Petropavlovsk, few knew any details of the larger mission. The captain
himself had been Ordered to ensure that his crew remained absolutely silent
on the matter, and to crush any speculation immediately. To blurt it out
now, within earshot of every junior sailor in the control room, was
completely unacceptable.
“A word privately?” Rogov said, moderating his tone to a respectful
murmur. “Perhaps there are options-” Rogov stepped back to allow the
submarine captain to move away from the console. He followed the other man
aft down a small passageway to the captain’s stateroom.
The two men squeezed themselves into the tiny compartment and stood
face-to-face. “These options you mentioned–what-”
Rogov’s hand slammed into the captain’s neck, cutting off the
questions. He pinned the man against the steel closet set into one side of
the cabin, increasing the pressure on the man’s neck. The submarine
captain’s eyes bulged, fright and indignation warring in his face. He
reached up and tried to pull Rogov’s hands away from his neck, but the
Tartar’s massive fingers were interlaced behind his neck, his thumbs
pressing against the captain’s throat. Panic flooded the man’s features as
he realized the Tartar had no intention of easing up. With one massive
thrust, Rogov crushed the man’s windpipe, ending the contest. He let the
skipper fall to the deck, and watched the life fade out of his eyes as his
brain ran out of oxygen. Just before the man died, Rogov kicked him in the
crotch. No reaction. The foul smell of human waste flooded the tiny
compartment as the captain’s dying brain gave up control over its autonomic
functions.
When he was sure the man was dead, Rogov lifted the captain up by the
back of his collar and positioned him carefully on the bed. He tossed a
blanket over him, then turned the man’s face toward the wall, cushioning it
on a pillow. He felt several tiny vertebrae snap as he forced the man’s
head into position.
Although he was certain the ruse wouldn’t last for long, it was always
handy to give men an excuse to do what their fear compelled them to. If
they thought the captain had suddenly taken ill, and might eventually
retake command of the boat, there might be less initial resistance. And by
the time they were completely certain the captain was dead, it would be too
late.
Rogov left the compartment and returned to the control center to take
command of the submarine.
1220 Local
SS Serenity
“There,” Holden said, pointing to the northeast. “Do you see it?”
“Yes!”
Holden could see a broad smile spreading below the binoculars, and
shook his head. Why seeing one whale made up for the misery of being at
sea in the North Pacific for these people, he would never understand.
“Can you get closer to it?” the scientist asked eagerly. “It’s huge;
it could be one of the largest of the species ever seen.”
“We’ll try, sir, but the seas are a bit touchy right now.” Holden
walked back to the navigator’s table and studied the position plotted for
the whale on the paper overlay. Maybe, just barely, they could run
northeast for a while without getting broadside to the waves. It would
take some careful tacking and maneuvering, but it could be done. He looked
up and met the navigator’s eyes, exchanging a brief look of disbelief.
“Yes, sir, I think we can do it,” he said finally, straightening up.
“Helmsman, come right to course zero-one-five.”
The sickening yaw of the small boat increased, but was still within
the limits of safety. Holden felt the boat shudder as the waves caught her
more solidly on the beam.
“Oh, man, oh, man,” the scientist said happily, sounding like a child
in a candy store. “If this just-”
“What?” Holden asked sharply. The scientist’s smile had disappeared.
He lowered the binoculars slowly. His face was pale. “It’s not a whale,”
he said shakily. “I think we’d better-”
Whatever the man had intended to say was lost forever. The fishing
boat’s bow shot up out of the waves like a seesaw, standing her almost
completely on her stern. Holden, along with the rest of the men on the