"But the State Department thinks they're giving us the usual bullshit. The Russians still don't tell us anything they can keep to themselves. The scuttlebutt is that some Russian bureaucrat pocketed the money that had been appropriated for its dismantling. He paid off the shipyard director in Finland to hide it among the dozens of other ships and subs that the Russian Navy has there awaiting deactivation."

"There are that many?"

She nodded. "It's expensive to scrap a submarine, especially if there are nuclear materials involved. Anyway, Bradworth says they've been very cooperative since the Finns discovered it."

"Bradworth?"

"Dan Bradworth, he's the State Department liaison who negotiated with the Russians for the purchase of the sub for the Maritime Museum. Though not that much negotiation was necessary. Russia is so strapped for cash, they gave the museum a bargain. But the museum didn't want to take any chances on surprises when they brought it here to set up the exhibit. That's why Bradworth tapped us for the job."

"Tapped you," he corrected. "You're the expert. You know it was the Ariel that got you the job."

She shrugged. "Maybe." Four years before, she'd designed a new Orca-class U.S. Navy submarine called Ariel, and it had marked a bold departure from what had come before. Nuclear-powered submarines had changed little in their first half century of use, and her innovative concepts brought her much attention among naval buffs and marine architects. Although the Orca program was ultimately shelved due to budget cuts, the classified plans found their way into naval magazines and Web sites, where The Submarine That Never Was and its young creator had taken on a peculiar mystique. Whenever Hannah met someone in her profession, the Ariel was one of the first topics of conversation.

"No maybe. You're the real star here, and you know it," Conner said. "I just go along for the ride."