Fire Ice (NUMA Files 3)

14

THE DENTED BLACK Lada taxi clattered down the dirt road, with every bolt in its ancient chassis rattling in protest. The potholed ruts led through thick pines and ended at an encampment of rustic chalets clustered near the Black Sea. The cab bounced on its worn shock absorbers even after Paul and Gamay Trout extricated themselves from the cramped backseat like clowns in a circus skit. They removed their duffel bags from the roof rack and paid the driver. The cab drove off in a cloud of dust, and the door to a nearby chalet flew open with a bang. A bearlike man charged out, roaring in a voice that practically shook the cones off the trees.

"Trout! I can't believe you're here." He wrapped Paul in a bear hug. "How good to see you, my friend!" He pounded Trout on the back.

"Go-od to see you-oo, Vlad," Trout replied, in between the breath-stealing thumps. "Thi-is is my wife, Gamay-may. Gamay, meet Professor Vladimir Orlov."

Orlov extended a ham-sized hand and attempted to click the heels of his rubber sandals together. "A pleasure to meet you, Gamay. Your husband often talked about his brilliant and lovely wife as we drank beer at the Captain Kidd."

"No less than he talked about you, Professor Orlov. Paul has often said how much he enjoyed your time together at Woods Hole."

"We have many fond memories, your husband and I." He turned to Paul. "She is as beautiful and charming as I imagined. You are a lucky man."

"Thank you. And you will be pleased to know that your barstool awaits your return."

"Then it is only a question of when. Tell me how things are at the Oceanographic?"

"I was there only a few days ago. I try to get back home in between NUMA assignments. Woods Hole hasn't changed since the year you spent there."

"I envy you. As a pauper nation, Russia is stingy with money for pure scientific research. Even a well-thought-of institution such as Rostov State University must beg for funding. We're fortunate that the government allows the university to use this place as a fieldwork center." Gamay looked around at the rustic cottages and the water sparkling through the trees. "It's wonderful! Reminds me of the old cottage colonies on the Great Lakes where I grew up."

"The Soviet navy used it as a getaway for middle-level officers and their wives. There's a tennis court, but the macadam looks like the face of the moon. We've brought in students and they have done a good job fixing up the chalets. It's perfect for seminars or retreats like this one where we academics simply come to think." He grabbed the duffel bags. "Come, I'll show you where you're staying." Orlov led the way along a soft pine-needle path to a chalet that gleamed with new green-and-white trim. He climbed onto the porch, dropped the bags and held the door open for the Trouts. The one-room cottage had up-and-down bunks for four people, a rough-hewn table in the middle, a sink with a pump and a gas camp stove on the other side. Orlov went to the sink and pumped the handle.

"The water is pure and cold. Be sure to save some in this coffee can to prime the pump. There's a shower outside. The WC is just behind the house. It's a bit primitive, I'm afraid."

Gamay looked around the room. "Looks quite cozy to me."

Paul said, "We invited ourselves, Professor. We should be grateful we're not sleeping in a tent."

"Nonsense! I'll have no more such talk, You'll probably want to unpack and get into something more comfortable," The professor was wearing baggy black shorts and a red tank top. "As you see, we're very informal, When you're ready, follow

the path back to the main clearing. I'll be waiting with some refreshment."

After Orlov left, they filled the sink and washed up. Gamay traded her stylish cotton slacks and sweater for blue shorts and a T-shirt from the Scripps Oceanographic Institute, where she'd first met Paul, who was studying there, Paul was wearing an L.L. Bean nonwrinkle navy blazer and tan slacks and one of the wildly colored bow ties he favored. He put on new tan shorts, navy polo shirt and Teva sandals, Then they strolled back through the pines to the main clearing.

Orlov sat at a picnic table in the shade of an arbor. He was talking to a middle-aged couple he introduced as Natasha and Leo Arbikov, both physicists. They spoke little English but communicated with sunny smiles. Orlov said that there were a number of other academicians and students from various fields scattered about in the woods working on experiments or simply reading. From an oversized cooler, he produced plastic containers of fresh fruit, caviar, smoked fish, cold borscht, a jug of water and a bottle of vodka. The Trouts sampled the food, but drank water, putting off the hard stuff until later. Orlov had no such hesitation, drinking his vodka with apparently little effect.

"It helps my concentration," he said with good cheer, washing down a mouthful of caviar. He gave Trout another teeth-rattling pound on the back. "This is so incredible to see you, my friend, I'm glad you called to say you would be in the neighborhood."

"It's wonderful to see you again, Vlad, although it was a little difficult getting through to you."

"We're connected to the outside by a single telephone. That's the beauty of this place. It's the Lost World. Only we are the dinosaurs." He roared with laughter at his own joke. "We are paid practically nothing, but we can pursue our work with little in the way of expenses." He lifted the bottle, smacked his lips and poured himself another two fingers of vodka. "Enough about me. Tell me what brought you to the Black Sea."

"You've heard of the NUMA research vessel, Argo?"

"Oh, yes. I've been on her, in fact. A few years ago. She's a wonderful ship. I would expect nothing less from NUMA."

Paul nodded in agreement. "Garnay and I are doing some research in connection with the Argo's most recent survey. I remembered you were at the university and thought I'd give you a call to let you know we were in the neighborhood."

Austin had asked the Trouts to look into Ataman Indus- tries while he and Zavala checked out the submarine base. Ataman's headquarters were in the port city of Novorossiysk, on the northeast comer of the Black Sea. Trout immediately thought of Orlov, who had been a visiting professor at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, because he remembered that the professor taught at the university in Rostov near Novorossiysk. When he'd called Orlov, the professor said he would never forgive Paul if he and Gamay didn't come to visit him.

"You had no problem getting here?" the professor inquired.

"Not at all. We were lucky to catch a commercial flight to Novorossiysk on short notice. The university arranged for a cab to pick us up at the airport, and here we are." He looked around at the bucolic setting. "Let me get my bearings. We're between Rostov and Novorossiysk?"

"That's right. Novorossiysk is the port for the oil fields in I the Caucasus. It's also a Hero City full of large ugly monuments commemorating the heroic resistance of the people during the Great Patriotic War." Orlov turned to Gamay. "Paul has lauded your skills as a marine biologist. What sort of work have you been doing?"

"Before coming to the Black Sea, I was in the Florida Keys looking at coral damage from industrial runoff."