Silent Thunder Read online

  Hell, Hannah Bryson was probably going to be a challenge in more ways than the physical. She was exceptionally intelligent. He had recently watched a two-year-old National Geographic special in which Hannah had described her childhood obsession with scuba diving, and her ever-increasing desire to go farther and deeper than her tanks could ever take her. Before she'd even graduated from college, she had made a name for herself with a series of radical yet extremely workable sub designs that instantly catapulted her to the forefront of the traditionally male-dominated profession of marine architecture. She possessed an amazing photographic memory that gave her instant mental access to every sub ever designed, and her skill and creativity enabled her to improve on many of them.

  Bradworth ruefully shook his head. Dammit, he would have preferred to have someone a hell of a lot less sharp, but he'd been forced to accept her. He just hoped he could get her through this and-

  His phone rang, and he picked up. "Bradworth."

  "Is she there?"

  He tensed. "Dammit, Kirov, I told you I'd call you after I spoke to her. Stop pressuring me."

  "Is she there?"

  "She's walking down the street toward me right now."

  "She took her time. They were down at the pier looking at the sub an hour ago."

  "And you were there watching her. I told you to stay away from that damn sub, Kirov."

  "And I told you to go to hell. I'll do what I please." He paused. "I wasn't the only one watching her. There was a small yacht cruising around the bay, and I saw the man on the bridge was using highpowered video binoculars."

  "Could have been nothing. A five-hundred-and-fifty-foot Russian submarine is definitely a curiosity in these waters."

  "And it could have been Pavski. We'll assume it was until proven otherwise."

  Annoyance seared through him. Arrogant bastard. Call him on it? He hesitated. Oh, what the hell. He was tired of pussyfooting around with Kirov. He had to prove to the son of a bitch that he wasn't to be intimidated. "You're sure you're not using Pavski as an excuse?"

  Silence. "I beg your pardon?"

  The words were spoken softly, but Bradworth felt a chill go down his spine. He smothered it and kept his voice as low and hard as Kirov's. "I've gone to a good deal of trouble to set this up, and I'd be very annoyed if I found out that you have another agenda other than our mutually agreed objective."

  "Really? And what would you do?"

  "You're not irreplaceable. We created you. We can destroy you."

  "Indeed? Try." Kirov's voice was still soft, but the inflection had become icy. "And you didn't create me. I'm my own creation. I started as a skeleton with nothing inside but hate, and I infused that corpse with blood and guts."

  "And you don't owe us anything for teaching you, helping you?"

  Kirov laughed. "My God, you expect me to be grateful? Hell, yes, I learned from you. And then it wasn't enough and I went to Hong Kong and learned more and then I went to India and had them teach-" He stopped, and then said, "Let's just say, you were only the first step in my education. As for helping me, every time you helped me, you helped yourself. And do you think I haven't looked over my shoulder all the way to make sure you didn't decide I was expendable? I'm not expendable, Bradworth. And if you decide to explore that possibility, you might have to start looking over your shoulder."

  "I didn't say we were going to target you. I just wanted to make our position clear." Bradworth was backtracking, he realized with disgust. He hadn't expected to unleash quite this much deadliness in Kirov. He'd only been concerned with his own pride and selfrespect. No, he wouldn't have been that unprofessional. He'd also been told that Kirov might have to be reined in. The bastard had been walking too close to the edge lately. "If you're being entirely honest with us, then you have nothing to fear."

  "I'm not afraid." Kirov's voice was suddenly weary. "I got rid of that emotion along with other nonessentials a long time ago." His tone changed to brusqueness. "The license number of that yacht is PA 3717 ZW. Check it out and get back to me. Start the Bryson woman working on the sub tomorrow morning. I want her to finish as soon as possible."

  "And what if she's not ready to start yet?"

  "Persuade her. But I think she'll be ready. According to the dossier you furnished me, she's a dynamo, and she'll want to dive in."

  "We would have preferred someone not quite so independent. We could have had one of our Navy engineers do this job, and the report would have been-"

  "Not as thorough as Hannah Bryson's. Look, I told you that to put anyone on the sub was like baiting a tiger. You didn't agree and went ahead with it. So as long as it's being done, let's do it right. She's brilliant and the best in her field. Besides, she has a photographic memory, and that will move the project at lightning speed. She'll take that sub apart and put it back together before she turns in a schematic. I've read her reports in the Marine Log."

  "We just wanted to make absolutely sure. She's probably not going to come up with anything more than the team we had go through it in Helsinki."

  "Even if she doesn't, Pavski is a little too interested for there not to be something in the wind."

  "You can't be that sure that Jennings was working for Pavski in Helsinki. You were too eager to kill the bastard."

  "True. And I enjoyed every second of it. But I don't have to be sure. My sources told me that Pavski was finding Jennings a liability. The minute Jennings caught on that he was going to be a target, he would have disappeared from the scene. I couldn't risk that."

  "We don't agree with your sources. Maybe he would have told us where to find Pavski."

  "Jennings was too low on the totem pole to have direct access to him. You would have drawn a blank."

  "You have an answer to everything."

