“Damn, that was more work than I expected,” Martinelli grunted. “Next time you get a yen to take a midnight stroll, why don’t you invite Cantrell or somebody else besides me?”

Hall smiled. “Yeah, he could use the exercise, but you’d better do your bitchin’ to the chief or the skipper, not me. They’re the ones pulled your name out of the hat. Now let’s get to work.”

Hall pulled the miniature satcom transceiver from his pack and set it up. He pointed the tiny parabolic antenna at a communications satellite twenty-three thousand miles overhead, in a geosynchronous polar orbit. As he worked, he thought how different his life was now. It had not been that long ago that he was a linebacker at the University of Alabama, playing his last game in the Sugar Bowl. Now here he was, on top of some Russian mountain, wrestling highly technical gear into place so he could relay back intel that might help avert a nuclear catastrophe.

Meanwhile, Martinelli unpacked the low-light sniper scope and set it at the edge of the shelf. He aimed it down at where he suspected the open mouth of the cavernous covered dock would be. He looked through the lens and saw the shimmering, green-glowing image of the huge building. He whistled low. “Wow! Have you ever seen anything so big? That thing must cover the better part of fifty acres under one roof.”

Hall scooted over beside Martinelli. The night was so dark they wouldn’t have been able to see across the water without the help of the sniper scope. “Intel says they can hide a whole squadron of Typhoons in there,” he whispered. “You could play a helluva bowl game inside a barn that size. See any sign of activity in there?”

“Nope. Nothing. Not even cheerleaders or a marching band. I can’t see very far inside, either, because of the angle, but I’ve got a good shot of all of Polyarnyy Sound.”

Hall yawned. “Okay, since you got your eye on the scope already, why don’t you take the first watch? I’m going to get some shut-eye. Wake me in a couple of hours when the bacon and eggs and grits are about ready.”

“All right, but just don’t go snoring. Some Russian bear might think it’s a mating call and come looking for us.”

Hall chuckled as he unrolled his sleeping bag and tried to find a comfortable position on the stony, frozen ground. Martinelli hunkered down and watched the building, the black water of the sound, forcing himself to stay awake and alert. Soon all he heard was the gentle, rhythmic sound of his sleeping friend’s breathing. SEALs learned early how to find deep sleep no matter where they had to make their beds.