Fire Ice (NUMA Files 3)

"You can and you will. Or else your role in this scheme will be played out on CNN twenty-four hours a day. Agreed?"

Sparkman's face had a haunted look. "Agreed," he whispered.

"There's one other thing. Tell Razov that the U.S. is still trying to figure out why the NR-1 was hijacked. A little disinformation couldn't hurt."

Sparkman nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Vice President. I won't waste any more of your time. I know you've got a lot to do carrying out the president's orders."

Sparkman squared his shoulders. "I'll have someone from my office stay in close contact so we can coordinate our planning."

The two men parted without shaking hands, with Sparkman heading back to the White House. Sandecker strode to the parking lot, where the others awaited him. He was angry at having to destroy a man's career, angry that Sparkman had been such a fool. His blue eyes blazed with a cold fire as he slid behind the wheel of the Jeep and said, "Gentlemen, I think it's time we put Mr. Razov's wolfhounds in the dog pound."

34

OFF THE COAST OF BOSTON

IN THE EVENT I ever write my memoirs," Zavala said, "What exactly is going on?"

"This is a scientific mission being undertaken by Siberian Pest Control on a U.S. Navy submarine, supervised by NUMA," Austin said. "Officially, it doesn't exist."

"Maybe I won't write my memoirs," Zavala said, with a shake of his head.

"Cheer up," Austin said, glancing around the spacious wardroom. "No one would believe you anyhow."

Austin had to raise his voice to be heard above the raucous voices of a dozen tough-faced men dressed in black commando uniforms. They were at the far end of the room smearing black and green camouflage paint on their faces. The exercise produced laughter and jokes that rose in decibel level, stoked by slugs from the vodka bottle being passed around. Petrov, who was dressed for combat like the others, dabbed paint on his cheek, hiding his scar, and made a remark in Russian that provoked great hilarity among his men. One man started to howl and pounded him on the back with sufficient force to break the rib cage of an average person.

Petro grabbed the bottle and came over to Austin and Zavala.

Austin said, "Sounds like amateur night at the Kremlin Comedy Club. What was the big joke?"

Petrov laughed and offered the vodka.

Austin declined and Zavala said, "Thanks, I'm a tequila man."

Petrov seemed more in his element than Austin had ever seen him. "I reminded my men of an old Russian proverb: 'Live with wolves, howl like a wolf.' " Noting Austin's blank look, he said, "It's like your saying about birds of a feather." Seeing that his explanation still fell short, Petrov said, "I'll explain later." He daubed Austin's forehead and cheeks with paint, Indian fashion. "Now you're properly prepared for action."

"Thanks, Ivan," Austin said, completing the job. "Sure you're up to a field operation?"

"Are you implying that I'm too old? As I recall, I'm a month younger than – "

"I know," Austin said. "My dossier: Don't be so touchy. I was thinking about your injuries from our fun night in Boston Harbor."

"A wonderful battle. I will never forget the way you swung over the deck like Tarzan of the apes. I have a few scratches. Nothing that would slow me down."

Austin jerked his head toward Petrov's men. "Hope the same goes for your men. Maybe we should give them Breathalyzer tests."

Petrov dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "I would trust any of those men with my life, drunk or sober. You worry too much. A few shots of vodka before battle is a tradition in the Russian military. It was the secret weapon we used to defeat Napoleon and Hitler. When the time comes, my bandits will carry out the mission with precision and courage."

Austin glanced toward a young sailor who had stepped through the door. "Looks like that time is now, Ivan."

The seeds of the joint operation had been hatched after Austin had returned to his office following the White House meeting. Petrov had been waiting for him. When Austin described the plan, Petrov immediately volunteered his men to board the yacht. Austin checked with Sandecker, who liked the idea and got an okay from the vice-president. Russians boarding a Russian yacht would add another layer of insulation between the mission and the president.

The sailor surveyed the painted faces, trying to pick out someone in command. Austin waved him over.

"Captain says we're ready anytime you are."

Petrov barked a command to his men. The transformation was startling. The horseplay came to a halt and the bottle of vodka vanished. The grins were replaced by firm jaws and stony expressions of determination. Hands reached for automatic weapons, and a chorus of metallic clicks echoed throughout the room as loads were checked. Within seconds, the ragtag gang had changed into a fierce-eyed fighting force.