"Then how do you explain the ten agents our foreign directorate assigned onboard your vessel to monitor the conversations of the passengers?"

"I try not to think about it."

"You should," Ombrikov said in a threatening tone.

"I have enough to keep me busy running this ship," Pokofsky said quickly. "There aren't enough hours in my day to include intelligence gathering too."

"Still, you should have taken better precautions. If the American politicians escape and tell their story, the horrendous repercussions will have a disastrous effect on our foreign relations."

Pokofsky set his vodka on the liquor cabinet without touching it.

"There is no place they can hide for long on this ship. They will be back in our hands inside the hour."

"I do hope so," said Ombrikov acinly. "Their Navy will begin to wonder why a Soviet cruise liner is drifting around off their precious Cuban base and send out a patrol."

"They wouldn't dare board the Leonin Andreyev."

"No, but my small pleasure boat is flying the United States flag.

They won't hesitate to come aboard for an inspection."

"She's an interesting old boat," Pokofsky said, trying to change the subject. "Where did you find her?"

"A personal loan from our friend Castro," Ombrikov replied.

"She used to belong to the author Ernest Hemingway."

"Yes, I've read four of his books-" Pokofsky was interrupted by the sudden appearance of his first officer, who entered without knocking.

"My apologies for breaking in, Captain, but may I have a word in private with you?"

Pokofsky excused himself and stepped outside his cabin.

"What is it?"

"We failed to find them," the officer announced uneasily.

Pokofsky paused for some moments, lit a cigarette in defiance of his own regulations and gave his first officer a look of disapproval.

"Then I suggest you search the ship again, more carefully this time. And take a closer look at the passengers wandering the decks.

They may be hining in the crowd."

His first officer nodded and hurried off. Pokofsky returned to his cabin.

"Problems?" Ombrikov asked.

Before Pokofsky could answer he felt a slight shudder run through the ship. He stood there curious for perhaps half a minute, tensed and alert, but nothing more seemed to happen.

Then suddenly the Leonin Andreyev was rocked by a violent explosion that heeled her far over to starboard, flinging people off their feet and sending a convulsive shock wave throughout the ship. A great sheet of fire erupted from the port side of the hull, raining fiery steel debris and oil over the exposed decks. The blast reverberated over the water until it finally died away, leaving an unearthly silence in its wake and a Solid column of black smoke that mushroomed into the sky.

What none of the seven hundred passengers and crew knew, what many of them would never come to learn, was that deep aminship the fuel tanks had detonated, blowing a gaping hole half above and half below the waterline, spraying a torrent of burping oil over the superstructure in blue and green flames, scarring the victims and blazing across the teak decks with the speed of a brush fire.