Chao checked the reading on the depth sounder. "Fifty meters, or about a hundred and sixty feet."

The awful truth struck Mangyai's mind like a hammer. He leaned over the chart table and plotted their course. The keel of the Venice was passing over the Tzonston Bank, one of many areas in the middle of the Aegean where the seabed rose to within a hundred feet of the surface. Deep enough for a ship's safe passage, but shallow enough for a routine salvage operation.

"Steer for deep water!" he shouted.

Chao stared at the captain, hesitating in bewilderment. "Sir?"

Mangyai opened his mouth to repeat the order but the words froze in his throat. At that instant, two sound-tracking torpedoes horned in on the freighter's engine room and exploded with devastating effect.

Her bottom torn in gaping holes, the sea rushed into her innards. The Venice shuddered and entered her death throes.

She took only eight minutes to die, going down by the stern and disappearing beneath the indifferent swells forever.

The Venice was hardly gone when a submarine surfaced nearby and began playing her searchlight on the fragmented floating wreckage. The pitifully few survivors, clinging to the flotsam, were coldly machine-gunned until their shredded bodies sank out of sight. Boats were sent out, guided by the darting shaft of light.

After searching for several hours until all the debris was pulled aboard, they returned to their ship.

Then the light was killed and the sub returned to the darkness.

THE President SAT AT THE CENTER of the oval mahogany conference table in the White House Cabinet Room. There were eleven men seated there besides himself. A bemused expression shone in his eyes as he surveyed the somber faces around the table.

"I know you gentlemen are curious about where I've been for the last ten days, and about the status of Vince Margolin, Al Moran and Marcus Larimer. Let me put this fear to rest. Our temporary disappearance was an event planned by me."

"You alone?" Douglas Oates put to him.

"Not entirely. President Antonov of the Soviet Union was also involved."

For several moments, stunned and disbelieving, the President's top advisers stared at him.

"You held a secret meeting with Antonov without the knowledge of anyone in this room?" Oates said. His face paled in dismay.

"Yes," the President admitted. "A face-to-face talk minus outside interference and preconceived notions, without the international news media second-guessing every word and unbound by politics. Just our top four people against his." He paused and his eyes swept the men before him. "An unorthodox way of negotiating, but one I believe the electorate will accept when they see the results."

"Would you mind telling us how and where this talk was held, Mr. President?" asked Dan Fawcett"After the exchange of yachts, we transferred to a civilian helicopter and flew to a small airport outside of Baltimore. From there we took a private airliner belonging to an old friend of mine and crossed the Atlantic to an abandoned airstrip deep in the desert east of Atar, Mauritania. Antonov and his people were waiting when we arrived."