by David Archer
Everything was set for the mission, and Jenny quietly told the men to prepare. Her guess proved correct when the sound of a helicopter reached their ears, and they looked back to see one approaching at high speed. It seemed to hunt around for a few moments, then zeroed in on the boat with the Kalashnikovs.
The biggest difference between their boat and that of the Kalashnikovs was the forward cabin. Where Jenny and the men had to stand out in the weather to watch the whales, the Minister and his family were able to stay inside and watch through clear viewports. They were already inside when the helicopter appeared, and by the time it began hovering overhead, Jenny knew that they were probably inside the escape pods and waiting nervously for what was coming next.
* * * * *
In the Kalashnikov’s yacht, Anton Kalashnikov saw the whale that was staying close to the boat and knew that it was time. That was the signal he had been told to watch for and he cleared his throat noisily.
“My family,” he said, “there is something I must tell you. We are about to embark on a great new adventure.”
His wife, who was aware of the plan to defect to the west, looked at him nervously. “It is time?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes,” he said. He turned to his children, Piotr and Olga. “You must both do exactly as I say. We are not returning to our home, children, because we are leaving today for a new life in the United States of America. There are things happening in Russia that endanger us all, and I want both of you to grow up safe and in freedom.”
Piotr stared at him while Olga started to cry. “Father, in America?” Piotr asked. “Why would you do this to us?”
“I will explain everything later,” Kalashnikov said, “but this is not the time. Right now we must go below the deck. Come, we must go now.”
With Olga still crying, Kalashnikov led his family into the belly of the vessel. There were four objects attached to the inside of the hull, and it took him a moment to find the catch that caused one of them to open. When he succeeded, he showed it to the rest of them.
“We get inside these,” he said. “In a short while, there will be an explosion and we will be released into the water. A special submarine will pick us up and take us to a ship, and from there we will be taken to America. All you have to do is get inside. When it is opened again, we will be on the ship.”
“But I do not wish to leave Russia,” Piotr said. “My school, my friends, I do not wish to leave them.”
“Piotr, listen to me. You know that I have a high position in the Russian Federation. I have become aware of plans that will leave Russia open to war, and such a war as we have not seen before. If it happens, Moscow will be utterly destroyed, and that would mean that our family would die. I have spoken with Americans who are willing to see to it that we live very well in their country, and the information that I will give them may help to prevent that war from ever happening. Is giving up our home too great a price to save the world?”
“Mother,” Olga cried, “don’t make me do this! If we go into those things, we could die, we could be lost in the sea and die there!”
Ivana wrapped an arm around her daughter and pulled her close. “Do not be afraid, Olga,” she said. “This has all been carefully prepared so that we will all be safe. Trust your father. He has not done this lightly, but only when he was certain that it is the only way to keep us all safe and together.”
Piotr argued and Olga wept, but both of them got into the canisters, and then Kalashnikov helped his wife get into her own. He smiled as he closed it tight and then climbed into the last of them.
As soon as it latched shut, a small screen in front of his face lit up and a message appeared, written in Russian.
Please relax and remain calm. You are perfectly safe and there is more than enough air in this unit. You will not be in it for more than a few hours.
Kalashnikov suddenly wished he had thought to use the toilet before getting into the canister. At his age, holding his water was not always an easy thing to do.
Suddenly it didn’t matter, as a massive explosion seemed to throw the entire yacht upward. It crashed back down a moment later and he was thankful for the foam padding that kept him cradled and safe from being bashed about. There was a moment of calm and quiet and then a sudden lurch as the bottom of the boat came apart and the canisters were dropped into the water.
The churning water tossed the canister around and for a moment Kalashnikov felt that he was almost upside down. It righted itself after a few seconds and then seemed to be slowly sinking. He fought down his rising panic, thinking of what his wife and children must be going through at that moment.
Something impacted the canister and bumped it, then it seemed to come to rest for a moment. Seconds later, it was sloshing in water once again, but then there was another moment of calm. This happened a couple of more times and then the canister settled onto something slightly off level so that he was leaning gently on his right side. The padding still cushioned him and he was able to steady his breathing after a few minutes.
There was still a sense of motion, but it was very gentle. The canister seemed to be moving up and down, sometimes with his head upward and other times with it angled downward slightly. The motion was actually quite soothing and reminded him of the sensation of floating on an inflatable raft in ocean waves. He couldn’t quite relax enough to drift off to sleep, but there were moments when he felt he might.
How long it lasted, he had no idea. The gentle, wavelike motions seemed to make time unimportant, so it may have been only an hour, or could have been several. Finally, the motion stopped and he felt as if he might be rising, but then there was a solid clank and all motion ceased.
