Tovrov had the nervous mental tic that comes to men who have spent their lives on the water, his eyes constantly darting here and there, checking the compass and barometer dozens of times in an hour. In between, he walked from wing to wing to observe weather and sea conditions. About one o'clock in the morning, he went out onto the port wing... and his neck began to tingle. A vessel was overtaking them. He listened intently. It was closing fast.

Tovrov was a simple man, but he was not stupid. He cranked the phone that connected the bridge to the officers' cabin.

Yakelev answered. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“We must talk,” Tovrov said.

“I will come by later.”

“No, it is very important. We must talk now.”

“All right. Come down to the passengers' quarters. Don't worry,” Yakelev said with an evil chuckle, “I'll try not to shoot you.”

The captain hung up and woke Sergei, who reeked of alcohol. He poured the mate a mug of the strong black coffee.

“Keep a heading due south. I will be back in a few minutes. Any mistakes and I will take away your vodka until we reach Constantinople.”

Tovrov hurried below and cautiously pushed open the door, half expecting to be met by a hail of bullets. Yakelev was waiting. He stood with his legs wide apart and his hands on his hips. Four other Cossacks were asleep on the floor. Another sat cross-legged with his back to the cabin door and a rifle balanced on his knees.

Yakelev glared accusingly. “You woke me up.”

“Come with me, please,” the captain said, leading the way outside. They descended to the fog-shrouded main deck and made their way to the stem. The captain leaned over the fantail and peered into the wooly darkness that swallowed their broad wake. He listened a few seconds, blocking out the burble and hiss of the water.

“A boat is following us,” he said.

Yakelev looked at him with suspicion and cupped his hand to his ear. “You're crazy. I hear nothing but the noise from this stupid ship.”

“You're a Cossack,” Tovrov said. “You know about horses?”

“Of course,” the major replied, with a contemptuous snort. “What man doesn't?”

“I don't, but I do know ships, and we're being followed. , A piston on that boat is missing a stroke. I think it is the fishing boat I saw earlier.”

“So what of it? This is the sea. Fish swim in the sea.”

“There are no fish this far from shore.” He listened again. “No doubt. It's the same boat and it is moving in on us.”

The major uttered a string of curses and pounded the rail: “You must lose them.”

“Impossible! Not with one engine down.”

Yakelev's hand grabbed the front of Tovrov's coat and he lifted the captain onto his toes.