He finally saw the captain’s quarters and, next to that, the more comfortable guest quarters afforded naval and politburo dignitaries when they came aboard. This was the cabin Salkukoff had been issued. Close to the captain of Peter the Great at all times, Second Captain Dishlakov had informed him.
He frowned when he saw that the usual marine guard who was accorded the commanding officer of any warship was missing. The two cabins were unguarded, and that, he knew, was not good.
Farbeaux had that old familiar feeling of danger that had saved his life on numerous occasions in his dealings with shadowy men. He listened but could hear nothing other than the constant drone of Peter the Great’s engines as they pushed her through the sea. He stepped quickly toward the wooden door. He placed his head closer to the cabin and listened. He heard nothing. He angrily turned and removed his lightweight bulletproof vest and covered the cage-enclosed light, and then he quickly smashed the cage and bulb with the butt of his nine-millimeter silenced handgun, the vest catching their remains before they shattered onto the deck. He lowered all to the tiled deck, and then without thinking about it too much, he quickly reached out and turned the handle and opened the door to Salkukoff’s cabin.
The room was empty. The intel he had received by questioning Second Captain Dishlakov regarding the sleeping arrangements made Henri realize he was in trouble, and he quickly lowered the gun as just then he realized he had been had.
“Step back easily, Colonel,” Salkukoff said as his own Makarov silenced pistol jabbed Henri in the back. “And since you have failed in your mission, you won’t be needing this.” He deftly reached around Farbeaux and pried the pistol from his gloved hand. Henri felt the pressure of the gun barrel ease, and he turned.
“Easy, Colonel. I am no fool.”
Farbeaux looked the Russian in the face close up for the first time. He saw a life of privilege in his soft features. A man who had had everything handed to him. One of the chosen of his mysterious organization. Farbeaux knew the type well, as he himself had been one of the chosen as deemed by the French government in his extensive training. But Henri could see this man was a true believer in his cause. Whatever end game that was, he didn’t know. And if the situation didn’t change very soon, he never would.
“If I thought you were a fool, Colonel Salkukoff, I would have killed you in the Ukraine.” Henri stepped from the darkened cabin and into the shadowy passageway. Salkukoff watched the Frenchman’s hands closely. He gestured with the gun for him to go to Kreshenko’s door and enter. He did so.
Kreshenko’s body was laid out on his bunk. One leg was on and one off the bed. His uniform blouse was off, and he only wore a white undershirt. Evidently, Salkukoff had murdered the man in his sleep. The bullet hole was clearly visible in his forehead. The Russian clicked on the overhead light and stepped into the captain’s cabin and closed the door.
“A tad cowardly,” Henri said as he turned away from the still body of Kreshenko to face the Russian killer.
“And you had a different plan of attack for myself?”
“Yes, I was going to wake you before I killed you, Colonel. I wanted you to see who it was that was ending your life.”
“You have changed since our last meeting in the Ukraine, Colonel Farbeaux. You seem to have lost your edge. I think the Americans are starting to get to you. Fifteen years ago, could I have caught you in the act?”
Henri said nothing. Salkukoff was right. He had indeed lost his killing edge, and he knew it was Colonel Collins and Sarah who had effected this change the most. Still, he could never admit that and never would.
“Before you kill me, answer one question for me.”
“As a professional courtesy, Colonel, why not?” Salkukoff said as he eased his frame onto the captain’s bunk only after slinging the captain’s stiffening leg away from him. He smiled as he tossed Henri’s pistol on the bed next to Kreshenko. “Go ahead,” he said as he kept the silenced Makarov pointed at Farbeaux’s belly.
“Your organization—is it real, or is it nothing more than I suspected all along when the Americans and the British first brought it up, that you and your mysterious benefactors are nothing more than organized crime thugs pulling strings from behind the wizard’s curtain?”
