Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

She could see no way to stop it.

Suddenly, Klaxons began to sound. Andras reacted, and the door opened seconds later.

“What the hell is going on?” Andras demanded.

A breathless crewman stood there. “Problem in the reactor compartment.”

“A leak?” he asked.

“No,” the man said. “We have an intruder.”

Andras laughed. “An intruder? Are you sure? We’re twelve hundred miles from the nearest land.”

“I know,” the man said. “I can’t say how it happened. No ships or boats have come close to us. Sonar has detected no undersea craft. Maybe a stowaway,” he guessed finally.

“Also unlikely,” Andras said with supreme confidence. “More probable, someone’s drunk and making a very big mistake.”

Katarina could hear the anger in his voice. She wouldn’t want to be the crewman who might be making that mistake.

“All the crew are accounted for,” the man said. “One of the engineers is dead, another was beaten up by an American commando with silver hair.”

Katarina’s face lit up.

“Silver hair?” Andras said, suddenly tensing.

The crewman nodded.

“Austin,” Andras muttered slowly.

Katarina hoped so. She couldn’t figure out how it was possible, but she hoped it was true.

Andras saw it.

“Look at your eyes,” he said sarcastically. “All full of hope. You won’t make much of an agent if that’s the best you can hide your feelings.”

“I’m not an agent,” she said.

“Clearly.” He sounded disgusted.

“We’re looking for him now,” the crewman said, interrupting. “But he ran through the Fulcrum bay and vanished.”

“This is a ship,” Andras said. “There are only so many places to go. Keep searching. I’ll be on the bridge. Post guards at all entrances to the Fulcrum and near the reactors. Shoot anything that approaches either.”

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; The crewman nodded, and Andras looked at his watch. “We have nineteen minutes. Keep him at bay that long, and I’ll hunt him down myself.”

The crewman left. Andras grabbed Katarina by the wrist and dragged her into the hall. Two doors down, he opened her cabin, threw her in the chair, and tied her up once again. Hands first, behind the back of the chair, and then her feet.

“I’d hoped to have more fun with you,” he said, “but it’ll have to wait. Don’t worry, you won’t need to pretend that you’re interested anymore. I don’t care.”

With that, he stormed out, slamming and locking the door.

If ever there was a time to escape, she thought, now was it.

She pulled and twisted and tried desperately to slip the ropes, but they only grew tighter. She looked around the room. Nothing sharp presented itself; no knives, no letter opener, no scissors. But that didn’t mean she would give up.

She rocked the chair back and forth until it fell over. Now on the floor, she dragged it, moving along like an inchworm with a stone on its back and making about as much progress. Finally, she had inched her way over to the small desk.