“Captain, once again I must ask for your assistance,” he whispered weakly. “Admiral Durov has threatened more attacks if the reins of power are not surrendered to him within four hours.” Smitrov paused and breathed deeply, as if dreading what he was about to say. “I fear his next attack from the submarines in the White Sea will use nuclear weapons. Even with our best antisubmarine search assets, it is not possible to find those submarines in time to prevent such a devastating launch. We must stop him from giving the order in the first place. We must do that immediately. In his present state of mind, the old fool might decide to go ahead with the attack early to prove his might.”

Glass nodded in agreement.

“Do you know where Durov is?” he asked. “Can your forces take him out?”

A faint shadow of a smile flitted across Smitrov’s face. “Our admiral is a creature of habit. He is in the one place where he feels the most omnipotent. He is in the command center at the Polyarnyy Submarine Base.”

“Then it should be a simple matter to send in an air strike.”

“That is where I need your assistance, Captain,” Smitrov said. “It seems that none of our frontline attack aircraft can reach the Command Center inside the four-hour window. We have anticipated no need to send them to attack our own base, you see. The only strike weapons available that have the accuracy and the power necessary are your Tomahawk cruise missiles.” He looked up at Glass. His eyes were clear. “I assume this submarine carries such weapons. I need for you to strike Polyarnyy and remove Admiral Durov.”

Glass couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard. The president of Russia was asking the commander of an American submarine to launch cruise missiles at his country’s most prized submarine base and kill the head of his country’s submarine service.

“We do,” Glass said.

“My deputy has spoken with your government already,” Smitrov continued. “You are to copy something called a ‘mission data update.’ I pray you know what that means.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I know what an MDU is,” Glass said with a smile. “It tells the missiles precisely where to fly. We’ll copy the message. I guess we need to go to work.”

Glass stepped into the control room, where he spotted Brian Edwards standing by the fire control system. He sported a large white bandage wrapped around his head.

Edwards didn’t see Glass when he walked in. His attention was directed at Pat Durand as the lieutenant operated the console like a concert pianist in midsonata.

“Nice fashion statement, XO,” Glass said with a smile. “How is the walking wounded feeling by now?”

“I got a bit of a headache. That damn pipe was hard.”

“It’s my understanding that the pipe was slightly harder than your head,” Glass chuckled. “What’s going on here?”