“Sweet Mother Mary, it’s already been cocked!” he exclaimed in wonder.
“What the hell does that mean?” returned Bernard.
The physicist’s expression was clouded with puzzlement as he explained.
“Somehow, whether intentionally or by mechanical error, the arming circuit of this bomb has been unlocked. This process was apparently done without the use of an authorized PAL code, which leads me to believe that the flight crew responsible for this weapon had been working on it when it was lost.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, Doctor. But how do we explode the damn thing?” asked a very impatient Bernard.
John Maguire answered him directly.
“All you have to do is hook up an electrode to the copper clip on this final circuit board. To initiate the arming sequence, you merely have to zap it with a 12volt charge. You’ll then have about two minutes before the final detonation takes place.”
“That’s it?” Bernard asked, incredulous.
“I’m afraid so,” returned the physicist.
“Because the way it looks to me, someone’s been in here already, doing all the work for you.”
Bernard fought to hold back his excitement as he looked up to address his two associates.
“Did you hear that, comrades? All it takes is a simple automotive battery charger for us to hit our enemy with the most painful blow of all time. We’ve done it, comrades!
And soon the Brotherhood will reign victorious!”
With his glance locked on the silver-haired elder, John Maguire dared to express himself once again.
“Are you still serious about using this device? We’re not talking about any ordinary bomb blast here. This weapon is seventy-five times as powerful as the bomb dropped on Hiroshima, and it is capable of killing millions.”
“Get him out of here!” cried Bernard in disgust.
“Would you like me to drive him back to Dublin?”
asked Tyronne Blackwater.
Bernard thought about this for a moment and answered, “I’ll be taking care of the good doctor, comrade.
Why don’t you go back to the house and find out the exact whereabouts of our tug. It should be docking in Dundalk shortly, and I want to know the second it arrives there.”
“As you wish, Bernard,” replied the current owner of Cootehill House, who briefly met the scientist’s concerned gaze before leaving the barn altogether.
“Why don’t you go and have a seat over by the peat stack, Dr. Maguire,” instructed Bernard.
“I’ll be taking care of you shortly.”
“But you said I could speak to my family once I finished helping you,” reminded the physicist.
“I said go over there and sit, Doctor!” directed the terrorist angrily.
Daring not to incur Bernard’s full wrath, John Maguire did as instructed. This left Bernard and Marie alone beside the pallet.
“Well, Bernard, should I return him to the city?”
whispered the redhead.
“Are you kidding?” returned Bernard.
“The good doctor knows too much already. I think it’s best for all concerned if I take him for a little walk in the bog.”
Knowing full well what he meant by this, Marie again queried.
“And his family?”
“Tell the lads to eliminate the pigs!” spat the terrorist icily.
Without batting an eye, the redhead turned to convey this directive. As she passed the seated scientist, she flashed him the briefest of pitiful stares before ducking out into the sunlight beyond.
Captain Mikhail Borisov had only one day to himself before his unexpected duty was to call him back to his command. With no family or friends to speak of, the blond-haired Spetsnaz officer was free to spend this brief leave as he liked. The island of Kronstadt was not the most scenic place, and since he had no time to travel into nearby Leningrad, Mikhail decided to spend his time holed up in the best hotel in town. To keep him company, the muscular commando invited Tanya Brusovo to join him.
He had met Tanya at a party at the officers’ club three months ago and was immediately attracted to her dark eyes, long black hair, huge breasts, and shapely legs. As he found out over drinks, she was a delightful conversationalist whose stories about growing up on the shores of Lake Baikal were genuinely interesting.
And as he was soon to learn that very evening, she was also a wild woman in bed.
Only recently divorced from a submariner, Tanya worked in Admiral Starobin’s office as a secretary.
Mikhail didn’t feel the least bit uneasy as he intervened on her behalf and asked the admiral if she could miss a day of work to spend time with him. With a grin and a wink, the senior officer approved this request and even provided three bottles of Ukrainian champagne in the event that either of them got thirsty.