Salkukoff smiled even wider. “Organized, highly. Crime?” He shrugged while the pistol never wavered. “We don’t have race wars, Colonel. We don’t have internal strife, at least behind the curtain, as you so cavalierly put it. We control certain aspects of government but encourage a more direct approach to the problems of this world. The West has become a serious problem. We are no longer going to play the game, Colonel Farbeaux. And soon, we will make our intentions known to the world. With the market cornered on industrial blue diamonds, we will make military strides the West can only dream of. The phase shift operation was only the beginning. There are plans in the works that no one in NATO could ever see coming. Never see because the West is blinded by their arrogance in their stance that they are the righteous. I am here to change all of that. The Northstar Committee is changing it.”
“Sorry I asked,” Henri said as he slowly lowered his hands but raised them again when Salkukoff made a rising gesture with the silenced business end of the Makarov.
“Now, shall we conclude our business, Colonel?” The gun came up toward Farbeaux’s head.
* * *
On the darkened bridge, the officer of the deck walked the ten steps to his communications console and removed the phone from its cradle after receiving the call.
“Bridge,” he said into the handset.
“Lieutenant Kaninen, we have just received a signal from Shiloh. She is slowing to make tight her towline to Simbirsk. Shiloh actual is asking for us to take up station aft of Simbirsk for rescue operations if needed.”
“Signal Shiloh. We will make the course correction immediately.”
“Aye,” came the reply.
“Slow to one-third. Helm, bring her hard over. Give Shiloh and Simbirsk a wide berth. We don’t need a collision. Thirty degrees starboard.”
“Aye, slow to one-third speed, helm at thirty, aye.”
Peter the Great outwardly looked as if she hadn’t slowed at all when she started her wide turn. The mighty ship heeled to the port side at nearly twenty-six knots, going heavily onto her side.
Inside the bridge, her crew grabbed handholds as the force of the turn nearly knocked them from their feet.
It was that way throughout the ship.
* * *
Henri knew he didn’t have the time or the correct distance to make the outcome of the next ten seconds any different from if he didn’t move at all. He waited as Salkukoff aimed for the spot right between his eyes.
The sudden roll to starboard at twenty-six knots slammed Henri into the bulkhead as the chair Salkukoff was sitting in nearly tipped over. The speed of the maneuver increased as Henri saw his opening. He quickly rebounded from the steel wall and used that momentum to sling himself into the Russian. The pistol silently discharged as the bullet missed the Frenchman’s head by an inch. The next round nearly shot his fingers off as he finally managed to grab the barrel of the hot weapon. Peter the Great straightened as she came perpendicular to Shiloh and Simbirsk, and then the cruiser went to full speed. The momentum of the acceleration threw both men from the chair to the deck as they fought for control of the gun.
Finally, the pistol came free after Henri used one of his elbows and jabbed the Russian in his face. The weapon flew across the cabin and clattered to the deck. Farbeaux started smashing his fists into the exposed face of Salkukoff. With every blow, the Frenchman felt the years of hate sliding away as justice was finally being meted out to the killer of Ukrainian children.
Peter the Great again made her turn to finally take up station to the aft side of the towed Simbirsk. As the final turn was completed, Henri felt his advantage slip away as, again, the momentum of the turn threw off the colonel’s balance and gave Salkukoff leverage. Salkukoff pushe
d Henri off for all he was worth. Farbeaux slid into a corner on the tiled deck. His head struck the bulkhead, and he momentarily saw stars. He heard the cabin door open and heard Salkukoff run. Henri quickly regained his senses and reached for the Makarov but couldn’t find it. He stood on shaky legs and then saw his own weapon on the bunk next to the dead body of Kreshenko. He grabbed for it and turned angrily toward the door and then gained the passageway.
The ship was vibrating heavily as Peter the Great’s engines went to full power. Farbeaux stumbled down the passageway until he came to an open door. He reached for the dogged latches, and then he heard the man behind him.
“The colonel said you were far more formidable a man than what I believed. I see his concerns were justified.”