  "I don't have all the answers, but I do have instincts. These days my instincts are very sharp where Pavski is concerned. I'm done arguing with you about this, Bradworth. Call me if I'm wrong about Hannah Bryson, and she wants to delay starting work. I'll see if I can do something to nudge her."

  "No! Stay away from her, dammit."

  "Then persuade her." He hung up the phone.

  Christ, he was actually sweating, Bradworth realized as he pressed the disconnect. Cold sweat. He took a deep breath. Stupid that Kirov had this effect on him. He wasn't without courage, as his record proved. And stupid that he'd forced himself to try to overcome it by confronting the bastard. He should have been more diplomatic and noncommittal.

  And Kirov would have seen right through him anyway. Forget it. Forget him. Hannah Bryson had opened the garden gate, and she and her brother were starting up the walk toward the porch. He got to his feet and smiled warmly as he went down the steps toward her. "Good to see you, Ms. Bryson. This is going to be a pleasant job for you. You'll like this inn. It has so many windows facing the sea, it's like cruising on a yacht. I've been sitting here rocking and daydreaming. It's like being in another century…"

  Bradworth had surprised him, Kirov thought as he tucked his phone in his jacket pocket and walked to the edge of the cliff overlooking the pier where the Silent Thunder was moored. Bradworth was an old-time company man with all the accompanying baggage. He'd tried to convert to the modern mind-set, but he was still stuck in the rut he'd formed when he'd been trained as a young agent. Threats, control, and the American way.

  Not that Kirov thought that agenda couldn't be effective. To control and use authority had been bred in him since he was a boy. It was just that adaptation was the key to survival and success, and he would succeed.

  Would he have to take out Bradworth? The man was afraid of him, and although he'd used that fear on occasion to get his own way, fear could be dangerous.

  Maybe, but not yet. He needed him to guide Hannah Bryson to do what he wanted her to do.

  He glanced at the horizon. The yacht was gone, and no other craft seemed to be circling like a buzzard. Yes, the term was apt, he thought grimly. Pavski was a buzzard trying to eat the bones
of the sub lying defenseless and stripped of power.

  But why?

  He had a good idea, but he'd find out. It was only a matter of time.

  But he might not have the time. Pavski moved fast, and he'd regard this period as an opportunity. Hannah Bryson had to start work immediately and get one step ahead of him.

  Or stand in his way. Either action might be beneficial for Kirov. Not so beneficial for Hannah Bryson. Pavski's usual method of removing obstacles was to destroy them.

  Too bad. He liked what he'd heard about the woman. He hoped he could get to Pavski before he killed her.

  In the meantime he'd guard that lovely lady lying in the water at the pier. They'd removed Silent Thunder's weapons, but she was still beautiful and powerful and stirring to the senses. He sat down and crossed his legs, his gaze on the sleek hull.

  "Come and get her, Pavski. Make your play," he whispered. "I'm waiting."

  TWO

  "You'll start right away?" Bradworth asked. "I'm sorry to push you, Ms. Bryson, but the museum is eager to start publicity rolling, and they can't do it until you inspect every inch of that sub, draw up your plans, and supervise the modifications that will make it safe for tourists to move through."

  "I'm as eager to get started as they are to have me," Hannah said. "I need to wrap this job up in a few weeks." She glanced teasingly at her brother. "Conner's marriage depends on it."

  Conner nodded solemnly. "That's true. Of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Hannah has another job waiting in the wings."

  "Oh, that's right. She mentioned that lost underwater city." Bradworth frowned. "But you're not going to sail off before the job's done? I'll need your promise."

  Lord, the man was solemn, Hannah thought. And not the most charismatic person she'd ever met. She was glad that she wouldn't be working directly with him. "I don't go back on my word. The museum will get its schematic and report. When can I get access to the sub?"

  "Tomorrow. I'll have someone from the naval team who brought it here meet you at the pier at nine."

  "Seven."

  He smiled. "Seven."

  "And isn't it pretty odd not having guards around the sub? The local kids would find it pretty irresistible. Conner and I had no trouble approaching it this afternoon."

  "There are guards. You were watched from the time you parked your van on the pier. We're keeping a very low profile with the townspeople. I told my men you'd probably be stopping by and not to interfere with you. The gate that bars the harbor is enough to keep most people out, and the museum asked us to be discreet. They don't want anyone getting in the way of your job or the cleanup. And the less talk about the sub, the better until they can start the publicity." He got up from the chair. "Now may I escort you into dinner? This inn is famous for its great food."

  "I'll take your word for it." She glanced at Conner. "I'm going back to the pier. Want to come with me?"

  He shook his head. "Dinner and then a call home to Cathy sound a lot better to me than staring at a sub you can't even board yet."

  "I can examine the exterior a little more closely. We didn't take much time."

  "You have photos."

  "I'm going." She turned to Bradworth. "I suppose I'll see you in the morning?"

  He hesitated. "I could go with you, and we could have dinner at a restaurant on the dock."

