Petrov replied, “We will pretend it is champagne.”
Everyone laughed politely at the bad joke.
The steward poured sparkling water for everyone and Colonel Petrov toasted, “To His Royal Highness, the prince, and to his uncle, the king, and to the future cooperation of our two great nations.”
Everyone clinked glasses, and the prince added, “And to your president.” Everyone drank.
Despite the congeniality, Petrov knew that the prince might have some misgivings about Colonel Petrov of the SVR. For one thing, he, Petrov, had killed many Muslim Chechens, and his father had also killed many of the prince’s coreligionists in Afghanistan. But at the U.N. reception, Petrov made it clear that he had no animosity toward Islam, only toward Islamic extremists who were the enemies of both their countries.
And of course, the subject of the Americans had come up, and both men agreed that America, along with Israel, was the cause of much of the unrest in the Middle East. The prince further agreed that the Saudi and American alliance mostly benefited the Americans and the Jews, and needed to be reevaluated, and Colonel Petrov had promised to share with the prince the SVR’s thinking on this subject.
In fact, the prince, though he didn’t know it, would be an important player in this reevaluation when The Hana sailed into New York Harbor and the nuclear device onboard detonated, thus ending the Saudi-American alliance, which was already strained because of the fifteen Saudis who had taken part in the 9/11 attack.
Also, as Petrov knew, Prince Ali Faisel and the monarchy were playing a double game and had given great sums of money to the madrassas—the Islamic fundamentalist schools throughout the Mideast—and this annoyed the Americans, though they were powerless to end this Saudi policy. Thus, when The Hana became a weapon of mass destruction, the American government and people would have no difficulty believing that a Saudi prince had obtained a Soviet miniature nuclear weapon on the black market, which Petrov knew were available for the princely sum of a million dollars a kiloton. And the Americans would also have no trouble believing that Prince Ali Faisel, nephew of the king, had become a jihadist and martyr for Islam. Perhaps the Americans would even retaliate with a nuclear weapon of their own.
Petrov delighted in the dual benefit of this plan, which was first suggested by his father. “In a microsecond of nuclear fission,” said the general, “the Americans and the Saudis will be split like the atom and both will be badly wounded in the same explosion.”
The prince, Petrov recalled, had been flattered to be asked to a secret meeting, though in reality, Prince Ali Faisel had no power; he was, in fact, a decadent royal, a playboy, and a dilettante, playing at U.N. diplomacy. It was ironic that when the nuclear device onboard The Hana destroyed Lower Manhattan, this wastrel would be hailed by many of his coreligionists as a nuclear suicide bomber, and given more credit than he was ever worth while alive.
Petrov smiled at the prince. “This is a beautiful ship.”
“Thank you.” The prince informed his guests, “I designed the interior finishings myself.”
“You have excellent taste.”
Petrov glanced at Gorsky, who understood he needed to say something, and Gorsky said, “Very beautiful.”
Petrov knew that Viktor Gorsky made some people uncomfortable. Gorsky looked like what he was—a killer. And he did nothing to soften his demeanor, which annoyed Petrov. But the man was good at what he did, and as far as Gorsky was concerned there was no reason to be polite to someone you were going to kill within the hour.
Petrov looked at Urmanov, who seemed to be lost in thought, though Petrov knew he was in a nervous state. This man engineered nuclear weapons, Petrov thought, designed to kill millions of people, but Urmanov would be sick at the sight of blood.
Petrov knew, of course, that Urmanov had not volunteered for this mission, but the SVR had presented Dr. Urmanov with two choices, as they were good at doing, and Arkady Urmanov had taken the better of the two bad choices.
Also, though Urmanov had not been fully informed of the operational aspects of the mission, he must have known that everyone on this yacht would be dead before too long—everyone, except, of course, Colonel Petrov, Viktor Gorsky, the Russian sea captain, and himself. Though if Dr. Urmanov believed that about himself, he was mistaken.
Petrov said to the prince, “Forgive Mr. Fradkov for his silence. His English is not very good.”
