America by Stephen Coonts Page A

saw. One man was sleeping with his pistol belt and holster still wrapped around his waist, so Kolnikov put his pistol against the man’s forehead and waited for him to awaken. In seconds his eyes came open. Kolnikov undid the buckle and pulled the belt from under the man.
    They had an armful of guns by the time they reached the torpedo room. All four of the tubes were empty. They put the guns in number one, then proceeded to the engine room in the aft end of the boat. Three men were awake there, checking lubrication levels and monitoring the turbines. Kolnikov held a pistol on them while Turchak took their weapons and carried them forward. Kolnikov followed.
    When they had the tube closed for the second time, Turchak asked, “Where’s Heydrich?”
    â€œI don’t know. He must have been in one of the heads when we went by.” Or in the aux machinery room, cold storage …
    â€œAnd Steinhoff?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œSomeone may have told them we are confiscating the weapons.”
    Kolnikov and Turchak gripped their pistols tightly as they approached the door of the control room.
    The two Germans were there, examining the control panels.
    Steinhoff turned, saw that the Russians had pistols out, and immediately decided to jerk his automatic from its holster.
    Kolnikov shot him once. Steinhoff sagged to the deck and lay there moaning.
    Heydrich stood frozen with his back to Kolnikov, his hands half raised.
    â€œMay I turn around?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    Turchak inched forward, pulled the pistol from Heydrich’s holster, and patted him down for more weapons. He also had a pistol in his pocket, which Turchak transferred to his own pocket.
    Turchak put the guns in the torpedo tube while Kolnikov sat in the control room with his pistol pointed at Heydrich and Steinhoff moaned softly and writhed on the deck. Heydrich made no move to examine the man, see how badly he was hurt.
    When the guns had been flushed from the tube into the sea, Kolnikov remarked, “Take your friend to berthing and put a bandage on him.” He pocketed the pistol.
    Heydrich jerked Steinhoff off the deck and slung him over his shoulder, oblivious of his wound.
    â€œThe game isn’t over, Kolnikov.”
    â€œGet your head out of your ass,” the Russian shot back. “This is no game. You can’t run this boat without me, but I can certainly run it without you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re expendable ballast. At the first sign of disobedience I’ll shoot you as quick as I shot Steinhoff.”
    â€œYou know, I believe you would.”
    When they were alone, Turchak said, “You should have killed him, gotten it over with.”
    Vladimir Kolnikov rubbed his face. “We must take split watches, you and I. One man will run the boat while the other sleeps.”
    *   *   *
    When Jake Grafton descended the stairs in the beach house Sunday morning, Toad Tarkington and Janos Ilin were drinking coffee at the window nook while Callie cooked eggs. She had the television in the corner tuned to CNN. Jake kissed her, dropped into a chair at the table.
    â€œYou two look chipper this morning,” Jake remarked to the men, both of whom looked slightly rumpled. “Sun and sand seem to agree with you.”
    Toad eyed the admiral suspiciously as he sipped his coffee.
    â€œWe spent yesterday in front of the television,” Janos Ilin said, “until we couldn’t stand it anymore.” He felt his pockets, probably feeling for his cigarettes. He had picked up the fact that Americans didn’t smoke indoors.
    The Sunday paper lay on the table. The headline screamed, “Sub Stolen.” Under it was a photo of the hijackers entering the submarine taken from the television video. To the right was a smaller shot of Kolnikov shooting at the helicopter.
    The admiral helped himself to the coffee and cream. He was sipping it when the