Silent Thunder

THREE

Conner sniffed as he followed her down the hatch. "Diesel fumes."

"What did you expect?" Hannah asked as she glanced around the dimly lit engineering deck. "You know that when the nuclear reactor isn't functioning it's common to run the auxiliary diesel engines. I can tell from the design diagrams that the Oscar IIs don't ventilate the exhaust very well."

"I thought this sub was towed across the Atlantic."

"It was, but they piloted it here into its slip under its own power." She turned to the lieutenant. "The captain's quarters?"

He nodded. "This way."

A few minutes later Lieutenant Cox threw open the door of the stateroom. "Not exactly palatial but very comfortable compared to the rest of the officers' cabins."

"It looks pretty sparse to me." Hannah followed him into the cabin and glanced around. The compartment was approximately six by eight feet, featuring the same low ceilings, and dim, recessed lighting as the other living quarters she'd seen on the way. "But no more austere than others I've seen." She glanced in surprise at the shelves over the bed. "Books? Don't tell me the museum has already started to try to add atmosphere to their exhibit?"

"No, these were here when we took it over from the Finns." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm afraid you won't find much to help you in them. The Russians charged in like gangbusters and took all the journals and logs. They wanted to take everything, but the captain got tough. Our deal with Putin was that we got the sub as it was, and they had no right to confiscate anything. Captain Samuel told them the museum might want them to authenticate the exhibit, so they left those books." He turned to Conner. "The control room next? Ready?"

Conner nodded. "I should get started. I have a boss who's demanding as hell." He turned to Hannah. "See you at lunch?"

"Sure," she said absently as she moved toward the shelves. She'd always had a passion for books, and she was curious to see what this Russian captain had found interesting or entertaining. The cabin was so stark and impersonal that the introduction of such a personal note was almost shocking.

"I'll call you when I come to a good stopping place," Conner said. "Then you can come and help me. It shouldn't take you any time at all to document and certify this cabin as safe."

"Yeah," she murmured, her gaze never leaving the books. "No time at all."

Conner chuckled. "Come on, Lieutenant. You'll have to forgive my sister. She's been having an unusual bout of sensitivity since she came in contact with this sub. Maybe it's a hormonal issue."

"Bite me." She took a slender blue volume from the shelf. "Get out of here, Conner."

"Yes, ma'am." He was still chuckling as he followed Cox from the cabin.

"Now let's see who you are, Vladzar." She flipped open the book. Russian. She wasn't going to find out much about the captain from this book, she thought ruefully. It appeared to be a textbook or navigational aid, but she couldn't understand either the language or the weird symbols or equations that appeared fairly frequently. She put the book back on the shelf and reached for a thicker volume next to it. That's better. English. The World According to Garp. Not what she would have expected from a good Communist like the man Bradworth had described. Nor was the next volume she picked up. English again. This time three plays by Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Julius Caesar. She sat down on the bunk and opened the book. The pages were well thumbed, and it felt strangely intimate as she tentatively touched one worn corner. The captain had spent hours in this cabin, reading this book and then rereading it. It was almost like touching him…

Christ, what was wrong with her? She snapped the book shut and shoved it back on the shelf. She'd never felt like this when she'd handled the Titanic artifacts. Conner had claimed that he had felt a kinship with the victims of that disaster, but she had felt only sadness and anger at a useless tragedy. It was bizarre she was having this response to the possessions of a Russian captain who had not even died on this ship.

It must be the memory of the Kursk that was triggering all this fascination and emotion. A clear case of substitution. So forget that old man who had died in his bed two years ago far from the glory of his military days. Get to work unscrewing the back of the desk across the room and check it out. Then move on to the head in the adjoining bathroom.

She bent down, opened her tool chest, and stopped. Why should she stop glancing through the books when that was what she wanted to do? They might even tell her something she should know about the sub. It would only take a little while to go through them.

An excuse?

Maybe. The Russians had probably taken everything that would be useful. But she knew she was going to take that time anyway, and she didn't need an excuse. She could do whatever she wanted with this sub, dammit.

She slammed the tool chest shut, stood up, and crossed the cabin again to stand before the shelves. She could feel a tingle of eagerness as she reached for the next book on the shelf. "Okay, Captain, you've got me. Now tell me something that will keep Conner from claiming I'm becoming a nutcase about your damn sub."

Out," Conner said firmly. "I've called you twice for lunch. Get your booty out of this cabin and out on the pier. It's almost four. We'll eat out there. You need to get a breath of air that's not stale and reeking of the great Soviet past."

