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monster waiting to swallow her whole. She’d still know the sea was out there, lurking dangerously on the other side of the hull, but at least she wouldn’t have to stare it in the face.
    Then she’d only have to deal with the Russian thing. Not that she hated the actual Russian people. No, of course not. It was the country she hated. The government. And most of all, the FSB.
    Because they’d killed her father.
    But now was not the time to think about her father’s death. The anger would wait . . . it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. It hadn’t for nearly twenty years.
    Just get on the damn submarine . She took a soggy but determined step toward the gangway.
    “Please,” the sailor said and indicated her suitcase. “I take for you.”
    Grateful, she nodded and passed him the handle, wiping the icy rain from her face and shivering as it ran down her neck, soaking her silk blouse. “Thanks.”
    He jerked his chin at the laptop. “I take that, too?”
    She shook her head. “No. I’ll hang on to this one.” Her pint-sized notebook computer contained all her briefing files, plus the special software that would help complete her mission on board. Inside the case was also her precious satellite phone. No way was she letting go of either. Even if getting across that narrow, lurching gangplank alive clutching anything but the handrails would be a pure damn miracle.
    “Okay,” the sailor invited politely. “You go first.”
    Visions of walking the plank on a pirate ship flashed unnervingly through her mind.
    Swallowing heavily, she took an unsteady step onto the gangway, striving not to think about the fact that if she lost her footing and fell off the flimsy thing she’d land in the water. Which, she thought with a certain macabre resignation, wouldn’t really matter because with the constant rocking of the sea, she’d almost certainly be squashed flat as a pancake between the solid concrete side of the pier and the heaving bulk of the submarine.
    She sent up a silent prayer. The flimsy metal bridge swayed, and she wobbled precariously in her inappropriate footwear, silently cursing her decision to dress professionally rather than in more practical pants, sweater, and boots. The skirted suit and high heels had been a bad idea.
    Suddenly a wave hit and the submarine pitched and rolled, causing the gangway to twist slightly, just enough to throw her off balance. She yelped, clutching her laptop case to her chest as the sailor grabbed for her arm and held her steady. “Have care!”
    The splash barely registered. But from the corner of her eye she’d seen the flash of red go past. Ah hell !
    “My suitcase!” she cried.
    Too late .
    She and seven submariners gawped down at the churning waters of the quickly closing gap between the sub and the pier. She winced as the soft-sided carry-on was ground to shreds.
    “Oh, no! My clothes!” she groaned.
    Her escort’s face reddened in dismay. “I am so sorry, miss! Come. Quickly! Before—”
    He didn’t finish his admonition, but hustled her onto the deck of the submarine before any more mishaps occurred. Rain was sheeting over the rocking deck, making it slippery underfoot, especially in her heels. He led her over to a big hole. She peeked gingerly over the edge, careful not to get too close.
    He motioned her toward it. “Here is to get in.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding,” she muttered when she realized what he meant for her to do. There was a vertical ladder attached to the side of the gaping hole, which disappeared down into the stygian depths of the submarine.
    This was the entry hatch? Why didn’t this floating sardine can have a civilized door like an airplane or a subway car?
    The skirt and heels had been a really bad idea.
    With another mental groan, she added it to her ever-lengthening list of Stupid Things I’ve Done Lately. Principal among which was not to quit her damn job rather than accept this last-minute assignment from hell.
    Her boss knew