She jumped down onto the pier only two minutes later. "Let's go."

"What's that?" His gaze was on the small tape recorder she was carrying.

"I found it in the back of the closet in the captain's cabin yesterday. Evidently the Russians didn't find it before Samuel stepped in and booted them out."

"Soviet top secrets?" he hissed melodramatically.

She shook her head. "Music. Nothing but music." She pressed the button and the strains of Rachmaninoff issued from the recorder. "He liked classics, the Beatles, Michael Jackson, and some jazz. He seems to have favored Louis Armstrong."

"And when did you have time to discover all that?"

"I went down to his cabin and listened to the tape yesterday."

"So why didn't you share it with me when I was having lunch?"

"I'm sharing it now."

"But you wanted to listen to it first, didn't you?"

She didn't answer for a moment. He was right, for some reason she'd wanted to experience the intimacy of discovery. Jesus, maybe she was getting weird. "Maybe. It's like putting together a puzzle. It's always exciting when you run across a key piece."

"And you were being selfish about sharing your gnarled lion of a captain."

"He's not gnarled."

"No, he's dead."

"True. And you should be respectful of the departed."

"Who? Me?" His brows lifted. "Surely you're joking."

"What am I thinking?" She shook her head. "You're right, I can't remember the last time you were-" She stopped as Conner's phone rang. "That's got to be Cathy."

"Why? I'm a very popular guy." He pressed the button. "Hi, Cathy." He glanced at Hannah. "Yes, we're on our way back to the inn now. She didn't argue with me." He handed the phone to Hannah. "She wants to talk to you."

She sighed. "Cathy, I should have known you'd try to micromanage. Yes, I'm going to have a good dinner."

"Just doing my job. You shouldn't be skipping meals. If you have a good dinner, so will Conner. Besides, I do have a slight interest in your well-being."

"I can't tell you how cherished that makes me feel," Hannah said dryly. "Is that why you wanted to talk to me?"

"No, I wanted to ask if he's been wearing that damn gray wool sweater."

She glanced at Conner. "Not today. Navy blue."

"Yesterday?"

Hannah thought back. "I think so."

"Well, if you get a chance find a way of tossing that gray sweater into the drink. I was going through a nesting phobia when I was pregnant with Donna, and I tried to learn to knit. It wasn't a good try. Hell, it looks like it was knitted by an elephant. But Conner insisted on keeping that blasted monstrosity ever since."

"Donna is five now. Why are you suddenly so worried about him wearing that sweater?"

"Because I saw him throw it in his duffel before he left. I thought he'd gotten rid of it. He never wears it around me."

"Because you intimidate him?"

"Be for real. He likes to make a show of being henpecked by a bossy wife, but Conner's not lacking in self-confidence. He just doesn't want to make me a laughingstock among our friends. I don't like to do anything badly, and everyone knows it. But I don't want any of those museum people thinking he's less than he is."

"I assure you, we're not hobnobbing with many museum personnel."

"No one is going to laugh at my Conner. If you care for me, get rid of it, Hannah."

She was serious, and Hannah did care for her. Cathy was one of her favorite people. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks." Cathy paused. "And maybe I do have more than a slight interest in your well-being."

"I know you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't try to boss me around."

"It's second nature. You should have seen me wheeling and dealing in Washington during my heyday. I was awesome."

"You're still awesome."

"Yeah, I know. I just have to hide my light under a bushel these days, so I don't embarrass the kids." She paused. "I hear you've got a thing going for some dead Russian."

"No, I have not." She gave Conner a dagger glance. "I'm just interested in the man. Conner can't tell the difference."

"It didn't sound like you. But Conner can be pretty sensitive at times. He thinks you've got a father hangup about him."

"Nonsense."

"I agree. You're not looking for a father; you're looking for a man as strong as you are. That's why your marriage with Ken failed."

"You and Conner seem to have all kinds of opinions about my divorce."

"Of course we do. You're family. Conner described this Vladzar, and he sounds a little like Sean Connery in Hunt for Red October."

"Oh, for God's sake."

"He doesn't remind you of him?"

"Just because he was the captain of a Russian sub? No, he does not. This isn't a Clancy novel, and I'm not the kind of person who idolizes movie stars."

"I know. But it was one theory to explore." Her tone became brusque as she changed the subject. "Get back to the inn for dinner at least every other evening. That's a compromise. Okay?"

"As long as it doesn't interfere with getting this job done in time for us to get to Ronnie's next ball game."

"You obviously have a fine sense for priorities. I'll give in on that point as long as you get rid of the sweater."

"I said, I'll do what I can. Do you want to talk to Conner?"

"No, he'll call me tonight. He'll want to talk to the kids too. Have a good dinner." She paused. "And give me a call when the fishes are wearing Conner's gray sweater." She hung up.

"Your Cathy is nothing if not determined." She was smiling as she returned the phone to Conner.

He sighed. "The sweater. Right?"

"She wants you to give it to the fishes."

He shook his head. "No way."

"Why not?"

"She knitted it. I remember her sitting there frowning and muttering curses beneath her breath. But she finished it and gave it to me. It brings back a lot of memories." A smile lit his face. He added simply, "And it warms my heart."

She shook her head as she saw the tenderness in his expression. How could she do anything that would take that expression away?

Cathy, my dear, you may have lost this one.

"Can you come over here for a minute, Hannah?" Conner crawled out from behind a displaced control panel. "I've found something… weird."

"In a minute." She focused her camera and took another shot of the cavity behind the navigation console before she turned and walked toward him. "What is it?"

"There's another metal plate bolted to this surface metal."

"What's it for? Is it on the schematic that the Navy furnished?"

"Hell, no." He frowned. "And I have no idea what it's for. I'm trying to find out. I thought you might know. I've taken out the first three screws. Two more to go." He went back to work. "I'll get this one. You unscrew the other one."

"It could be nothing." She knelt beside him and started to unscrew the bolt. "You know that all Class Oscar IIs aren't absolutely identical."

"But the Russians usually have a logical reason for everything. An extra plate here doesn't make sense."

"You mean three extra plates."

"What do you mean?"

She aimed her flashlight lower. Below the plate were two others, all bolted to the reverse side of the bulkhead in the same fashion. Each plate was a dull brass color and measured approximately two feet by three feet. She grinned at him. "Now let's take these off and see if they're plugging holes to keep this tub afloat."

"Very funny." He carefully removed the top plate. "I'd appreciate a little sober consideration. This is the first thing we've found in the past three days of taking this sub apart that wasn't cut-and-dried and by the book. Isn't that what the museum wanted us to look for?"

"Yep. Sorry, I couldn't resist teasing you. You looked like you'd discovered a hydrogen bomb that Cox's Captain Samuel had left behind." She shined her beam on the detached metal plate. "And I don't think the Russians are as infallible as you might-" She gave a low whistle. "What the hell?"