The prince nodded, perhaps wondering how this Russian Military Intelligence officer was going to brief him or how he could do his job in America with poor English.
The prince asked Petrov, “How was your voyage to The Hana?”
Petrov smiled. “The ladies enjoyed it.”
“Good.” He informed his guests, “Hana is Arabic for ‘happiness.’ ”
Petrov replied, “Yes, and an appropriate name.”
“Also, it is the name of my wife.”
Gorsky asked, “Which one?”
The prince looked at him, then replied, “My first wife, of course.” He joked, “Now my other wives want yachts named after them.”
Gorsky did not smile, and the prince turned away from him and asked Petrov, “And how was your party at Mr. Tamorov’s house?”
“Very enjoyable. He sends his regards and looks forward to seeing you at his home in the city on Wednesday.”
“I, too, look forward to seeing him again.”
Actually, Petrov thought, Georgi Tamorov knew nothing about a meeting with the prince, nor did Tamorov even know that he, Petrov, was on the prince’s yacht. The less Tamorov knew, the better. And if Tamorov suspected that there was a connection between Vasily Petrov and the nuclear explosion in New York Harbor, he would keep that thought to himself. Russia had changed, but the KGB had changed only its name, not its DNA, and even rich oligarchs understood that.
Petrov glanced at his watch, and knowing that dinner would be served shortly, he needed to get to the real business at hand, which was planning how to kill everyone aboard The Hana. He asked his host, “And who will be joining us for dinner?”
The prince replied, “I have six other guests onboard, four of whom are my countrymen who I will introduce at dinner. Two are businessmen from China.” He added, “Unfortunately, their English is not good.”
Petrov joked, “Seat them with Mr. Fradkov,” and everyone laughed, except Arkady Urmanov.
The prince assured his Russian guests, “As Colonel Petrov requested, I have not mentioned any of you by name, and I will introduce you all by first name only, and as Russian petroleum executives who are my overnight guests until we dock in New York.”
Petrov nodded, thinking that His Highness was enjoying this game of secret diplomacy. He inquired, “Will Captain Wells or the other officers be dining with us?”
“No. They will dine elsewhere.”
“And the ladies?”
“I have arranged a buffet for them here in the salon.” He added, “After dinner perhaps we can all gather here for some… relaxation.”
Petrov nodded as his eyes scanned the long salon, trying to work out the details of shooting the prostitutes in the large room. Perhaps he would leave that to Gorsky, who he noticed was also interested in the room.
He and Gorsky had studied the deck plans of The Hana and he was certain they both knew the layout of the large ship well enough to finish their business before anyone could sound the alarm or try to abandon ship or offer armed resistance.
On that subject, Petrov’s next question had to be asked in a way that did not seem too inquisitive or unusual. He looked at the prince and said, “I am assuming you have security onboard.”
The prince made eye contact with Petrov, then replied, “Captain Wells has a rifle and a handgun, though he keeps them locked and hidden.” He added, “We are better armed when we sail in pirate-infested waters, but guns are a problem with American Customs if they come aboard.”
Petrov commented, “There are three hundred million guns in America, so I never understood wh
y an honest man could not bring a few more into the country for protection.”
The prince had no reply to that, but offered, “One of my stewards, Karim—the one in traditional dress—is my personal bodyguard.” He added, “For when we are ashore.” He smiled. “I hope I don’t need a bodyguard here.”
Petrov returned the smile and considered his next inquiry, then said, “I hope my large group did not put an undue burden on your staff and crew.”
The prince assured him, “I have seven hardworking Somali stewards, and my French chef, André, has four good kitchen staff who are all Eastern European and they are used to long hours and hard work.” He smiled. “The Saudis, I am afraid, have gotten soft and lazy.”
As has His Highness, Petrov thought. He observed, “You have a veritable United Nations onboard.” He pointed out, “A British captain, a…”
“An Irish first mate, and two Italian officers—the engineer and the navigator.” The prince added, “And seven deckhands from all over the world.”
