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  “We’re inside now, Skipper. Everything looks fine”

  “No sign of anyone yet” Webb radioed. “Negative”

  “Tony, the signal has just about died. Check out the radio room first, and then make a quick sweep through the entire boat, including the engine spaces. COMSUBMED wants us out of here on the double”

  “Aye, Skipper” D’Angelo radioed, and he stuffed the walkie-talkie in his pocket. “Charlie, check the engine room. Don, you take the cabins belowdecks. Doc and I will find the radioman” Markham and Gilmore took the stairs below, as D’Angelo and Davidson went forward through the saloon, past a small but efficient-looking galley to port, and what appeared to be a well-stocked pantry to starboard. The owner’s stateroom opened straight ahead. To the port was a big head with a bathtub, and to starboard a narrow, closed door was marked RADIO ROOM. D’Angelo raised his pistol and slowly pushed the door open. He was beginning to get spooked. Something all of a sudden didn’t seem right to him, though he didn’t know exactly why. The radio room was crammed with electronic equipment. A few lights shone on one of the consoles, and the very faint sound of the Morse code SOS message came through one of the speakers.

  But there was no one there. “What the hell” D’Angelo said, stepping the rest of the way into the tiny compartment and shining his flashlight over the equipment. A small tape recorder had been plugged into one of the transmitters. It was sending the message. “What’s going on.”

  Davidson started to ask when they both heard the sliding glass doors in the saloon close softly. The medic spun around. D’Angelo shoved him aside and rushed down the passageway. Something popped and began to hiss angrily to his left. He turned at the same moment his entire body was gripped with an incredibly painful spasm. “Charlie.” he screamed, grappling for the walkie-talkie in his pocket, but he was failing, an impenetrable darkness descending over him.

  Arkady Kurshin, dressed in black, crouched in the darkness of the Zenzero’s afterdeck, counting slowly to ten. Dr. Velikanov crouched behind him. “Now” Kurshin said softly. He pressed a button on a small transmitting device, and the cruiser’s airconditioning units rumbled into life. He counted another ten seconds and hit the button again shutting off the air-conditioners. Checking over the rail to make certain the submarine had not moved, and that no other boat was coming across, he pushed open the saloon door and went inside. D’Angelo, his eyes open, his tongue protruding from his mouth, lay on his side in the middle of the big room. Davidsor lay crumpled in a heap in the passageway just behind him. “Get started, we don’t have much time”

  Kurshin told the doctor. He turned and hurried down the stairs belowdecks. Gilmore was dead at the foot of the stairs, and Markham’”, body lay half in and half out of the doorway that led into the engine room. He seized Gilmore’s body beneath the armpits and dragged him up the stairs, dumping him in a heap in the middle of the saloon. The doctor had his bag open and the equipment he needed laid out beside him on the carpeted floor. He had already opened D’Angelo’s jacket and shirt and had cut away the dead man’s undershirt, exposing his broad barrel chest. “Tony, what’s going on over there” D’Angelo’s walkie-talkie blared. Ignoring it, Kurshin hurried back downstairs, where he grabbed Markham’s body and dragged it back up to the saloon. Dr. Velikanov had opened a twelve-inch gash in D’Angelo’s gut. The wound was bloodless although some of the dead man’s body fluids were seeping out. The smell was horrific. “Tony, for Christ’s sake, what’s going on over there” the walkie-talkie crackled. “Do you copy” As the doctor continued with his gruesome task, Kurshin yanked open the jackets and shirts of the other five sailors, cutting their undershirts open with his own knife. “How much longer” Kurshin asked. Dr. Velikanov was already sewing up the gash in D’ Angelo’s gut, using coarse thread and big running stitches.

  He glanced up, his jaws tight, his eyes narrow. “Five minutes and this butchery will be done”

  “Tony, this is Captain Webb. I want you out of there now”

  Kurshin scrambled over to D’Angelo’s body and pulled out the walkie-talkie. He keyed it and, holding the unit well away from himself, screamed hoarsely. “Christ … Christ … Skipper, we’ve got a fire started over here … there are … dead bodies everywhere … God, it’s … horrible.”

  “Tony, is that you? Tony, get the hell out of there, now, it’s an order”

  “Skipper … this place is … about ready to blow … oh, God “Tony!

