EndWar

“It’s a book, and you know I don’t have any time to read,” she began.

“This one you might find interesting.”

She peeled away the wrapper to reveal the title: Russian Myths and Folklore.

“Dad?”

He nodded. “Yesterday, the general and I played eighteen holes, and when I asked him how my daughter was doing, his reply was, ‘Excellent, though she’s obsessed with Russian folklore at the moment.’ I didn’t know what he meant, but for the daughter who has everything, I thought what the hell, you might like this, if you don’t have it already.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, thumbing through the pages.

“So, is this a new hobby, or does it have something to do with…” He trailed off, gesturing to the disaster that was her living room. “Or do you not want to talk here.”

“Maybe we will take a walk outside.”

She tucked the book under her arm, and they headed out, into the backyard, and moved down to the dock and the shimmering, still waters of the canal.

“And sweetheart, the book isn’t your only gift. I’ve placed a little something in the card. And I want you to use them, all right?”

“More plane tickets? Dad, I can’t take the time off right now. I mean, the entire world is—”

“Not your responsibility. We all need downtime — and it looks like you do more than ever now.”

“I’ll be all right. Soon as I find out who Snegurochka is.” She rapped a knuckle on the book. “Snegurochka is the snow maiden in Russian fairy tales. In one story, she’s the daughter of Spring and Frost. She falls in love with a shepherd, but when her heart warms, she melts. In another story, falling in love turns her into a mortal human who will die. And then there’s another one where she’s the daughter of an old couple who make her out of snow. She hangs out with some girlfriends, leaps over a fire, and melts.”

Her father snickered. “The Russkies love their happy endings, huh?”

“Well, she’s known to kids now as the granddaughter and helper of the Russian Santa.”

“So you’ve already read the book.”

“Not this one. Thank you.”

“Well, it seems to me you already know who the snow maiden is.” He was implying she should let it go. She’d heard that tone a thousand times before.

“I think Snegurochka is the code name for a Russian operative working for the GRU. And that operative must be a woman.”

“So how many women do they have at that level? There can’t be many.”

“Exactly eleven.”

“So narrow it down.”

“I already have.”

“And?”

“And I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the most likely candidate is a Colonel Viktoria Antsyforov.”

“So study her. See if she’s the one.”

“I found out yesterday that she’s dead.”

“You’re sure?”

Dennison sighed in frustration. “Pretty damned sure.”

“So maybe that’s a loose end the Russians took care of. Don’t pursue that anymore.”

“Or maybe they want us to think that. You know what’s really crazy, Dad? I’ve been obsessing on this so hard that I’m beginning to believe that I’m the snow maiden.”

“What? The cold career bitch who never got married because she’d melt? Come on, Alice.”

“I know. We don’t feel sorry for ourselves. Never have before, even after Mom died. We’re strong. I guess it’s just the stress. You know, thinking that someone’s been watching me all this time.”

“I want a team in there to sweep the place, and then if you want to put the house on the market, let’s do it. You’ll get another place.”

“No, I won’t let them win. I’ll get the sweep.”

“Good.”

“Dad, thanks for coming. Sorry I dumped all this on you.”

He grinned, moved in for another hug. “That’s what fathers are for.”

On the way back into the house, her cell phone rang. She reached into her robe’s pocket, answered. They needed her back at the command post.

TEN

The USS Florida’s sonar team had quickly switched from the BQQ-10’s broadband to narrowband and had isolated two of the Russian ship Varyag’s SSTGs (ship’s service turbo generators).

Identifying, isolating, and tracking “tonals”—pure sound sources — was the equivalent of an acoustic fingerprint.

And thanks to Andreas’s skilled men, the enemy command and control ship could now be identified by any U.S. sub, anywhere in the world, solely by those two discreet frequencies.

By filtering out extraneous noise, it was now possible to trail the surface group at a comfortable five-mile distance using Varyag’s SSTGs as a homing beacon.

The ship and her consorts transited the Dolphin and Union Strait, entered the Coronation Gulf, and set a course toward Hepburn Island, situated in the gulf’s southeastern corner; all the while, the Florida followed, undetected as it sliced through the icy cold waters.

The Russians passed the southwestern tip of Hepburn, spread out, then proceeded to anchor in the shallow waters.

Andreas and his men watched as the combatants spaced themselves two miles apart, pointed their bows seaward, and dropped stern and bow anchors.

“Keeps them from swinging around on the bow hook and interfering with each other when the tide shifts,” Andreas said aloud in the control room.