Pacino trained his binoculars to the bearing. “There he is,” he said.
“What is it?” Cooper asked.
“Russian trawler. Or more accurately, a Russian spy ship disguised as a trawler. Lurking just outside our territorial waters.”
Cooper scanned it with his binoculars.
“Report it to the captain,” Pacino ordered.
Cooper picked up the 7MC and made the report to Seagraves, who simply said, “Captain, aye.”
“I see now why the captain decided to keep our radar off.”
“We’ll rotate and radiate once we turn to the northeast,” Pacino said. “The Russian will be well astern by then, and we’ll be seeing heavy traffic inbound to Boston Harbor.”
As Nantucket grew close, at the hour of 1800, their watch reliefs climbed up to the bridge — Varney and Short Hull — and Pacino and Cooper turned over the watch and climbed back into the submarine.
They hurried down the ladder to the middle level and found the captain seated at the end of the table, digging into the traditional meal he’d called for when the sub got underway, New York strip steak with mashed potatoes.
“Go ahead, Coop,” Pacino said to Short Hull.
“Captain, Mr. Pacino and I have been properly relieved of the deck and the conn by Mr. Varney and Mr. Cooper. Ship is steaming at full on course zero nine eight in the channel to the south of Nantucket headed to Point Foxtrot where we will turn northeast. Reactor is natural circulation and the electric plant is in a normal full-power lineup.”
Seagraves frowned up at Cooper for a moment, then said, “You did an adequate job up there, Mr. Cooper. Have a seat and get some chow.”
Cooper looked disappointed as he pulled up a chair next to Pacino. Pacino smirked at Cooper and said quietly, “The word ‘adequate’ means ‘perfect’ in the captain’s usage.”
“Why?” Cooper asked.
Pacino shrugged. “He worries we’ll get cocky and then something would go wrong. It’s his sailor’s superstition.”
“You
Pacino laughed. “None taken.”
Vostov knocked on Anya’s door and opened it slowly. He found her in Nanny Roksana’s lap, being read a story. Her eyes were red and swollen, and when she looked up at him, tears formed and rolled down her cheeks. She jumped to her feet and ran to him and hugged him, her tears wetting his jeans. He sank to a crouch and hugged her tight, glancing up to the nanny and waving her out with his head. Two SBP security troops in tactical gear stood in the room’s corners away from the door, both trying to look inconspicuous and both failing.
“Let’s sit down together, okay?” he said gently to her and she nodded, sniffling. He guided her to the overstuffed chair where she liked to have stories read to her before bed. The room was almost identical to her room in the Kremlin complex apartment, which had taken some doing, since the north dacha was much different than the ornate apartment.
The north dacha was a three-story log cabin set in deep woods, with a yard big enough to land a military helicopter, but beyond that, the trees were too thick to see anything beyond the edge of the helipad. Vostov liked this house much better than his gigantic and official presidential retreat fifty kilometers south of Moscow, which was even more ornate than the Kremlin compound, all white marble and soaring halls, as if it had been built by a seventeenth century Tsar. This log lodge had been designed by Vostov personally — perhaps “design” was an exaggeration. He’d sketched on cocktail napkins and a team of architects had given birth to drawings and models, and he’d changed it over and over until it met his approval. Of course, Larisa had always hated it, and usually found an excuse to avoid coming here, but that was fine with Vostov, since it gave him more time to be with Anya by himself.
“I can see that you are very sad about Mommy,” Vostov opened.
“Daddy, did
“No, Anya. Mommy was in a store and some very bad men came in and took over the store. They tried to get some of their bad men friends sprung out of prison. They threatened to hurt Mommy. But guards like those nice men over there,” he nodded his head at one of the SBP men, “went into the store to rescue Mommy, and they did. They shot all the bad men. But the gas they used to put the bad men to sleep, well, that’s what hurt Mommy. Mommy had a very weak heart and nobody knew that. They didn’t find that out until Mommy was in the hospital. They tried to save her, but her heart was too weak, baby, and — I’m so sorry — but Mommy died.”
For the next few minutes Anya just cried and wailed in his lap. What can be said to a six-year-old in the face of death, he wondered. He held her tight and waited for her to calm down.
“Now, in a few minutes, we’re going to get dressed in our best clothes and we’re going to travel to Mommy’s funeral. Do you know what a funeral is?”
