Pacific Fleet is enjoying the sun around Hawaii.”
“Have you told anyone about this ship’s movements?”
“Why would we?”
“You don’t consider its motives suspect?”
“Sorry we couldn’t help, Commander. Nice talking with you.”
The line went dead. Janet held the receiver out and stared at it, open-mouthed. The son of a bitch had just hung up on her, a superior officer. She sat unmoving, letting exhaustion wash over her. She was so tired.
Fuck it! Let them stew in their own ignorance.
She’d already risked too much. As good as she was, she couldn’t cover her tracks into the NAVSOC database. And now she’d impersonated an officer, an officer who was under investigation for the murder of an NCIS agent. She’d done enough. If Reyna wanted to continue to put herself out there in an attempt to clear her name, Janet couldn’t stop her. But she didn’t have to become an accomplice.
She shook her head, grabbed the coffee cup next to her monitor, swallowed a large mouthful and grimaced at the bitter taste of the tepid liquid. Hell, she already was an accomplice. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t abandon Reyna now. Whatever that destroyer was up to in the Pacific was connected somehow to line items buried on a research budget that had dropped an operative into the harsh, icy environment of Greenland. And that was somehow connected to the trouble Reyna had fallen into.
RIMPAC! How could she have forgotten? RIMPAC was the world’s largest international naval exercise program. Held every two years off the coast of Hawaii, the joint maneuvers involved more than 20 countries, 50-plus ships, 200 aircraft and 25,000 personnel. It had been going on for weeks.
And a Russian destroyer sailed directly toward it all, motive unknown.
Chapter 48
July 28
A battered suitcase lay open a few feet away on Vera’s dining room table. Most of the contents—blouses, skirts, trousers, shorts, sweaters, socks and underwear of every color, all in a size 7—were strewn on the floor. A pink backpack with a Hello Kitty face in white felt appliquéd on it sat in front of the suitcase. Dmitrov pawed through it, yanking out contents one by one, holding each up for inspection before casting it aside. His lacquered hair was tousled, and his raptorial features pinched and cruel.
Reyna sat across the table from me, Katya on her lap, tears streaming down the little girl’s face at the violation of her few possessions. But she didn’t utter a sound. Reyna had her arms wrapped around Katya, and the girl clung to one forearm. My heart ached for her, and each affront to her dignity steeled my resolve, fueled my anger and sharpened my focus.
Reaching the bottom of the backpack, Dmitrov’s jaw clenched. Gun in hand, he strode quickly behind Reyna’s chair, grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. She let out a small gasp of pain as he shoved the barrel of the gun under her nose. Katya yelped with fright and cowered under Dmitrov’s arm.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Just wait!”
“Where is it?” he shouted. “You tell me now or I kill the girl, then this one!”
Every muscle in my body strained as I pulled against the silk bonds and fought to maintain control of the rage that nearly blinded me at the same time.
“Don’t tell him, Blake,” Reyna said. “He’s going to kill us anyway.”
Dmitrov pressed the gun harder against Rey
na’s nose, the barrel bulging her nostril. She winced.
“I swear I’ll put a bullet in her brain right now.”
“Hold on!” I said. “I don’t know where it is, but we think D’Amato sent Katya a package.”
“What kind of package?” He jerked Reyna’s hair. She bucked, her eyes rolling like a bee-stung horse.
“A doll! He sent her a doll.”
Dmitrov looked down at Katya’s bowed head. “Is this right? Did he send you a new doll?”
“You can’t take her!” Katya shrieked, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Where is it?” Dmitrov shouted.
“You threw her on the floor,” Katya cried. “Over there.” She pointed to a corner of the room.
Dmitrov let go of Reyna’s hair and backed up, holding the gun on the two of them. He crouched and felt behind him with his free hand until he grasped the doll. Then he stood and slammed the doll on the table next to the backpack.
“Don’t hurt her!” Katya wailed.
“She’s a kid, Dmitrov!” I yelled. “Take it easy!”
He paid no attention, ripping the clothes off the doll. Katya keened in a high tone like a wounded bird. Reyna stroked her hair with her mouth set in a grim line. I smoldered, gritting my teeth. Bloodlust coursed through me. I’d never wanted to hurt anyone as badly as I wanted to hurt Dmitrov. I could do nothing except bide my time, and the impotence I felt only made me angrier.
The Russian turned the doll over slowly, inspecting it carefully, glancing up occasionally to make sure we hadn’t moved. He tipped it upside down and grunted. He put the doll on the table, set the gun next to it and retrieved a penknife from his pocket. Lifting the doll’s hair off the back of its neck, he pressed the tip of the knife against the plastic head. Katya screamed.
“Shut up!” Dmitrov roared.
He pressed the knife in a little deeper and levered it, creating a small opening. He peered inside and grunted again
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