He could hear the silence on the other end of the line now, and Durov could picture the Mafia leader chewing on his lip for a moment as he pondered the report and its effect on the overall plan. Medikov’s words were sharp, razorlike, when he spoke.

“For someone who was so critical of the most mundane and harmless holes in our plan in America, you seem to have your share of loose ends up there, Admiral. You do not even know if the ambush has taken place or if the plan has been set in motion yet.”

Durov gritted his teeth. Who was this Organizatsiya henchman, this common hoodlum, to question the efficacy of his operations? He forced himself to swallow his pride for the moment. “Rest assured, we are successfully under way with the plan. Soon the world will know what has happened beneath the ice. Or at least our version of the tragic treachery that has occurred.”

“So, let us assume you are correct. What do we do now?”

“The impending news will have its desired effect, you can be assured,” the old admiral answered. He tried to ignore the shaking of his hands as he turned up the goblet and drained the last drops of the vodka. “As soon as you have everything in place in New York, we will make the claim that the Americans, once again aggressive and blatant under their new hawk of a president, are responsible for the loss of Gepard. If Volk should fail to return as well, we will blame them for her loss also. Once the media is on the trail, they will do the rest of our work for us. The world will be thinking of nothing else. The rest of the plan will proceed as we have laid it out.”

There was a grunt all the way from Moscow, then a long sigh.

“Let us hope, for the sake of both our necks, that what you say is true, Admiral.”

It was cold, so very cold.

Captain Sergei Andropoyov huddled in a bunk in the dark berthing room. The numbing chill made even thinking difficult. Still, he had to continue to plan what to do in order for his crew to survive.

It was growing more and more difficult. All his thoughts were a slow jumble. He was fighting the palpable sense of shadowy dread that seemed to envelop him as surely as the black coldness.

All the crew, or at least the thirty-five who remained, were huddled together there in the berthing room, trying in vain to use their shared body heat to keep each other warm. The battery was now so depleted that Andropoyov had decided they could no longer afford to use the heaters. They would have to use the trickle of power left for the underwater telephone should rescuers approach again. Otherwise, no one would be able to find them.