Tom Donnegan snorted. “You won’t have to wait till he gets back. Gregor Smitrov has been on the red phone with President Brown. He accused us of the unprovoked sinking of two of their boats. I’m told he was very rude and indignant. He has called a press conference in two hours to announce this to the world. It appears that the curtain has risen on Alexander Durov’s little production.”

Ward leaned back and whistled. “Admiral, this could get real ugly. I’ll put my ‘no comment’ face on. I suspect the pier will be humming with reporters once this thing breaks.”

“That won’t be our problem, Jon. We’ve got other things to worry about besides the evening news. I’ve got a job for you. It’ll have you and a lot of your staff out of town for a bit. I just got off the horn with your old friend Bill Beaman. He’s heading your way this afternoon. He’ll have a few minutes to brief you further when he arrives, but essentially, I need for you to work with SEAL Delivery Team Two over in Little Creek. Get that new Advanced Swimmer Delivery Vehicle loaded on a C-5 and over to Faslane. You’re going to get there at the same time Joe Glass does. You’ll strap the ASDV onto Toledo’s back and send her north again. I need you to set up a command center over there somewhere. I’m making you the tactical commander for this entire operation, Jon. You’re the best man we’ve got for the job.”

Ward wasn’t sure just what the operation was, and he was flattered by the admiral’s compliments. But he sure didn’t like being stuffed into some underground concrete command center when his boat was going to where the action was.

Still, it sounded as if he was going to be very busy for a while on what was perhaps the most important mission anyone had seen since the nuclear age had begun. Besides, he was ready to concede that it was Joe Glass’s turn on the front lines.

“Thank you, Admiral. I’ll do my best.”

“Jon, on this one, you may have to do even better than that.”

Chapter 15

President Gregor Smitrov almost disappeared when he walked up behind the imposing podium in the Kremlin’s great ballroom. Even when he stepped up onto the well-hidden riser that had been built especially for him, he still had to stretch to see over the top. He paused for a moment, looking out on the mass of reporters who were gathered there, all chatting excitedly among themselves. They knew there was something big that had brought them here this snowy afternoon in Moscow. “International military incident” had already been leaked to most of them and they smelled blood.