The helmsman switched on the engine, and it hummed with very little noise and vibration. As soon as it was on, he shut the light, leaving the vessel dark save for two shaded lights on the stern.

Peggy turned and peered out the small, circular porthole on her side of the mini-sub. Only a few small bubbles from the propeller in the stern drifted by as the submarine submerged to exit the shed. The darkness outside seemed to scowl at her and her eyes grew moist.

You've got to rein this in, she said to herself. The discontent. The frustration. The anger.

If only it were just Keith. She could mourn him and go on with her life, with difficulty but at least with a goal. But now that he was gone she realized that she had no goal, something that had been festering but sublimated for years. Suddenly, she was a thirty-six year-old woman who had chosen a lifestyle that had never permitted her to have much of a life, who had seen her country lose the fire and independence it had under Margaret Thatcher, lose its dignity because of a scurrilous monarchy. What had it all been for, all the years of toil and sacrifice, of losing her lover? She had been moving ahead because of momentum, because of the rapport and fun she had with Keith.

What is there now, she asked, if England becomes just a satellite of the European community? And not a respected one at that, unwilling to curry favor with the Germans the way the French had, unable to maintain élan and faith in the face of industrial collapse like the Spanish, or discard government after government the way the Italians had. What the hell have I lived for-- and what do I continue to live for?

"Ms. James?"

Private George's whisper seemed to come from another world. It brought her back to the midget submarine.

"Yes?"

"We've got a ten-hour stretch ahead of us and it's too dark to study the maps," George said. "Could I impose on you to start me on that crash course in Russian?"

She looked at George's eager young face. Where does his enthusiasm come from? she wondered. Managing to smile at him for the first time, she said, "It's not an imposition. Why don't we start with some basic questions."

"Such as?"

She said slowly, "Khak, shtaw, and puhchehmoo."

"Which means?"

Peggy smiled. "How, what, and-- perhaps most important-- why?"

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Tuesday, 2:30 A.M., Russian/

Ukraine border

Operation Barbarossa was the largest military offensive in the history of warfare. On June 22, 1941, German troops invaded Russia, shattering the Nazi-Soviet Peace Pact. Their objective: to capture Moscow before winter. Hitler sent 3.2 million troops in 120 divisions against 170 Soviet divisions spread along 2,300 kilometers from the shores of the Baltic to the shores of the Black Sea.