The outboard motor whine of the submarine’s inflatable Zodiac was loud now, pulsing as it neared, rising and falling with the waves. Svetlana kept the pistol trained on Chad as the boat pulled alongside. The large, wet-suited submariner in the bow looked at the scene in the raft and turned laughing to his only crewmate. In Russian he said, “Looks like she doesn’t need our help.” His smile was broad as they reached and grabbed for the handles on the raft. “Major Gromova, we’re here to rescue you.”
She unleashed a torrent of Russian at him. His smile disappeared. He looked back at the capsule in the distance, and then at the sky to the northeast. He reached down with his free hand and lifted a Kalashnikov submachine gun, cradling it, waving it urgently at Michael and Chad. He spoke in thickly accented English. “Get een!”
Michael looked to Chad, who raised his palms. The Soviet reached across and took the radio, handing it to the helmsman by the motor, then grabbed Michael’s arm and tumbled him onto the Zodiac’s plank floor.
Svetlana was still pointing her pistol, and she ordered Chad in Russian: “You next.” Chad shrugged and climbed across, the sailor grabbing him by his suit’s neck ring and pushing him into place next to Michael.
Svetlana pocketed her pistol, stood to haul in the sea anchor line with both hands and passed the end to the Russian. Timing it carefully with the surging waves, she stepped neatly between the boats. The helmsman revved the outboard, and with the raft now trailing, steered hard towards the bow of the submarine and the capsule beyond.
Thinking about what Svetlana had shouted at him, the lead sailor put his face close to Chad’s, his large, black-suited body menacing. “Vere is it?”
Michael was watching. Where is what? What’s going on?
Chad had a strange smile on his face. Excellent! This one speaks English! That’ll make it simple! He glanced at Michael. “I think they want some of our moonrocks.” He turned and looked into the sailor’s face. “Never had any of their own, and now I guess they think they deserve some.” He looked up at the Navy helicopters, just visible in the distance. “But it looks like we’re gonna capture the flag, Ivan. What are you going to do about it?”
This is going to work, just like I figured! The Soviets could have their precious cosmonaftka back, but the US would get the real prize. And all because of him.
The slap was sudden and totally unexpected, making the impact feel worse; the sailor’s full-handed blow rocked Chad’s head violently to the side. The sailor spoke again, his accent thick. “I ask once more. Vere is the radioactivni kahmen—the radioactive stone?”
“Hey, you can’t do that!” Michael protested. The sailor twisted and shoved him violently towards the bow, and the helmsman raised his Kalashnikov to hold him there. Chad was shaking his head slowly, his hand going to the spreading red mark on his cheek.
Svetlana looked sharply at the submariner. “Did you say the stone is radioactive?”
He nodded. “That’s what Moscow told us.”
She growled in frustration. Idiots! Why didn’t they tell me!
She moved rapidly towards Chad and frisked his suit, probing forcefully for a distinctive rounded shape. She turned to the sailor. “Not there. It must still be in the capsule.” She looked across at the helicopters, and down at the scuba tanks strapped to the floor next to her. There’s still time! She spoke quickly, and the sailor began rapidly assembling and donning equipment.
She turned back to Chad. “If you don’t answer right now, he’s going to hit you again and then force you underwater to show him. Where did you hide the stone?”
Chad was still blinking to clear his head, and Michael answered for him. “He doesn’t understand Russian, Svetlana! Leave him alone!”
She yelled at him. “Molchi!” Be silent! She turned back to Chad. “Last chance!”
He stared at her, dazed and defiant.
“Bah!” she said in frustration, and turned to the sailor. “He’s yours. And hurry, before the Americans can get into the water!”
The two crewmen forced straps over Chad’s arms, tightened the waist belt and mashed the rubber regulator against his lips. Chad kept his teeth closed, and the lead sailor shrugged. He’ll want to breathe eventually. He pulled a long, sharp knife from his leg holster and reached in by Chad’s neck, puncturing the airtight rubber seal, and then the two men lifted Chad up and threw him into the sea. The submariner had on his tank and flippers; he pulled on a mask, sat on the inflated edge and neatly pivoted over the side. Grabbing Chad by the neck ring, he dragged him underwater and started swimming hard, descending towards the inverted capsule.