Beaman moved his binoculars to the right as he caught a glimpse of someone emerging from one of the warehouse doors. He focused on the man for a second, then nudged Dumkowski.

“Make damn sure you get a shot of that guy, the big, tall one just coming out of that building. That’s got to be Admiral Alexander Durov!”

Beaman watched as the old admiral strolled across the alley to where Smitrov and his companion were standing, illuminated by the floodlights. The two men were facing a brick wall as if they were lined up before a firing squad.

“Somehow I don’t think Durov called this little meeting just to pay his respects to his president,” Dumkowski observed. “Looks more like—”

“Son of a bitch! They just shot the guy in the uniform!”

Bill Beaman shook his head again. What the hell was happening down there? More important for the moment, what the hell should he and his SEAL team do about it? Would Durov’s men shoot the president next?

Ideas raced through Beaman’s brain. A rogue submarine admiral sending boats out on secret missions was one thing, but now he was ambushing the president of Russia! This ratcheted the whole deal up to a different level. The trap had to have been well planned, had to have some purpose in Durov’s scheme, whatever that scheme might be. One thing was clear. The bastard must be ready to go public with whatever he was doing. With President Smitrov either held hostage or executed, there would be no way to keep his plot hidden from the rest of the world any longer.

Beaman watched, stunned, as the Russian president was handcuffed, blindfolded, and shoved into one of the BTRs. The ugly gray vehicle then drove away down the narrow street before being gobbled up by one of the metal sheds that squatted down alongside the piers.

It looked as if the show was over. At least the part of it they would be able to see. Beaman grabbed the video camera and slid back down below the lip of the hill before standing up. He raced down the few yards to the protection of the trees where Chief Johnston and the rest of the team were hidden. This was news that he had to relay as quickly as possible. Admiral Donnegan and the rest of the brass back in D.C. needed to see these pictures with their own eyes.

Without them, there was no way anybody would believe what Beaman had just witnessed. No way in hell!

Commander Joe Glass checked the chart one more time just to be sure, then stepped up to the periscope stand. Pat Durand was “dancing with the fat lady,” watching the mouth of the Murmansk Fjord to make sure no one came zooming out and ran over Toledo while they were up at periscope depth.