"Is it?" She shut the book and scrambled to her feet. "I didn't think it was that late. I guess I was busy." She laid the book carefully on the bed. "How are you coming in the control room?"

"Better than you are here. I've got three panels off and photographed." He glanced around the cabin. "While you appear to have been slacking."

"I'll catch up." She passed him and went toward the stairs. "I'm almost finished going through his books. There's nothing that can help us."

"I don't know why you bothered. Cox told you that they took all the journals and logs. You couldn't expect to find anything."

"I guess not." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "So stop saying I told you so."

"No way. I don't get the chance that often." He grinned as he helped her out of the sub and onto the pier. "I want to rub your nose in it."

"Actually, I did find something in that Shakespearean anthology." She sat down on the pier and took the piece of chicken he handed her. "A photo."

"And?"

"Not helpful. It was a young woman. Blond, very pretty. Probably the captain's daughter."

"Unless he was a sailor who had a woman in every port."

"I don't think so." She made a face. "I guess I don't want to think so. I like to believe anyone entrusted with enough firepower to destroy Washington, D.C., was more stable than that."

"He was a man, Hannah. He was fifty-six, in the prime of life, when he commanded this vessel. Maybe he compartmentalized the different facets of his life. It very well could be the photo of a mistress."

"And it could very well be that he wanted to keep a picture of his daughter close to him."

"Lord, you're stubborn." Conner smiled as he leaned back against a post. "By all means, think the best of him. It's healthy for you."

"Healthy?"

"At least, it hints at emotional involvement. Better an obsession with a dead man than a nuclear reactor."

"I'm not obsessed with him." She took a drink of coffee. "I'm… interested. And you're talking as if my sex life was nonexistent."

"How many relationships have you had since you gave Ken his walking papers?"

She was silent. "A few."

"A few rolls in the hay maybe."

"And I didn't give Ken his walking papers. He found someone else."

"And you breathed a sigh of relief that you didn't have to feel guilty about leaving him. The marriage still wouldn't have lasted another six months even if you hadn't walked in and found him sleeping with another woman."

"Possibly." She looked away from him. "I did love him once, Conner."

"You loved the sex. I don't know if you even knew him. He sure as hell didn't seem to know what you were all about. He did everything wrong."

"I made mistakes, too. I left him for months at a time when I was off on a job."

"And if he was smart, he'd have known how to keep you home or how to trail along with you."

"He was an advertising executive. He couldn't just hop on a plane whenever I had to go somewhere. And he didn't do everything wrong." She paused. "He gave me Jordan. Even if it was only for a few weeks, he gave me my baby."

"And then flitted off and left you to go through your pregnancy alone."

"Our marriage was over by that time. There's no way I would have wanted him to stick around out of a sense of duty."

"I still think I'd vote for the panda solution over your Ken."

"He's not my-Why am I arguing about this? It's over."

"You have to examine your mistakes so that you don't repeat them."

"My, it must be wonderful to be so knowledgeable about the frailty of human nature."

"Hell, yes." He grinned. "I'm glad you appreciate my expertise."

"Pompous ass."

"I guess that means you want me to stay out of your business? Okay, I'll drop it for now. But don't expect a permanent reprieve. Fixating on a dead man is all right in the short term, but I regard it as my duty to someday guide you into a permanent and enriching relationship."

"Cripes, I may be sick. I can't take any more of this." She stood up. "Now I'm going back to my 'fixation' and finish checking through those books to make sure that I haven't missed anything. Then I'm going to take that cabin apart and put a seal on it. Tomorrow I'll be ready to help you in the control room."

"Then I take it we're going to put in a late night?"

"I am." She packed her cup and plate in the basket. "You can quit early and go back to the inn if you like."

"Since you consider a twelve-hour day as quitting early, I'm not impressed by your generosity." He got to his feet. "So I might as well stay until you're ready to leave. Although I intend to take a break and call Cathy when I'm sure the kids are all home."

"What a surprise."

"Predictability is one of my charms. Solid and steady, and everyone always knows where they are with me. Cathy likes it like that."

"So do I." She smiled. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

"I know." He closed the picnic basket. "It's kind of nice knowing I'm the anchor for two of the most powerful women I've ever met. Makes me feel worthwhile." He started toward the sub. "But you'd better get that cabin done by midnight, or I'll give up on the control room and come down and drag you out."

She's headed back to the inn," Koppel said when Pavski picked up. "She and her brother have been in there since early morning. Cox left around seven this evening, but they stayed on the sub until after midnight."

"Doing what?"

"How should I know? It's a sub. You told me not to get near enough to be seen, and I can't just blunder down the hatch like a-"

"I don't want excuses. I told you what I need. I have to know what's going on in that sub."

