Fire Ice (NUMA Files 3)

"Sorry about that," Lombardo said. "We took a detour to check out an old Russian submarine base that's supposed to be around here."

"The captain of the Argo isn't too happy. You've delayed his departure schedule. It might have saved us some grief if you had let us know that your plans had changed." Austin was smiling, but the gentle scolding tone of his voice was unmistakable.

"It's my fault," Kaela said. "We thought we'd only be a few hours. We intended to call you at sea, but the fishing boat we hired didn't have a workable radio. The captain had to return to port for engine repairs, and he planned to get the radio fixed and give you a call."

"That must be the fishing boat I saw steaming away from here."

She nodded. "He was going to pick us up in the morning. Thank you for saving our lives. I apologize for putting you through so much trouble."

"No trouble," he said, reluctant to chastise the bedraggled group any further. He gazed at the wrecked aircraft. "Maybe a little trouble. What made your boat capsize?"

"Someone on shore shot at us and killed the Turkish man who was bringing us in," Kaela said. "A wave caught us broadside and the boat went over. We hid under the Zodiac and tried to move it away from the beach, but the surf was too strong and we came almost straight in.” She glanced to- ward the dune where she had first seen the attackers. "Do you know who those men on horseback were?"

Austin didn't reply. Although he seemed to be studying her face, Kaela became aware that her wet T-shirt and shorts clung to her lithe figure. She self-consciously plucked at the sand-caked front of the shirt, but the fabric insisted on plastering itself to her skin. Austin sensed her discomfiture and stared off at the smoke rising from the dune.

"My guess is that they weren't the local equestrian group out for a jaunt," he said. "Let's take a look."

He climbed up the sloping beach, with the others trailing tentatively behind. The fire had almost burned itself out. They walked through the charred stalks of grass at the top of the dune. Austin saw sunlight glinting off something on the ground and went over to investigate. It was a saber. He picked the weapon up and tested the heft and balance. The sword's long, curved blade was perfectly weighted to give the arm greater striking power. Austin's jaw muscles clenched as he contemplated the terrible damage the scalpel-sharp edge could inflict on human flesh. He was examining the Cyrillic writing etched into the blade when the Australian called out. Dundee was standing in a knee-high patch of unburned grass staring at something at his feet.

"What is it?" Austin said.

"Dead guy."

Austin stuck the saber point into the sand and waded through the thatch. Dundee pointed to the body of a man who lay on his back, glassy eyes locked in a death stare. A black beard and mustache matted with sand hid most of his features. He could have been in his forties. His head was twisted at a wrong angle. Blood soaked one side of his face, which had a caved-in look to it.

Austin said, "I'd guess he fell off his horse d

uring the fight and was kicked in the head." He was not a callous man, but he felt no pity for the dead horseman.

Lombardo had retrieved his camera from the beached Zodiac and was filming the battle site. He and Kaela came over to see what the others were looking at. Lombardo let out a low whistle. "What kind of a getup is that?"

Austin knelt by the body. "Looks like something out of The Wizard of Oz."

The dead man wore a long muddy-gray coat that but- toned up the front and baggy pants tucked into black boots. His black fur pillbox hat lay a few feet away. Red epaulets decorated each shoulder. A pistol holster and scabbard hung from the wide leather belt that encircled his waist. Slung across his chest was a cartridge belt. A sheathed dagger hung from a cord around his neck.

"G'dayr' Dundee said with wonderment. “The man's a walking arsenal."

Austin searched the grass around the dead man. A few yards away, he found a rifle and he put the stock against his shoulder and worked the well-oiled bolt. Like the saber blade, the barrel was etched with Cyrillic writing. Austin was a collector of dueling pistols, and he had accumulated a general knowledge of antique guns. The rifle was a Moisin-Nagant, more than a hundred years old, and in mint condition. He uttered a silent prayer of thanks that the horsemen weren't carrying modern automatic weapons. A single Kalashnikov would have ripped him and the Gooney to shreds.

Austin handed the rifle off to Dundee and went through the dead man's pockets. Nothing. He unpinned the metal starburst emblem from the front of the hat and pocketed it. Lombardo had finished filming the battle scene, and Kaela suggested shooting some footage around the one-story cinder-block buildings farther inland.

"Not a good idea," Austin said, pointing to the trail of hoofprints leading toward the structures. He'd been worried that the horsemen would make a return appearance, but hadn't said anything because there wasn't much they could do about it. "In fact, I’d suggest that we get out of here as soon as we can." He rested the rifle on his shoulder, retrieved the saber and started walking back toward the beach. Kaela caught up with him on the crest of the dune.

"Do you have any idea what this is all about?" she said breathlessly. "Why these men would want to kill us?"

"You know as much as I do. I thought they were filming a movie until somebody took a few shots at me."

"It's a good thing for us that their aim was bad." She paused. Austin was studying her face the way he had earlier. "Is there anything wrong?"

"I'm almost embarrassed to say."

"I find it hard to believe that you'd be embarrassed. You hardly seem the shy type."

Austin shrugged. "Well, in a manner of speaking, you might say we've met before."

"Sorry, I'm sure I would have remembered."

"Not literally. Believe me when I say this. You bear a striking resemblance to the face of a princess I once saw painted on the wall of an Egyptian temple."