A pistol cracked at his ear and the president jumped, expecting a bullet to tear through his brain. It was Smitrov’s old friend, his adviser, the general, who fell at his feet in a lifeless pile. Blood already oozed from a small round hole in the middle of the man’s forehead.

Durov grunted. “Mr. President, I will give you some time to think and another chance to decide your role in the glorious rebirth of our homeland.” The admiral turned and spoke to someone else nearby. “Bring him.”

Hands grabbed the president’s arms from behind. He felt handcuffs encircling his wrists behind him and a dark hood was dropped down over his head, shutting out the harsh, bright lights from the personnel carriers.

The president of Russia was dragged away, his feet barely touching the skim of ice on the frozen ground.

“Damn!” Joe Dumkowski’s eyes were wide as the SEAL pointed down the hill toward the submarine base. He shook his head in disbelief as he once again gazed at the impossible scenario he was watching through the spotter scope. “Commander, take a look at this. Look between the warehouses…down there by the waterfront. That limo flying the president’s flag drove down in there. See where it’s just sittin’ there, trapped between the two BTRs?”

Bill Beaman pulled his ten-by-fifty binoculars out and looked in the direction that Dumkowski was pointing. They had been watching all the unusual activity on the base with the dignitaries, the press, the families of the dead submariners all showing up for the memorial service. It had been welcome excitement after the hours of seeing nothing much else going on down there. Now something beyond exciting was happening at the Polyarnyy Submarine Base!

Beaman put the binoculars to his eyes just in time to see the first muzzle flashes from the BTR’s machine guns. His mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe what he was watching. Armored personnel carriers bearing the markings of the Russian naval infantry were firing on the Russian president’s official vehicle.

“Joe, get this on film!” Beaman ordered.

Dumkowski pulled out a small digital video camera and attached it to the spotter scope. He focused on the improbable scene being played out down there below their vantage point.

“Looks like…shit! They just wasted two of those guys in the car. Somebody else’s gettin’ out of the backseat. That’s…damn! That’s Smitrov for sure! Some guy in an Army uniform’s climbing out of the car with him. They got their hands up. Looks like they must be givin’ up.”

Beaman grunted. “That’s Smitrov, all right. I don’t have a clue who the other guy is. That looks like naval infantry that has the drop on them. There must be a couple of dozen of them.”