* * * * *
Lieutenant Butch Alderman carefully dropped Big Willie back behind the yacht, descending under the waves and using the powerful, hydraulically-operated tail to keep the boat in sight. The video screen in front of him showed a very clear view, constructed of input from cameras mounted in Willie’s eyes and sonar echoes. The soundwaves the big artificial whale emanated were unlike any sonar used elsewhere, but the software that translated it worked flawlessly. No one who heard it would have any idea that it was part of an underwater echolocation system, so Butch didn’t worry about being detected.
The explosion occurred only moments later, right on schedule. Butch waited until the turbulence generated settled down, knowing that this was when the canisters would be released. Each of them was designed to be only partially buoyant, reaching neutral buoyancy at about fifty feet below the surface. Small, computer-controlled ballast tanks would see to that.
The first one appeared, its faint transponder putting out a signal that could only be detected underwater and within three hundred meters. Butch accelerated slightly and opened Willie’s mouth as he approached it, letting it drift inside. It lodged itself against the inner padding that was designed to look like living tissue, and then Butch spotted and caught the second, the third, and the fourth. When they were all inside, he closed the big mouth and pumped out the excess water. The canisters settled and Butch steered the disguised vessel out to sea.
He kept close to the pod of whales for about an hour until there were no ships close by, then veered off alone. The Hyperion, his mother ship, was moving at its normal slow pace toward his rendezvous point, and it would take him a couple of hours to reach it. Until then, there was little for him to do but pay attention to his heading and listen to the music that was playing in his headphones.
When he got to the ship, cruising along the surface, he dived under and came up below it amidships. Then and only then did he use the short-range transmitter to let the Hyperion know that he was there. A large pair of doors in the bottom of the ship slowly opened, and Butch brought Willie up slowly until it was surfaced in the moon pool near the keel of the ship. The big doors closed and Willie settled onto the cradle that they formed.
Butch shut down the electronics, pulled the lever that opened the escape hatch above his cram
ped pilot’s quarters, and began to climb the ladder. The noise in the bay assaulted him as soon as it opened and got even louder as his head popped up into the air.
“Heeeerre’s Jonah!” That was Commander Wilson, Big Willie’s crew chief, who always announced Butch’s arrival that way. “How did it go?”
“I got them all,” Butch called back. “No problems.”
A gangway was lowered and he stepped onto it as the service crew stepped off. The big charging cables lowered from the bulkhead above them and one of the technicians grabbed it and opened the charging port to plug it in. Willie’s batteries could have gone a few hours longer, but he was always treated to a full charge when he came back from a mission.
Another technician climbed into the cockpit to open Willie’s mouth. The big lower jaw forced the head upward, making it possible to run a gangplank into the mouth. Men were lined up and waiting to rush inside and pick up the canisters, then carry them quickly up into the cargo container that was awaiting them.
Butch stood on the catwalk over the bay and looked down at Big Willie. As he always did after taking Willie out, he whispered a quiet prayer of thanks for the opportunity to see the ocean through Willie’s eyes. He felt there was something special about his assignment, that it gave him a point of view few other men would ever understand.
* * * * *
For a few moments, nothing happened. Kalashnikov laid in his canister and waited for some sign that it was about to open, but then it felt as if it were lifted and carried away by several people. He couldn’t hear anything, but he got the impression that he was being carried in the same way a coffin might be carried. That mental image did nothing to help him stay calm, and he began to feel panic rising once again.
The canister was set onto something and then it was opened. He looked up into the bearded faces of some rough-looking men, and then one of them extended a hand to help him get out of the canister and onto his feet. It was at that moment that he realized he had pissed himself during the ordeal, but he refused to allow himself to feel shame. He suspected that many people would have done the same in such circumstances.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Stanislav,” said one of the men. “These will be your quarters until we reach Japan. It shouldn’t take terribly long, but there are new clothes for you and your family, plenty of snacks and drinks and things to do, and there is a shower and toilet toward the back.”
“Stanislav?” Kalashnikov asked.
“Yes, sir,” the man said. “You’ll find your new identification cards and passports on the table over there. Your name is Yakov Stanislav, now. I don’t remember what your family’s names are, but you’ll find them over there.”
Kalashnikov—or Yakov—looked around and saw his wife and children being helped out of their own canisters. They were on the way to freedom, on the way to new lives that he fervently hoped would keep them safe.
“Listen,” the man said, and Yakov turned to look at him. “I hate to do it, but I have to lock you folks in here. When we get to Japan, this whole container will be lifted off the ship and carried to somewhere else, and then you’ll be released and taken to the airplane that will take you to your new home. Everything you need should be here for now, so I wish you the best of luck in the future.” He held out a hand and Yakov shook it.
A moment later, he and his family were alone and the container was closed and sealed. They went to the table and looked at their new identities, and then sat down to read the back stories that had been created for each of them.
“This will be an incredible opportunity,” he said to his family. “To live in a world without the threat of the SVR hanging over our heads. This is a gift, and we must do all in our power to treat it as one.”
“Is it?” Piotr asked. “You have turned us all into traitors. We have betrayed our country, what kind of gift would that be?”