The Frenchman turned and saw the large Russian commando as he stood in his black Nomex BDUs. His unsilenced pistol was aimed straight at Henri. He knew this time no hard maneuvering would avail his limited time here in this backward world. His eyes went to the Russian’s face, and he waited as the large captain withdrew his radio—the only Russian portables that had been unaffected by the EMP assault on everyone’s electronics.
“The situation has been corrected, Colonel,” the man said into the radio. “You may proceed to the boats, and I will join you shortly.”
Henri waited as the Russian placed his radio back onto his belt.
“Good-bye, Colonel Farbeaux,” he said as his finger started to pull the Makarov’s trigger.
The blast of weapon’s fire made the Frenchman flinch. He actually thought he could feel the red-hot bullet penetrate his Nomex. Henri felt no pain. As he looked up, he saw the Makarov slowly slide from the commando’s fingers and fall to the deck. The man himself turned to face the person that had just shot him in the back. Again, the loud report of a handgun sounded, and the body of the Russian jerked once more as he slowly slid down to the deck. The large body twitched once and then went still.
Henri looked up and saw Second Captain Dishlakov and two of his marines. The XO was still holding the smoking pistol he had just used to save Henri’s life. What was a little disconcerting to Farbeaux was the fact that the smoking Makarov was now pointing at him.
Dishlakov gestured one of the Russian marines forward, and he easily removed the gun from Henri’s grasp. The Frenchman watched as the XO angrily looked him over as he handed back the weapon to the second marine.
“Why have you come to my ship, Colonel Farbeaux?”
“To kill the man who’s now getting away,” he said as he watched the marine to his right. Henri knew that he would never make the move to get his gun back before the Russian made kindling out of his attempt.
“Where can Colonel Salkukoff run to? His only escape from our situation is aboard one of three vessels. And I don’t think he will find open arms waiting for him on either the Simbirsk or Shiloh. He has nowhere to go.” Dishlakov reached out and removed Farbeaux’s gun from the marine who had taken it from him. He smelled the barrel and then tossed it back to the Frenchman. Henri caught it but could not hide the surprise on his face.
“Captain Kreshenko is—”
“Dead, yes, I know. He is being attended to as we speak.”
Again, the Frenchman was taken off guard. He holstered his nine millimeter.
“He was murdered just as this piece of dung tried to murder me in my sleep. I wasn’t in my cabin but in the wardroom, writing to my wife and children. When I was finished, I saw this scum”—he kicked at the dead commando—“coming from my cabin. I followed him with company. Then we found you, Colonel.”
“I am sorry for the fact I didn’t get here on time.”
“What were your orders? I assume they came from Colonel Collins?”
“No, the colonel would not have been as stealthy as I. He would have just come across to Peter the Great shooting. That’s his way. Low threshold for injustice, you see.”
“You may find this humorous, Colonel Farbeaux. I assure you, I do not.”
“Attention, attention. Unauthorized use of motor launch at station number three. Station number three.”
“Damn!” Henri said as he turned and ran from the companionway to the star-filled sky outside. He was soon passed by Dishlakov and his marines. They all ran to the port-side station where the announcement had said the theft was occurring. The dangling lines told Henri all he needed to know. As he peered over the side, he saw two of the large motor launches as they sped away. Both were filled with the remaining Russian commandos and a waving Salkukoff.
A Russian marine stepped to the railing and took aim with an AK-47, but Henri reached out and lowered the weapon’s barrel. He shook his head and turned to Second Captain Dishlakov.
“Too late.”
They watched as the two boats vanished into the night.
* * *
At dawn, the small armada of ships slowed and then came to a stop. Captain Johnson and his officers not on watch joined Jack, Carl, Henri, Ryan, Charlie, and Jenks on board Peter the Great. The off-duty personnel gathered at the stern of the cruiser, and the crewmen of Shiloh and the riggers on Simbirsk watched from a distance. The covered body of Captain Viktor Kreshenko was prayed over, and then the makeshift platform, a table from the ship’s galley, tilted forward, and the sheet-wrapped body of their captain slid into the violet-colored sea. They watched until the weighted body vanished below the surface.
