Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

“We surrender,” Kurt said.

Two men with shotguns pointed their weapons at him.

An almost inaudible beep chirped from the rear of the cockpit, and Joe stood up as well.

“Message sent,” he whispered.

Kurt nodded almost imperceptibly. Whatever happened now, whatever fate held for them, at least they’d sent their warning. He only hoped it was in time.

Across from him, one of the men put his weapon down and threw them a line. In a moment the Barracuda was tied up to the larger of the two powerboats, and Kurt and Joe were standing on board it with their wrists chained in proper cuffs.

Apparently, their foes had come prepared.

The larger boat approached, a 60-foot motor yacht of a design Kurt had never seen, it appeared far more utilitarian than anything he could remember in that class. It almost looked like a military vessel done up to pass as a pleasure craft.

It sidled up next to them, and Kurt saw a man in jungle fatigues standing at the bow, gazing down at him. It was the same man he’d seen the night before and also on the Kinjara Maru. The grin of a conqueror beamed from his face, and he jumped down onto the deck of the powerboat before the yacht had even bumped up against it.

He strode toward Kurt and Joe in their defenseless positions, looking ready to inflict pain. Kurt stared him down the whole way, never blinking or looking away. “Andras,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Friend of yours?” Joe asked.

Before Kurt could answer, the man hauled off and slugged him in the jaw, sending Kurt crashing to the deck.

Kurt looked up, blood dripping from his mouth, his lip split open.

“Sorry,” Joe said. “Forget I asked.”

35

TWO MEN GRABBED THE CHAIN on Kurt’s cuffs and yanked him back up to his feet. “I want you to see something,” Andras said. He motioned for the motor yacht to pull forward. A brief spurt of power did the trick, and as its motor died once again the two boats knocked together. On the aft deck of the larger vessel, a mixed group of thirty or more men and women sat in cuffs and shackles with their backs to the far rail.

As painful as the split lip and wounded pride were, this sight caused a far deeper agony. Kurt recognized them as members of the various science teams sent to study the magnetism. Katarina sat among them, a dark bruise covering the right side of her face.

Her eyes rose up to meet his gaze and then looked back down at the deck, sad and forlorn, as if she’d failed somehow.

Kurt spat a mix of blood and saliva onto the deck. “What are you up to, Andras?” he said. “What is this all about?”

“I’m flattered that you recognize me at last,” Andras said. “Of course a little insulted that it took so long. I thought I would have made a bigger impression all those years ago. Then again,” he said, “I didn’t recognize you either. But you didn’t have silver hair when I knew you. I’d like to think I caused some of that.”

Kurt felt his body tense, his instincts urging him to thrash and fight. The despair of the scientists, the purple bruise on Katarina’s face, the arrogance that oozed from Andras’s mouth like sewer water: all of it tested his control.

If he could have busted his chains, he would have lunged for Andras and fought him to the death right there and then, but cuffed and disadvantaged he could do little by antagonizing the man except act as a punching bag.

Andras walked around him in a wide circle, pontificating. Kurt had forgotten how much the man loved to talk.

“Once I heard of this NUMA,” Andras said, “I should have guessed you were involved. It just sounds so Kurt Austin to me. All upstanding and forthright. I’ll bet you say the Pledge of Allegiance to your flag every morning, and you probably all have patches and jackets and matching key chains.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said through his teeth. “Maybe I’ll bring you some of our swag when this is over and you’re serving a hundred years in solitary.”

“Solitary?” Andras said. “How cruel. At least when I commit you to the sea, I won’t be sending you down alone.” He leaned closer. “And just to be clear, when this is over, you will be fish food and I will be a king.”

Andras smiled, and Kurt found something odd in the words and the way Andras had whispered them to him alone.

As a chill of fear crept over him, Kurt wondered what malice Andras would visit upon them now. He prayed it wouldn’t include Katarina. Despite those prayers, Andras hopped back onto the motor yacht and walked right toward her. He crouched down, put a hand on her bruised face, and then stood.

“Put Mr. Austin back in his little submarine,” he ordered.

Three men came over to Kurt, two white, one black. They heaved him off his feet and literally threw him into the Barracuda.