27
Claudia and Trisha had debated Bill’s final cryptic message as they continued to sit on the beach of Vulf Island awaiting the start of Phase IV.
Bill had said, “Shoot the Brower from over the 21631. You’ll know when. Into water. Four.”
They’d agreed to send no messages in the clear despite the encrypted radio. It was overkill, but that was the right mental image for this whole mission. But there was not in the clear and there was bloody cryptic!
The 21631 was the model number of the Russian’s Buyan-M missile corvette—two hundred feet of a brand-new and nasty breed of fighting ship. This one was presently cruising along the Azeri shore. They didn’t know which specific ship he was—the Russians always called their ships by the male pronoun—and Claudia didn’t care. All that mattered for