Those numbers agreed with the information that Petrov had been given, and he commented, “A Tower of Babel.”
The prince assured his guests, “The common language—the language of the sea—is English. So you will have no difficulties in communicating with anyone.” He added, “All crew and staff are sworn to secrecy.” He joked, “What happens aboard The Hana, stays aboard The Hana.”
“Indeed,” said Petrov as he tallied the number of guests, staff, and crew whom he and Gorsky needed to locate and eliminate.
Petrov and the prince made small talk for a few minutes, while Gorsky and Urmanov stayed silent and sipped their water.
The prince cleared his throat and said, “As for the ladies…”
Petrov assured him, “They are compliant, professional, and discreet.” He suggested, “Your Highness should choose his companion first. Or perhaps two companions. Then we should let nature take its course.”
The prince nodded, and his eyes moved toward the three overnight bags.
Petrov further assured him, “We have brought something for every taste.”
Again, the prince nodded, then informed his guests, “We will soon stop the ship and spend the night at anchor, then in the morning perhaps you three gentlemen will join me in my stateroom for breakfast and conversation as we set sail for New York.” He inquired, “Will that suit you?”
“That is a good plan,” Petrov replied, though he had a better one. He asked, “Will we have any difficulties or delays getting into New York Harbor?” He explained, “I have a lunch engagement in the city.”
The prince assured him, “We were cleared at Ambrose Buoy when we first arrived on Saturday, and when Captain Wells requested permission for an overnight cruise this morning, he stated that we were not leaving American waters, so there will be no further security check at Ambrose when we return. Captain Wells also assures me he can navigate to Pier 11 without waiting for a harbor pilot. So it will go quickly.” He added, “And most likely there will not be another Customs boarding when we re-dock at Pier 11.”
“Good,” said Petrov, though it would not be Captain Wells who would be steering The Hana. And The Hana would not be docking at Pier 11.
The important thing, Petrov knew, was that The Hana had been previously cleared at Ambrose Buoy to enter the harbor and would not be subject to another security check. Also, The Hana was logged into the Coast Guard’s Automatic Identification System and would not be challenged to identify itself. This practice of extending some courtesies of the sea to private pleasure craft, especially those from friendly countries, was an American security lapse and also an opportunity that the SVR had discovered and exploited.
So this was all going as planned, Petrov thought, though the prince didn’t know that he had aided the plan by taking Petrov’s suggestion that they rendezvous in Southampton, away from New York City and the embassy watchers. Now getting back into New York Harbor would not present any problems for The Hana—only for the City of New York.
The prince said to Petrov, “I assume everyone’s papers are in order so that you and your female companions can disembark and pass through Immigration and Customs.”
Petrov replied, “Of course.” He joked, “The ladies, too, have diplomatic passports.”
The prince smiled, but Petrov saw that his highness seemed concerned about twelve scantily clad prostitutes leaving his yacht at Pier 11. Plus, of course, neither the ladies nor the three Russian men had been on The Hana’s original manifest. And in truth, this could be a problem, except that The Hana would turn into a nuclear fireball as it lay at anchor in the harbor, which eliminated the prince’s problem.
The prince was looking at Petrov, and Petrov assured him, “We will be met at the pier by a high-ranking consulate officer of the Russian Federation.” He added, “There will be no difficulties.”
The prince nodded, then suggested, “Perhaps you would like to freshen up.” He stood and his guests did as well. The prince said, “The steward will show you to your staterooms.” He glanced at his watch, which Petrov noticed was a diamond-encrusted Rolex, and informed his guests, “We will have cocktails in the dining room in half an hour.” He further advised his guests, “Dress is casual. Come as you are.”
As the prince turned to leave, Petrov made a half bow, as did Urmanov, but Gorsky did not, and he watched the prince leave, then said, to no one in particular, “The world will be a better place without him.”
Petrov admonished, “Be a good guest, Viktor. It is no fault of his that he was born royal, rich, and Muslim.”
