Ward grunted. “Not good. I don’t like the sound of any of this at all. I hate to think about all those nervous fingers on the launch buttons all over Russia. After what we learned from Andropoyov, it sounds as if Durov’s plan may be in play.”

“That’s the way I see it, too. We need that eyes-on information, Jon. If we can get some kind of clue of what Durov might be going to do, then we can figure out how to respond. Give Smitrov a heads-up before all hell breaks loose. Meantime, we pretty much have to sit here on our asses while those bastards call us everything vile and putrid. And while even our friends…what few we have left…wonder out loud why we don’t just fess up and take our lumps. I’m afraid now that President Brown and his guys are about to recommend we ignore the coup threat and cop some kind of plea. Maybe admit we might have collided accidentally with one of their boats or some such damned foolishness, just to get the heat turned off for a while. Anything to get most of the world and the opposition party off his ass.”

“They can’t do that, Tom. We’re getting close to having a look-see and I’ll still bet my dolphins that we’ll get proof of what Durov’s up to when Beaman and his guys get to Polyarnyy.”

“Well, don’t worry about all that political crap. You just do your job. You’d better be ready for anything up there, Jon. Pray Beaman can get us something we can go on.”

“We’re going to head north on Anzio and wait in the vicinity of Vestfjorden. I figure we’ll put out the SQQ-89 and do a little fishing.”

The SQQ-89 was the sister of Toledo’s thin-line sonar array. It was designed to be deployed a mile behind one of these Aegis ships and to detect very low frequency tonals from submarines. Carefully employed, it was as good as a submarine at finding another boat.

“Jon, I don’t even have to say it, I know, but I’m glad you’re going to be up there. Son, you better be damned careful.”

Donnegan hung up the telephone without waiting for Ward’s reply.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jon Ward said to the dead circuit.

*   *   *

Bill Beaman peeked over the top of the ridge. The SEAL team had jumped from the flatcar as the old diesel chugged its way up the last hill before reaching Murmansk Fjord. Once they were back on foot, the climb to the top of the ridge had not been too difficult, except for crossing the highway. They were a lot closer to civilization now. Roads were plowed. Cars and heavy trucks whizzed past at dizzying speeds. Getting the entire team across the two-lane road without being discovered took the better part of an hour.