  Tony” the walkie-talkie blared, but Kurshin switched it off and tossed it down on the floor. Dr. Velikanov was just about finished with Davidson. Kurshin hurriedly rebuttoned D’Angelo’s shirt and jacket and dragged his body out onto the afterdeck, making sure he kept well below the level of the rail. The beam of a searchlight suddenly swept across the ship. Kurshin waited until it had passed, and then dragged the body forward and dumped it over the side into the rubber raft. By the time he got back to the saloon, Dr. Velikanov was finished with Davidson and was halfway through with Markham. Whatever the man was, he was efficient.

  Kurshin dragged Davidson’s body onto the afterdeck and dumped it overboard. The searchlight was still playing over the cruiser. “You’ve got two minutes” Kurshin said, hurrying again below decks. In the engine room he used a hacksaw to cut the fuel lines to both engines and then started the pumps. Diesel fuel began spurting out all over the place.

  Setting an incendiary fuse for five minutes, he tossed it down on the floor and then set the other charges to blow five seconds later. He rushed back upstairs. Hurriedly he rebuttoned Markham’s shirt and jacket and dragged the body outside, where he dumped it over the rail.

  “Ahoy the vessel Zenzero, this is the US. Navy” an amplified voice rolled over the water from the Indianapolis. “Stand by to be fired upon unless you immediately signal your identification”

  “It’s done” Dr. Velikanov shouted from the saloon. Kurshin rushed inside, helped him rebutton Gilmore’s shirt and jacket, and together they dragged his body out onto the afterdeck and around to the port side, where they dumped it down into the rubber raft on top of D’Angelo’s body. “You have thirty seconds to comply, Zenzero”, the amplified voice boomed from the sub.

  Kurshin yanked open a compartment door across from the boarding ladder, pulled out a rubber raft canister, and dumped it over the side, the raft immediately popping open and inflating with a hiss. Next he pulled out a waterproof equipment bag with its own flotation collar and dumped it into the water. He hustled the doctor down the ladder and bodily shoved him into the sea. Pulling out his knife he cut the painter holding the Indianapolis’s rubber raft to the ladder and shoved it away with his foot. He jumped into the water and in a few powerful strokes reached the equipment bag, which he hauled up into their own raft, and then clambered aboard himself. As he was shipping the oars, Velikanov climbed aboard, and they headed away from the cruiser, keeping it between them and the submarine. The raft was black, as were their clothes. They were completely invisible to radar, and twenty-five yards out they would be invisible to anyone aboard the sub. An explosion suddenly shattered the night, and flames roared out of the saloon door.

  THE MEDITERRANEAN

  Thick billows of oily smoke, backlit by the flames raging through the Zenzero, rose two hundred feet into the night sky.

  Captain Webb, shaking with barely suppressed rage, was watching through binoculars from the bridge atop the Indianapolis’s sail. Layman and three others had taken another rubber raft across. This time they were armed with M16s. He had ordered them to shoot anyone on sight. “Bridge, communications” the bridge speaker blared. Webb hit the talk switch.

  “Bridge, aye”

  “Skipper, COMSUBMED wants to know if we require any assistance, and they’re asking for an update “Tell them that there’s been an explosion and fire aboard the cruiser and that we may have casualties”

  His walkie-talkie squawked into life. It was Layman. “Skipper, we just fished Markham out of the water”

 
; “What kind of shape is he in, Earl”

  “He’s dead” Webb was stunned into silence for just a beat, but then his anger rose up around him again as a fire brighter and hotter than that consuming the Zenzero. He hit the comms switch. “Communications, bridge.

  “Aye, bridge”

  “Have you sent out that message yet”

  “It’s in the machine now, Skipper “Belay that” Webb shouted. “Send instead, stand by”

  “Yes, Sir” Webb keyed his walkie-talkie. “Any sign of the others, Earl”

  “I don’t know, Skipper. We’ve spotted something floating low in the water on the port side of the cruiser, we’re heading over there now”

  “Any sign of life aboard”

  “Negative, negative. If anyone was aboard, they’re sure as hell dead by now”

  “What happened to Markham? Was he burned”

  “No, Sir” Layman said, and Webb could hear the strain in his voice. “No burns, no blood that I can see, no injuries. His eyes are open, and he’s just dead” Besides the lookout, the only other person on the bridge was the Second Officer, Lieutenant Kenneth Woodman. He was a young man who would someday make a good skipper. He knew the boat, he got along well with the men, and he knew how to take orders. Webb turned to him. “I want you to get below. Help Owens set up the dispensary for casualties.

