Fire Ice (NUMA Files 3)

"Never did like worms," Kaela said. "What can I do for you?"

"First of all, tell me why you're being so friendly."

"Why shouldn't I be? You saved my life. Even better, you got me transportation back to Istanbul on Captain Kemal's boat."

"Which wasn't exactly the QE2, as I recall."

"Doesn't matter. On the way back, the captain told me about a wreck he knew of and took me there. It was big and old, and my guess is that it was originally measured in cubits."

"Noah's ark?"

"Who knows? Who cares? We got the story, plus bonuses. So thanks again, and I mean it with all sincerity when I say, what can I do for you, even though you still owe me a dinner."

"How about Boston baked beans?"

"I was thinking more of rack of lamb at the Four Seasons."

"Anything you say. But I need your help first. There's a trade reception tonight aboard a yacht in Boston Harbor, and I need some press credentials."

"Is there a story here?"

"Eventually. But not now."

"Okay, but under one condition. I'm going with you. Before you say no, think about it."

Austin thought about Kaela's sultry beauty for a millisecond. "It's a deal. I'll catch a shuttle to Logan Airport." He suggested a meeting time and place.

After they hung up, Austin sat back in his chair and stared into space, a distant expression in the coral-blue eyes. Finding Razov's central control system might be the breakthrough he and NUMA needed, but there was another reason he wanted to get aboard the yacht. Boris.

31

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

KAELA DORN WAITED at Commonwealth Pier overlooking Boston Harbor and watched the parade of limousines drop off a steady stream of VIPs who quickly lined up to be transported to Razov's yacht. She stood near a line of television vans whose satellite dishes and antennae sprouted from their roofs like alien vegetative growths. She was scanning the crowd when the tall stranger approached from behind and greeted her. Hardly glancing in his direction, Kaela replied with a polite hello. She regretted it a second later when he said in a wheedling nasal voice: "Excuse me, but haven't we met before?"

She turned her full attention toward the man, thinking that he looked like a husky version of – what was that singer's name?

"No," she said with a mixture of amusement and scorn. "Never?”

"I thought you'd forgiven me for missing our dinner date in Istanbul." The voice had dropped several octaves.

Kaela gave him a hard look, especially the broad shoulders. "Good Lord! I didn't recognize you."

"They don't call me the Man of a Thousand Faces for nothing," Austin said, with a devilish smile, He spread his arms wide, "Is this what the well-dressed tabloid TV journalist wears?"

Austin wore black slacks, matching T-shirt and sports jacket and seventies-era Ray-Ban sunglasses, even though it was night, and scuffed New Balance running shoes, He wore a gold neck chain, and his silvery-gray hair was hidden under a dark brown wig.

"You look like a Hollywood undertaker," Kaela said, "I especially like the wild hairpiece." She squinted. "What did you do to your face?"

"Putty. A necessary evil in the age of face recognition technology."

Kaela raised an eyebrow, suddenly remembering the name. "The only one they're likely to match you with is Roy Orbison."

"I'll remember that in case someone wants my autograph. Now that I've passed inspection, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Kurt. It's good to see you again."

"I'm hoping after business hours we can pick up where we left off."