THE SUNLIGHT STREAMING through the tinted floor-to-ceiling window washed the sharp features of Admiral James Sandecker in a sea-green patina that made , his face look like a bronze bust of Father Neptune. From his office on the top floor of NUMA headquarters, he had an unparalleled view of official Washington. He stood at the window, in thought, his authoritative blue eyes sweeping the city, taking in the White House, the tall spire of the Washington Monument and the dome of the Capitol, as if he were a hawk searching for its prey.

Austin had spent most of the morning filling Sandecker in on the events in the Black Sea. The admiral had been fascinated by the description of the sub pen, and intrigued at the meeting with Petrov and the Odessa Star link to Lord Dodson, whom he had met. Occasionally, he asked a question to clarify or offer a theory of his own. But he listened in stony silence, tugging at his precisely trimmed red Vandyke beard, when Austin told him about the massacre aboard the Sea Hunter. At the end of the grisly narrative, he rose from his desk without a word and walked over to gaze out the window. After a few moments, he turned to Austin and Gunn, who sat in leather chairs in front of the desk, and said, "In all my days as a navy commander, I never lost a ship or its crew.

Damned if I'm about to start now, This son of a bitch and his friend Razov are not going to get away with the massacre of an entire NUMA crew."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.

Sandecker came over and settled behind his desk. "How is Ms. Montague, the young lady who survived the attack?”

“She's tough,” Austin said, “She insisted on staying aboard the ship while the replacement crew brings the Sea Hunter back to port.”

“Make sure I see the young lady on her return.”

“I'll do that,” Austin said, “What's the latest from the CIA?”

Sandecker reached into the humidor on his desk, pulled out a cigar and lit it, “The CIA is barking up the wrong tree, the FBI is skeptical and the armed forces aren't much good unless you point them in the right direction and give them marching orders. The secretary of state doesn't return my phone calls.”

“What about the White House?”

“The president is sympathetic and concerned, of course. But I can't help thinking there is a bit of glee among some of his Cabinet, a hint that the massacre was justified retribution for sticking our nose in where it doesn't belong, They are angry that NUMA rescued the NR-1 crew.”

“What difference does it make who rescued the crew, long as it was rescued?” Austin said in frustration.