Silence. "They may not find anything. We couldn't."

"We didn't have time in Helsinki. They have all the time in the world, and she's an expert."

"It may not even be-"

"We have to know."

"If we get too close, Bradworth's men might see us."

"You know where they're stationed. Use a distraction."

"What if it doesn't work? It may be necessary to get rid of them. Is that okay?"

"No, it's not okay. I don't want Feds all over this harbor because you thought killing those agents is easier. Use your brain, dammit. You don't tip our hand until I tell you it's worthwhile to do it." He hung up the phone.

Christ, Koppel was dense, Pavski thought as he leaned back in his deck chair. It was annoying that he couldn't risk staying close enough to the sub to gather the reins into his own hands. As long as Koppel received detailed instructions, he was efficient enough, but he couldn't think for himself, and that was dangerous in a situation where Kirov might pop up at any moment.

Kirov…

His gaze lifted to the horizon, and he felt a tingle of excitement. Kirov was here. He could feel it. Over the years, Kirov had been like a shadow hovering over him. He'd come close a number of times, but he'd chosen other targets.

Now he, Pavski, was the target.

And, by God, Pavski was ready for him. He was almost willing to sacrifice Koppel and the others just for the chance of facing Kirov at last.

Almost.

The stakes were too high, the prize too tempting not to delay that final confrontation, he thought regretfully. There would be time later to kill Kirov very slowly and painfully when he had the leisure to enjoy it. Kirov wouldn't be going anywhere. He'd be waiting like a dark angel, spreading his wings over that sub in hopes of scooping up Pavski. He didn't realize that he was up against a much more formidable foe than those other fools on the committee he had killed so easily.

Yes, Pavski could afford to wait and go after Hannah Bryson first.

Kirov's hands tightened on the infrared binoculars as he saw the movement on the pier.

A man in a black scuba suit pulled himself from the water and was gliding toward the hatch of Silent Thunder.

"Okay," he murmured beneath his breath. "First move, Pavski."

The man disappeared down the hatch.

"Yes!" It was what he'd expected, what he'd hoped would happen. He scanned the horizon, but he didn't expect to see anything. Pavski wouldn't have sent in a scuba operative if he'd intended an all-out assault. His purpose was evident, and it filled Kirov with infinite satisfaction.

Should he call Bradworth? This move would never have been completed if his sentries hadn't been circumvented in some way.

He'd decide later. He and Bradworth were walking different paths right now, and he might want to keep him in ignorance.

Then he had a sudden memory of the strange kinship he'd felt toward Hannah Bryson when he'd watched her sitting on the pier that first evening. He'd thought her vulnerable then, but now that Pavski had made his first foray, her vulnerability had increased a hundredfold. It might be more to his advantage to keep Bradworth in ignorance, but the woman could die if Bradworth wasn't warned.

A calculated risk?

He was very good at calculating risks and was usually coldly efficient at balancing the odds. It was just a little more difficult this time.

He didn't have to make a decision now since Conner and Hannah had already gone back to the inn.

He settled down to wait for the scuba diver to come out of the hatch.

Come on, Hannah. Tonight you're going to get back to the inn in time for dinner," Conner said firmly. "We haven't left this sub before ten for the last three days. I want a good meal, and I won't enjoy it if I know you're back here working. God knows why."

"Okay." She brushed her hair back from her forehead. Jesus, it was stuffy in here. It gave you an idea what it must have felt like for the crew cooped up for months at a time. "I'm not going to argue. I could use an early night."

"Will wonders never cease?" He smiled. "But I'll believe it when I see you go to bed after dinner and not back to the sub."

"I'm not that much of a workaholic. I can walk away from it." She saw his skeptical look, and amended, "Sometimes." She moved toward the door. "Wait for me on the pier. I want to get something."

"Three minutes," he called after her as he started climbing the ladder. "My stomach is starting to growl."

She jumped down onto the pier only two minutes later. "Let's go."

"What's that?" His gaze was on the small tape recorder she was carrying.

"I found it in the back of the closet in the captain's cabin yesterday. Evidently the Russians didn't find it before Samuel stepped in and booted them out."

"Soviet top secrets?" he hissed melodramatically.

She shook her head. "Music. Nothing but music." She pressed the button and the strains of Rachmaninoff issued from the recorder. "He liked classics, the Beatles, Michael Jackson, and some jazz. He seems to have favored Louis Armstrong."

"And when did you have time to discover all that?"

"I went down to his cabin and listened to the tape yesterday."

"So why didn't you share it with me when I was having lunch?"

"I'm sharing it now."