  I don’t know how many, or what shape they’ll be in, but I suspect it’ll be bad”

  “Aye, Skipper” Woodman said. “And, Ken”

  “Yes, Sir”

  “Not a word to the rest of the crew. Understand”

  “Aye, aye”

  Woodman went below. Webb keyed his walkie-talkie again. “What’s your status, Earl”

  “Hold on, Captain, we’ve got another body in the water. Webb raised his binoculars and searched the waters around the furiously burning cruiser, but he couldn’t spot Layman’s raft. They had already gone to the opposite side of the Zenzero. “My God, Skipper, it’s Davidson. He’s dead too. Just like Markham. He’s not been burned or injured in any way that I can see, and his eyes are open. Skipper, it looks like he’s… like he was in pain”

  “What about the other object you spotted floating in the water”

  “We’re on our way over to it … but it’s hard to get much closer …

  it’s damned hot ” Webb keyed the comms switch. “Bob, what are we showing on radar”

  “Still clear, Skipper” Hess came back. “What about that auxiliary? Are you still painting her”

  “Yes, sir. She’s about ten miles out now, but she seems to have slowed down “Same course”

  “Yes, sir”

  “Keep an eye on her, Bob. Anything electronic coming from her, let me know immediately “Aye, Skipper”

  “It’s our boat, Skipper” Layman radioed. Webb keyed his walkie-talkie.

  “How about D’Angelo and Gilmore”

  “Dead, just like the others. But it looks as if they were dumped into the raft, Captain. Gilmore is lying on top of Tony, as if someone …

  tossed him”

  “Listen to me, Earl. is there any possibility, any possibility at all, that anyone could still be aboard that cruiser”

  “Negative, Skipper. You can’t get within a hundred feet of it. Nothing aboard is alive”

  “Do you see anyone else in the water, any other bodies, another rubber raft”

  “Negative”

  “Get back here on the double” Webb said. Again he keyed his ship comms.

  “Plotting, bridge”

  “Plotting, aye”

  “I want a best possible course and speed to the auxiliary that radar is painting to our south”

  “We going to stay on the surface, Skipper”

  “Yes” Webb said. “I’ll have it in a second”

  “Quartermaster, bridge. “Quartermaster, aye”

  “I want four men at the after loading hatch. Our people are on their way back, and they’re going to need some help”

  “Aye, Captain. “Conn, bridge. I want Boyle up here on the double. “Aye, aye, Skipper” Webb again raised his binoculars. He could see Layman and the others heading back now, the other raft in tow. He keyed his walkie-talkie. “Earl”

  “We’re on our way back, Skipper”

  “There’ll be someone at the after hatch to help you. I want Tony and the others brought immediately forward to the dispensary. I’ll meet you there. “Yes, sir” Third Officer Lieutenant j. g. Ernie Boyle came up through the hatch. He was young, barely in his mid-twenties, but he was already as good as any other officer aboard. “You’ve got the bridge, Ernie” Webb told him. “Aye, aye, Skipper”

  “Keep an eye peeled. Earl and the others will be loading through the after hatch I’ll be in the dispensary” ‘. Yes, sir” Boyle said, and Webb clambered down into the boat.

  Kurshin had angled them away from the cruiser, One hundred fifty yards out from the Indianapolis, he stopped rowing and looked back. The submarine showed no lights MM@=

  and was visible only as a vague black shape against the overcast sky.

  “Is this far enough” Dr. Velikanov asked. “They might send someone to look for us” He was clearly agitated. “They’re busy gathering their dead, Doctorkurshin said as he unzippered the waterproof equipment bag.