  She had no desire to be social right now and certainly not with a government bureaucrat. "That's okay, I'm not hungry." She started down the steps. "And there's no use your going along. I'm not intending to do anything but look at the sub and compare it to my notes." She stopped and turned back. "By the way, do you have a copy of the reports on the crew you got from the Russians? I may want to contact them if I have any questions."

  "Of course." He reached into his briefcase and handed her a large, bulky envelope. "Here's the history of Silent Thunder's journey from Finland. Videos and tapes that the museum intends to use in its presentation." He handed her a folder. "And here's the personnel file. But I'm afraid it won't help you much. Captain Vladzar died three years ago and his first mate, Valentin Gregor, is in Chechnya working with the rebels. He's got his hands full just keeping one step ahead of Putin's security forces."

  "There may be someone else who can tell me something." She slid the information into her denim satchel. "I don't need much technical info. I'm familiar with the Oscar II, but there are sometimes small variations in design. I just want a backup in case I run into something that I'm not-"

  "I'd be glad to come with you and go over the reports. Perhaps I can shed some light on-" He stopped as he saw her shaking her head. "No?"

  "She wants to be alone with the sub," Conner said gravely, his lips twitching.

  "What?" Bradworth asked blankly.

  "She has an empathy with machines. No romanticism, but she's not as hardheaded as you might think. She has a sensitive side. Just ask her."

  "I'm going to murder you." Hannah grimaced over her shoulder as she started down the steps. "Or better yet, I'll work you to death checking those schematics." She waved as she moved down the walk. "I don't know when I'll be back. But I'll see you tomorrow. Say hello to Cathy and the kids for me."

  The sun was going down when Hannah reached the pier. The twilight softened and masked the age-worn hull of the sub, and Silent Thunder seemed young again. Good God, that thought had come out of nowhere and was sickeningly maudlin. Conner would have laughed at her as he'd laughed at her returning to the pier tonight. She couldn't blame him. What the hell was she doing here? She wasn't going to accomplish anything, and she certainly hadn't felt the empathy Conner had teased her about. She was proud of her cool analytical approach to her work.

  So the fact that she'd been drawn back here this evening must have been because she wanted to get the right mind-set to start the job.

  Maybe.

  Oh, screw it. She was tired of questioning her every thought and motive. She was tired, period. It could be that Conner's talk about the sub had sparked her imagination. Or it could be that she hadn't wanted to stick around the inn when she knew Conner would be too busy with his phone calls to keep her company. The first night away from his family was always difficult for them, and he was usually on the phone most of the evening.

  Jesus, that sounded selfish. It wasn't as if she begrudged him either the loving relationship or his family. She had no right when she'd deliberately chosen the single life for herself after her divorce from Ken. It was just that sometimes she felt a twinge of wistfulness and loneliness.

  Okay, stay here for an hour or so and glance over the crew dossier, then stroll back to the inn. By then it would be time to get ready for bed, and tomorrow she could dive in and start work. That would be exciting and satisfying, and she'd rid herself of this strange emotional jag.

  Now think about the sub. Think about the problems of taking the craft's interior apart, inspecting each piece for possible tourist hazards, then putting it seamlessly back together again. This deadly attack sub would soon be hosting scores of curious elementaryschoolers on class field trips. She'd have to make subtle modifications that wouldn't clash with a spartan environment designed for battle-tested sailors. It had sounded a hell of a lot easier when Bradworth had proposed it to her in Boston.

  She glanced at the maritime museum that bordered the site. It was a white two-story building fronted by a massive anchor-shaped monument with the names of dozens of seamen who had died in the waters off this port. Mostly fishermen trying to earn a living for their families, Hannah thought. An artificial lagoon was being constructed around the Silent Thunder, with suspended concrete ramps that would one day hold the lines of visitors. A pair of large, ugly gates now separated the craft from the ocean, structures Hannah assumed would be replaced with more aesthetically pleasing barriers.

  She sat down on the pier and pulled the folder out of her satchel. Captain Sergai Vladzar's dossier was on top. He was bearded and white-haired, had a hook nose and a stern expression. His blu
e eyes were staring out of the photo with a boldness that was a little intimidating. He definitely looked like a commander of a lethal submarine, she thought. His first mate, Valentin Gregor, appeared to be in his forties, with a round face and an expression that was much less intimidating. Of course, the photos were at least fifteen years old, and the first mate evidently was both older and more dangerous than he looked these days. It seemed strange to think that these two men had lived and worked on this ship when it had been a queen of the seas. It was a little like the feeling she'd had when she was at the Titanic site.

  It's like they're all ghost ships.

  Nonsense. Silent Thunder had been a state-of-the-art warship, and tragedies happened to many well-built craft. Just because that horror had occurred didn't have anything to do with this sub.

  Yet she had felt a chill when Conner had said those words.

  And she was feeling a chill now.

  It was as if someone on that sub were staring at her.

  No, not the sub. Somewhere else…

  Her head quickly lifted, and her gaze flew to the cliffs across the harbor.

  Nothing.

  No, someone was there.

  Don't panic. She was being stupid. It was probably one of the guards stationed around the area by Bradworth. No reason to be afraid.