Fire Ice (NUMA Files 3)

The captain caught his breath and dashed back to the bridge, with the major close behind. As they approached the ladder that led up to the wheelhouse, a bright square of light appeared on the deck above. Several people stepped out onto the open platform. The light was from behind, so their faces were in shadow.

"Inside!" Yakelev shouted.

"We came outside for air," a woman said, speaking in a German accent. "It is stifling in the cabin."

"Please, Madame," the major said in a softer, pleading voice.

"As you wish," the woman said, after a moment. She was clearly reluctant, but she herded the others back inside. As she turned, Tovrov saw her profile. She had a strong chin, and her nose was slightly curved at the tip.

A guard emerged from the

ship and called down. "I couldn't stop them, Major."

"Go back inside and shut the door before all the world hears your stupid excuses."

The guard vanished and slammed the door behind him. As Tovrov stared up at the empty platform, the major's fingers dug into his arm.

Yakelev's voice was harsh and low. "You saw nothing, Captain."

"Those people – "

"Nothing! For God's sake, man. I do not want to kill you."

Tovrov started to reply, but the words never left his mouth. He had felt a change in the ship's movement, and he jerked his arm away from Yakelev's grip. "I must go to the bridge."

"What is wrong?"

"There's no one at the wheel. Can't you feel it? My stupid first mate is probably drunk."

Tovrov left the major behind and climbed to the wheelhouse. In the light from the binnacle, he saw the wheel slowly spinning back and forth as if moved by invisible hands. The captain stepped inside and stumbled over something soft and yielding. He swore, thinking that the mate had passed out. Then he turned on the light and saw how wrong he was.

The mate lay facedown on the metal deck, a puddle of blood around his head. Tovrov's anger turned to alarm. He knelt beside the young officer and turned him over. A wound grinned at him like a second mouth where the poor wretch's throat had been cut.

Eyes wide with horror, the captain stood and edged away from the corpse, only to back into a wall of solid flesh. He whirled and saw Yakelev.

"What has happened?" the major said.

"It's incredible! Someone has killed the first mate."

Yakelev nudged the bloody corpse with his boot. "Who could have done this?"

"No one."

"No one slaughtered your mate like a pig? Come to your senses, Captain."

Tovrov shook his head, unable to take his eyes off the mate's body. "I meant that I know all the crew well." He paused. "All except the two new men."

"What new men?" Yakelev's good eye blazed at Tovrov like a spotlight.

"I hired them two days ago as stokers. They were in the bar when I was talking to Federoff, and they came by later looking for berths. They looked like ruffians, but I was short of crew – "

Uttering a curse, Yakelev pulled his pistol from its holster, shoved Tovrov aside and vaulted through the door, shouting commands to his men. Tovrov glanced at the first mate and vowed not to let the same thing happen to him without a fight. He tied the wheel, then he went into his stateroom and with trembling hands turned the combination dial on the ship's safe. Pulling out a 7.63-millimeter Mauser automatic, he unwrapped the soft velvet cloth protecting the gun, which he had acquired years before in a barter in the event of a mutiny, loaded the magazine, stuck the pistol in his belt and peered out the cabin door.

Descending to the lower deck, he peeked through the small circular window in the door that led to the passengers' quarters. The passageway was empty. He went down to the main deck and crept forward. In the glow of the deck lights, he saw the Cossacks crouched near the rail.

Suddenly, a small, dark object looped over the gunwale, bounced once and skittered along the wet deck, leaving a trail of sparks.

"Grenade!" someone yelled. Moving like quicksilver, Yakelev dove for the sputtering grenade, rolled onto his back and snapped the metal pineapple over the side. An explosion sounded, and the screams of pain that followed were drowned out as the Cossacks poured rifle fire into the mist. One guard leaned over with a sharp: knife and slashed the lines tied to several grappling hooks, then a boat engine roared, as if it had been given full throttle. The Cossacks continued to fire until the boat was out of range.