A fierce storm was in the process of blowing in from the Baltic as the taxi carrying Mikhail and Tanya arrived at the canopied entrance to the Hotel Piskar.
The Spetsnaz commando shoved some rubles into the driver’s hand and roughly pulled his date from backseat of the Lada.
“It looks like we’re going to be in for quite a storm,” observed Tanya, who tried vainly to keep her new hairdo from being blown apart by the gale-force winds.
“As long as the roof stays on, let it blow!” returned Mikhail as he led the way inside.
The desk clerk was an elderly babushka whose eyes lit up upon spotting Mikhail’s uniform.
“Ah, I see I have the honor of serving one of our naval heroes this morning. My late husband was in the Red Banner fleet for twenty of our forty years together. Those were wonderful days, though now that he’s gone, I do wish we’d been able to spend more time together. My dearest Pasha loved the sea and was presented an Order of Lenin second class for seeing action against the Nazis while headed for Murmansk. Why do you know that once he even had the honor of seeing Stalin himself?
His ship was docked here in Kronstadt when our beloved leader emerged on the deck of the cruiser beside him. Pasha’s eyes never failed to light up whenever he described that special day.”
“He sounds like quite a man,” offered Mikhail quickly as the babushka halted to catch her breath.
“I’d love to hear more of his wartime experiences, but my leave is short and we haven’t seen each other in over a month.”
There was a sparkle in the old lady’s gray eyes as she turned toward Tanya and smiled.
“There’s no need to explain, comrade. Just sign the register here, and I’ll give you the best room in the house for the standard tourist rate. You’ll even have your own bathroom and a lovely view of the harbor… though I doubt there’s much to see on a stormy day like this.”
Mikhail signed the ledger and took the key.
“Can I get you anything before you go up?” offered the clerk.
“I could make up some breakfast, if you’d like. Or how about a nice piping hot pot of tea?”
“You’re most gracious, comrade, but we’ll be just fine with the room,” returned Mikhail, who took Tanya’s warm hand in his and led her up the staircase.
“What a delightful old lady,” reflected Tanya as they reached the second floor landing and searched for their room.
Mikhail spotted it at the very end of the corridor and anxiously led them toward it.
“She sounds a bit lonely,” he added.
“Why don’t I go back downstairs and invite her up for a drink? Why I bet she’d love a glass of champagne. And then she could tell us the story of her life.”
A disappointed look crossed Tanya’s face, though Mikhail was quick to change her mood when he grabbed her by the buttocks and pulled her close. It was after giving her a deep, wet kiss on the lips that he seductively whispered, “Don’t worry, my little sex kitten. I’m yours alone for this entire glorious day.”
With his free hand he managed to open the door to their room and then kick it shut with his foot. They went straight to the king-sized bed witho
ut even bothering to open the champagne. Mikhail couldn’t wait to get at Tanya’s luscious breasts and nearly ripped off her blouse as he reached in to fondle them. By the time he got her bra off, her massive nipples were red and hard, and Mikhail bent over to suckle them. As his tongue went to work on her erect nipples, Tanya began breathlessly panting. Inflamed by his touch, she reached down to fondle Mikhail’s swollen crotch. She seemed to like what she found down there as she unzipped his pants and tenderly stroked his throbbing, thick erection.
“I’ve got to have you inside of me,” cooed Tanya passionately.
Quick to satisfy this request, Mikhail pulled off the rest of his clothes, and did the same to Tanya’s. He laid her out on the rumpled white sheets and took a second to lustfully examine her shapely body before climbing on top of her.
Their lips met hungrily, and while their probing tongues intertwined, Mikhail guided the head of his rock-hard phallus up against the moist lips of his lover’s vagina. Well aware of the abnormally large size of his manhood, he carefully pushed his hips downward.
Tanya’s kisses became more frantic as he continued pushing himself forward, until after what seemed like a blissful eternity, his all was given.
