They'd been travelling for four days as best as the American aboard could tell. Time enough to make her move, she reckoned.
There was a silenced pistol in Captain 2nd Rank Vasili Aleksander Borodin's face when he awoke from his sleep. It was not his favorite way to start a watch.
"You will help me now, Captain," the woman told him in near-perfect Russian. In response the executive officer ran his tongue consideringly over his bottom teeth.
"And what is it you want?" he asked. She jerked the gun, drawing it back toward her own body. Borodin took this to mean that he should sit up. He did so slowly, his eyes still on hers as he reached to button first his shirt, then his uniform tunic. He'd slept two hours-nearly a full 'night' for him while on a cruise. She watched his face, not his hands. The man wondered what showed on it. Perching on the edge of the bunk he rested his hands on his knees. Close to her own opposite him. Closer to her hands and the weapon.
"I need to get off this boat," she told him. He scoffed at her. It was not very likely as they were submerged beneath the Atlantic and days out from any foreign port, even at top speed.
"How did you get on it?" he asked.
She arched an eyebrow. "Does it matter? Let's go." Again she jerked the gun, this time toward the door. At the same time she moved toward the rear of the cabin, farther away from him in the close confines.
Vasili took in the black bag sitting beside the hatch. Obviously she'd decided that now was the best time for her disembarkment and meant to take her things with her. But how the devil had she gotten into his quarters and where had she been hiding?
"You expect us to take you to any port you wish?" he asked.
"I expect that you carry life rafts and that we're fairly near Allied hunting grounds. Now, let's go, Captain."
Borodin nodded and stood up. "You are defecting?" Her accent reminded him of a German he'd met once. And, circumstances what they were, defection came immediately to mind.
She snorted. "I sound like a Soviet, then? Great. Just what I need. I'm going home, Comrade." She switched to English. "I'm an American."
Borodin swung around to look at her. Perhaps, he decided. The gun was certainly American. The nondescript bag could have been borne by anyone, anywhere and not drawn attention. The only certainty was the fear in her eyes.
"You've been here a long time, maybe?" he asked in English.
"Please," she begged. Her knees swayed with it. "I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm ready to go. I just want to use one of your life rafts. Forget that I'm here. Forget you saw me or heard my voice. We can wait until you're certain there's no witnesses. I bear you and your men no ill will. Just let me out of your hatch, give me a reasonable chance of survival, and you can go about your mission."
"How will you get to America?" he asked, his hands resting lightly on the crown of his head, fingers laced together now. "Our boats are big and could not be handled by one small woman. They have no motors and you cannot be certain where you are. What do you plan to do after you're off the ship?"
"So long as the KGB isn't after me anymore, I don't care. I can certainly live for a week or so on your life boat, provided it doesn't capsize, if that's how long it takes to signal a merchant vessel or passing military ship."
"And you will wave your white flag and they will let you aboard?" he scoffed at her. She rolled her eyes, then jerked her head. She wasn't telling him that her grand plan included nothing more than using a mirror or a flashlight to signal an SOS. It really wasn't that much more sensible than his sarcastic suggestion. But this had been laid on fast and hard and she was making up her own breaks as she went along.
Inwardly she cursed when the handle to the gangway clicked softly. Someone was preparing to enter the small, already crowded room.
Borodin saw it, heard it, and made his move. Both hands came down on her arm, wrists sending the weapon skidding across the metal floor. His elbow came up, driving into the side of her face, as his body slammed into hers.
Cayes's face hit a support post for the bunk opposite Borodin's own. She hit hard, unable to find purchase. She felt her arm wrench as the man realized he'd overshot his goal and tried to grab for her. The motion sent her to the floor, Borodin following. When Ramius opened the door his second in command was kneeling on the floor, one hand securing both of her wrists, the other shoving against her shoulder so that she was flat on the floor.
"I suppose there's an interesting story to be told here," he surmised flatly in English, unaware that it was the young woman's first tongue.
"Fuck off," she shot back, grimacing in pain. Borodin had managed with very little effort to pull an elbow damn near out of socket and cause unbelievable pain to her face.
"We seem to have a stowaway," Borodin ground out at his superior, who had entered and then quickly shut the door behind him.
"Excellent. We can produce her as the saboteur. Too bad we already killed Putin. He would have loved this." Ramius turned to leave.
"Captain!"
Ramius turned to look down again at Borodin, whose face was incredulous. The man's eyes were wide and his breath was coming in deep bellows. It wasn't over-exertion. It was the verge of a panic attack.
"What do I do now?"
"Well, hell, Vasili, I don't know. Do you want to kill her or keep her like a pet?" It was obvious that the Captain had already decided that they had to do the first. The sarcasm was more than the over-stressed man wanted to deal with just then.
"She is an American."
"I gathered that from the expression. Anyone else would have told me to 'bugger' off instead."
Borodin switched to Russian. It was easier. "She wanted to be placed in an emergency boat so that she could be picked up and returned to her homeland."
Ramius knew the expression on the younger man's face. It was innocent hope. One would have thought he'd have outgrown his desire for the world to be a better place. But then, if he had he wouldn't have been there. "And you think that we should somehow keep her hidden until we make our move." It wasn't a question.
"Forget it," Cayes said in English. "I don't know how you're planning to get yourself and a hundred men off this boat and onto American shores, but there's no way. You're going to cross a line and get blown out of the water. Or if you abandon ship you'll get picked up by the coast guard and returned to your officials. It's going to be bad."
"Your pet has a big mouth," Ramius responded in Russian.
"Bigger ears it would seem," Borodin observed. The commanding officer's mind was already racing ahead. She'd heard enough conversation to guess some of their plan.
"How long have you known about our guest?" Ramius asked.
"Captain!" His expression now was hurt, the older man noted. "I only just found out."
"When she announced her presence?"
Borodin nodded. "I woke with her firearm in my face."
Ramius laughed. "Very well done!" His decision was no easier. He admired the ability of the spy to sneak aboard his ship and hide under their very noses for most of a week. And he admired her methods, although obviously she should have planned something better, else she wouldn't be pinned to the bulkhead beneath his fairly large executive officer. The old man shook his head. "The others will have to know, Vasili," he said sorrowfully. "It will have to be partially their decision as well."