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closest point of approach, study possible attack headings, visualize possible defensive maneuvers, etc.
    â€œReactor’s perfect,” Callahan said. “Someone should be on the board, though, every minute.”
    â€œWe don’t have that luxury,” Kolnikov muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
    All the boat’s systems were controlled from this room—the reactor, turbines, sonar, weapons, life-support systems, everything except the stove in the galley and the commode in the head. Of course, the reactor control panel in the engine room had more complete instrumentation—doctrine in the American and Russian navies demanded that the panel be monitored constantly, twenty-four hours a day, even if the reactor were shut down. Unfortunately, Kolnikov didn’t have enough men. And the ones he did have didn’t know enough to make sound decisions. He was going to have to monitor the readouts himself from the control room and trust to luck.
    Kolnikov bent over and looked at the German the SEAL had stabbed. The knife had gone into his heart. He was still alive, but he would die soon. He motioned to two of his men. “Carry him below.”
    They blanched.
    â€œHe’s dying. We can’t help him. Do it.”
    Callahan took a step closer to Kolnikov, glanced around the control room to ensure none of his shipmates were there, then said, “Hey, listen. I’ve done my part. The only SCRAM button that is still wired up is in the engine room. How about letting me get off now? You guys sail over the horizon and bon voyage.”
    Kolnikov glanced at Callahan, then nodded at Heydrich.
    A wave of relief crossed Callahan’s face. He started forward with Heydrich following.
    Twenty seconds later Heydrich walked back into the compartment, his pistol in his hand.
    â€œHe knew too much,” Heydrich said to Kolnikov as he slid the weapon into his belt. “We’ll get rid of the body later.”
    Kolnikov nodded. He had other things on his mind. He had read and studied every scrap of information he could get about this submarine from every conceivable source. “Are you certain you can handle this boat?” the man in Paris had asked last week at their final meeting.
    â€œNo one could be absolutely certain unless he had read all the manuals and spent many hours in the simulator,” he had replied, a reasonable response, he believed.
    â€œSo you are willing to try it?”
    â€œAssuming the boat is not damaged in the hijacking, we will be able to take the boat to sea, submerge it, and proceed slowly away from the North American continent. Then we will spend three or four days figuring out what we have, how it works, what we can do with it.”
    â€œWhat are the dangers of this approach?”
    Kolnikov had maintained control of his face, though his shoulders twitched. “Submarining is not chess,” he said coolly. “Mistakes can be fatal. We must pray the boat functions as it should. We have had a limited time to prepare, we haven’t seen the real ship. We will be unable to properly deal with malfunctions or emergencies until we discover exactly how the boat is laid out, how the control systems work.”
    â€œAnd the reactor?”
    â€œThe operation of the reactor is mostly automatic. All the critical parameters are automatically monitored by a computer, which will shut down the reactor if anything goes wrong. People monitor the parameters to back up the computer—we will have to forgo that luxury. If the computer shuts down the reactor, we will abandon ship. That is our only option.”
    â€œAnd if the Americans come hunting for you?”
    â€œI have no doubt that they will,” Kolnikov had replied. “We must ensure that they are unable to find us until we are ready for them.”
    The man in Paris had looked at him as if he had lost his sanity. Perhaps he had.
    Yet Turchak had believed, for the man was here. A former