  “They’ll be taking them aboard soon, I expect”

  “Such a terrible waste. They were just young boys” Kurshin gave him a hard look. “This is war”

  “Yes” Velikanov said, nodding. “What we are doing could very well precipitate the nuclear holocaust”

  ” You received your orders, Doctor. But the choice was yours. And to this point you have carried out your duties very well. Velikanov shook his head. “Too well” he mumbled. Kurshin had pulled the AK74 out of the bag. Quickly he attached the image-intensifying night scope and loaded the heavy assault rifle. He brought it up to his shoulder, keyed the scope, and slowly scanned the submarine from bow to stern, images coming through the eyepiece in shades of bright gray. Two men were on the bridge atop the sail. One of them had a pair of binoculars and was looking out to sea in the opposite direction. The other man was looking down at the aft deck. Near the stern the last of the bodies was lowered through an open hatch. Two of the sailors remained topside to deflate the rubber rafts so that they could be brought back aboard. Even at this distance Kurshin could see by the way they moved that they were very angry. The captain, however, would be containing his own anger. Most of the boat’s 127-man crew would still be unaware that four of their comrades were dead. The submarine would not be at battle stations yet.

  The interior spaces would not be sealed. Nor would the ventilation systems be isolated. There was no need for it. Kurshin checked his watch. He had set it in the timer mode.

  So far thirty-six minutes had elapsed since Velikanov had begun his work. The timing was critical. “You are certain that you made the insertions in the proper order”

  “Yes” the doctor said softly. “Then we don’t have long to wait”

  “How long”

  “Less than four minutes now” Kurshin said, once again raising his rifle and sighting on the bridge. “Start rowing, Doctor, I would like to be closer”

  Webb was in the dispensary with Woodman and Medic Second Class Justin Owens when Layman and Anders carried D’Angelo’s body inside and laid it on the operating table. “Christ” he said, bile rising at the back of his throat. D’Angelo was in rictus, his tongue protruding. His eyes were open and his face held an expression of horror or extreme pain. II Are the others like this, sir” Owens asked, bending over D’Angelo and studying his eyes. The kid was huge, he had played football in high school, but he had a gentle touch. “All of them” Layman replied, looking at Webb. “Where are they, Earl” Webb asked softly. “Officers’ wardroom”

  Owens was looking up. “What is it, Justin” Webb asked.

  “Skipper, I’ve only read about this. Saw a film. But unless my guess is way off, I’d say it was gas�
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  “Gas? What kind of gas”

  “Nerve gas Labun, or something like that” Owens turned back to D’Angelo’s body. “He’s got the symptoms. No apparent wounds or other trauma” He felt the base of D’Angelo’s skull, his neck, and chest.

  “Dispensary, conn, is the skipper back there” the comms speaker squawked. Webb turned and hit the switch. “Webb, here”

  “Sir, COMSUBMED is pressing. They want to know our situation. “Tell them to stand by. What’s the status of the auxiliary to our south”

  “Looks like she’s dead in the water now, sir”

  “Have you got that intercept course plotted”

  “Aye, aye, sir”

  “Jesus Christ” Owens swore, and Webb turned around. The medic had opened D’Angelo’s shirt. A huge gash had been cut in the quartermaster’s gut and had been roughly sewn up. Webb could hardly believe his eyes.

  Layman’s mouth had dropped open, and one of the crewmen who had helped carry the bodies aboard stood in the doorway shaking his head.

  “Skipper” the speaker blared. “Stand by” Webb snapped, keying the comm.

  “What the hell happened, Justin”

  “Christ, I don’t know, sir. Someone cut him open and sewed him back up”

  “Is that what killed him” Layman asked. “I don’t think so” Owens said.

  “Check the others, Earl” Webb said. Layman brushed past the crewman and hurried the few steps to the wardroom. “Open him up” Webb ordered.

  Owens was breathing through his mouth, and his face was red. “Yes, sir”

  he said. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and got a scalpel from the autoclave. Carefully he began cutting the running stitches in D’Angelo’s gut, one by one. His hands were shaking. Layman came back slamming the flat of his palm against the bulkhead. “Every one of them, Skipper. They cut them open and stitched them back together, like fucking stuffed turkeys. I I “Someone was aboard that cruiser” Webb said. Layman looked up, sudden understanding dawning in his eyes. “You’re goddamned right they were. When they were done, they dumped Tony and the others overboard, set the cruiser on fire, and got the hell off the ship.