Iris Johansen - Silent Thunder

"But we weren't wrong," Kirov said. "And you'll be able to make some pretty fancy deals yourself when you contact the Czechs and Russians. They'll be falling over each other to do you favors."

Bradworth shrugged. "The company thought Pavski would have been a much more valuable prize."

"What did you think?" Hannah asked.

Bradworth was silent as they watched the crane swing the capsule toward the deck near them. "I think Pavski is exactly where he deserved to be. That's strictly off the record, of course."

"Of course."

It was grudging approval, but in the three weeks since the destruction of the Silent Thunder , Bradworth had been surly but marginally supportive. That was all they could hope for from him considering how much flack he was taking. There had been grueling sessions of debriefing and interrogations, and the only weapon they'd had to survive was the cradle that was being carefully set on the deck.

And when weighed against the gratitude she felt for what he'd done to save Cathy's children, she had no problem with that surliness.

Bradworth glanced back at Hannah. "I understand that the maritime museum is already in negotiations to purchase another decommissioned Russian sub."

Hannah shrugged. "I talked to some friends. The Logan Foundation is giving them a very generous grant. I told them I'd donate my services if they-It's down! Come on, Kirov." She hurried over to the spot where the capsule had come to rest, steered gently into place by eight waiting sailors.

Several large bulletin boards were set up nearby, covered with photos to serve as a visual reference for the items that might make up the treasure. Two officers and three historians with bulky notebooks were standing ready to document the find.

"Easy." Kirov's gaze was on her face. "Anticipation sometimes leads to disappointment."

"Don't give me that morose Slavic bullshit. I have a right to be excited, and I'm going to run with it."

Kirov smiled. "By all means. And I'll enjoy every minute of watching you."

A young sailor with a tool kit began work on the corroded iron latches, chipping away at them with a small hammer and chisel. He worked through the latches in just a few minutes, and when he was finished, two other sailors helped pry open the capsule.

They separated the two halves to reveal thick pads of black felt padding. They lifted out the largest of the pads and carefully unwrapped it.

It was like a nesting box, Hannah thought, with each layer giving away to another, smaller package. Finally, under the eighth layer, she saw a glint of gold.

She stepped closer.

" Kolybel ," Kirov said quietly.

The Golden Cradle of Princess Libushe's firstborn was less than eight feet in front of Hannah. She didn't even have to look at the visual references to know they'd found the real thing.

Gleaming in the sunlight, it was simply stunning. The craftsmanship was clean and elegant, and the sides-inside and out-featured intricate patterns that could only be the work of a master. The bejeweled rockers caught the light and bathed the onlookers in an ethereal rainbow glow.

"The paintings don't do it justice," Kirov said.

Hannah shook her head, unable to look away. "No painting could." She reached out a tentative hand. It felt… solid. Well, what had she expected? That it would vanish or crumble when she touched it? "Conner would have loved it," she said softly. "It would dazzle him…"

"It will dazzle millions once it's in a museum," Kirov said. "And you were responsible for saving it for them."

"Why are you making me out to be noble? That's crap." She turned away from the cradle and moved over to the rail. "I didn't do it for humanity. I did it to keep Pavski from getting his filthy hands on it. I wasn't going to let him have his dream even for a second."

He chuckled. "I can always count on you for blunt honesty. But I watched your expression when you saw the cradle. Perhaps it wasn't as enthralled as when you examined a fine piece of machinery, but there was a hint of bedazzlement in you too."

"Of course there was. I appreciate both beauty and antiquities. I told you I'm not like one of your submarines."

"But you are." His smile faded. "Smart and sleek and with all the thrust and heart that any captain could ever want."

She couldn't breathe. "Jesus, are you propositioning me?"

"No. I promise you'll know when I do that. But it doesn't hurt to make a few opening moves to let you become accustomed to the idea. After a few months at Marinth, I'll get serious."

Her eyes widened. "Marinth?"

"I need something to occupy my time while I decide what path to take. I contacted your employers at Marinth and told them how valuable I'd be to them during the recovery operation."

"They hired you?"

"I can be very persuasive."

God knows, she knew that was true. "It's my job. I won't let you get in my way."

He smiled. "We'll take turns being the support team. That way it will be less damaging to our egos. We can work it out."

She felt a warm surge of feeling as she looked at him. "Maybe we can. Do you think it will be worthwhile to try?"

"Oh, yes. Most definitely."

The sun was stroking his dark hair with light, and the expression in his eyes…

She suddenly wanted to reach out and touch him.

Christ, in front of Bradworth and a shipload of sailors?

She glanced away from him. "It could be difficult. I didn't like it when you slammed me into that torpedo tube."

"It was necessary. I didn't like it when you socked me in the jaw when we were in the water."

"It was necessary." She had a sudden thought. "You said something in Russian right before you crammed me in that tube. What was it?"

"Pomni, ya vsegda ryadom ." His brows lifted. "If you were curious, I'm surprised you didn't look it up before this." Then he shook his head. "No, you started backpedaling even before you hit the water. You didn't want to know. I'm encouraged that you're asking now."

"Stop analyzing and tell me what it means."

"Remember, I'll always be with you," he said softly.

She felt a wave of joy and warmth so intense it almost overwhelmed her. Too intense. Don't lose control. "How completely sappy," she said unsteadily.

"What do you expect? I'm Russian. We're not afraid of being sappy when the occasion calls for it. It's you Americans who are embarrassed by sentiment." He smiled into her eyes. "Sappy can be both fitting and wonderful. Admit it."

"I don't have to ad-" Oh, what the devil. The sun was bright, treasures were being found, and perhaps another was right before her on the horizon. She smiled luminously back at him and nodded. "Okay, I admit it. Absolutely wonderful…"