The mood of the Russian crew was somber at first, but after the word had spread that their commander had been murdered by one of their own, the morale had changed from one of sorrow to that of vengeance.
Jack saw the mood of the crew as he and the others lowered their offered hand salute. Jenks snorted, and then he and Charlie moved away. Carl, Jack, Ryan, and Henri stayed behind as they studied the sea.
“I think that settles the question of whether Colonel Salkukoff has an emergency out in getting away from this crazy world,” Everett said as he leaned on the railing and stared out at the calm ocean.
“I agree,” Jack said, but he was otherwise unnaturally silent, as he also was lost in the view.
“After the confession as to this Northstar Committee, he cannot allow us to return to our world alive.”
All eyes turned to Henri, who was battered and bruised from his excitement with Salkukoff.
They heard a small disturbance coming from the fantail as several of the crewmen of Peter the Great simply tossed the body of the dead commando into the sea as if he were nothing more than garbage.
“The Russians have a hard time expressing their true feelings, don’t they?” Ryan said as he turned away from the scene.
“Jack, the master chief and Doc Ellenshaw have a request for you and Captain Johnson,” Everett said as he turned and saw the two captains conversing quietly not far away.
“What’s that?”
“They want the use of the drone.”
Jack finally relented his hold on the calm, violet sea and faced Carl.
“For?”
Carl looked uncomfortable.
“Come on, Swabby, it’s a little early in the morning to be hesitant about anything.”
“They want to overfly the island’s interior to find the remaining villagers who escaped the slaughter. They seem adamant about it.”
Everett was sure the colonel would deny the request, as they had operational concerns as far as the drone went.
“If Captain Johnson concurs, I don’t see why not. We don’t have much time before we make the attempt to return, so get it done.”
“The least we can do for those poor bastards is try to get them living again,” Henri said as he continued to look out to sea.
Carl was about to say something snappy to Farbeaux, but Jack shook his head. Everett could see that Henri was taking his failure of the mission personally and became silent.
“I see even the master chief is being affected by the loss of the innocence of this world,” Jack said.
“Well, then, the least we can do is ease his and Prof
essor Ellenshaw’s minds,” Farbeaux said, surprising all who heard. “We need some good to come out of this.” He walked away with his head bowed and joined Jenks and Charlie as they spoke.
“Henri’s beginning to scare the hell out of me, Jack,” Everett said as they watched the three men converse.
“Why is that?”
“He’s actually morphing into a human being. And gaining respect for that man is the most frightening thing of all.”
20
LOS ANGELES–CLASS ATTACK SUBMARINE USS HOUSTON
Blankets and other soft materials had been spread out on the deck after the Mark 48 torpedo warhead had been removed. The entire warhead assembly had been taken to the mess to be disassembled by Machinist Mate Ramirez. Captain Thorne and XO Devers watched the kid of nineteen as his white cotton gloves felt for the pin release that would separate the 650-pound charge from its working innards. The entire torpedo, built by Lockheed Martin, weighed in excess of 3,500 pounds when fully assembled, but all Ramirez had was the stainless steel cap. The business end. He pulled the final pin inside the warhead, and his eyes closed momentarily when the warhead’s gyroscope released easily. He turned and handed the expensive part to the chief of the boat, who was assisting. The officers in the hatchway watched with sweaty palms as their lives and the life of Houston hung in the balance.
Ramirez swallowed and took a deep breath. If the warhead detonated inside the pressure hull, there wouldn’t be enough left of them to float to the surface.
“You’re doin’ fine, kid,” the chief said as he too wiped sweat from his dripping brow.
“Now, if I can pull her guidance board without any electrostatic discharge, we may be in business.”
The chief looked up and saw Thorne standing silently in the hatchway. He nodded, feeling far less confident than his display to the captain.
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