Startled voices could be heard coming from the aft section, and the captain issued the warning a second time to make sure his men knew he was serious.

“Very good,” Pulaski said. “Now you will bring the sub up to the five-hundred-foot level.”

“You heard him,” Logan said to the pilot, as if reluctant to give the direct order.

The pilot had been frozen in his chair. At Logan's command, he reached for the controls and pumped water from the variable ballast tanks. Working the planes, he elevated the sub's nose and moved the NR-1 upward with short bursts of the main propulsion. At five hundred feet, he leveled the sub off.

“Okay,” Logan said. “Now what?” His eyes blazed with anger.

Pulaski glanced at his watch like a man worrying over a late train. “Now we wait.” He shifted the gun away from the pilot, but kept it leveled and at ready.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Logan's patience was wearing thin. “If you don't mind, could you tell me what we're waiting for?”

Pulaski put his finger to his lips. “You'll see,” he said with a mysterious smile.

Several more minutes passed. The tension was suffocating. Logan stared at the sail cam monitor, wondering who this man was and what he wanted-and the answer was soon in coming. A huge shadow moved beyond the sharply pointed bow.

Logan leaned forward and peered at the screen. “What the hell is that?”

The shadow glided under the sub like a monstrous shark coming up for a belly bite. A horrendous metal clang reverberated from one end of the sub to the other as if the NR-1 had been slammed by a giant sledgehammer. The vessel shivered from the shock and rose several feet.

“We've been hit!” the pilot yelled, instinctively reaching f for the controls.

“Stay where you are!” Pulaski barked, bringing his gun to bear.

The pilot's hand froze in midair and his eyes stared at the overhead. Those in the sub could hear scraping and dragging as if big metal bugs were crawling on the hull.

Pulaski beamed with pleasure. “Our welcoming party has arrived to greet us.”

The noise continued for several minutes before it stopped, to be replaced by the vibration of powerful engines. The speed dial on the control panel began to move even though no power had been given to the thrusters.

“We're moving,” the pilot said, his eyes glued to the speed indicator. “What should I do?”

He turned to the captain. They were up to ten, then twenty knots and still accelerating.

“Nothing,” Pulaski answered. Turning to Logan, he said, “Captain, if you would give a message to your crew.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Pulaski smiled. “I think that is fairly obvious,” he said. “Tell them to sit back and enjoy the ride.”

NUMA 3 - Fire Ice

-3- THE BLACK SEA