Slade took his hat off and tucked it under his arm. He was a dark-haired young man in his twenties, a couple of inches taller than Austin's six feet one. With his chiseled features and ramrod posture, he could have posed for a navy recruiting poster.

“Welcome to Old Ironsides, the oldest commissioned warship in the world, still manned by an active-duty U.S. Navy crew.” The pride in his voice was obvious.

“ 'Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high,' ” Austin said, quoting the first line of the Oliver Wendell Holmes poem, “Old Ironsides,” that had inspired the nation to save the ship from destruction.

Slade grinned and quoted the second line, “ 'And many an eye has danced to see that banner in the sky...' Sounds as if you know your naval history, sir.”

“I know the ship fought the Barbary pirates and gave the British a major headache during the War of 1812. That she was undefeated in battle. And during the fight with the British frigate H.M.S Guerriere, cannonballs bounced off her sides as if they were made of iron.” His eyes fondly swept the two-hundred-four-foot length of the frigate, taking in the long bowsprit, We expansive spar deck with the neat rows of cannon and the two-hundred-twenty-foot-tall main-mast. “Hope I look half as good when I'm her age.”

“Thank you. We take great pride in keeping her ship-shape. She was built not far from here, launched in 1797. Actually, her sides were made of live oak from the south-eastern U.S. Her hull is twenty-five inches thick at the waterline. Paul Revere did the copperwork and made the ship's bell. Don't mean to give you the guide routine,” he apologized, “but we're awfully proud of the lady.” His face grew serious. “Instead of giving you a history lesson, I should call the Coast Guard and let them know we've got an injured man on board.” Slade patted the pockets of his coat and frowned. “Damn. My cell phone must have fallen out when I got in the gig. I've got a walkie-talkie we use to keep in touch with the tugboat when we're being pushed or towed. I'll ask the crew to relay a message to the Coast Guard.”

While Slade retrieved his handheld radio, Austin went over to where Petrov was stretched out on the deck. Someone had covered him with a section of sail. A crewman was keeping watch.

Austin knelt by Petrov's side. “How are you feeling, tovarich?”

Petrov groaned. “I have a splitting headache, as you would expect after having a bullet bounce off a comer of my skull. Why is it that every time I get too close to you, I get blown up or shot up?”

“Just lucky, I guess. Razovmust have taken something I said the wrong way. Sorry that you lost your man.”