Iris Johansen - Silent Thunder

May I come in?" Kirov asked as they stopped in front of Hannah's door. "I promise I won't keep you long."

A quickie? Where had that thought come from, Hannah wondered as she unlocked the door. Any favor Kirov wanted from her would not involve sex. "I'd bust your head if you just walked away without telling me what you want." She unlocked her door. "I hate a tease."

"So do I." He followed her into the room. "I'd never tease you, Hannah. It's not in my dour nature. Unless you told me that you-Never mind." He turned on the light. "It's late, and I want your head clear." He went over to the desk, drew out several sheets of hotel stationery, and jotted down a series of Samsovian symbols.

"What are you writing?"

"I'm providing some lunar coordinates that will give some information as to the time of year. This should match closely to the sub's final voyage six years ago." He slid a sheaf of stationery over to her. "The favor."

"What?"

"Will you write down everything you can remember from those bulkhead plates. Can you do that for me?"

She had known it was coming. She was surprised he hadn't asked before. "Why do you need it?"

"I have to be certain that Pavski doesn't have all the plates. We're assuming he doesn't by his actions, but maybe he's not certain himself. He's no expert. I have to know if there's another plate floating around out there."

She moistened her lips. "It won't be easy. I can't just call it up like a computer file. I need to concentrate to bring back the sights, sounds, smells, the feelings of that night."

"The night your brother died."

"It's not an experience I'm eager to revisit," she said unevenly.

"Will you do it?"

No, she wanted to tell him. Hell, no. She could feel her stomach clench at the thought. Okay, get over it. She'd been a coward for too long. It was time to brace herself and face that night and all its horror.

She didn't reply for a moment, then nodded jerkily. "Yeah, I'll do it." She sat down on the couch and placed the sheet of stationery on the coffee table in front of her. "Let's get it over with."

He handed her his pencil and several sheets of paper. "Anything else?"

"Just be quiet." She rested her hands on the desk and closed her eyes. She breathed slowly and deeply, trying to release the tension that had consumed her in the past several days. Ever since that awful night…

Can you come over here for a moment, Hannah?

Conner's voice.

Not quite, she realized. It sounded lower and more hollow. Was she already forgetting what he sounded like?

Can you come over here for a moment, Hannah? I've found something… weird .

Better. That was Conner. He'd called out to her as she was squinting through her camera viewfinder. At what? The recessed area behind the antiquated submarine navigational computer, she remembered. She could see the cracked insulation on the wires…

In a minute , she'd told him. She snapped another picture before turning to face him.

He wore the gray sweater, jeans, brown tennis shoes, and the cologne he wore whenever they were on or near the ocean. He liked the way that the salt air interacted with it.

Conner, in his last moments on earth.

Christ.

What is it? She snapped another picture.

There's another metal plate bolted to this surface metal .

She looked at the plate but saw nothing engraved on its surface.

Damn.

She and Conner unscrewed the last two bolts. She'd teased him and he'd smiled.

God, Conner…

She rested the plate on the floor. The work lights hit it and-

Pay dirt.

She froze the image in her mind and scribbled furiously on the piece of stationery in front of her.

"Incredible," Kirov murmured.

"Shut up."

She wrote faster, as if the image in her mind might evaporate at any moment.

Triangle, straight line, triangle, circle…

She filled the entire page with symbols she didn't understand. She reached the bottom, tossed it aside, and started another.

Wavy line, rectangle with three circles inside…

Finished.

The image disappeared as the movie in her mind continued. She looked from the plate to Conner's bewildered expression.

So what do we do with it? Turn it over to the museum? Conner placed the other two plates on the floor.

As they caught the light, she could read most of the markings on the other two plates. She mentally froze the images and scribbled quickly, filling three more sheets of stationery.

She finally threw down the pencil. "That's all. It's all I can make out."

Kirov gently brushed her cheek, wiping away the tears she hadn't realized were there. "Thank you, Hannah."

She couldn't bear the gentleness. She was too near breaking. She leaned forward to pick up the pages. "So what do these tell you?"

He studied the coordinates. "That Silent Thunder spent some time in or near the Black Sea." He frowned as he pointed at a symbol at the end of the third plate. "This symbol isn't Samsovian. I don't recognize it." He looked up at her. "And the final piece appears to be missing. Are you sure there wasn't more?"

"Not that I saw." Her eyes widened. "You thought that if I went over what happened that night, I might remember something else?" She shook her head, and said shakily, "Sorry to disappoint you. I can't remember something that wasn't there. All I could tell you was what happened that night. And none of it was good, damn you."

"I had to know."

"I know. I know." She looked away from him. "I didn't do it for you. We have to find that cradle before Pavski does. He killed Conner to get it. I won't let that bastard get his hands on it. I would have done it anyway."

"But you wouldn't have done it now, when the pain is still so fresh."

"Maybe not." She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hand. Why couldn't she keep these damn tears from flowing? "But I did it. Are you happy?"

"No." He said haltingly, "I'm hurting because you're hurting. I didn't expect this. I don't like it."

"Tough."

"I… want to make it right."

"You can't make me stop hurting. It was my choice. I knew what would happen when I tried to pull up those memories."

"And so did I. I made you open the past and remember." He paused. "Would it help if I let you do the same to me?"

Her gaze swung back to him. "What?"

"I can't relive it, the way I made you do, but I'll answer anything you ask of me."

She stared at him warily. "Anything?"

"Anything."

"You're not Ivanov, are you?"

He slowly shook his head. "It's pretty obvious you suspected that. Bradworth?"

"He warned Cathy you were probably lying to all of us. That the real Ivanov was dead."

"It took him a long time to find that out." He grimaced. "It's inconvenient that he managed to put it together at this particular time. Did he tell you who I am?"

"I don't think he knows." She stared him in the eye. "Who are you?"

"My name is Andre Kocineyv."

"And?"

"I was captain of Silent Thunder ."

She shook her head.

"You don't believe me?"

"I've seen pictures of the captain. I've seen his file."

"Complete fabrications."

She made a rude sound.

He smiled. "You're not making this easy for me. I'm baring my soul, and you're being very disrespectful."

"This is the fourth identity you've come up with since I met you. You remind me of that old Cary Grant movie where he played a CIA man who changed identities every other scene. What do you do? Pick them out of a hat? This one is completely bizarre."

"As you know, the Russian Navy has always been fond of renaming its submarines in order to hide the true numbers and location of its fleet. They also took great pains to hide the identities of their senior commanders. I understand the U.S. Navy does the same thing."