All so slowly now, he reversed the direction of his thrust until his phallus was just about to be pulled free. Yet before it did so, he slid it downwards once again, this time plunging it into the hot, sticky depths with a smooth, quick stroke. Tanya ahhed in delight, her pleasure further heightened as he began thrusting into her with a spirited rhythm. In order to take his all, she kicked up her legs overhead and attempted to merge her trembling body into that of her lover.
Oblivious to the crackle of lightning, the booming thunder, and the howling wind outside that constantly rattled the only window, they made love in this position for a good quarter of an hour before the grinding motion of Tanya’s hips began to further intensify.
Mikhail noted this change, accompanied by the deep probings of her tongue. Instinctively quickening the pace of his thrusts, he felt his own climax began to rise.
Suddenly Tanya’s body began quivering, and her soft, white skin filled with goose bumps. Grunting in ecstasy, she shoved her hips upward as her womb erupted in sheer bliss. Mikhail felt a surge of molten hot fluid fill her depths, and let loose with his own eruption. Seed that had been stored inside of him for weeks on end rose upward in a spine-tingling orgasm, and not until Tanya had milked him dry did their hips stop grinding.
For the rest of the day, they continued their lovemaking, with only the champagne and their passion to nourish them. The sun had long since set, the storm no longer audible outside, when Mikhail reluctantly informed his lover that it was time for him to return to duty. After a long hot shower, he crawled back onto the bed where Tanya awaited him. They kissed, and Tanya pulled her head back and softly whispered, “You are truly the lion of the Spetsnaz, Mikhail dearest. Go in peace, and may it not be long until the sea sends you back to my lips.”
Mikhail left the hotel alone. Tanya’s scent was still with him as he crisply walked down a deserted side street whose narrow length was partially flooded by the day’s storm. He had to display his identification card to be allowed entry through the barbed-wire topped gates that surrounded the pier. Here a tough-looking Uzbekian sentry approached him with a German shepard on a short steel leash. The dog proceeded to sniff Mikhail’s clothing, and after determining that he wasn’t carrying any illicit drugs onto the base, meekly backed away.
The Spetsnaz commando knew that for the most part, these dogs were merely for show. The drug problem that infected the Red Banner fleet was a very serious one. Hashish and opium smuggled up from the south were the most abused substances. Utilized to fill those long, lonely hours that a sailor was faced with while at sea, the drugs slowed reaction time and dulled mental alertness. Such conditions could mean disaster in times of crisis, and the fleet was attempting to deal with the crisis by stricter security measures and a variety of drug education programs.
Ever thankful for his limited vices, Mikhail approached the pier where his current command was hidden away in the moon pool of the Ugra-class support ship. Immediately beside the gantry way of this vessel, a shiny black Chaika limousine was parked. Mikhail briefly stopped to admire this automobile that flew the crimson red pennants of the Admiral of the Fleet from its chrome grill.
“Captain Borisov!” shouted a voice from the gangplank.
Looking up to see who was calling him, Mikhail was soon facing the same eager aide who had initially invited him to join Admiral Starobin for dinner at the officers’ club a mere twenty-four hours ago.
“I’m glad you got here, sir,” added the breathless junior officer.
“Admiral of the Fleet Markov and Admiral Starobin have been waiting for you for a good ten minutes now. They instructed me to escort you to the Ugra’s wardroom as soon as you arrived.”
“Well then, lead on,” said Mikhail.
As he climbed onto the support ship and began his way through a maze of twisting corridors, Mikhail couldn’t help but be impressed by the identities of the two officers currently waiting for his presence. It was awkward enough to keep an important figure such as Igor Starobin waiting. Yet if he had known that the Admiral of the Fleet himself would be down here like this, Mikhail would have curtailed his delightful lovemaking session and left for the pier a bit earlier.
Konstantin Markov was a naval legend. Mikhail had only met him face to face once before, when he received his advanced commission after graduating from Leningrad’s prestigious A. A. Grechko Naval Academy.
