And so, he, Petrov, had gotten his way, and he and Gorsky had taken the opportunity in New York to question Urmanov about the nuclear device and about all the steps necessary to correct any problems that might arise during the arming sequence. In any case, Petrov and Gorsky each had the device’s access code and Petrov would actually arm the device himself and set the timer. Dr. Urmanov was necessary only if there was a technical problem. And if the timer clock didn’t function, the device had been fitted with a radio signal detonator—a suicide trigger—which Petrov was prepared to use.

One way or the other, Petrov thought, New York would have the dubious distinction of being only the third city in the world destroyed by a nuclear weapon. The Manhattan Project was coming home.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Viktor Gorsky went to Colonel Petrov’s stateroom with his overnight bag, which he opened, spreading out the deck plans of The Hana on the bed. They had not overplanned this part of the operation, agreeing to wait and see what they found aboard the yacht. Overplanning, as they both knew, left little room for initiative and instinct. But now that they were here, Petrov and Gorsky discussed the most effective method of killing the crew of more than twenty men, as well as the six guests and their host, and also the twelve prostitutes.

They agreed that Gorsky would start on the bridge to be certain no radio message would be sent as the killings proceeded. Petrov said, “Be careful not to damage any instruments or controls.”

“Of course.”

Petrov continued, “Then you will go to the salon and take care of the ladies.”

Gorsky nodded without comment.

Petrov looked at him and said, “This is difficult, I know. But they have served their purpose, and they will die for a good cause.”

“We both understand this, Vasily,” Gorsky replied, using his colonel’s given name, which was permitted in situations such as this.

Petrov said, “I will start in the dining room. That should go quickly. Then I will go to the galley, then to the crew’s quarters”—he pointed to the tank deck, which was partly below the waterline—“where I hope to find all of them at the dinner hour.”

They studied the plans of the five-deck yacht: the tank deck where the crew lived, and where the engines, fuel, and water were located; the lower deck, which held the guest staterooms and officers’ quarters as well as the tender garage and the swimming platform; and the main deck, which held the dining room and bar, the galley, and the prince’s suite. Next was the salon deck, which had an al fresco lounge, and finally the smaller top deck where the bridge was located, along with the captain’s quarters and the ship’s office. Petrov and Gorsky tried to determine where everyone would be during dinner—or where they might be hiding if they became aware of what was happening.

Gorsky reminded his boss, “The crew carries handheld radios for shipboard communication.”

Petrov replied, “We will be sure they have no time to communicate.” He added, “As always, this business depends on speed, silence, and surprise.” He lifted the gift-wrapped object from his bag and opened a taped end of the blue wrapping paper, revealing the barrel of the MP5 submachine gun. “We can silence this”—he tapped the silencer at the end of the muzzle—“but men scream when they are being shot. Women scream louder. So be quick and accurate.”

Gorsky nodded.

Petrov further advised, “Try to avoid ricochets and remember that bullets pass through people and we do not want shattered windows for passing ships to see. So fire low for the takedown.” He smiled. “We should use our trick of a group photograph whenever necessary.”

Gorsky didn’t need advice from Colonel Petrov, but he nodded and said, “It will go well. It always does.”

Petrov looked at the wrapped submachine gun in his hands. The German-made MP5 was a good choice for this job. This model, with the telescoping stock retracted, was only twenty-two inches long and weighed less than six pounds. It could be held in one hand by its grip and fired as a machine pistol, which was actually what the Germans called it—a Maschinenpistole, Model 5. MP5.

The magazine held thirty 9mm rounds, and though it wasn’t an accurate weapon, the cyclic rate of fire of 750 rounds a minute made it a very deadly weapon in close-in situations, which was what one would find on a ship.

Most importantly, it never jammed, and with the silencer it was as quiet as it was lethal. It was a favorite weapon of the American counterterrorist forces as well as over a hundred other countries that used the MP5 for their police and paramilitary forces. Even the Russians bought them, and Petrov had requested two, gift-wrapped.

Petrov looked up from the weapon and said to Gorsky, “Tell Urmanov to remain in his room with his door locked until we come for him.”

Gorsky nodded.

The slight vibration in the ship’s superstructure ceased, indicating that the engines had been set at idle, and Petrov felt the forward motion of the ship decrease, which he confirmed by looking out the porthole. Soon the anchors would be lowered. He had been assured at his briefing in Moscow that it was standard procedure for a ship that was intending to make a nearby port at dawn to drop anchor for the night at the dinner hour, allowing the deckhands and officers time to eat and rest while the stewards and cooks attended to the guests. And this worked well for Petrov and Gorsky, who would not have to put a gun to Captain Wells’ head to make him stop the ship so they could rendezvous with the Russian fishing trawler and take Captain Gleb and his cargo aboard. In fact, when Captain Wells dropped anchor, his and his crew’s usefulness was over, as were their lives.

Petrov and Gorsky checked their watches and agreed to meet in the hallway in ten minutes.

But before Gorsky left, he said, “That caterer troubles me.”

Petrov assured him, “It is of no consequence now.”

“We should have taken him—and that lady who appeared to know him—inside to question them.”

“Then you create a problem where none existed.”

“Or you solve a problem.”

“Tamorov would wonder why we were questioning two of his caterers.”

“Let him wonder.” Gorsky continued, “We should at least have told Tamorov to tell those two to leave.”

“And if they were embassy watchers, they would have gone directly to their vehicle and called the FBI, who would have sent aircraft and boats to watch Tamorov’s house. And we would not be here now.”

Gorsky thought about that. Yes, it was a difficult situation with difficult choices, and Colonel Petrov had made the choice to do nothing. And that may have been the best choice. Still… He said to Petrov, “We should have taken them inside and killed them.”

Petrov smiled. “There are times, Viktor, when killing solves problems and times when it creates problems.”

“The more people you kill, the fewer problems you have.” He explained, “People cause problems.”

Petrov again smiled. “You are a simple man, Viktor. I like that.”

Gorsky did not reply.

Petrov thought about all of this. It was possible, he conceded, that those two could have been the embassy watchers who had followed them from New York. And if that were true, then they had seen him and his two companions and the prostitutes board the amphibious craft and sail out to sea. But that was all they saw, and all they knew. They could not know where he was going, though it would seem obvious because of the ladies that they were going to another party. And as Petrov also knew, the embassy watchers only watched, then reported to the FBI, who, as in the past, would be slow to react to the missing Russian diplomats.