Fire Ice (NUMA Files 3)

9

THE SPOTLIGHT SNAPPED off and a portable table lamp came on, illuminating the face of a man in his forties. He had a broad forehead and high cheekbones and would have been handsome if not for the massive scar defacing his right cheek.

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Austin," Petrov said. "I'm not the Phantom of the Opera."

Austin's mind flashed back fifteen years to the Barents Sea. He remembered the frigid waters penetrating his heated dry suit as he activated the timer on two hundred pounds of explosives. It was a miracle the Russian was still alive.

"Sorry about the booby trap, Ivan. Can't say I didn't warn you to stay clear."

"No apology necessary. Simply a misfortune of war." He paused, then said, "I've wondered something for long time. Suppose our places had been reversed. Would you have listened to a warning from me?"

After a moment's reflection, Austin said, "I might have assumed, like you, that the warning was a diversion. I'd like to think discretion would have won over valor, but I can't say for sure. It was a long time ago."

"Yes, it was a very long time ago." Petrov's lips widened in a sad smile. "Obviously, discretion did not rule over my youthful impatience. I was impetuous in those days. Don't worry; I bear you no animosity for the fruits of my own foolishness. I would have killed you long ago if I thought you were entirely to blame. As I said, c'est la guerre. In a sense you are as disfigured as I am, only you can't see the scars that cover your heart. The war made hard men out of both of us."

"I recall hearing that the Cold War is over. I have a suggestion. Why not ask your friends to give us a lift to the bar at the Palace Hotel? We can talk about old times over a drink."

"In time, Mr. Austin. In time. We have a matter of grave importance to discuss." Petrov's voice had gained a businesslike edge, and his eyes drilled into Austin's face. "I would like to know what you were doing at the abandoned Soviet submarine base on the Black Sea."

"Seems I was naive to think our brief visit went unnoticed."

"Not at all. It's a desolate part of the coast. Under normal circumstances, you could have landed a division of Marines without detection. We've kept the area under surveillance for months, but we were caught off guard. We know from intercepted radio messages that you landed some sort of air- craft and that the NUMA ship came in to pick you up. Please tell me what you were doing on Russian territory. Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

"I'll be glad to fill you in." Austin squirmed in his chair. "It might help my memory if I weren't sitting on my wrists. How about loosening the tape?"

Petrov thought briefly, then nodded. "I consider you a dangerous man, Mr. Austin. Please don't try anything foolish."

Petrov gave a sharp order in Russian. Someone came up from behind. Austin felt a cold blade against his wrists and the tape was severed in a single swipe.

"Now for your story, Mr. Austin."

Austin massaged the circulation back into his arms. "I was on the NUMA survey ship Argo, conducting a study of wave action in the Black Sea. Three American television people were supposed to rendezvous with our ship, but they had heard about the old sub base before they sailed from Istanbul, and decided to check it out without notifying us of their change in plans. They were overdue and I went looking for them. Some men on shore murdered a Turkish fisherman who was bringing the TV people to shore, and attempted to kill them, too."

"Tell me about these killers."

"There were about a dozen of them, on horseback, and wearing Cossack uniforms. They even carried swords and old rifles – really old."

"Then what happened?"

Austin laid out a detailed narrative of the fight. Petrov listened impassively, although from his experience with Austin's resourcefulness, he was not surprised at the way the battle had ended.

"An ultralight," Petrov said, with a chuckle. "An ingenious tactic using your flare gun."

Austin shrugged. "I was lucky. They were using antique weapons. Otherwise my story would not have a happy Hollywood ending."

"You couldn't have known from the air that they were using old rifles. I assume you must have landed."

"In a manner of speaking. Old or not, those rifles made a sieve out of my plane's wings. I crash-landed on the beach."

"What did you see besides the weapons? Every detail, please."

"We found the body of one of the attackers behind the sand dune."

"He was dressed like the others?"

"That's right. Fur hat, baggy pants. I found this on one of them." He reached into his pocket and dug out the emblem he had taken from the dead Cossack's hat.

Petrov studied the pin without expression and passed it to one of his men. "Go on," he said.