"You're not talking about choices, you're talking about sacrifices. Not my brother. What stakes?"

"I truly wish I could discuss it with you." He got to his feet. "I believe we've said all that can be said. If I can help you, please call on me."

Damn hypocrite. "I'll call on you. I want to go back on that sub."

"You want to make your own search? That's not possible. The museum has severed its ties with you."

"I don't believe the museum has any control over what you do. I want on that sub."

He shook his head. "Go back to Boston and comfort your family. They need you."

"And I need to know why my brother was killed."

His expression hardened. "Let me make this clear. The sub will be under guard, and you won't be permitted even as close as the pier. You're out of this, Hannah."

"No way." She turned and headed for the gate. "I've just started, Bradworth."

Bradworth hadn't lied. There were two guards standing at the end of the pier.

She didn't even try to get past them. She turned and started back toward the bed-and-breakfast. She doubted if she would have found anything valuable on the sub anyway. What Conner's killers hadn't stolen would have been confiscated by Bradworth if he thought it valuable… or incriminating. How in the hell did she know what the bastard was doing?

Well, find out. Go around Bradworth. Think. There had to be another path.

She stopped short, turned, and looked back at the pier.

Of course.

There was a path and she already had the map that would take her down it.

It wasn't there, dammit, Hannah realized in frustration.

Maybe she'd put it somewhere else. In the confusion after Conner's death it was possible.

After thirty minutes more of looking, she gave up and called Cathy.

"I'm sorry to bother you. Are you still on the road?"

"Yes. And it's no bother. You sound pissed."

"To put it mildly. Can I talk?"

"Go ahead. The kids and my mom are fast asleep in the backseat of the SUV. I doubt if a three-alarm fire would wake them. They were totally exhausted."

"And you are too. Sorry, but I wanted to fill you in on what I learned. And get you started."

"Started?"

"I need your help. Bradworth wouldn't answer any questions, and he's trying to close me out. He won't let me go on the sub, he got the museum to fire me, and threatened me with Homeland Security if I went to the newspapers."

"Why would he do that?"

"He's CIA. The bastard knew that Conner and I were in danger on that sub. He knew it, and he didn't warn us."

"Shit."

"And when I got back to my room I couldn't find my satchel with all the information Bradworth had given me about Silent Thunder."

"But he must know you'd already gone through them."

"But I didn't study the videos and DVDs of the sub's journey from Finland furnished by the museum. That's what I was going to do when I got back to my room. They made four stops along the way, mostly for publicity purposes. Baltimore, New York, Boston, and Norfolk. I only glanced at them, but I had a vague recollection of a lot of small craft buzzing around the sub at every stop. In fact, on the first day we arrived here, Conner remarked on a launch that kept making passes beyond the harbor gates. It would make sense that someone interested in those plates we found would want to keep an eye on the sub. My guess is there must be something on the video that Bradworth doesn't want me to see."

"Then why would he give them to you?"

"A mistake? The footage was provided by the museum, and maybe a casual glance wouldn't reveal anything suspicious. But I am suspicious, and I was going to go over everything with a microscope. I'm not going to get that chance now. But there has to be other footage, and we have to go after it. No, you have to go after it. If we can locate some clear shots of the vessels, I can blow up the photos and get registration numbers. I may not know any White House gurus, but I have marine contacts all over the world. Call your friends in Washington and start to stir up the pot."

"I've been out of the loop for over ten years."

"Are you saying you can't do it?"

"Hell, no. I'm telling you it will take more time than I'd like. I'll get on the line with Congressman Preston first thing in the morning and start that pot boiling." She paused, thinking. "Then I'll call Ross Calvin at the White House and see what he can do for me. Anything else?"

"Yes, Silent Thunder. All the information Bradworth gave me is suspect. I need to know everything that you can get on the sub, past and present. Don't take anything for granted. Start fresh and work fast. See if you can find someone who actually served on the sub."

"You don't want much."

"I want everything. Most of all I want to know who killed Conner." She paused. "I don't want to pressure you, Cathy. If you can't do it, let me know, and I'll find someone else."

"Don't you dare." Cathy's tone was fierce. "I'll do it. It will give me something to think about besides Conner lying in that morgue. There's nothing worse than brooding and not being able to take action."

"It's still a long shot. But we have to start with what we have."

"And what will you do if-" Cathy broke off. "One step at a time. I won't stop until I get you what you need, Hannah."

"I know you won't. We're in this together."

"You're damn right we are."

"Then try to sleep if you can't do anything until tomorrow. Good-bye, Cathy."

"Wait. When are you coming back to Boston?"

"I'm packed up and heading for the van in about five minutes. I'll call you from my apartment tomorrow morning and see if you were able to make contact with Preston."

"I'll make contact," Cathy said grimly. "If I have to track him down on a safari in the Congo. Drive safely." She hung up.

Yes, Cathy would find Preston. She had relentless drive, and it would all be focused on getting the information Hannah had asked.

And Hannah had to focus her determination on getting information about those boats that had clustered around Silent Thunder like barracudas around a wounded shark. She grabbed her duffel and carried it down to the van.

Beautiful." Pavski stepped back and admired the worn, battered metal plates as if they were the work of a Renaissance master. "Simply beautiful."

Koppel snorted. "Beautiful? Only if you like chicken scratches."

Pavski refused to let the moron's cynicism dampen the moment. Koppel was useful to him in many ways and efficient at carrying out orders, but he had no sensitivity. Pavski would not let that bother him. He had come too far and worked too hard. The three plates from Silent Thunder's bulkhead panel stood on tall easels in the miniwarehouse that had served as his headquarters since his arrival in New England. Located thirty miles south of Boston, the five-acre storage facility was deserted save for a few furniture makers and powerboat mechanics who conducted their businesses out of the units.

Koppel's eyes narrowed on the columns of geometric shapes. "Can you make any sense of them?"

"Not yet." Pavski switched on the reflector lights angled toward the plates. The scratches were filled with white powder, making them stand out in stark relief from the dark gray plates. "But they're definitely navigational coordinates."

"Not like any coordinates I've ever seen."

"They're Samsovian."

"I'm not familiar with them. Are you sure?"

"Only a few assorted crackpots used them. An instructor at the St. Petersburg Naval Academy developed the system in the early seventies and taught it to his best students. He probably hoped it would catch on, but it never did. I'm a little familiar with the system but not enough to be able to decode this. But a few officers swore by the system and knew it backward and forward, including most of the officers on the Silent Thunder and Captain Heiser."