The frail old sub kissed the camels floating alongside the pier. The men grabbed lines and tied the relic securely enough that even a howling winter storm wouldn’t be able to break it loose. Their chore finished, the sailors walked briskly back across the narrow gangway and down the long pier, passing other similar boats along the way. Each one of them was every bit as forlorn and crumbling as the one they had just lashed to the dock.

Once they were gone, there wasn’t another human being in sight, not even a guard standing topside to watch over the wraithlike assembly of dead subs.

The group rounded the corner at the end of the pier and headed off down the street toward the mammoth building that stood at its end. Once there, they entered the same covered piers from which Gepard and Volk had departed several days before. The bustling activity in here was in stark contrast to the deathly stillness at the open pier they had just left. Here, they walked down one long pier, past four other subs and workers who crawled all over them, before they climbed onto yet another smartly maintained submarine at the end of the line.

The clean, new signboard on that boat clearly read VIPR.

The group’s leader saluted the officer who awaited them topside. “Captain, we are completed. The dummy sub is tied up in the same spot where we were.”

The captain saluted back smartly. “Excellent! Once again the American spy satellites will tell lies. They will never suspect the switch.”

He motioned them below. Their reward would be hot black tea and a chance to warm their numb hands and feet.

The pealing of the telephone woke Admiral Alexander Durov. He had not even realized that he had fallen asleep at his desk until the jangling startled him awake.

He shook his head to clear the fuzziness and cursed his own fatigue.

So much to do, so little time. Well, there would be ample time to rest when this was all done and the Rodina was once again secure in its destiny. For now, though, there was work to do, arrangements to be made, schemes to be put in motion, and no time for a nap. Not even for an old sailor.

His hand jabbed out and grabbed the phone. “Da! Durov here. What do you want?”

“Admiral, this is Captain First Rank Gregor Dobiesz.”

Durov recognized the voice at once. Dobiesz was the commander of submarines for Polyarnyy and a key player in Durov’s scheme. He was also one who loved the sound of his own name.

“The last switch has been made. Vipr is being refitted and loaded out with missiles in the sub pen. The mock-up is in her place at the pier. We will have all the boats ready for our mission in two weeks,” the captain proudly announced.