He leaned toward the Barracuda, raised his arm, and plunged the knife into the thin skin of her outer hull. The knife punched though and lodged tight, just out of Kurt’s reach.
“Unfortunately, half won’t save you both.”
The water poured into the cockpit and swirled up around Kurt’s knees. They were going down.
He glanced at Joe. “Whatever happens,” he said, “follow my lead.”
Joe nodded as Kurt filled his lungs, breathing deep and fast, as the Barracuda began to roll and pitch nose down.
The water churned, the nose of the sub disappeared, and the rest followed, dragging him and Joe under. The last sound Kurt heard clearly was Katarina screaming his name.
36
ON BOARD THE MOTOR YACHT, Katarina fell forward as the Barracuda went under. She stared at the swirling waters where the small sub had been moments before.
“No,” she cried in a cracking whisper. “No.”
She lowered her eyes and lay facedown on the deck, shoulders shaking as she sobbed.
Andras stared at her. “Now, that’s a pitiful sight.”
He walked toward her and crouched down. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face until she was looking in his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I have far more pleasant plans for you.”
She spat toward his face, but he stepped easily out of the way. “Why do you all try the same tricks?” he asked. He stood back, and kicked her for good measure.
Stepping away, he turned to the pilothouse. “Start the engines.”
As the diesels rumbled to life beneath the deck, Mathias, the key master, came toward him. Mathias was not one of Andras’s men; Djemma had put him aboard, perhaps to watch Andras.
“You gave them the key,” Mathias said. “What if they escape?”
Andras laughed. “I almost hope that they do. It would make things more interesting,” he said. “But they won’t,” he added. “At least, not both of them.”
“Why?”
“Because people have to pay for their crimes, and death is not much of a punishment.” Andras glared at the key master with fury in his eyes. He felt a particular mix of hatred and respect for Kurt Austin. He had suffered his own pain at Austin’s hands once upon a time.
Satisfied that Mathias had been put in his place, Andras turned toward the bow.
Mathias grabbed his arm, turning him. “I will inform Djemma. He will not find this so amusing.”
Andras’s eyes narrowed to slits. “It wasn’t done for amusement.”
“Then for what? I see no purpose to it.”
“There is purpose in everything I do,” Andras assured him. “This, for example.”
In the blink of an eye, Andras raised a tiny pistol and fired it. The report was no louder than a cap gun. There was no shouting, no wailing in pain, or even much reaction on the part of Mathias. Only a suddenly limp appearance to his face as a tiny hole appeared in the center of his forehead. He stumbled back, cross-eyed and shaking, but not dead, not yet.
As the key master backed into the railing, Andras pulled the trigger again. Mathias tumbled backward, falling overboard and splashing noisily in the water.
He disappeared for a second and then bobbed to the surface, supported by the gray life jacket he wore. A trickle of crimson blood flowed from two small holes in his head, but he didn’t move or even tremble.
Andras put the pistol away, raised the shotgun for all to see, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Anyone else have a problem with authority?” He looked around from face to face.
No one spoke, and Andras glanced at the boat’s pilot.