“Yeah, a bit. Sure could use a beer. What say you lead the way to the nearest pub?”

“In a bit,” Ward answered. “I need to brief you and your XO first. We got a job for you, Joe.”

“Might have known! Okay, in my stateroom as soon as the brow is across?”

Ward saw the crane swinging the brow into place just aft of the sail. “Sounds good. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Ten minutes later, the three officers crowded into the tiny stateroom. As Glass peeled off the heavy bright orange exposure suit that he wore on the bridge, they exchanged small talk and caught up on the news from home. Glass eased down into the captain’s chair at the tiny table.

“Commodore, you didn’t come all the way over here to deliver the mail bag. What’s up?”

“Joe, we need you to go north again. This time with the ASDV. Bill Beaman is up there now doing a recon of the Polyarnyy Sub Base. We think they have a bunch of Akulas ready and armed to deploy there. Bill is supposed to put an eyeball on them. Then you’re going to get him out.”

“Wow! That’s some story. I take it that the powers back in D.C. are taking to heart what Captain Andropoyov was saying.”

Ward nodded. “At least they believe him enough to risk checking it out. We’re going to yank the Mystic off your back, slap on the ASDV, and give you a full load-out of ADCAP torpedoes. I want to have you under way again by tomorrow morning at the latest. With the SEALs up there and you loitering off the coast, we aren’t saying anything to anybody. I don’t know how long the political wogs can hold out keeping their traps shut.”

Ward looked hard at his old XO. “Joe, I’m proud of what you’ve done so far on this mission. I’d love to give you a few days to uncoil, but we’re in the middle of something the likes of which none of us have ever seen. God knows what’s going on up there. I just want you to know how glad I am that we’ve got you and your guys on the front line of this thing. I’ll make it up to you someday.”

Glass nodded and allowed himself a weak smile. “No rest for the wicked, huh? Sounds like the pub crawling is indefinitely postponed.”

“Afraid so. The tactical commander for this operation is a real hard-driving and heartless son of a bitch.”

“Who is that?”

“Me.”

Catherine Goldman watched the dingy waters of the East River zip past out the taxicab window. She knew that what she was thinking of doing would get her fired.