Beat to Quarters

The cylindrically machined suppressor was cold in my hand, where it had remained since Cherno returned it to my possession. It felt bitterly cold. I slipped it, with some difficulty, into my front left pants’ pocket, before opening the hatch to the bridge. The suppressor bulged outward, but my shirt, hanging loose over two belts of gold, partially concealed its size and shape. The empty automatic rested deep down at the bottom of my right front pocket.

Borman stood next to the helmsman, staring forward, his eyes obviously following the departing movement of the Russian cruiser, off the World Discoverer’s starboard bow. Günter sat near the back of the bridge on a high cushioned bench. His head swiveled to take in my presence. The helmsman did not look up.

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