Gorsky smiled. “At least our oligarchs work hard to steal their money.”
Petrov smiled, too, then looked at Dr. Urmanov, who was not smiling, and wondered if he knew he was a dead man.
Moscow’s plan had been to deliver Dr. Urmanov to The Hana via the Russian fishing trawler along with Captain Gleb and the nuclear device. But Petrov had insisted that Urmanov be under his control in New York, so that he, Petrov, could evaluate the man and reject him if there seemed to be a question of his willingness to arm the device. Well, Petrov thought, Dr. Urmanov was willing, or he wouldn’t have come this far. Also, the promised two million Swiss francs was a good incentive. Siberian exile was an even better incentive.
Petrov recalled that Moscow had been concerned about slipping Urmanov into America under an alias as a U.N. diplomat. But it had been done before, always successfully, and the SVR assured the Kremlin that no one in the American State Department Intelligence office would discover the true identity of this obscure retired physicist during the diplomatic vetting process.
And so, he, Petrov, had gotten his way, and he and Gorsky had taken the opportunity in New York to question Urmanov about the nuclear device and about all the steps necessary to correct any problems that might arise during the arming sequence. In any case, Petrov and Gorsky each had the device’s access code and Petrov would actually arm the device himself and set the timer. Dr. Urmanov was necessary only if there was a technical problem. And if the timer clock didn’t function, the device had been fitted with a radio signal detonator—a suicide trigger—which Petrov was prepared to use.
One way or the other, Petrov thought, New York would have the dubious distinction of being only the third city in the world destroyed by a nuclear weapon. The Manhattan Project was coming home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Viktor Gorsky went to Colonel Petrov’s stateroom with his overnight bag, which he opened, spreading out the deck plans of The Hana on the bed. They had not overplanned this part of the operation, agreeing to wait and see what they found aboard the yacht. Overplanning, as they both knew, left little room for initiative and instinct. But now that they were here, Petrov and Gorsky discussed the most effective method of killing the crew of more than twenty men, as well as the six guests and their host, and also the twelve prostitutes.
They agreed that Gorsky would start on the bridge to be certain no radio message would be sent as the killings proceeded
. Petrov said, “Be careful not to damage any instruments or controls.”
“Of course.”
Petrov continued, “Then you will go to the salon and take care of the ladies.”
Gorsky nodded without comment.
Petrov looked at him and said, “This is difficult, I know. But they have served their purpose, and they will die for a good cause.”
“We both understand this, Vasily,” Gorsky replied, using his colonel’s given name, which was permitted in situations such as this.
Petrov said, “I will start in the dining room. That should go quickly. Then I will go to the galley, then to the crew’s quarters”—he pointed to the tank deck, which was partly below the waterline—“where I hope to find all of them at the dinner hour.”
They studied the plans of the five-deck yacht: the tank deck where the crew lived, and where the engines, fuel, and water were located; the lower deck, which held the guest staterooms and officers’ quarters as well as the tender garage and the swimming platform; and the main deck, which held the dining room and bar, the galley, and the prince’s suite. Next was the salon deck, which had an al fresco lounge, and finally the smaller top deck where the bridge was located, along with the captain’s quarters and the ship’s office. Petrov and Gorsky tried to determine where everyone would be during dinner—or where they might be hiding if they became aware of what was happening.
Gorsky reminded his boss, “The crew carries handheld radios for shipboard communication.”
Petrov replied, “We will be sure they have no time to communicate.” He added, “As always, this business depends on speed, silence, and surprise.” He lifted the gift-wrapped object from his bag and opened a taped end of the blue wrapping paper, revealing the barrel of the MP5 submachine gun. “We can silence this”—he tapped the silencer at the end of the muzzle—“but men scream when they are being shot. Women scream louder. So be quick and accurate.”
Gorsky nodded.
Petrov further advised, “Try to avoid ricochets and remember that bullets pass through people and we do not want shattered windows for passing ships to see. So fire low for the takedown.” He smiled. “We should use our trick of a group photograph whenever necessary.”