"But you wanted to listen to it first, didn't you?"

She didn't answer for a moment. He was right, for some reason she'd wanted to experience the intimacy of discovery. Jesus, maybe she was getting weird. "Maybe. It's like putting together a puzzle. It's always exciting when you run across a key piece."

"And you were being selfish about sharing your gnarled lion of a captain."

"He's not gnarled."

"No, he's dead."

"True. And you should be respectful of the departed."

"Who? Me?" His brows lifted. "Surely you're joking."

"What am I thinking?" She shook her head. "You're right, I can't remember the last time you were-" She stopped as Conner's phone rang. "That's got to be Cathy."

"Why? I'm a very popular guy." He pressed the button. "Hi, Cathy." He glanced at Hannah. "Yes, we're on our way back to the inn now. She didn't argue with me." He handed the phone to Hannah. "She wants to talk to you."

She sighed. "Cathy, I should have known you'd try to micromanage. Yes, I'm going to have a good dinner."

"Just doing my job. You shouldn't be skipping meals. If you have a good dinner, so will Conner. Besides, I do have a slight interest in your well-being."

"I can't tell you how cherished that makes me feel," Hannah said dryly. "Is that why you wanted to talk to me?"

"No, I wanted to ask if he's been wearing that damn gray wool sweater."

She glanced at Conner. "Not today. Navy blue."

"Yesterday?"

Hannah thought back. "I think so."

"Well, if you get a chance find a way of tossing that gray sweater into the drink. I was going through a nesting phobia when I was pregnant with Donna, and I tried to learn to knit. It wasn't a good try. Hell, it looks like it was knitted by an elephant. But Conner insisted on keeping that blasted monstrosity ever since."

"Donna is five now. Why are you suddenly so worried about him wearing that sweater?"

"Because I saw him throw it in his duffel before he left. I thought he'd gotten rid of it. He never wears it around me."

"Because you intimidate him?"

"Be for real. He likes to make a show of being henpecked by a bossy wife, but Conner's not lacking in self-confidence. He just doesn't want to make me a laughingstock among our friends. I don't like to do anything badly, and everyone knows it. But I don't want any of those museum people thinking he's less than he is."

"I assure you, we're not hobnobbing with many museum personnel."

"No one is going to laugh at my Conner. If you care for me, get rid of it, Hannah."

She was serious, and Hannah did care for her. Cathy was one of her favorite people. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks." Cathy paused. "And maybe I do have more than a slight interest in your well-being."

"I know you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't try to boss me around."

"It's second nature. You should have seen me wheeling and dealing in Washington during my heyday. I was awesome."

"You're still awesome."

"Yeah, I know. I just have to hide my light under a bushel these days, so I don't embarrass the kids." She paused. "I hear you've got a thing going for some dead Russian."

"No, I have not." She gave Conner a dagger glance. "I'm just interested in the man. Conner can't tell the difference."

"It didn't sound like you. But Conner can be pretty sensitive at times. He thinks you've got a father hangup about him."

"Nonsense."

"I agree. You're not looking for a father; you're looking for a man as strong as you are. That's why your marriage with Ken failed."

"You and Conner seem to have all kinds of opinions about my divorce."

"Of course we do. You're family. Conner described this Vladzar, and he sounds a little like Sean Connery in Hunt for Red October."

"Oh, for God's sake."

"He doesn't remind you of him?"

"Just because he was the captain of a Russian sub? No, he does not. This isn't a Clancy novel, and I'm not the kind of person who idolizes movie stars."

"I know. But it was one theory to explore." Her tone became brusque as she changed the subject. "Get back to the inn for dinner at least every other evening. That's a compromise. Okay?"

"As long as it doesn't interfere with getting this job done in time for us to get to Ronnie's next ball game."

"You obviously have a fine sense for priorities. I'll give in on that point as long as you get rid of the sweater."

"I said, I'll do what I can. Do you want to talk to Conner?"

"No, he'll call me tonight. He'll want to talk to the kids too. Have a good dinner." She paused. "And give me a call when the fishes are wearing Conner's gray sweater." She hung up.

"Your Cathy is nothing if not determined." She was smiling as she returned the phone to Conner.

He sighed. "The sweater. Right?"

"She wants you to give it to the fishes."

He shook his head. "No way."

"Why not?"

"She knitted it. I remember her sitting there frowning and muttering curses beneath her breath. But she finished it and gave it to me. It brings back a lot of memories." A smile lit his face. He added simply, "And it warms my heart."

She shook her head as she saw the tenderness in his expression. How could she do anything that would take that expression away?

Cathy, my dear, you may have lost this one.