She pursed her lips and screwed up her forehead. “If it was not you who ordered the hit on her, who was it?”

He spread his hands in innocence. “I don’t know. Could somebody else be scheming with the system? Somebody else who’s afraid she’ll find out what they’re doing? I can’t imagine Smythe or Andretti doing anything like that. They are dirty and incompetent, but even they are not stupid enough to try something like this.”

Nosovitskaya nodded her agreement. “That’s what I concluded, too. This is what Uncle Boris has said: Nothing changes. Do you understand? This development changes nothing. The plan is under way and we cannot afford a change on this end now. He told me that if I determined that you were not responsible for the stupid attempt on Goldman’s life, then you are to proceed without hesitation.”

Ustinov blanched, all color leaving his face. “That’s impossible. We were behind before. Now it is far too dangerous. We must be even more slow and careful now.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No. That is not an option. We continue.”

Ustinov dropped his head, his chin resting on his chest. Marina Nosovitskaya turned and headed for the door.

“Wait. What did your uncle tell you to do if you determined that I was responsible?”

She smiled coyly and formed the shape of a pistol with her hand and finger, pointing toward the bridge of his nose. “Dmitri, my love, I was to kill you.”

Jon Ward had his chair turned one hundred eighty degrees from his desk, staring out the window down at Pier 22. Four of the boats of his squadron were tied to the pier and sailors were already scurrying around on various morning errands. The early mist that had hidden the view across the Elizabeth River toward the broad tidal flats to the west was dissipating now beneath the climbing sun. Fishing boats and pleasure craft plied up and down the busy stretch of river, everyone going somewhere, heading out to the open Atlantic or up one of the broad tidal rivers that fed the Chesapeake Bay. A huge orange-painted container ship slid by, its massive hull a scant few yards beyond the end of the pier. Ward could see the Moldovan flag hanging limply from its stern as it passed.

All in all, it was a quiet morning in Norfolk. The world went on, oblivious of the unbelievable crisis that would inevitably come to light. Soon everyone would know. It would be impossible to keep the events up north from them much longer.