“Holy shit!” he gasped. “Here comes another one. Something’s in the works, Tony. It’s time to ring the alarm bells.”

Martinelli grabbed up the transceiver. He hesitated. Transmitting two messages this close together was not a good idea. The radio signal was very weak and the narrow beam was aimed upward at the satellite in its geosynchronous polar orbit. Martinelli’s voice messages were compacted into millisecond bursts of radio energy to further decrease the risk of drawing unwanted attention. All that caution was designed to limit the chance the transmissions would be intercepted. Still, two messages in rapid succession exponentially raised the risk. No one could decipher the content, but they would know someone was there, transmitting from this cold overlook.

There was no choice. Donnegan had to know about this, and quick. Two boats coming out together was not a good sign at all. Especially with the mini-sub and Toledo out there in their path.

Martinelli passed on the contact report as the second Akula dropped below the surface heading into the Murmansk Fjord.

Hall swung the sniper scope back to look at the covered dock. His jaw dropped. A third black shadow was emerging. “Tony, here comes another one!”

“Jeez, Jase! If we spend any more time on the radio, those Russians are gonna be on us like stink on shit!”

“Quit griping,” Hall said with a shrug. “We ain’t got a choice here. Get the message out.”

Hector Gonzales sat in the pilot’s seat, steering the ASDV mini-sub down the narrow slot of the Murmansk Fjord. So far it had been easy, just like the countless training exercises they had been through. The sonar system worked flawlessly, painting a road map between the granite walls for him to follow. The sonar sent out a high-pitched click that bounced off any solid object, like the rock sides of the fjord. The echoes told the sonar’s sophisticated circuitry just what was out there. At the same time, the clicks mimicked biologic noises. Its digital sound library switched automatically among various natural sounds. Any listener would likely allow those noises to fall into the background.

From his perch in the copilot’s seat, Sam Donlan gazed around at the array of displays and readouts. They told the pair that the ASDV was operating flawlessly. Donlan leaned back, yawned, and stretched. He unbuckled his shoulder harness and seat belt as he unfolded his tall, gangly frame from his bucket seat.

“I’m getting a cup of coffee. Want one?” he asked, not bothering to stifle another yawn.

“Sure, black and bitter.”

Donlan crawled through the hatch and headed past the lockout chamber and into the passenger chamber. Gonzales sat back and eased the wheel slightly to starboard to slide around a rocky escarpment.