Vivilav nodded. “Yes, and it is time now that we discussed it. Please have all the officers muster in the wardroom in ten minutes.”

The submarine captain turned on his heel and marched out of the control room. He needed a few minutes to think about how he would present this most unusual mission to his officers. They had no knowledge of Durov and his plans, but they were loyal Russian sailors. They would follow Vivilav into hell if he asked them.

He pulled the chart from his safe and unrolled it once again. The red-pencil-line track drew his attention, mutely giving a detailed picture of the dangers ahead. He followed its snaking path until it ended in the Baltic Sea. That was enough for his men to know for right now. They were headed for the Baltic and they must make the journey without being discovered.

Vivilav grunted at the sound of a quiet knock at the stateroom door. Dmolysti entered and looked over Vivilav’s shoulder.

“Is that where we are going?” he asked.

“Yes, Anistov.”

Dmolysti traced the path with a finger. “Why are we staying so close to the coast? This track has us inside Norwegian waters most of the way. That is an act of war. If they detect us, they may well attack.”

Vivilav nodded and answered, “That is true, but of little consequence. Our mission is very highly classified and of extreme importance to the motherland. The Americans and probably the British will be hunting us, too. If they find us, they will not hesitate to attack, either. We will stay close to the coast to hide from their listening devices and their ASW searches. We will be safer hiding in the clamor of the inshore noise.”

Dmolysti stared at his captain with disbelief. He could not imagine what was happening here. The Americans and the British would be trying to destroy them? The Cold War was long since over, a dim memory far better left forgotten. All was supposed to be peace and prosperity now.

But Dmolysti had heard the rumors of plotting in the Navy, dissatisfied senior officers threatening to overthrow the government in Moscow. He had disregarded them as someone’s overactive imagination. Surely such carrying-on was nothing more than idle gossip, invented by cold, hungry officers in a lonely outpost, working hard trying to eke out a meager existence for their families in the bleak north.

He looked at the plot on the chart again. There was no other explanation for the foolhardy course around Norway and into the Baltic, for the odd secrecy on this mission so far, for the unorthodox way they had dived so early after leaving the covered dock.

The realization rolled over Dmolysti. From inside the tiny Baltic Sea, they would be no threat to America. They would be in a position to strike deep into Russia with the missiles they carried.