Glass braced himself in his seat and held on to the railing as the rolling increased. The boat started to pitch, giving them a lurching, unpredictable roller-coaster ride. One minute she would roll over to port and pitch down. The next she would roll to starboard and pitch up. It was enough to send several of the submariners, accustomed to the calm ride in the deep, searching for a convenient trash can in which to bury their heads.

“Depth seven-six feet. Chief of the Watch, flood another ten thousand pounds.”

Something heavy went scooting across the deck in the dark and collided noisily with a bench locker. Still, nobody seemed to hear it.

“Depth six-two feet and holding.”

“Scope clear!” Durand shouted. He swung the periscope through two complete revolutions, trying to see if there was anything up here that was an immediate danger to the Toledo. “No close contacts,” he reported.

Everybody in the control room breathed deeply. They were out of danger and could now go back to their normal duties.

Durand swung the scope around more slowly, still looking for anything that might be out there. He could see nothing but the pitching, tossing winter seas and the star-studded sky above.

They were completely, utterly alone out here.

The 21MC blasted out, “Conn, radio. Copying the satcom downlink. Traffic on the spec-op channel. Request the captain come to radio.”

Glass made his way through the darkened room, rolling with the boat as he went off in the direction of the radio room. As he stepped inside, the leading radioman handed him a small sheet of paper. Glass was still studying it when Edwards stepped through the door behind him.

“Well, XO, it’s started.”

“Sir?”

“Bill Beaman’s boys report one Akula is out of the barn.”

Chapter 25

Catherine Goldman stared in disbelief at the e-mail message that glared back at her from the computer screen. She shivered. Dmitri Ustinov might be a skirt chaser, a bona fide pervert, but he had always been honest with her as far as she knew. If he said she was in danger, she had no choice but to believe him.

Her mind raced as she studied the cryptic message. Only one person knew what she had uncovered in the OptiMarx computer program: Stan Miller at the SEC, the same person who was supposedly sending someone to take her to a safe place. She felt the blood drain from her face. Miller had been her one hope in helping to stop the plot at OptiMarx. Now there was no doubt that he was sullied, too.

There had to be someone she could trust. Someone she could turn to now, both for protection and to see that the corrupted system did not go online and do irreparable damage to the stock market.

The phone on the nightstand jangled, interrupting her racing thoughts. She snatched up the receiver but said nothing. It was a strong male voice that spoke.