“I’m sorry for your misfortune, Captain.”
“Don’t be. I have a faithful wife, handsome children, and grandchildren who will carry on my name.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Caleb said in a wounded voice.
“You’ve done well, Caleb. I know all about your generosity.”
“Generosity is easy when there’s no one to share your fortune with.”
“You have shared it with your neighbors. And I have heard of your wonderful library of books on the old trade.”
“I don’t smoke or drink. Books are my only vice. Whaling gave me the life I have. I collect every volume I can on the old trade.”
The captain closed his eyes and seemed to drift away, but after a moment his eyelids fluttered open. “I have something I want to share with you.”
The captain’s son stepped forward and presented Caleb with a mahogany box. Caleb opened the lid. Inside the box was a book. Caleb recognized the worn blue binding.
“The log of the Princess, Captain?”
“Aye, and it’s yours,” the captain said. “For your great library.”
Caleb drew back. “I can’t take this from you, sir.”
“You’ll do as your captain says,” Dobbs growled. “My family agrees that you should have it. Isn’t that right, Nathan?”
The captain’s son nodded. “It’s the family’s wish as well, Mr. Nye. We can think of no person more worthy.”
Unexpectedly, the captain raised his hand and placed it on the log. “A strange business,” he said. “Something happened on that island of wild men. To this day, I don’t know if it was God’s work or the Devil’s.”
The captain closed his eyes. His breathing became labored, and a rattling sound came from his throat. He called his wife’s name.
Nathan gently took Caleb’s arm and escorted him from the room. He thanked him again for coming, and then told his mother that the captain’s time had come. The loyal family streamed into the bedroom and adjacent hallway, leaving Strater and Caleb alone in the parlor.
“Gone?” Strater said.
“Not yet but soon.” Caleb showed Strater the logbook.
“I’d prefer some of the Dobbs fortune,” Strater snorted.
“This is a treasure to me,” Caleb said. “Besides, you have more money than you could spend in a lifetime, my friend.”
“Then I’ll have to live longer,” Strater said with a glance toward the bedroom.
They left the house and climbed into Strater’s carriage. Caleb clutched the logbook closer and his mind went back to the remote island and its savage inhabitants, his masquerade as an ’atua, the sickness, and the strange blue lights. He turned around for a last look at the mansion and recalled the captain’s dying words.
Dobbs was right. It had been a strange business indeed.
CHAPTER 1
MURMANSK, RUSSIA, PRESENT DAY
AS THE COMMANDER OF ONE OF THE MOST FEARSOME KILLING machines ever devised, Andrei Vasilevich once held in his hands the power to wipe out entire cities and millions of people. If war had ever broken out between the Soviet Union and the United States, the Typhoon-class submarine Vasilevich had commanded would have launched twenty long-range ballistic missiles at the U.S. and sent two hundr
ed nuclear warheads raining down on American soil.
In the years since he had retired from the navy, Vasilevich had often breathed a sigh of relief that he had never been told to unleash a salvo of nuclear death and destruction. As a captain second rank, he would have carried out the orders of his government without question. An order was an order, no matter how evil it was. A nuclear sub commander was an instrument of the state and could have no room for emotions. But as the tough old undersea Cold Warrior said good-bye to his former command, the submarine unofficially known as Bear, he could not hold back the sentimental tears that rolled down his plump cheeks.
He stood on the dock overlooking the port of Murmansk, his eyes following the sub as it glided toward the harbor entrance. He raised a silver flask of vodka high in the air in toast before taking a slug, and his thoughts drifted back to those years prowling the North Atlantic in the monster vessel.