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Three men left the aircraft. Two of them, it appeared to Loren, were treated roughly. The ship's officer placed the flashlight under his arm so he could have both hands free to brusquely shove one of the men into an open hatchway. For a brief instant the unaimed beam caught and held on a paper-white face, eyes bulging in fear.
Loren saw the facial details clearly. Her hands gripped the deck rail and her heart felt locked in ice.
Then the copter rose into the night and turned sharply back toward shore. The cover over the pool was quickly removed and the crew melted away. In a few seconds the ship's lights came back on.
Everything happened so fast, Loren wondered for a moment if she had actually witnessed the landing and takeoff.
But there was no mistaking the frightened creature she saw on the pool deck below. She was positive it was the Speaker of the House, Congressman Alan Moran.
On the bridge Captain Pokofsky peered at the radarscope. He was of medium height and portly. A cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth. He straightened and smoothed the jacket of his white dress uniform.
"At least they waited until we were beyond the twelve-mile limit," he said in a guttural voice.
"Any sign they were followed?" asked the officer of the watch.
"No aerial contacts and no craft approaching by sea," answered Pokofsky. "A smooth operation."
"Like the others," the watch officer said with a cocky smile.
Pokofsky did not return the smile. "I'm not fond of taking deliveries on short notice under moonlit skies."
"This one must be a high priority."
"Aren't they all?" Pokofsky said caustically.
The watch officer decided to remain quiet. He'd served with Pokofsky long enough to recognize when the captain was in one of his moods.
Pokofsky checked the radar again and swept his eyes across the black sea ahead. "See that our guests are escorted to my cabin," he ordered before turning and leaving the bridge.
Five minutes later the ship's second officer knocked on the captain's door, opened it and ushered in a man wearing a rumpled business suit.
"I'm Captain Pokofsky," he said, riSing from a leather reading chair.
"Paul Suvorov."
"KGB or GRU?"
"KGB."
Pokofsky gestured toward a sofa. "Do you mind informing me of the purpose behind your unscheduled arrival?"
Suvorov gratefully sat down and took the measure of Pokofsky.
He was uncomfortable with what he read. The captain was clearly a hardened seaman and not the type to be intiminated by state security credentials. Suvorov wisely chose to tread lightly.
"Not at all. I was instructed to smuggle two men out of the country."
"Where are they now?"
"I took the liberty of having your first officer lock them in the brig."
"Are they Soviet defectors?"
"No, they're American."
Soviet Military Intelligence.
Pokofsky's brows raised. "Are you saying you've kidnapped American citizens?"
