Martinelli jostled around, trying to find a way to see through the scope while avoiding the sharp rock that was digging into his side. After a few minutes he took a quick break from watching the building. He rustled through his rucksack, found a half-eaten energy bar, and chewed on it for a few moments, occasionally taking a sip of water from his CamelBak. Even up here, on this rocky crag with a biting wind chapping his face and the might of the Russians arrayed just below him, there was no other place Tony Martinelli would rather be. He had been a sophomore in college, floundering, not knowing where he wanted to go with his life. One night when he was supposed to be studying for a final exam, he saw a program on some cable channel about the SEALs. He was hooked, then and there, and, even through Hell Week and BUD-S, he had never regretted his decision. Where else could some kid from Queens have more chance to make a difference in the world?

He was still chewing the last of the energy bar the next time he looked through the sniper scope. He stopped, his mouth open. Something had changed. A massive black shape was just beginning to emerge from the building’s cavernous maw. He looked again, harder, squinting, trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining the dark form, or that he wasn’t being tricked by an errant shadow in what little light there was.

No, it was real, all right, and it was growing larger.

Without removing his eye from the scope, Martinelli reached back and shook Hall. The SEAL awoke instantly, tense and ready to fight. That was something else SEALs managed. Coming awake from a deep sleep, fully alert and set for whatever they had to do.

“We’ve got activity,” Martinelli whispered as soon as Hall slid up next to him. “Looks like an Akula coming out of the barn. You better get on the horn and give the boss a traffic report.”

Hall was already fiddling with the satcom transceiver. Martinelli watched the low black shape of the Russian submarine emerge into Polyarnyy Sound, turn to the east, and then disappear around the headland into the Murmansk Fjord.

“Son of a bitch was turning north as he went round the headland,” Martinelli muttered. “I do believe he is heading out to sea.”

“Yep, that’s the way I see it,” Hall said. “Message is sent and receipted for. Everybody that needs to know knows now. Let’s see if any more of them want to come out and play.”

The two SEALs exchanged a silent high five, then hunkered down for a long, cold night.