mind,” she drawled.
Just then she noticed that the two men sitting across the table from them were listening with interest to the exchange. Wonderful. So now everyone knew her business.
“Hi,” said the one with short black hair, bronze skin, and an exotic look to his dark eyes. He stuck out his hand. Around his wrist was a woven leather thong with something carved in ivory hanging from it. Native American? “Clint Walker. I’m the UUV driver.”
She shook it and introduced herself, recalling him from her briefing papers. He was the other ex-navy man, in his late thirties—much too young to be retired. The file was silent on his current occupation, but on this expedition he’d be running the two remote undersea vehicles the team members would be using to gather various types of samples. Not unlike the kind of UUV that utilized the Chinese guidance system contained on the hidden SD card.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Walker,” she said.
“Clint, please.”
The second man also put out his hand. “I’m Dr. Joshua Stedman. Call me Josh.” Josh of the ice sheet melt, sea ice, and ice floes specialty. He looked very young, maybe mid-twenties. Canadian. And a bit . . . awestruck?
She gave his hand a firm shake. “Julie Severin.”
“Girl,” he declared, leaning in dramatically, his eyes wide, “how did you manage that so fast? That man is to die for. I am to tally jealous.”
Clint and Edwards exchanged a look. Clint edged a fraction away from Josh.
Julie almost choked. “No need. I’m just sharing Captain Romanov’s stateroom. I believe it’s called hot-bunking. And it’s not what you’re thinking.”
Josh made a solemn face. “And I to tally believe that.”
She wanted to groan.
“Who cares if it is?” Edwards said with a good-natured shrug. “It happens. No one’s business but your own.”
Good grief. Just kill her now. Please.
Luckily she didn’t have to respond further because Professor Sundesvall stood again and started the team in on their intros. Julie pulled out her notebook laptop and started typing away as each one spoke, taking down the details that weren’t included in the briefing files she’d been given. No one looked twice. Being a reporter truly was the perfect cover for this operation.
Now all she had to do was come up with a plan for how to locate a piece of the submarine called the “crown” so she could locate the hidden data storage card. Good thing she had a clue. Otherwise it would be nearly impossible to find it among the insane conglomeration of pipes and instruments.
The size of a thumbnail, the microcard would be harder to find than a needle in a haystack. A task made even harder because people would be occupying every available inch of space on the sub as they worked on their projects, and therefore able to observe every move she made. Especially now that she and the captain would be the topic of rampant speculation and shipboard gossip, she’d be under intense scrutiny. But somehow, she had to find that SD card without anyone becoming suspicious. Except that Nikolai already was. More than suspicious. He knew she’d been sent here and by whom.
But did he know exactly what she’d come looking for? Guessing—or even being certain—she was a spy was a far cry from knowing her actual mission.
Damn it! She had to find out how much he really knew about what was hidden on board his boat.
But how? It wasn’t like she could just walk up and ask him. Even though he’d already confronted her, she could never admit what she was or why she was here. Not aloud. Not ever.
She knew better than anyone what happened to American spies caught operating in Russia. They were killed. Murdered by the notorious FSB security service. Cut down on the street, brutally and without pity.
As her father had been.
Julie’s heart squeezed painfully at the memory of her father’s death when she was just twelve. She stopped typing for a moment, closed her stinging eyes, and took a
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