TW05 The Nautilus Sanction NEW by Simon Hawke Page A

however, perfectly willing to converse in French, as well as Russian.” Drakov turned to the last man. “And this is Toshiro Kamakura, Shiro, as we call him.” The tiny Japanese gave a little bow. He looked like a boy in his early teens, but his eyes were infinitely old. It was impossible to guess his age. “Shiro’s father was assassinated along with his wife for a transgression against the Yakuza, of which he was a member. Shiro survived by running away with his sister. He could not save both her and his parents, you see. To atone for the shame of running away, Shiro cut off the little finger on his left hand. To prevent himself from ever revealing where he had hidden his sister, he cut out his tongue. He then systematically tracked down each of his parents’ killers and dispatched them, quite efficiently and brutally. He was only fourteen at the time. He is seventeen now. I know what it means to grow up an orphan.
    When I found Shiro, I took him in and educated him, so he could write and tell me where his sister was. She is now being well taken care of. Shiro is my most loyal and trusted aide. Do not let his youth deceive you. He is quite ruthless. I advise you to be polite to him.” Shiro studied each of them in turn, gazing at them long and hard with an unblinking stare. His slight frame, his long, straight black hair hanging to his shoulders and his delicate features gave him an androgynous aspect, but those eyes were chilling. When he looked at Lucas, Priest suppressed an urge to glance away from that ophidian gaze. This child prevailed over Yakuza assassins, Lucas thought. Quite a group Drakov had gathered.
    Finn echoed his sentiments aloud. “Looks like you’ve found a hell of a crew, Drakov.” He glanced around at the others, then at the Soviet submariners. “However, discipline seems a little lax.”
    “On the contrary,” Drakov said. “These men are more efficient now than they were under their previous commander. They are more efficient because they have more freedom, because their initiative is rewarded and they are happier.”
    “Thanks to re-education conditioning,” said Andre.
    “Not entirely,” said Drakov. “It is true most of them needed to be, shall we say, deprogrammed from a lifetime of a different sort of conditioning, but you might be surprised to learn that a great many of them, far more than I expected, went along with me quite willingly. After all, I offered them far greater opportunities. Do not be misled by their appearance. There is a great deal more to military efficiency than uniformity, precision drill and polish. Look at history. The mighty empire of Rome fell to wild barbarians.
    The greatest armies in the world crumbled before the onslaught of Genghis Khan. Ragtag armies of colonials prevailed over the dress parade regimentation of the British.” He smiled. “My men may look somewhat piratical, but they know what they’re about.”
    They were served their food and Verne gasped at the sumptuous repast. Roast beef, baked potatoes, yams, corn, cranberry sauce, ragout of pork, fruit preserves, fresh baked bread and steaming coffee.
    “Amazing!” Verne exclaimed. “I cannot believe these miracles I am assaulted with! However can you keep such food supplies fresh, Captain?”
    “Freezing and refrigeration, Mr. Verne,” said Drakov. “This submarine is well stocked with food supplies. On board at present, we have some four thousand pounds of beef, two thousand of chicken, fourteen hundred of pork loin and one thousand of ham. We carry roughly three thousand pounds of sugar, twelve thousand pounds of coffee, one hundred fifty pounds of tea, eight hundred pounds of butter, twenty-two hundred of flour and some six hundred dozen eggs. There is also a considerable quantity of wine, vodka, whiskey, beer and ale on board, though my crew does not overindulge. I allow them all they wish to drink, but the penalty for being drunk on duty or incapacitated by the aftereffects of