This would be the last time they could fix their position until after Hector Gonzales and the ASDV had completed their mission and they could head home. For the next day or so they would stay hidden, deeply submerged inside the fjord. Coming up to get a navigational fix or to copy the satellite communications signal would be impossible. Sticking a mast above the surface of that bit of cold, icy water would be an open invitation to getting their asses shot at.

Glass tapped Durand on the shoulder. “Pat, let me take a look around. Make sure we have a good GPS fix and all traffic on board.”

Glass took Durand’s place at the scope eyepiece and looked out. Sure enough, there were the high wooded headlands marking the entrance to the fjord. It looked exactly like the photos in the intel package he had been studying, pictures taken by some crazy Brit submarine skipper back during the height of the Cold War. That guy had brazenly driven his boat right into the fjord, all the way to the entrance to Polyarnyy, in broad daylight, taking pictures the entire way down. Then turned around and slipped right back out again. Amazingly, he lived to tell about it.

Glass hoped the Russian defenses were no better now than the Soviet ones were then. He would follow the Brit sub’s track in to a point where he could launch the ASDV. Afterward, he would wait around until Gonzales drove back, reacquire the mini-sub, and then sneak out again.

If all went well, no one on the Russian side would ever know what they had done. If it didn’t go well, their grave would lie somewhere inside the cold, deep fjord.

“Skipper,” Durand called, interrupting Glass’s reverie. “All message traffic aboard. We have a good GPS fix. Nav is satisfied. We’re ready to go.”

The commander nodded. He slapped the periscope handles up and gave the red hoist ring a tug. The scope slid back down into the well.

“Very well. Let’s get this show on the road. Make your depth three-two-five feet. Ahead one-third. Rig ship for ultraquiet.”

With that, Toledo slipped down into the hostile depths, beneath the dark waters of the fjord.

Chapter 31

Admiral Tom Donnegan slammed the message down hard onto his desk, word side down.

“Damn, damn, and double damn!” he growled, but not loud enough for his aide in the outer office to hear him. “Now what in hell is that old fool up to? First he sinks two of his own subs and one of ours. Then the son of a bitch goes and kidnaps the damned president of Russia!”