"You're under arrest, Mr. Henderson," Sissy Loomis said, holding up her ID card.  "The charge is espionage.  You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to speak with an attorney.  If you give up the right to remain silent, everything you say will be recorded and may be used against you.  If you do not have an attorney or cannot afford one, we will see to it that an attorney is appointed to represent you.  Do you understand these rights, Mr. Henderson?"  It was Sissy Loomis' first espionage case.  For five years she had specialized in bank robbery stakeouts, often working as a teller with a .357 magnum revolver in her cash drawer.  "Do you wish to waive these rights?"

"No, I do not."  Henderson's voice was raspy.

"Oh, you will," the inspector observed.  "You will."  He turned to the three agents who accompanied him.  "Take this place apart.  Neatly, gentlemen, and quietly.  We don't want to wake anyone.  You, Mr. Henderson, will come with us.  You can change first.  We can do this the easy way or the hard way.  If you promise to cooperate, no cuffs.  But if you try to run—you don't want to do that, believe me."  The inspector had been in the FBI for twenty years and had never even drawn his service revolver in anger, while Loomis had already shot and killed two men.  He was old-time FBI, and couldn't help but wonder what Mr. Hoover would think of that, not to mention the new Jewish director.

The Red October

Ramius and Kamarov conferred over the chart for several minutes, tracing alternate course tracks before agreeing on one.  The enlisted men ignored this.  They had never been encouraged to know about charts.  The captain walked to the aft bulkhead and lifted the phone.

"Comrade Melekhin," he ordered, waiting a few seconds.  "Comrade, this is the captain.  Any further difficulties with the reactor systems?"

"No, Comrade Captain."

"Excellent.  Hold things together another two days.  "Ramius hung up.  It was thirty minutes to the turn of the next watch.