Responsible for the current state of the motherland’s fleet, Admiral Markov was a man of vision who rose to power in those dark, confusing days that followed the conclusion of the Great War. As an advocate of a strong submarine force, he fought off those in the Defense Ministry who desired to channel the Rodina’s limited funds into the surface fleet. He eventually succeeded in this endeavor, and today the Soviet Union had the most powerful armada of submersibles the world had ever known. Proud that his Sea Devil was part of this program, Mikhail crossed through officer’s country and gratefully ducked into the wardroom.
He found the two admirals seated at the circular table drinking tea, along with the Ugra’s captain and its Zampolit.
“Well there you are, Captain Borisov,” greeted Igor Starobin.
“Look who’s come down here to wish you a fond farewell.”
Taking this as their cue to leave, the Ugra’s senior officers excused themselves, along with the aide who had acted as Mikhail’s escort.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again. Admiral Markov,” offered the Spetsnaz commando smartly.
The Admiral of the Fleet stood and embraced Mikhail.
“The pleasure’s all mine, comrade. Though it’s been over a decade since we last talked face to face, don’t think that you’ve been out of my thoughts.
I’ve followed your illustrious career with great interest, and it’s with pride and admiration that I stand before you.”
“I hope your leave went well,” Igor said with a wink.
“I had a delightful time. Sir. In fact, I’m afraid I got a bit carried away. Please excuse my tardiness.”
“Nonsense,” retorted the Admiral of the Fleet.
“It’s we who are early this evening. And besides, we passed the time talking with Captain Yuriatan and his political officer. They seem to run an efficient operation here, one that should have no trouble getting your Sea Devil out into the North Sea.”
“I thought that we were going to be traveling by submarine,” observed Mikhail.
“When we first spoke, that had been the intention,” explained Admiral Starobin.
“But because of our severe time constraints, it was decided to have the Ugra offer you transit on the first leg of your mission. They’ll be carrying your Sea Devil as far as the Orkney Islands.
Here you’ll rendezvous with the India-class submarine Lagoda. This vessel will then c
onvey you all the way to the entrance to the Firth of Clyde. The Lagoda will also remain on picket duty while you proceed with your mission, and will provide your transport back to Murmansk once the mission is completed.”
“And what a glorious mission it will be!” exclaimed the wide-eyed Admiral of the Fleet.
“When I first heard Admiral Starobin present it, I remember thinking that it hadn’t been since the Great War that such an ingenious plan had been attempted. To tell you the truth, I was as surprised as the Admiral here when the Premier gave us the go-ahead. And all along we thought that our leaders in the Kremlin were spineless!”
“There’s hope for the future of the motherland yet,” added Igor Starobin.
“This will be especially apparent once the Americans are forced out of Holy Loch. And by the way, we’ve determined the identity of the submarine that your charges will be attached to. For security reasons, we picked one of their older Permit-class attack subs. Its precise anchorage and a detailed diagram of its hull are included in your sailing packet.”
“Do you really think that Sea Devil can do it, Captain?”
asked the Admiral of the Fleet.
Without hesitation, Mikhail answered, “Why of course she can, Admiral. Although it’s true that I’m an officer in the Spetsnaz, I love life too much to volunteer for a mission that I thought would be suicidal.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear, comrade,” returned Konstantin Markov with a relieved sigh.
Admiral Starobin looked down at his watch and stood.
“The tide will be changing shortly, and that means that the Ugra will soon be setting sail. Shall we go down into the moon pool to take one last look at Sea Devil before we’re forced to leave, Admiral Markov?”
“By all means,” answered the Admiral of the Fleet.
“I believe I can lead us down there without getting us lost,” offered Mikhail Borisov.
“If you can sneak a tracked mini-sub deep into uncharted enemy waters, surely finding the moon pool should be the least of your worries,” joked Konstantin Markov, who followed the young captain out of the wardroom.
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