Joe Glass sat across the small table from Sergei Andropoyov. An old, beaten chessboard filled the tiny space between them. The plastic chessmen were chipped from years of use on board the sub. The settee in Glass’s stateroom was perfect for these matches. It was quiet and private so they could talk freely, yet it was equipped so he could still run the boat from there.

Glass wondered if Andropoyov found any enjoyment at all in playing chess with him. It wasn’t for the challenge of the competition. Although Glass was a fair amateur player, the Russian submariner was in a different league. Glass soon learned his best strategy was to fight like hell and hope for a draw. That tactic had hardly been successful so far. Still, he enjoyed the play and the discussions he was having with the Russian sailor. Sometimes it was easy to forget how much they could have in common despite their vastly different backgrounds. They were both submariners, after all.

After Glass made his next move, Andropoyov boldly shoved his queen diagonally across the board, cutting off Glass’s king. The Russian looked up from the board and smiled.

“Captain Glass, I believe that is checkmate. Another well-fought match, my friend. Your game is improving greatly.” He sipped from his cup of tea, then looked Glass in the eye as he spoke. “I was wondering. Have you been informing your superiors of our discussions?”

Glass nodded but remained silent.

“Have they told you what they plan for my crew?”

“No, Sergei,” Glass replied. “They haven’t mentioned the subject at all.”

“You are not taking us back to Russia.”

“No. We’re headed back to Scotland. If this had been a simple rescue after an accident, you would be home by now. I know you understand, under the circumstances…”

“You will ultimately send us home, though.”

“Once our people have a chance to talk with you and your crew, I would imagine that they’ll return you to Murmansk just as soon as transportation can be arranged. I bet there will be some very relieved families when you step off the plane.”

Glass expected to see Andropoyov smile, or at least show some hint of relief. Instead, creases of worry formed on the Russian’s forehead.

“I assume, then, that it has not yet been made public that we have been rescued. Our families still believe we are dead.”

“That’s right. Again, because of the circumstances. We lost a boat up there, too, and almost lost a second one. I think our people want to see what Durov’s up to before we let him know that you’re still alive.”

Andropoyov smiled but his eyes were still dark. “And, I assume, they want to further confirm our rather unbelievable suspicions as well.”