Miller jumped in. “Damn, Chuck! Between Catherine’s goddamn woman’s intuition and your ‘funny feelings,’ you’re going to drive me crazy. There’s nothing for you or Goldman or any-damn-body else to be concerned about here. We’re on it. That’s our bag. That’s why the taxpayers keep on writing us nice, generous paychecks. We got experts. We’ll check everything out. We’ll keep an eye on it. Just relax and I’ll see you in a day or so.”

Miller rose and strode briskly out the door before Gruver could express any more doubts. He watched the SEC man go. He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice when he spoke to the spot where Miller had just been sitting.

“Yeah, sure. I feel much better now.”

Chapter 30

The lengthy memorial service was drawing to a close. President Gregor Smitrov droned on, drawing endless metaphors for the benefit of the gathered mourners, lecturing like the university professor he had once been. The onlookers who weren’t sleeping were yawning openly by now.

Mammoth sprays of flowers and gigantic memorial wreaths took up half of the building’s elevated stage. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air, the aroma out of place in this cold, icy climate. The submarine base’s huge assembly hall was filled with the worldwide media teams, their cameras set to capture the anguish of the families of the crewmen from the Gepard and Volk, their microphones ready to record the words of the Russian president, as this ugly international crisis seemed to drag on and on. The television crews and chattering reporters had taken over the center of the room, the places where they could get the best camera angles. Friends and families of the lost submariners had been relegated to seats in the periphery of the vast hall, stuck behind steel girders and roof supports that would obstruct the all-important camera shots.

Outside, another winter storm threatened, its winds already howling down out of the Arctic to wreak its frigid wrath on Polyarnyy. The windows of the building rattled with each icy blast, but the brilliant blaze from the television lights and the press of so many people added warmth to what would normally be a cold space.

A group of Navy officers, resplendent in full dress uniform, stood apart from the crowd, next to a side entrance several meters to the left of the stage. Captain First Rank Gregor Dobiesz tried to maintain his somber expression as he leaned in and whispered to Vasiliy Zhurkov, “That fool will raise the death toll by boring everyone to death.”

Zhurkov nodded and tried to stifle a yawn. “True enough, but we will soon have excitement enough for a lifetime, Gregor.”

Admiral Alexander Durov harrumphed pointedly from behind the two naval officers, who quickly quieted.

“Is everything ready?” Durov asked, leaning forward.