“It was our country that was betraying us,” Yakov said. “The things that our government is planning will turn most of the world against us over the months to come. Within a year, perhaps two, we will be at war, and I do not believe such a war can happen in this new world without employing nuclear weapons. With our home in Moscow, there is almost no possibility we could survive an attack on that city, and it is inevitable if the war comes. It is my hope that by working with the Americans, I can prevent that war from ever taking place. If I am successful, then perhaps one day we can return to Russia, but for now it is my decision that I want to keep my family safe. If that means living as an American, so be it.”
“But you cannot know that,” Piotr insisted. “You cannot know that such a war will come.”
“Are you not aware of my position? Do you not understand that part of my job is to prepare us for such war? Our prime minister seeks to return to the days of the Soviet Union, to return to the Cold War. Do you believe that the Americans or the British or the Chinese will allow that to happen? The United Nations will sanction us, we will be threatened with trade embargoes that will force us to fight for every drop of petroleum, every morsel of food. The new Soviet Union will seek to build an empire, just to ensure that our own people are safe and secure, but that empire is what will lead to war. This cannot happen. If I must be branded a traitor to prevent it, then I shall be branded a traitor. In my heart, I know that I am loyal to Mother Russia.”
“But, father…”
“That is enough,” Ivana said. “You will respect your father. He is giving up everything for the chance to keep us safe, my son. You have no right to question his decision.”
Piotr glared at both of his parents, then sat down and picked up the passport that had his photo in it. His name was now Peter, and his sister would be called Olivia.
He put his elbows on the table, laid his face in his hands and wept. After a moment, his sister sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders as their parents whispered quietly some distance away.
“It will be all right,” she said softly. “We have talked about what it would be like to live in America. Now we will get to find out.”
“As traitors,” Peter said. “I shall undoubtedly die of shame, one day, knowing that I did nothing to resist what our father has done. If only I had seen the signs, if only I had known that this was coming. I could have run away, I could have stayed.”
“But then I would be alone. I need you, Piotr. How can I face this new life without my big brother?”
“Hmpf,” Peter said. “You should be fine. You always wanted to be able to go to American shopping malls, to go to the parties and schools that you see on the American television programs. You will fit in perfectly there, but I will not. I will be almost a prisoner, because our father will be afraid of what I might say or do.”
“No, he would not treat you that way. Still, would you really tell anyone about this? Would you truly want anyone to know about it? If you are so ashamed, it will be in your own best interest to keep the secret. You can learn to be an American boy, and you have always told me that American girls are much sexier.” She grinned, because she saw the barest hint of a grin on his own face. “They are certainly going to be interested in you, with your mysterious Russian accent. I expect you will have your pick of them.”
“The only reason I will not tell anyone about this is because it could hurt you. I have always been your protector, I will not fail you now. As for the American girls—at least there might be some compensation for my silence.” He sighed deeply. “Perhaps we won’t live in such a big city. I might be able to have an automobile, that would be good. And you, you might be able to achieve your dream.”
She squinted at him. “What dream?”
Her brother laughed, and she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. He was one of the great joys in her life and had always been there when she needed him. Seeing him laugh and smile again was important to her.
“Do you think I don’t hear you when you sing to yourself at night? Do you think I never hear you singing in the bath? Olga, you have the
voice of an angel. Perhaps, in America, you can become famous for your singing.”
“Oh,” she said, her face turning bright red. “That dream. I wasn’t aware that you knew about it.”
Peter shook his head, smiling at her. “That’s because I always kept quiet, so that I could listen to you sing.”
* * * * *
Jenny and her team didn’t have to wait long. They saw the captain speak into a microphone and then start into the cabin, but then the entire front of the boat disintegrated in an explosion. The sharks seemed to scatter for a moment, but then the fins regrouped and headed toward the stricken yacht.
Jenny stood at the rail, watching the events unfold. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open, so disastrous did the scene appear, but then she saw the captain struggling back up out of the cabin and onto the stern. He grabbed the microphone and shouted something into it, then threw it down and picked up something that looked like a duffel bag. They watched as he pulled something out of it, and then the entire bag burst open and became an inflatable life raft. He held onto it as the yacht began to sink, then threw himself into it just before the stern went under the water.
The earbuds Jenny was wearing suddenly stopped playing the music from her iPod, and a voice came through. “Glass Slipper, this is Jonah. All four birds are in the nest.”
The music resumed instantly and Jenny breathed a sigh of relief. The sharks were having an obvious feeding frenzy, and she could hear the occupants of other boats screaming about sharks eating people in the water. She looked closely and saw a body in the water, bloodied and obviously dead, just before three sharks began ripping it to shreds.
As planned, only the captain would be listed as a survivor. Since the Russian government had been notified that Kalashnikov was going to be assassinated, the explosion would almost certainly be accepted as the evidence that the plan had succeeded. Unless a major error were to occur, the Kalashnikovs were home free.
